| In Which, NPS Gets A Spanking |
| By “McCarthy Annie” |
| Thursday, February 13, 2003 — This story is incredible, but true. |
| Ever since the Pilgrim family bought 400 acres on the other side of those mountains behind Kennecott and deep in the heart of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, NPS has been keeping a hawkish eye on them. You see, nothing galls those National Park types more than private inholdings, especially when the landowners decide not only to clear a runway and develop and build on their property, but to go and live there—year ‘round—with their dogs, cows, goats, sheep, chickens, horses, and all fifteen of their children. And then there are the machines—dozers, tracked vehicles, trucks, snow machines, etc. The parkies really worry about these things, and periodically do low flyovers to check the situation out. |
| Over time, we locals have gotten to know the Pilgrims, and what we’ve seen, we like. As a family, they are God-fearing, peaceable, hard-working, sensible, and the most loving people we’ve ever known. Not only that, they are musical as well! Every so often these “Hillbillies for Jesus” come together with all their various instruments and broad range of voices, and give an impromptu bluegrass concert for whomever may wander by. |
| It has been with a growing sense of trepidation that our little community has witnessed NPS’s hostility and virtual harassment of our neighbors over the mountain. The rangers have been careful, however, not to do anything overtly illegal or outrageous to the Pilgrims. This, you understand, would be unwise. |
| That’s why these latest events in the series have caused such uproar here in our sleepy, nearly deserted town. |
| Early this week, Head Park Ranger Hunter Sharp arrived in McCarthy, accompanied by Park Ranger Marshall Neeck and another ranger. The men were in uniform and armed with handguns, despite the fact that it’s February, there are no tourists, and everything dangerous is hibernating. |
| As it happened, several of the older Pilgrims were in town, staying at their “McCarthy camp,” which is located just up the street from the McCarthy Lodge. The Pilgrim camp is, incidentally, also located just next door to NPS’s cabin and within full view and hearing, so when the parkies showed up, Elishaba, Joseph, Joshua, David, Moses, Job and Papa Pilgrim were well aware of the development. |
| There is no law that I know of which prohibits a person from sitting on his porch and watching his neighbor, so before dawn had splashed her bright palette upon the mountains, the Pilgrims had propped their door wide open and were busy drinking their morning coffee and—uh—watching their neighbors. |
| After breakfast and outhouse stops, Hunter, Marshall, and their cohort set out on snow machines, heading towards McCarthy Creek. Now, there is only one reason the parkies would come all the way from Glennallen to snow machine up McCarthy Creek. You see, the McCarthy Creek Trail is the only way to get to the Pilgrims’ homestead, and it runs right through prime park land. Hence, the rangers’ apparent mission was to do ground reconnaissance of the Pilgrims’ activities on the McCarthy Creek Trail. |
| Looking for some dirt, you might say. |
| Quickly discerning their purpose, the Pilgrims decided it would be in their own best interest to accompany the rangers on this questionably motivated journey. It was also decided that Country Rose, up at the homestead, should be apprised of the situation, so that she and the children could prepare for—ah—visitors, shall we say. To this end, David was speedily dispatched to Ma Johnson’s Hotel to phone the news up the mountain, while Joseph and Joshua prepared to follow the parkies. |
| Ring….. Ring….. |
| “Hillbilly Heaven.” Country Rose’s voice. |
| “Mama?” |
| “Yes. Is this Joseph?” |
| “Mama, the park rangers are headed up the creek on snow machines right now, and we’re going to follow them!” |
| “OK, and Papa is coming down the mountain with Moses and a couple little ones.” |
| “All right. Bye.” Click. |
| Soon David had caught up and they were all on the trail—three rangers, with three Pilgrims close behind. When the rangers stopped, the Pilgrims stopped right behind them. When the rangers moved on, the Pilgrims followed, sticking to their trail like trained hounds. When the rangers smiled nervously at them, the Pilgrims beamed joyfully, confidently, right back. Exasperated, the rangers took pictures of them, possibly hoping to intimidate them into leaving. The Pilgrims simply snapped their own cameras right back. After a while, the rangers decided their “escorts” should probably go on ahead, so they stopped their machines and gestured for the boys to go on by. Joseph, Joshua and David stopped their machines, smiled politely, and silently shook their heads. Negative on that. |
