trailhead signs

Fire-free Mount Hood Wilderness?

/ Tom Kloster / 7 Comments

The ancient Whitebark pines on Gnarl Ridge have managed to dodge wildfires for centuries through their rugged isolation, but can they survive our wilderness campfires?

Fire season was off to an ominous start this year with the Rowena and Burdoin fires sweeping across hundreds of acres of oak and pine savannah in the Gorge, destroying several homes. Yet, these early fires were a bit of an anomaly. Thus far, at least.  We enjoyed a healthy, lingering snowpack in the Cascades this summer, and despite a late-August heat wave and the fires currently burning in sagebrush country east of the mountains, we’ve had a mostly cooler summer that seems more like 1980s than our overheated summers of today. 

I’ve pointed this out to a fair number of younger hikers on the trail this summer while crossing rejuvenated snowfields on the Timberline Trail in early August. Until sometime around 2000, when the effects of climate change seemed to be visibly escalating, this is what summers were like here: a three-month drought with a couple heat waves, to be sure, but mostly moderate temperatures and even a few wet summer storms to break up the dry spell. 

Our unexpected respite from extreme heat this year could also blunt the severity of our annual wildfire season, though it bears remembering that some of our most destructive firestorms have happened in September.

Not out of the woods with our fire season, just yet. The human-caused Riverside Fire started on September 8, 2020 and eventually burned 138,000 acres of the Clackamas River basin over the following weeks, much of the burn hot enough to create ghost forests where nothing survived. This scene looking into the Whale Creek basin is one of those places.

If we do make it past this Labor Day weekend without catastrophic fires in the Cascades – the five-year anniversary of the catastrophic fires that swept through in 2020 — odds are good that we will have enjoyed an unearned break this year in an otherwise non-stop era of major wildland fires. The emphasis should be on unearned, however, as we’re not making nearly enough progress in achieving a sustainable balance of healthy, beneficial fires in our forests. 

Instead, we’ve catapulted from a century of unhealthy fire suppression and unsustainable forestry into the unhappy payback: a modern era of destructive, catastrophic fires fueled by the combined effects of fire suppression and overcrowded clearcut plantations in a rapidly warming climate. Add in a climate-denying administration in Washington DC that seems bent on somehow turning our collective clock back to 1955, and we’re losing ground fast on what otherwise could be a manageable crisis.

So, yes. There’s plenty of room for frustration and discouragement with the current state of affairs. But there are also encouraging signs that a return to more enlightened times has already begun, and the pendulum is beginning to swing toward science sustainability, once again. With that in mind, and in the spirit of “planning for good times during the bad”, this piece focuses on simple actions that we could take locally to help slow some of the momentum of a wildland fire cycle that is burning our forests faster than they can recover. 

“We have met the enemy….”

You would be hard-pressed to find anyone under the age of 40 who knows what the “Sunday funnies” is (or was), much less Walt Kelly’s wise possum named Pogo. On the first Earth Day in 1970, Kelly produced a poster with the now-famous “we have met the enemy and he is us” strip, a play on a lesser-known military quote dating back to the War of 1812. Pogo’s version resonated, and Walt Kelly repeated it in this strip published on the second Earth Day, in 1971:

Pogo was right…

We’ve made real progress on environmental pollution since then, but Pogo’s observation could easily apply to our current wildfire crisis. Here’s a stunning statistic: research from the U.S. Forest Service in 2020 estimated that nearly 85 percent of wildland fires are caused by humans! That’s obviously an unacceptable number. The list of human causes? Campfires and debris burning are at the top of the list, followed by sparks from heavy equipment, fireworks and discarded cigarettes (arson is surprisingly high on the list – something to research for a future article?)

Campfires are the overwhelming human cause of wildfires

On our public lands, debris burning (as in logging slash) and sparks from heavy equipment mostly fall into the realm of logging and road construction, off-road vehicles and gas chainsaws used for firewood gathering.  If you narrow the focus to human-caused fires that begin in our protected wilderness and backcountry areas, the list becomes much shorter: campfires, discarded cigarettes and (rarely) fireworks.

Narrowing a bit further to something we can tackle right here in WyEast Country, this article will focus on campfires within the protected Mount Hood Wilderness, and the surprising lack of restrictions on them. Few even know there are restrictions, but if someone were inclined to look it up, the list of places where campfires are prohibited on Mount Hood is puzzling, at best. Here’s the complete regulation:

Mount Hood Wilderness regulations on campfires (USFS)

First, some context: TKO’s Wilderness Ambassadors are counting in excess of 300 people heading to Paradise Park on the Timberline Trail each day on summer weekends this year – and that’s just one of the gateway points into the wilderness. Even if you assume that some meaningful share of the tens of thousands who enter the Mount Hood Wilderness are aware of campfire restrictions, these rules still seem random and confusing. 

