Eldora Ski Resort and A Hopeful (?) Future for Public Lands

By Mike Childers

As mud season hits and westerners began dreaming of warmer days, the future of Eldora Mountain Resort appears to be a little more hopeful as concerned locals are now working with the resort’s owners and U.S. Forest Service in resolving what potentially could have been yet another chapter in fight over ski resort development on public lands. A fight brought further into focus with the rising tensions over the management and use of public lands throughout the West.

Last fall, Nederland resident Betty Bass contacted me by phone. Concerned over the Forest Service’s impending decision about the small ski area’s proposed plan to add several hundred acres and improve its facilities. In that first conversation, I had not been too encouraging about her hopes on halting the expansion, but wished her luck. Like many of us, Betty was not opposed to some of the ski area’s improvements. She and her family loved skiing at Eldora, considering it a perk of living in the funky little mountain town known more for its annual Frozen Dead Guy Day celebration than as a tourist Mecca.

Betty, along with several other locals, was worried that the ski area’s proposed construction would attract more skiers and snowboarders to the area, negatively impacting the local environment and economy. Now it seemed she and others would have a greater voice in the ski area’s future. It was a surprising development, particularly given the history of ski resort development throughout the West over the past half century.

Expansion is often a four-letter word when discussing ski resorts. This was certainly the case concerning Eldora Mountain Resort. The windswept ski area has long been the favorite of a small number of Colorado skiers unwilling to brave the bumper-to-bumper traffic clogging I-70 every winter weekend. Yet, over the past several seasons, Eldora’s growing popularity stretched its aging lifts, parking, and facilities to the brink. Overwhelmed and in need of serious investment to meet this growing demand, the area announced plans to modernize its ski lifts, add an on mountain restaurant, and yes, add roughly ninety acres of new terrain.

Map of proposed expansion from USFS record of decision

Map of proposed expansion from USFS record of decision

From there the story began to take on a familiar narrative. Needing Forest Service approval, Eldora worked with the local district office to conduct an environmental impact statement. Locals voiced their opposition to any expansion of the resort, fearing the impacts they would have on their community. Environmental groups soon joined the fray, along with Boulder County, condemning any expansion, arguing that it would have a profound effect on the area’s ecology and community. Such fears seemed to be confirmed, when, last February, the Forest Service released its Draft Environmental Statement approving Eldora’s expansion, leaving many opponents to begin considering bringing a lawsuit against the ski resort.

This is a well-rehearsed script. For the past several decades, ski resorts have sought to grow in order to meet our insatiable hunger for more terrain, faster chair lifts, and better amenities – all of which help grow their bottom line. Faced with growing public demand, the Forest Service is locked into a legal structure that requires it to seek ways in which to mitigate rather than halt development. Critics bemoan the loss of local character, sky rocketing real estate costs, and environmental impacts such recreational development brings.

But that is where Eldora’s story began to differ. While approving the upgrade of two chairlifts, expanding snowmaking operations, the construction of the new Challenge Mountain lodge, and the addition of 182 acres already within the current ski area boundary, interim Forest Supervisor Ron Archuleta deferred the most controversial component of the plan – the expansion of the ski area beyond its current boundaries to include an additional eighty-eight acres. Instead, Archuleta called for all parties to work collaboratively to resolve all “environmental and social issues.”

A week later Betty gave me a ring and asked for my thoughts. Dumbfounded, I noted that such decisions are far from typical historically, and meekly encouraged Betty that she and all of those concerned seize the opportunity to build a consensus over the future of Eldora. In truth, the final decision on Eldora’s expansion remains the Forest Service’s hands.

This decision could have ramifications much further than just within Colorado. As continued numbers of skiers and snowboarders flood the West’s ski resorts, such constructive conversations between concerned groups may help settle, or at least defuse, bruising legal fights over proposed ski area expansions such as those at Arizona’s Snow Bowl and Utah’s Park City, to name just two.

Perhaps giving equal weight to preserving local communities when considering expanding our ski resorts will help us achieve the greatest good for the greatest number in the longest run. After all, this is not a simple “them” or “us” issue. Rather, it is conversation that involves all of us and the future of our public lands. In light of recent events in Oregon and the Representative Robert Bishop’s stalled (failed) public lands initiative, it is clear that the future of the West’s public lands remains an emotionally charged issue, one in which we are all culpable in pushing our own agendas. Like many concerned over the implications of ever-large resorts built on National Forest lands, I anxiously checked my mailbox every evening last fall for my new season pass. How we meet these seemingly contradictory impulses deserves some thoughtful conversation. Maybe the conversation over the future of Eldora can provide a little direction.


