Washington state's big-sky country provides an abrupt transition zone that encompasses the eastern flank of the rocky, glaciated Cascades and the beginnings of the high desert that spreads further east. Roadless and wild, its forests are only disturbed by fire.
The Tiffany Highlands meadows support reclusive and rarely seen lynx, wolverines and grizzlies.
A large mule deer, but no large predator sightings to report, we did however see large patches of lupine, Indian paintbrush, krummholz (densely matted trees stunted by wind and snow), a couple of boletes, honey mushrooms, the grasses and sedges that grizzly like to forage through, and juniper. From our panoramic view from the peak of Tiffany mountain, we could see the British Columbia's Snowy Peak, the glaciated peaks of the North Cascades, the Pasayten peaks, Loup Loup Pass, and a wonderful expanse of high alpine forest tundra mixed in with a high-desert feel.
The Tiffany Highlands are an important corridor, both for large and rare predators, in addition to the unique flora and fauna that tend to thrive in these roadless places. Other major corridors include northern Idaho, where the Selkirk mountains cross over from rugged British Columbia.
Being in a corridor is inspiring--it gives hope that there are places on this planet still relatively untouched by humans. Their ruggedness gives the impression that they are places to visit and not dwell.
Because they're roadless, these corridors are lonely places. They're some of the last places in this country where you can truly see stars. (When we camp on the west side of the Cascades, for example, our star viewing is still impaired by light pollution from the Vancouver suburbs.) Even as seemingly wide open as the West is, still the furthest you can travel without hitting a road is something under 50 miles.
Here in the Tiffany Highlands, we ventured into roadless territory, just scratching the surface of roadlessness. But we could get a sense of the loneliness, which is the draw for us.
Roadless places, like the Tiffany Highlands, are so rugged and rare that one hopes they'll never be permanently inhabited by humans.
As human populations continue to grow, corridors and that unique flora and fauna that either dwell in them or just pass through disappear. And it doesn't just affect the grizzlies. Because there are too many of us, we've built upon the corridors, squeezing them ever narrower. Bringing terrible ethical considerations when it comes to fire. It's healthier for forests if we just let them burn. The fires clean up the debris and the overcrowding underbrush, allowing bigger, healthier trees to survive and thrive. But people build their vacation homes in places they shouldn't. Because they want their homes to be safe, like everybody else, these homeowners want fire suppression. Which makes the next fires even worse. When it hasn't been maintained by a regular routine of natural forest fires, the out-of-control underbrush explodes like a tinder box . But we continue building. The more we build, the more we squeeze the corridors ever narrower, creating even worse fires for the next year.
The corridors bring up another ethical question. According to a recent poll, most people in the Pacific Northwest would like to see the grizzly re-introduced into the North Cascades. I, too, would love to see the grizzly re-introduced here. And probably much moreso than the cardboard coffee-drinking polite happy talk people in places like Mulkiteo. I just wonder how much other information was presented. Because one needs to ask oneself: "Where the hell are we going to put these grizzlies?" East-West highways, like the I-90 and the beautiful Highway 20 that we all love driving on, make it very difficult, if not impossible, for large predators to move north-south along the Cascade crest. Nobody knows how many grizzlies use that corridor, but the 8 or 9 grizzlies that probably currently walk through the border to the U.S. side of the Cascades using the corridor, barely have room to themselves.
Daily, thousands of Subarus criss-cross the North Cascades, driven by well-meaning butterfly netters who think it'd be cool to see a grizzly while hiking but have no idea of what it's really like to run into a grizzly, which isn't to say I'm paranoid about running into a grizzly (one of the most heart-stoppingly amazing experiences one can have in the wild), I'd just like to minimize those experiences for the bears' sake.
Given vegetation and habitat needs, brown bears in this part of the world need something like 250 square miles each. I'd love to see grizzlies one day have this space to themselves again. And given potential political realities, maybe we'll eradicate ourselves from existence, leaving the bears and wolverines more than just a corridor to wander through. But before we have this re-introduction, we need to ask ourselves about just how much space are we willing to cede or at least come to grips with the noxious consequences we bring both intentionally and unintentionally to creatures like grizzlies when we encroach on their space. The human population will need education, in addition to a come-to-Jesus moment in which we realize that when we build vacation homes, when we procreate, we are encroaching on space that's shared with other animals. To establish ourselves too deeply, as we have, would mean continued extirpation of species over time or at the very least greatly reduce genetic diversity, as animals can no longer pass from one viable habitat to another. Which is fine, if that's what we want. We just to have balance in these considerations, weigh them in our priorities, and recognize that everything we do has consequences.
When we venture into these ethical questions of large predator populations and how they mix with humans, and how they use land and the corridors through which they travel, we have to weigh so many variables that are seen from so many different stakeholders' points of view. In the case of corridors, like the Tiffany Highlands, these perspectives cross international, state and other local jurisdictions' boundaries (parks, wilderness areas, recreation areas). We have to weigh in on natural resource extraction, impacts caused by recreation, among other impacts we have on this planet just by breathing. There are so many interest groups and their respective constituencies to consider that it almost becomes mind-boggling that we are able to co-inhabit places with animals like grizzlies or wolves, let alone consider the possibility of re-introducing these animals in places where they will more frequently run across human beings. There are no neat and tidy answers. The only thing we should know, and this is the only thing I can say with any certainty about every piece of knowledge I've gained in close to 40 years of existence and it goes for questions of predator re-introduction or climate change or land conservation or any real decision we make as human beings and I bold it to completely emphasize the only thing that I know for certain in this life and the only thing I'd really like to share with my fellow human beings: Every action we take as human beings, even with our best of intentions, is fraught with more problems for us to sort out.
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| The view from the precipice |
