In Hazard Perry Forest National Park one of the trails leads up to a fire lookout.
One summer I hiked up to it, not expecting anything other than to rest a while and turn around to head back down again.
“Did you want to fill up your canteen?” came a shout from the deck high above me. The ranger was looking down and waving.
I accepted his invitation, and followed his directions to ascend the stairs up to the entryway.
What a view from up there! Forest green carpeted the land for miles around. Granite rocky hills stuck up here and there. Off to the east I could see the mist from the falls, and the wide blue river leading to them snaked in and out of sight behind the trees and hills.
The ranger explained that while his main purpose was to keep an eye on fires (he even pointed out three that were burning, though nothing to be alarmed about) he also kept an eye on “idiots” as he called them.
He positioned the high-powered binoculars mounted in a post in the center, then motioned me to look.
I could see a man in a blue flannel shirt and green hunting cap paddling a canoe upstream. He was working pretty hard at it, and it occurred to me that the dangerous falls were just a few miles behind him.
“This guy is okay by me,” said the Ranger. “He’s doing the right thing. However, sometimes I see him just relaxing with his oars up in the boat, enjoying the river as he drifts downstream. That’s not recommended, but we don’t say anything.”
At this point I agreed, since I knew those falls very well from hearing about the many accidents and deaths that had occurred there.
“The worst, though,” continued the ranger, “is when he turns and actually paddles downstream, toward the falls”.
“Wow! What then?” I asked.
I write him a letter and warn him that he needs to turn around and paddle upstream again.
“A letter?”
“Yes, a well-written, serious yet tactful letter”.
“Does that work?”
“Well, he’s not gone over yet!”
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