A Culture of Fear: Sexism’s Ugly Role in Federal Land Agencies


Introduced in 1970, the NPS offered seven different women’s uniforms, all included short skirts made of thin material. Most infamous were the go-go boots, when combined with the skirt offered a highly sexulaized and rather unprofessional look.

There is no doubt that for many, a career working in the West’s vast public lands is a dream job. From the sublime beauty of Yosemite to the sagebrush flats of Wyoming, federal employees spend their lives managing and protecting our national heritage.

But while recent events in Oregon have focused attention on the struggles between rural land users, recreationalists, and local and federal governments, a darker, more troubling story has begun to emerge concerning the culture of sexism and intimidation within federal land management agencies.

Last week, the Huffington Post’s online magazine Highline published “Out Here, No One Can Hear You Scream.” Written by journalist Kathryn Joyce and producer Emily Kassie, the multimedia piece exposes the pervasive culture of sexism within every federal land agency, telling the stories numerous women and their struggles with unwanted advances, intimidation, cronyism, and rampant misogynism. It is a powerful condemnation of a culture too long accepted, and well worth a read.

A longtime friend emailed me the story. With nearly two decades working for various federal land agencies primarily in the West, the women’s stories in the article struck a deep chord within my friend. “And here I thought it was just me being a “damn feminist,” she wrote before launching into a testimonial of her own experiences. Needless to say, they mirrored many within the Highline article.

Reading, and then rereading both the article and her testimony, I went from being enraged to deeply concerned. When combined with the growing violence, or threat of violence, against federal land managers as chronicled by the High Country News, the rhetoric calling to “return” public lands to states, the incredible pressures federal employees face in trying manage millions of acres of land while under attack from all sides that believe that their use/view has primacy over all others, and the good ol’boy-networks that often run most rural western communities, it is frightening what dangers women face when simply attempting to do their job.

What am I supposed to tell my eager young students who dream of someday working in a National Park, National Forest, or on BLM lands who romanticize long days under a western sun, hiking, four wheeling, and protecting our western public lands? It is difficult enough to express the complex politics, laws, and histories of these places. What about the daily struggles of simply being seen as an equal? Fending off unwanted, and often unprosecuted, sexual advances? The inequities in promotions, access, and acceptance?

I am not sure what the answers to these questions are, but I do know that they should start with an acknowledgement that these women are a part of our western communities. They are our neighbors and friends, and so should be treated as such. We need to demand accountability from local, regional, and even national land management offices in rooting out such behavior. And we need to combat the often red-hot anti-government rhetoric that targets federal employees and has led to events such as the illegal occupation of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge by armed criminals. All of these untenable situations have helped create a climate of fear and intimidation in which we ask our land managers to not only protect our national lands, but also to preserve them for future generations. This is a tall order under the best of circumstances, and an impossible one if half of our land managers are marginalized, harassed, and out-in-out ignored because of their gender.



Shawn Regan of PERC on Managing Conflicts Over US Federal Rangelands

The national conversation about managing grazing on public lands is becoming more thoughtful as groups across the country weigh in, many pointing to helpful publications that predate the events at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. One of those organizations approached BlogWest and we appreciated the perspective they had to offer. The Property and Environment Research Center (PERC)’s Shawn Regan, a prolific writer whose work you’ve probably seen in the High Country News, Grist, and the Wall Street Journal, posted a piece on January 8th entitled “Managing Conflicts Over US Federal Rangelands” that appears on the PERC site and as a chapter in a larger publication Ranching Realities in the 21st Century (Fraser Institute, November 2015). The author takes seriously the issues of property and water rights, and provides a comprehensive and understandable explanation of how convoluted and prone to conflict the legal and administrative structures that govern public lands have become. Our thanks to Shawn for his efforts in helping us think about these issues.

Essential Reading on the Incidents at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

Our good friends at The Institute for Mountain Research at Westminster College asked BlogWest administrator Leisl Carr Childers for a compilation of valuable resources that can help readers understand events at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge this past week. Click here to peruse the list.

