through.
Gratefully yours,
Mrs. A. Wayne Ingard
Moscow, Idaho
Superintendent Davis forwarded the letter and photograph toRandy, and responded to Mrs. Ingard with his own letter, which stated, in part, âService to Park visitors is one of our primary functions, and we are always happy to hear that this important service is being carried out cheerfully and courteously.â
Mrs. Ingardâs glowing letter was the first of dozens that would eventually be filed in Randyâs meticulous archives in the attic of his home. None of these letters would be included in his government employee personnel file.
Even though Randy performed his duties admirably at the entrance station, it was not the reason he had joined the Park Service. Like his predecessor Gordon Wallace, Randy longed for the backcountry. It was a calling that had been eating at him nonstop since heâd hiked the John Muir Trail the summer before. He wanted to get far and away from the cars and blacktop of the parksâ most traveled routes and sites: the General Sherman Treeâwith its 36.5-foot-diameter base, the biggest tree in the worldâand the myriad quick roadside hikes that could be enjoyed by anybody with a few hours to spare while passing through.
After six weeks of inhaling exhaust fumes at the parksâ entrance, Randy helped load what appeared to be supplies for a small expedition into the belly of the parksâ helicopter. His first season as a backcountry ranger was about to begin.
As the pilot gained altitude, the cabins and roads at Ash Mountain became a distant memory. On a northeast flight path, the helicopter skimmed the granite walls of Moro Rock, taking a wide arc around Giant Forest, where groves of the worldâs largest trees seemed toy-like in comparison with the serrated teeth of the snow-clad Sierra Crest that filled the horizon to the east. Following the routes of rivers and streams, the pilot weaved into the high country as his wide-eyed passenger spun around to absorb every geographic feature. It was Randyâs first birdâs-eye view of a land he would describe to his mother as Eden.
Gordon Wallace had taken a similar eastern route into the Sierra wilderness some thirty years earlier, though his summer ranger supplies had been transported by a string of mules. Wallaceâs stock hadgrazed freely in any and all meadows; Randyâs rotor-powered steed was deemed less invasive to such meadows, despite the noise.
âDo not come and roam here unless you are willing to be enslaved by its charms,â warned Wallace in his memoir of his ranger years. âIts beauty and peace and harmony will entrance you. Once it has you in its power, it will never release you the rest of your days.â
By the time Randy jumped out of the helicopter onto the gravel shore of Middle Rae Lake, it was already too late. The spell had been cast.
CHAPTER THREE
INTO THE HIGH COUNTRY
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
â Henry David Thoreau , Walden
Only this simple everyday living and wilderness wandering seems natural and real, the other world, more like something read, not at all related to reality as I know it.
â Randy Morgenson, Charlotte Lake, 1966
WHEN RANDY MORGENSON hopped off that helicopter near the shores of the Rae Lakes on July 12, 1965, he landed in a new era of wilderness. The early environmental movement had long fought for the idea of protecting the wilds, not exploiting them. Now, with the passing of the Wilderness Act the year before, the National Park Service was struggling to balance two wholly conflicting philosophies mandated by the new lawâpreservation and use. Even preâWilderness Act, Sequoia and Kings Canyon had implemented grazing restrictions in certain areas where heavy use, if continued,
Gratefully yours,
Mrs. A. Wayne Ingard
Moscow, Idaho
Superintendent Davis forwarded the letter and photograph toRandy, and responded to Mrs. Ingard with his own letter, which stated, in part, âService to Park visitors is one of our primary functions, and we are always happy to hear that this important service is being carried out cheerfully and courteously.â
Mrs. Ingardâs glowing letter was the first of dozens that would eventually be filed in Randyâs meticulous archives in the attic of his home. None of these letters would be included in his government employee personnel file.
Even though Randy performed his duties admirably at the entrance station, it was not the reason he had joined the Park Service. Like his predecessor Gordon Wallace, Randy longed for the backcountry. It was a calling that had been eating at him nonstop since heâd hiked the John Muir Trail the summer before. He wanted to get far and away from the cars and blacktop of the parksâ most traveled routes and sites: the General Sherman Treeâwith its 36.5-foot-diameter base, the biggest tree in the worldâand the myriad quick roadside hikes that could be enjoyed by anybody with a few hours to spare while passing through.
After six weeks of inhaling exhaust fumes at the parksâ entrance, Randy helped load what appeared to be supplies for a small expedition into the belly of the parksâ helicopter. His first season as a backcountry ranger was about to begin.
As the pilot gained altitude, the cabins and roads at Ash Mountain became a distant memory. On a northeast flight path, the helicopter skimmed the granite walls of Moro Rock, taking a wide arc around Giant Forest, where groves of the worldâs largest trees seemed toy-like in comparison with the serrated teeth of the snow-clad Sierra Crest that filled the horizon to the east. Following the routes of rivers and streams, the pilot weaved into the high country as his wide-eyed passenger spun around to absorb every geographic feature. It was Randyâs first birdâs-eye view of a land he would describe to his mother as Eden.
Gordon Wallace had taken a similar eastern route into the Sierra wilderness some thirty years earlier, though his summer ranger supplies had been transported by a string of mules. Wallaceâs stock hadgrazed freely in any and all meadows; Randyâs rotor-powered steed was deemed less invasive to such meadows, despite the noise.
âDo not come and roam here unless you are willing to be enslaved by its charms,â warned Wallace in his memoir of his ranger years. âIts beauty and peace and harmony will entrance you. Once it has you in its power, it will never release you the rest of your days.â
By the time Randy jumped out of the helicopter onto the gravel shore of Middle Rae Lake, it was already too late. The spell had been cast.
CHAPTER THREE
INTO THE HIGH COUNTRY
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
â Henry David Thoreau , Walden
Only this simple everyday living and wilderness wandering seems natural and real, the other world, more like something read, not at all related to reality as I know it.
â Randy Morgenson, Charlotte Lake, 1966
WHEN RANDY MORGENSON hopped off that helicopter near the shores of the Rae Lakes on July 12, 1965, he landed in a new era of wilderness. The early environmental movement had long fought for the idea of protecting the wilds, not exploiting them. Now, with the passing of the Wilderness Act the year before, the National Park Service was struggling to balance two wholly conflicting philosophies mandated by the new lawâpreservation and use. Even preâWilderness Act, Sequoia and Kings Canyon had implemented grazing restrictions in certain areas where heavy use, if continued,
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