DAMN BOTTLES AND CANS!

By Jim Pfiffer

It was a beautiful November Sunday, gleaming with bright sunshine, temps in the lower 70s and trees ablaze in Crayola crayon colors.

I was hiking near the Elmira Water Board reservoir off West Hill Road near Harris Hill in Elmira, NY. The beginning of the hike led me across a grassy, flat-topped, sky-high dam with a wide-angle view of the reservoir, meadows and adjacent white pine forest.

The second half of the trip included a catch-my-breath trek up an old logging trail lined with oaks, maples and hickories on a sun-dappled forest floor thick with fallen leaves.

The ramble in nature was exactly what my body and soul craved after several days of a stomach illness that kept me from exercise, recreation and my daily dose of the outdoors.

I needed this hike to help me heal, recharge and reconnect with the countryside. 

There are no pharmaceuticals, vaccines or group therapies that heal as easily and enjoyably as a brisk tromp in the woods on a sunny fall day. 

It helps the environment, as well. Folks who use and enjoy the outdoors are more apt to respect it, care for it and learn about it. They become nature lovers, and Mother Nature needs all the love and protection she can get.

 I have hiked this water board route for over two decades. It’s one of my favorites. It offers so much to see, hear, smell, feel and wonder in awe. 

It’s a good workout up steep terrain, across downed trees and narrow streams and along a rutted, leaf-covered road.

But the reward in reaching the top of the hill is the magnificent wide-angle vista of the Chemung Valley radiating with autumn’s reds, golds and browns.

“This is going to be one of this season’s most enjoyable hikes,” I tell myself. “I can feel it.”

The conditions are perfect. My mind is tuned into nature’s frequencies, I’m packed with energy and the entrance to the logging road is within eyesight.

As I head toward it I stop to enjoy the sunshine sparkling off the water and the warm breezes bending the tall and dry meadow grasses in dancing waves of amber. 

Above me a miles-wide aqua sky is dotted with cotton ball clouds that cast moving shadows racing across the ground. 

As with all my hikes, I bring my decades-old ash walking stick and a plastic bag to pick up litter that others leave behind. It’s my way of thanking Mother Nature for the hike.

The bag fills quickly with beverage containers, Cheetos bags, crumbled coffee cups and other debris left there by other alleged outdoor lovers, who came there to hike, fish, shoot photos and relax. 

Why do they trash the very beauty and space that gives them so much for so long for free? 

Is it laziness and ignorance?

It’s more than an aesthetic issue. Do they know that it damages and kills plants and animals? Do they know it pollutes the land and water?

Do they care?

I’ve been trying to answer those questions and understand the trashing behavior all my life.

I know that these people will always exist.

I hope that people with plastic bags will always be there to clean up after them.

That’s what I’m doing as I admire Mother Nature’s artwork on display in her sun-warmed gallery blessed with the satisfying and earthy fragrance of dried leaves, fresh water and moist soil.

I see two men fishing a corner of the reservoir, beneath the cool shadows of pine trees. A shallow creek winds its way through the woods far below me. A pair of turkey vultures glide in a rising thermal thousands of feet above me.

Nature’s medicine is kicking in. I’m smiling, relaxed, feeling good and getting in fine tune with the outdoors.

The logging trail entrance is half a football field away. 

As I get nearer, I spot something I’ve never seen there – square yellow signs on trees.

“Noooo!,” I mutter to myself. “Please don’t be  “No Trespassing” signs.

But they are.

“Damn it!,” I mutter in head-shaking anger. “Not here. Not today. Not in this  beautiful place.”

The signs are signed in black marker by someone named “Weed” and include a phone number.

I pull out my cell and dial it hoping I can politely ask the landowner for permission to finish my hike.

Mr. Weed answers. I identify myself and ask for his ok to hike his property.

He is polite, but stern in his response.

“No,” he says. “I have friends (bow) hunting up there right now.”

I tell him I understand. Bow hunters, patiently sitting in tree stands for hours, don’t want noisy and odorous hikers scaring away the white-tail deer. 

I don’t give up. I don’t want to lose this hiking space. There is too much at stake. 

“When hunting season is over can I come back and hike here,” I ask. “I’ve been hiking here for more than 20 years.” 

“No,” he replies. 

I try to appeal to his respect for nature.

I tell him that I respect his property and his right to post it and add that I’m picking up trash along the way and have a bagful.

 “That’s why I posted it,” he says. “Too much trash.”

Before I can try another approach, he hits me with the dreaded “If I let you do it, I have to let everyone do it. They’ll see you hiking and think they can do it.” 

I know I’m not going to change his mind. Maybe he was reluctant to put up the signs, but his patience was as worn out as an old pair of hiking boots. I thank him and wish him luck.

As I turn and walk back, I angrily cuss out loud at the actions of a few ruining it for the many – me being among the many.

I’m seeing more and more landowners, who once generously allowed public access to their properties, now post it, prohibiting entry and enjoying the splendor of Mother Nature’s medicine.

The door has been shut, chained and locked to one of my favorite hikes.

As I dejectedly walked back to my truck with my hiking stick across the back of my shoulders and my forearms resting atop it in a hands-up stance, I realize there is something I can do.

I can write this post, vent my frustrations and maybe educate and convince people to stop ruining nature and limiting our opportunities to enjoy it.

In the end, the saga of the Litterbug serves as a cautionary tale: if we want access to beautiful private lands, we must all band together against this foe. The next time you see a stray soda can, take a stand, pick it up, and prove to the landowners that not all hikers are Litterbugs.

Only by respecting both nature and property owners’ rights can we hope to preserve public access to these cherished hiking destinations and to the healing salve of a much-needed hike in the woods.

Get more Jim Pfiffer humor at his “Full of  Wit” blog  https://fullofwitblog.wordpress.com/. Learn more about illustrator Filomena Jack at www.FilomenaJackStudio.com.