Federal Policy, Western Lands, and Malheur

At the root of these controversies was not just “interest” in the conventional sense of an economic stake but values. The economic interest of producers undergirded their opposition. But at a deeper level of human response was the degree to which producers’ values were offended. They could not accept the notion that what environmentalists thought was useful and valuable was, in fact, so.

Samuel Hays

The federal government administers a lot of Western land.

Western federal lands.

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To people like those occupying Malheur, that large portions of the West are under the administration of the federal government is an affront to their sensibilities. These lands, they would contend, deserve to be opened up and sold to private entities, to expand private property ownership in the West and allow the land to be put to “productive” use. The continued presence of federal ownership, they’d argue, threatens the sovereignty of states and individuals. But these lands were never meant to be a “theft” from production. Quite the opposite. Except for wildlife preserves, most federal land management encourages the use of these lands—for recreation, grazing, military testing, and so on. Although these lands are regulated in the kinds of use they contain, they are, ultimately, used.

But that very use introduces a complex political problem referred to as “multiple use.” The western federal lands have many interests that need to be served. Multiple use urges “harmonious and coordinated management of the various resources” to “give the greatest dollar return or the greatest unit output.” By and large, although both sides might grumble about each other, public land officials and ranchers tend to work together—and must if we hope to reach a balance between the protection of land and its use for production or leisure.

The militants represent a long debate in the West. Many are pointing to the Sagebrush Rebellion. An apt comparison, in this case. At the policy level, public grazing law underwent dramatic changes beginning in 1970 with the National Environmental Policy Act, followed by the Federal Land Policy and Management Act of 1976 and the Public Rangeland Improvement Act of 1978. The combination of these legislative actions endorsed the environmentalist critique of livestock on the public range and sanctioned the reduction of livestock, which prompted a sharp reaction among ranchers in the West. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, what became known as the “Sagebrush Rebellion” called for the privatization of public lands.

The development of modern rangeland policy dates to 1934 with the passage of the Taylor Grazing Act, which placed all public domain lands under the control of the Department of the Interior that had been previously managed by the U.S. Forest Service. Furthermore, the act formed grazing districts under the control of local ranchers that had the power to issue, deny, and admit new grazers to the range. Secretary of Interior Harold Ickes formed a Grazing Division to monitor the grazing boards, which became the Grazing Service in 1939 before it was dismantled in 1946 and replaced again by the Bureau of Land Management. Although the Grazing Service was under the control of local ranchers, they nonetheless lacked the sort of control over public lands they desired. The Forest Service, which was not under local rancher control, administered greater regulatory services on the public range. Administrators in the Forest Service maintained that grazing permits were government-granted privileges for ranchers using public lands, and the permit did not grant ranchers private claims. This conflict—over who controlled the public lands—formed the basis of disagreements well through the 1970s and 1980s. The Taylor Grazing Act and the bureaucratic battles that emerged from it fueled early resentment towards government regulation of the land.

If the 1930s stirred western resentment, the 1940s placed ranchers on the defensive. Early in the decade, the House Appropriations Committee demanded an increase in grazing fees from the Grazing Service, followed by the Forest Service calling for herd reductions in National Forests in the years after World War II. Ranchers criticized the activist federal government as a giant leviathan encroaching on private property rights and free enterprise. As evidence of this growing controversy, government hearings over public land disputes ran almost continuously between 1941 and 1948. Public land controversies died down in the 1950s and remained relatively quiet until the 1960s and 1970s as the polarized politics between organized ranchers and environmentalists exploded over the issues of grazing on the public lands.1

The first stage of the battles between environmentalists and ranchers emerged with the implementation of the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) in 1970, which allowed federal agencies to take “actions significantly affecting the quality of the human environment” to “assure for all Americans safe, healthful, productive, and esthetically and culturally pleasing surroundings” and required agencies to provide detailed assessments of environmental impacts.2 Environmental impact statements, or EISs, became a source of legal conflict as environmentalists filed suits against the Bureau of Land Management (BLM), challenging their ecological assessments of the impact livestock grazing had on public lands. The first of these came from the Natural Resources Defense Council, which filed suit in 1973 to contest an EIS the BLM completed in evaluating its grazing program. The National Resource Defense Council argued the EIS insufficiently detailed the specific impacts at the local level. In December 1974 a federal judge agreed, saying that the EIS was not “fine-tuned” and failed to account for “individual geographic conditions.”3 The mounting pressure from environmentalists forced the agency to react and set in motion tremendous changes in public grazing policy to such an extent that a group of legal scholar noted “future historians may date the beginning of modern rangeland management from December 1974 when a federal district court ordered the BLM to comply with the NEPA.”4

Western federal land administration.