| After a time, they came to some old, rusty barrels which were lying haphazardly beside the trail. Aha, thought the parkies, Now we’ve caught them! They can’t leave fuel barrels lying around park property and get away with it! They stopped their machines, dismounted, took some pictures to record the evidence, and then approached the offending barrels. One of the men kicked a barrel, then turned to his companion. |
| “Sure enough. Full of fuel.” |
| The other man approached the barrel and aimed a kick at it. |
| “You’re right. I’ll make a note of it.” He began writing in his notepad. |
| Knowing that those barrels had been there since sometime in the last century, Joseph strolled casually toward them, brushing past the rangers as he went. Upon reaching the barrels, Joseph easily lifted the one which had just been pronounced “full of fuel,” and shook it from side to side. No sloshing sounds. Grinning roguishly, he lifted the barrel over his head and threw it into the woods. |
| So much for that theory. |
| As enforcement officers, Marshall and Hunter make radio contact with their dispatcher at prearranged intervals during the day. As check-in time drew near, they stopped their snow machines once again and began making radio contact with Glennallen. Joseph and his brothers pulled up, parked close to Hunter & co., and listened intently to the radio exchange. After the customary preliminaries, this is what they heard the Glennallen dispatcher inform the rangers: |
| “Yeah, Marshall, there was a call up the creek this morning from Joseph to Country Rose. He said that you guys were coming up the creek, and they were going to follow you. Then Country Rose said that a couple of snowmachiners were coming down.” |
| Hearing this, Marshall, who was manning the radio controls, quickly began to fiddle with the dials, turning down the volume while still trying to hear the dispatcher. Involuntarily, his guilt-etched face turned toward the Pilgrims. They would have to be stone deaf not to have heard that. |
| With a puzzled expression, Joseph turned to David. “Why did she say it was me who called? I didn’t call Mama.” |
| “Yes,” replied David, “but what you don’t know is that Mama thought it was you calling, and I was in too much of a hurry to correct her. That means that the only possible way that someone would know exactly what Mama and I said to each other without knowing that I was not Joseph, would be… THEY’VE BEEN MONITORING OUR PHONES!” |
| I don’t know about you, but whenever I think of government agents tapping citizens’ phones, I get just slightly edgy. |
| By the time the parkies and their escorts reached the edge of the Pilgrims’ land, Country Rose and the children (mostly little ones) had already arrived, armed with bowls of popcorn, cookies, and goodies. The boys had gone around and ahead of the rangers and were parked sideways across the trail, just inside their own property line. |
| With several Pilgrims blocking the trail, the rangers had no choice but to stop. Sizing up the situation and realizing that their chances of passing by the feasting multitude of Pilgrims without incident was close to nil, the rangers turned tail and, with a last defeated glance over their shoulder, slunk down the mountain. |
| I guess you can only push so much before folks start pushing back. |
| Next morning, the Pilgrim contingent was at their McCarthy camp post, door wide open, coffee cups in hand—watching the neighbors. With their mission (not) accomplished, the park rangers were preparing to return to Headquarters. Soon they were packed and ready to go, so they revved up their machines and... |
| Oh, no. Not this again. |
| Change of plans, turn off your machines and wait awhile. Needless to say, the Pilgrims turned off their machines, too. And waited. |
| Five minutes. |
| Ten minutes. |
| Twenty minutes. |
| After about half an hour, the parkies made a break for it and headed for the river, where they had parked their trucks. |
| The Pilgrims beat them there. |
| As Hunter and his comrades roared up, 11-year-old Job and 14-year-old Jerusalem were just taking their places on each side of the ice bridge, holding up signs which Papa had hurriedly scratched out, back at camp, on paper: |
| RIVER CROSSING BUILT BY THE PILGRIM FAMILY |
