Chaos calls the shots

David McIntyre, Letter to the Editor

Folks went out to the Frank Slide
to trek the community trail,
AltaLink had been there
the place was smashed to hell

The path had been compacted
with wheels and ruts galore,
the folks ain’t goin’ back there no more

Folks went out to the Castle
to walk among the trees,
loggers beat them to the forest
brought it down with Spray disease

The forest was on the highway
 movin’ up the Castle’s northern shore,
the trees were in the forest no more

AltaLink’s needless degradation of the celebrated Crowsnest Pass Community Walking Trail, a recently opened 23km non-motorized trail, takes a back seat to the ongoing devastation caused by Spray Lake Sawmills’ clear-cutting in the Castle River valley, but the two acts of disfigurement, while seemingly disconnected, reveal a common, across-the-landscape link: the complete and utter failure of Sustainable Resource Development (SRD) to manage a world-renowned, Crown of the Continent, headwaters landscape.


Instead of managing uses and protecting this world-class landscape, SRD has failed to live up to its mandate. What it has done is prescribe some of the land’s worst abuses, while watching as other abuses spin—mud flying—out of control.

Today, society knows that this brand of management has cost taxpayers dearly. We know that it would take hundreds of millions of dollars just to initiate restoration efforts due to the off-road landscape abuses alone. But that’s okay, we accept the abuse, the millions in collateral damage. That’s how we like it.

Here in the headwaters of the Castle, Crowsnest and Oldman rivers, we don’t have time to sweat the—degradation-as-usual—small stuff. We don’t have time to worry about ancient trees, endangered species, rare plants, or the litany of abuses that occur. We can’t afford to lose sleep over landscape ruination, or bother to manage the off-the-chart strife that’s created by an army of conflicting forest users. There are more important things to do.
To be fair, it isn’t as if the managers planned it this way. They simply haven’t managed to prevent this outcome. They haven’t done what they’ve been paid to do.
Here in the Headwaters Wilderness, society’s resource managers have taken a back seat, next to the exit. There, with hats pulled low, they monitor the situation by simply watching as the landscape’s many abusers, all dissatisfied, wage war on center stage.
Standing in the spotlight, freedom-fighting mountain men (and women) write their own rules while pointing vindictive fingers at these same pantywaist managers: men and women who are paid to smile in the face of public ridicule and scorn.
Come on down. The show’s free and it’s playing daily. You, too, can join in this chaos. It’s all part of a deviant fantasy. And don’t worry, you can’t upset this little applecart; it’s already been flipped and smashed into a million splintered pieces.
Here in the Headwaters Wilderness, society’s chanted demand is “Mountain Freedom.” It’s each person’s undeniable right to do anything he (or she) wants on an anything-goes landscape. Here, on public land that’s worth absolutely nothing, you can hike or ride your horse past screaming dirt bikes. You can smash beer bottles in the creek, camp wherever you like, set up your toilet on a stream bank, cut down trees, create your own roads, dig up rare vegetation and shoot anything your heart desires. Here in the Headwaters Wilderness you can simply throw away the rulebook and take charge. It’s your landscape, yours to destroy any way you see fit.
Well, I must warn you of the existence of a single, rock-hard regulation: Forest users aren’t permitted to stand in the path of industrial equipment that’s been brought in to destroy the headwaters forest. In other words, “little” abusers must step aside wherever SRD has prescribed wholesale, industrial landscape desecration. Failure to step aside for heavy equipment is a serious offence—it’ll land you in the slammer, open your life to soaring legal costs and courtroom intrigue.
But if you’re just here to tear up the landscape on your own, motor past the heavy equipment. Don’t complicate your life. Find a new creek to play in.
Faux cowboys ride this free range on dirt bikes and quads. Their abuse is everywhere, and it’s familiar in the way that a bad neighbor is familiar. But that’s okay. That’s how we like it.

Society, ever tolerant, tends to sugarcoat this maltreatment by rounding up some billboards and a few 2X4s to prop up a false illusion: that the word wild still exists in the Headwaters Wilderness.

The message: At the base of this tree stump is a picture of the living tree that once grew here.

Despite alluring marketing, the Headwaters Wilderness is an industrial trash bag. It’s lined and littered with smashed cans, broken bottles, old refrigerators and yesterday’s oil change. There are tire tracks up the creek. And there, wallowing in what your grandfather called “the finest spring in the Rockies,” is a herd of cattle. Do you know how much water a single cow drinks in a day? Neither do I, but that isn’t the problem, is it?

Don’t worry. You can still hike through the heart of the anything-goes Headwaters Wilderness. You can climb the stunning mountains overlooking the magnificence of Cow Pie Reserve and Pipeline Provincial Park. Stay in Camp Clear-cut to savor its stark, denuded charm. You’ll simply share this managed forest with logging trucks, Winnebagos, strip-mines, pipe lines, gas wells, drilling rigs, equestrian operators, spiritual retreats, bush parties, meditating Zen Buddhists, barking dogs, picnickers, hunters, tree-huggers, wood cutters, criminals, mountain bikers, mountain climbers, social deviants, eagle watchers, dirt bikers, road racers, road rallies, family reunions, target shooters, ecotourists, crying babies, anglers, Sunday drivers, racing ATVs … and thousands of cows. This heavenly expanse is connected with roads—lotsa roads.

Be careful! You can still get a mosquito bite in this wilderness, and the bite may itch. If it gets too bad, just hit the throttle. You can get back to town in no time.

I’ve brought you to the Headwaters Wilderness just in time for a noontime showdown. Facing off at the intersection are trailer-hauling cattle ranchers, rig-hauling gas field workers and an army of off-road quad riders and dirt bikers. The dust is thick, the coyotes are nervous and two wide-eyed horses are bucking their way into the shadows. Diverse combatants have met at the Crossroads From Hell. Seconds tick by, and then in one desperate, savage second, the rule of the wilderness prevails: The biggest rig goes first!