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The management and regulation of public grazing felt the impact of two more legislative measures before the close of the decade. The Federal Land Policy and Management Act (FLPMA) passed in 1976 addressed a series of issues related to Bureau of Land Management lands. Specific to grazing, the act took into greater account wildlife and recreation interests in setting range policy and declared that “the public lands be retained in Federal ownership.” Thus, the possibility of privatizing federal land was removed from consideration. Two years later, Congress passed the Public Rangeland Improvement Act (PRIA) that gave priority to range management, directing that range plans be “tailored to the specific range conditions of the area to be covered by such plan” and whether the plan would “have been effective in improving the range condition of the lands involved.” Legislation and federal rangeland administration gave rise to western resentment over land management.

The emergence of federal rangeland legislation in the 1970s coincided with the growing environmental movement and the concerns of consumers. Consumers questioned the application of chemicals to the foods they ate, such as growth hormones for beef and dairy cattle or genetically modified crops. Farm researchers at the end of World War II believed the use of chemicals would solve production problems and stressed technological efficiency that would improve crop and stock production.5 By the 1970s consumer-interest groups lobbied for food-processing companies to halt their purchases of agricultural commodities they concluded were unsafe, even if scientific evidence was inconclusive about the long-term health effects on humans. Consumers also expected safe drinking water uncontaminated by agricultural pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers, and runoff from large cattle and hog feedlots. Natural resources in the West were, in the words of Arizona Senator Paul Fannin, being “revalued in a Nation where open space, clean air and room to stretch and roam are becoming priceless commodities.”6

To western ranchers, environmentalists were conspiring to upend rural communities. In 1974, the South Dakota Stockgrower, a publication of the state’s cattle interests, wrote that “[ranchers must] become involved in plan policy making for his own well-being, otherwise, he may discover that pressure groups, technical planners and government agencies have established the policies for him.” The heated debates between ranchers and government regulation arose from a belief among ranchers that public lands were their land rather than land privileged to them. Ranchers complained that land planning threatened the “time-honored concept that the land-owner may do with his land as he ‘darn well wishes.’”7 Complicating matters further was the process of range permits that appeared to confer a right to use property. Thus, when environmental and rangeland regulations emerged from Congress, ranchers asserted their rights against what they saw as an oppressive federal regulation of public grazing administration. The lack of local input and perception of endless bureaucratic red tape fueled the call of ranchers accusing the federal government of replacing law with overarching administrative power and bowing to the interests of an environmental lobby.8

But it’s not just about the Sagebrush Rebellion, or the ones that preceded it in the 1920s, 1940s, and 1950s. The anti-government militants are tapping into a mythology almost as old as the West itself: that these small-time farmers are simply watching out for themselves and hoping to keep federal power from encompassing their lives and liberties. The militants in Malheur point to a “golden age” when the lack of federal oversight meant unfettered access to their lives and land. But that story overlooks a long history in the West of a few large land interests monopolizing thousands of acres to control access to water and rangeland. In the process, these cattle barons locked settlers out of vast territories. Only during the anti-monopoly age of the 1880s and 1890s were these empires dismantled as tensions and violence ran high among small farmers and ranchers, furious at monopolistic interests that tied up the West’s lands.

Yet this very concern over the government’s overreach collides with a dissonance that the federal government massively subsidizes production on the nation’s public lands. Ranchers pay low fees to work the land administered by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). At market prices, most small-time ranchers would be looking for other work. Land subsidies mean ranchers often receive a 93% discount on the land. Not to mention that the federal administration of public lands saves states massive amount of money they otherwise would spend on administrative costs, and much of the money collected by the government is funneled back to states to cover the possible loss of taxes they would’ve levied otherwise.

And let’s not forget: this is Pauite land, whose land claims were dismantled and eventually transferred to public domain as retribution after an uprising in the late nineteenth century. But the militants are not so concerned about the loss of Native sovereignty.