| PLEASE PAY $50 TO CROSS |
| With feet planted and arms folded resolutely, a steely-eyed Joseph stood in the middle of the ice bridge. Dismounting from his snowmachine, Hunter approached him. |
| “Joseph, I believe this is a public right-of-way. Do you intend to prevent me from crossing?” |
| “No, sir, but I do intend for you to pay, since my brothers and I spent a lot of time and money building this ice bridge.” |
| Dubiously, Hunter peered around the forbidding bulk of the man in front of him, craning his neck to more fully view the section of river in question. Slowly, a kind of understanding stole over his face, as he realized that, indeed, the ice bridge under his feet did seem to be man-made, which would mean that someone had to have worked hard to put it there. It hadn’t occurred to him that the bridge that he had so thoughtlessly traversed had cost someone dearly to put in place and maintain! And that someone was now standing before him, asking Hunter to pay for the privilege of using his bridge. |
| Well, fair enough. |
| Less authoritatively now, Hunter inquired, “Do you have any suggestions for another place to cross the river?” |
| “No, I do not have any suggestions.” Joseph was firm on this point. |
| Turning on his heel, Hunter retreated to the snow machines, where he joined his companions and the three of them made their way upriver, looking for a place to cross. |
| If you’re not going to help with the community’s improvement efforts, then don’t expect to take free advantage of the community’s improvements! |
| On another front, it was earlier that day when Keith Rowland, on his way to work, 4-wheeled by a piece of riverfront property he owns. The evening before, on his way home, he had noticed two unfamiliar trucks parked there, well over the easement boundary and squarely on his land. |
| Given the parking situation here in McCarthy, the last thing anybody needs is for someone to get the idea that their place looks like a good public parking lot! So Keith had gone home and prepared an inoffensive but pointed sign: |
| Just a friendly reminder: this is private property. |
| Please do not park here. Thanks. |
| Keith Rowland |
| 554 – 4498 |
| As he approached the trucks that morning with his placard, his glance fell on the license plates. U. S. Government. Hmmmmm… Gotta be the Parks! |
| His mind went back to the phone call he had received just an hour earlier from his neighbor and local newspaperman, Rick. The Park… looking for evidence against the Pilgrims… monitoring their phone calls… possibly been monitoring all of us… who knows how long?… |
| AND NOW I FIND THEM PARKED ON MY OWN PRIVATE PROPERTY?! |
| Well, there was only one thing to do, but by this juncture, his blood was beginning to boil, and Keith is not a man given to fits of temper. Aware that he was less than calm, and not desiring to simply react viscerally, he decided to ask for advice, so he whipped his machine around and headed for Rick’s house. |
| Besides being our local news reporter, Rick is also the pastor of the little community church here in McCarthy. At first, Rick thought Keith’s plan a bit too abrupt. “Maybe you should just call the Troopers?” But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that, for once, there may be justice and a long overdue message to those park people. After all, they own 13 million acres, including a developed parking lot at the kiosk just half a mile away! So why, in that entire vast expanse, did they choose to park their trucks on the Rowlands’ tiny little 5-acre plot? |
| For sure, something had to be done, and Rick would be there with his camera to record the whole thing. |
| Not too many minutes later, the camera captured the scene: Keith in his backhoe, grinning delightedly as he towed the trucks, one by one, to the McCarthy Road half a mile away. |
| Too bad they’d left the trucks in gear. The back tires now have less tread. |
| |
| A couple hours later, the rangers were trying to get out of town. |
| Ring… Ring… |
| “Hello, Rowlands—this is Laurie.” |
| “This is Hunter—is Keith there?” She detected urgency in his voice, so she deliberately slowed her answer. |
| “No-o-o-o…” |
| “Well, I’ve got to find him! Where is he?” |
| (Pause.) “Well, he’s doing remote freighting today. He’s w-a-a-a-a-y back in the woods.” |
| Urgency had by now become more like panic. “I need to talk to him! How can I get ahold of him?!” |
| She took her time. “Well, he ought to be in this evening, but maybe not before bedtime…” |
| But I’m not holding my breath. |