Ranchers deserve some empathy. They’ve been asked to adapt continually to changing political pressures and land management regimes. But the stridency of resistance has grown more violent, as High Country News reported last summer. And the militants in Malheur have claimed they don’t intend harm unless there are threats to remove them from the building. Ranchers have their place on the nation’s public lands, but those lands are subject to multiple interests—wildlife, recreationists, and so on all use these lands, and no group has exclusive use of the lands. We cannot forget that we, as a society over time, decided that these lands are worth protecting.

The complexities of the past have been replaced by the tidy myths of the present. We should continue striving for the equitable and collaborative use of public lands.

This post is cross listed with

  1. Karin Merrell, Public Lands and Political Meaning, 12-13; William Rowley, “Open Range to Closed Range,” 106-109. To complicate matters further, the Interior Department’s first director of Grazing, Farrington Carpenter, interpreted the Taylor Grazing Act as establishing range rights for ranchers, an interpretation Secretary of Interior Ickes stridently disagreed with. Ickes recognized the local thortonomy in the grazing districts, but sided with the Forest Service in maintaining that ranchers had not gained any rights to the public domain. See Merrell, Public Lands and Political Meaning, 135-168.
  2. 42 U.S.C. §§ 4321-70a (1988). The quoted language is from 42 U.S.C. §§ 4331(b) (1988).
  3. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc. v. Morton, 388 F. Supp. 829, 840 (D.C. Cir. 1974), Pacific Legal Foundation v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., 427 U.S. 913 (1976).
  4. Merrill, Public Lands and Political Meaning, 206; Charles Wilkinson, Crossing the Next Meridian: Land, Water, and the Future of the West (Washington, D.C.: Island Press, 1992), 95-98; George Cameron Coggins, Parthenia Blessing Evans, and Margaret Lindberg-Johnson, “The Law of Public Rangeland Management I: The Extent and Distribution of Federal Power,” Environmental Law 12 (1982): 535, 554.
  5. James Sherow, “Environmentalism and Agriculture in the American West,” in The Rural West Since World War II, ed. R. Douglas Hurt (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1998), 61.
  6. Fannin, quoted in Brian Q. Cannon, Reopening the Frontier: Homesteading in the Modern West (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2009), 154.
  7. “Land Use Laws Are Here To Stay, So Get Involved In Planning,” South Dakota Stockgrower (June 1974): 18.
  8. R. McGreggor Cawley, Federal Land, Western Anger: The Sagebrush Rebellion and Environmental Politics (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1993), 4-5; Merrell, Public Lands and Political Meaning, 202-204.

Cliven Bundy Revisited

I take back the term “empathy.” I’m not even sure I’m sympathetic at this point. Over the weekend, after the completion of a peaceful protest by several hundred marchers in Burns, Oregon, according to The Oregonian/, “a group of outside militants drove to the Malheur Wildlife Refuge, where they seized and occupied the refuge headquarters.” Among the militants were three sons of Cliven Bundy. Major news networks, ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN, and Fox, reported the event, several acknowledging that the unwelcome presence of the militia and the brothers.

The Bundy brothers were there to support the Hammond family, whose patriarch Lincoln and son Steven had recently been convicted of illegally setting two range fires and sentenced to the minimum of five years in prison. But, the demeanor of the Bundys is absolutely out of line. Though the brothers affirm that they are not “looking to hurt anyone,” they threaten violence if anyone threatens to remove them.

It is this position that places them outside the realm of empathy. Last summer, the High Country News investigated the incidents of violence against federal land management employees. In their efforts to protect their perceived rights–their unchanged access to public lands–they have dehumanized the personnel who strive to facilitate and regulate that access.

This is where I lose my grip on empathy. The nature of public lands, since their inception–first as property owned by the federal government under the Land Ordinance of 1785 (this predates the US Constitution itself) and then as property permitted under the Forest Reserve Act of 1891 and the Taylor Grazing Act of 1934)–necessitates collaboration. There are a wide array of interests represented on public lands, and all of these interests have legal and historical standing.

Public lands ranchers have a place on public lands, but they aren’t the only ones. Because of the multiple use concept, wildlife have shared equal footing with ranchers under the Taylor Grazing Act. As of the mid-1970s, wild horses and burros and outdoor recreationists receive similar consideration. And, the military has historically had more access to public lands than any of these groups. However, no one group is allowed to maintain exclusive control over this real estate. The nature of public lands and the multiple use concept which governs it necessitates collaboration and flexibility.

This seems to be what has been lost in the conversation: too many public lands users feel they are entitled to a majority share of those lands without consideration for other users. Some of this entitlement comes from their interpretation of what it means to be a historical user, some of it comes from the ways in which they interpret the very different pieces of legislation that govern public lands, and some of it is derived from the fact that private water rights provide powerful anchors to public lands use.

Even so, we all must work to accommodate each other on these lands–they are ours, what we have saved, both the iconic landscapes and the leftovers. If I have empathy for anyone at this point, it is for every single public lands rancher and official who strives with unending energy and patience to work out the kinks in pubic lands policy so that all can benefit.

Leisl Carr Childers is assistant professor at the University of Northern Iowa and author of The Size of the Risk: Histories of Multiple Use in the Great Basin.

Remembering a Mushroom Cloud

by Joseph E. Taylor III

I come from a place that knew what a mushroom cloud looked like well before Nagasaki, Hiroshima, and Alamogordo. That place is called the Nestucca Valley, but the relevant landscape is known more simply as “The Tillamook.” The relevant date is August 24, 1933. The relevant image is this:

US Forest Service, View of Tillamook Fire, Oregon from airplane, August 1933, National Archives

US Forest Service, View of Tillamook Fire, Oregon from airplane, August 1933, National Archives

The story is well known. On blistering hot day in mid-August 1933, a slash fire erupted on a logging operation in the Gales Creek watershed of Washington County, Oregon. The fire immediately ran out of control and into the Tillamook Bay watershed, consuming sixty-three square miles of old growth.

Then a blanket of fog mercifully quelled the flames. Trees still smoked, however, and in the early morning of the 24th a convergence of natural forces turned what had been a bad burn into a historical moment. The fog that had throttled the fire receded. Humidity again plummeted, and a hot, desiccating east wind kicked up.

East winds are never a good thing in the Pacific Northwest. Oregon folk wisdom about them parallels southern Californians’ tales about the Santa Anas. They last three days. They make people crazy. Something bad happens. In August 1933, catastrophe didn’t wait long.

Friends and relatives who lived through that night recounted their experiences decades later. People in Pacific City, Tillamook, Astoria, West Linn, and Salem awoke to a “kaboom.” The best guess is that those 63 square miles of scorched timber spontaneously recombusted, propelling a giant, wholly natural mushroom cloud into the stratosphere, some 40 to 50,000 feet.

Everyone even remotely close fled in terror. The fire burned an estimated 375 to 420 square miles of forest within a day. As a mental exercise, mark off a 20-mile by 20-mile square around where you live. Then imagine it going up in flames—all of it—within twenty hours. The forests burned for weeks and then smoldered for months. And then it burned again every six years in 1939, 1945, and 1951.

Russell Lee, Tillamook burn, October 1941, Tillamook County, Oregon, Library of Congress

Russell Lee, Tillamook burn, October 1941, Tillamook County, Oregon, Library of Congress

The devastation was total. Even the soil nutrients burned. It took heroic efforts to reseed the land. In the 1950s families planted seedlings in a publicized campaign to resurrect “The Tillamook,” but planes and helicopters did most of the work, casting seeds by the millions from the sky for years.

Those stories came back to haunt me this week, and not just because the West is burning. The West burns every year, and, at least to my mind, it ought to burn. Western North America is a vast disturbance ecology. For millennia fire was an intrinsic part of this half of the continent, at least until Gifford Pinchot and the Forest Service decided that fire was inefficient and must be stopped.

Generations of kids grew up memorizing Smokey the Bear’s admonition, “Only you. . . ,” only to learn later that all that responsibility set us up for something much worse. The reckoning came in Yellowstone in 1988, in the Kalmiopsis twice, in the Bob seemingly every year, and in many other forests as well. The absence of fire has turned the West into a pyro time bomb, the implications of which came rushing back in a photo from Saturday’s Portland Oregonian that others replicated on Twitter.

‏@mskatemills, August 22, 2015, Twitter

‏@mskatemills, “I woke up to this view of Portland, blanketed by smoke. There are 30 wildfires burning in Oregon and Washington.” August 22, 2015, Twitter

Portland was blanketed by smoke from the fires in eastern Washington. The foul air surged into the metro area on an east wind. The worst air quality of all (PM2.5 166) was in Beaverton, where my daughter lives. Happily, she was in Bend that day, but I know about bad air. I was born in South Central Los Angeles. It was an atmospheric sump in the leaded gasoline era, and the smog fouled everyone’s lungs. By the time I was four I had intimate knowledge of the inside of an oxygen tent. I do not wish that kind of coughing on anyone, let alone my daughter.

Yet here we are. I have watched fire seasons for a half century, and more and more I think about the next holocaust. It has been a very very long time since some forests burned. The blue oblong on this recent fire map highlights a large area of absence along the coast, and it no longer seems a blessing.


The Portland Oregonian‘s Interactive Real-time wildfires map

I have read ethnographic accounts by coastal Indians, tales told in the early twentieth century to anthropologists from Columbia University and the University of Washington. The Coos recalled a huge fire that swept westward over the Coast Range. Charcoal records suggest it happened in the early 19th century, well before settlers arrived. Fueled by an east wind, the flames were so intense they drove humans and animals alike onto the beaches. Descendants spoke of coons, deer, elk, wolves, cougars, and bears huddled in fear. It reads like a Rousseauian truce of the food chain, at least until Hell passed.

It has been a long time since we saw anything like that, 1933 to be exact, but the accumulated deadfall in the Coast Range, the product of fire suppression and reduced logging, is now converging with a warming and drying climate. I think about all this and wonder not whether but when an east wind in August will bring the next mushroom cloud.

Joseph E. Taylor III is a professor of History at Simon Fraser University.

Charles Redd Center to Webcast Its Fall Lecture Series

crcwsMake sure to mark your calendars for this year’s Charles Redd Center for Western Studies Fall Lecture Series on the American West, which will be webcasted live on the center’s Youtube channel.

The series will start off with University of Nevada, Reno art professor Peter Goin’s talk “Re-Visiting Tahoe: Then & Now, A Visual History” on September 17 and wrap up with our very own Leisl Carr Childers, who will be presenting her recent work in the lecture “Making Sense of Mustangs and Mushroom Clouds” on November 19 (OK, we might be a bit bias towards this one). Other speakers include UCLA’s Peter Nabakov, Carleton University’s Michael Hogue, Freelance writer and editor Sarah Fox, Emeritus Professor of History and Geography Richard Francaviglia, and Brigham Young University’s Jacqueline Thursby.

“The Redd Center has a long tradition of hosting scholarly lectures of the American West on campus, but while the quality has been great, the audience has been somewhat limited to those on campus,” explained Charles Redd Center Assistant Director Brenden Rensink on the center’s move to love cast the series. “We are excited to begin live webcasting our annual Fall Lectures Series so more can participate.”

Each lecture will take place at 11:00 a.m. Mountain Standard Time on the dates noted bellow. Audiences will be able to live tweet their questions for each speaker at @byureddcenter and on center’s Facebook page.

“One desired outcome would be for this to become a regular part of Western Studies professors fall prep – checking to see who the Redd Center is hosting and adding the events as meaningful parts of their undergraduate and graduate courses every fall,”said Rensink. Adding, “We hope the live streams will enable more of the general public to participate as well.”

Schedule of Lectures:

17 September 2015:

Peter Goin, Foundation Professor of Art, University of Nevada, Reno

Re-Visiting Tahoe: Then & Now, A Visual History

1 October 2015

Peter Nabakov, Professor of World Arts and Cultures, University of California, Los Angeles

How the World Moves: The Odyssey of an American Indian Family

15 October 2015

Michel Hogue, Assistant Professor of History, Carleton University

Metis and the Medicine Line: Researching and Writing the Transnational Histories of Plains Indigenous Peoples

29 October 2015

Sarah Fox, Freelance Writer and Editor

Stories from Downwind: A People’s History of the Nuclear West
5 November 2015 (7:00 PM, MST)

Richard Francaviglia, Emeritus Professor of History and Geography, University of Texas in Arlington

Map-making and Saint-making: A Cartographic History of Mormonism

12 November 2015

Jacqueline Thursby, Professor of English, Brigham Young University

Basques in the American West: Cultural Maintenance and Legacies

19 November 2015

Leisl Childers, Assistant Professor of History, University of Northern Iowa

Making Sense of Mustangs and Mushroom Clouds