How would the average person know how far “500 feet from the McNeil Point Shelter”, or a “half-mile from Burnt Lake” is? What’s a “tree-covered island” versus a grove of trees at Elk Cove and Elk Meadows? The last rule is especially puzzling, though it seems to describe a near-total ban at Paradise Park. Add in the ever-shrinking number of Forest Service rangers available to patrol the Mount Hood Wilderness, and it’s hard to believe these restrictions are having any real impact as written, however well-intended. 

Making the case: Protecting the wilderness experience

Though seemingly random, the places on Mount Hood called out in the campfire ban is instructive. These are all heavily-visited places where the increased wildlife risk of campfires is compounded by a degraded wilderness experience. It’s a compelling argument that anyone who has visited these places over time can testify to, as the human impacts are all-too apparent in each of the spots listed – and getting worse.

Once the cutting starts, it’s hard to stop. This butchered Whitebark pine had the misfortune of taking root near the Cooper Spur Shelter, perhaps before shelter and Timberline Trail even existed. It was still living as recently as 2020 (when these fresh cuts had been made), even as novice hikers continued hacking it apart for firewood too green to even burn

That’s why impacts on the human experience are a great starting point in making the case for a more effective, comprehensive campfire ban within the Mount Hood Wilderness. After all, much of the wilderness is very heavily visited, and many other popular spots face the same pressures as those few included in the current campfire ban. If visible impact from heavy use is the criterion, the Forest Service has simply lagged behind in adding to this list.

So, where to start in expanding the list? How about the entirety of Elk Cove and Elk Meadows, not simply the “tree islands”? And what about Cairn Basin, Eden Park and WyEast Basin? Or the rest of the Timberline Trail corridor for that matter? If you were to add every spot along the trail where campsites overflow with backpackers each summer, the dots on the map would quickly merge, making the case for a total ban. It’s simply too complex to describe or enforce a nuanced campfire ban with today’s widespread visitor pressure across so much of the Mount Hood Wilderness. Everything inside the wilderness boundary deserves this protection.

Making the case: A rogue’s gallery of wilderness campfires

I’ve lost track of how many ill-conceived campfire rings that I’ve decommissioned within the Mount Hood Wilderness over the years, but it is an ongoing and increasingly frustrating task. Most of these were not strictly banned under the Forest Service restrictions described above, but they very clearly violated basic “leave no trace” ethics. Worse, they were typically left smoldering, almost always because they had been built in a place too far from a water source to be safely extinguished. So, the campers simply walked away, leaving the seeds for a human-caused wilderness fire to chance. This rogue’s gallery is a sampler of what we are up against:

Not even a fire ring here, just a campfire built on top of the underbrush and forest duff layer along the Newton Creek Trail. It’s dumb luck this fire didn’t spread – likely due to fortuitous wet weather arriving that fall. Note the half-burned limbs left in the pit – how long did they smolder before the rains put this fire out?

This fire had been built on top of Bald Mountain, more than a mile from the nearest water source. It is typical of new campfires in the Mount Hood Wilderness. Lacking a saw, campers simply burned the ends of uncut logs and limbs, often several feet in length. With no fire ring, even the small limbs are spilling out of the campfire, in effect creating lit fuses for this fire to spread to the dry forest duff in all directions – as it already had when I took to photo. The half-burned stump adds to the risk, as it could smolder for days without being properly extinguished. 

Another new firepit that had been recently built on a dry ridge top on the east side of the mountain, more than a mile from any water source. It was left smoldering, along with burned trash and (circled) cigarette butts that weren’t even dropped into the fire pit – checking two boxes for this fire on the list of most common causes

Amid the half-burned wood and charred foil, fire has a small orange flag you might have seen in heavily used fire pits during fire season…

…upon closer inspection, they turn out to be temporary bans put in effect during extreme fire risk. Placing these requires intensive wilderness staff capacity, though, and with no clear penalty identified for violators, are they even be heeded?

As some of these detailed captions show, new fire rings usually betray their builders. Almost aways, they contain burned foil, cans and melted plastic that a seasoned, knowledgeable backcountry visitor would never leave behind. Half-burned (and often green) firewood is the other giveaway, usually chopped with a hatchet that few experienced hikers would carry. They are also typically built on top of the flammable forest duff layer, instead of an area cleared to bare, mineral soil.

Smoldering, abandoned campfires don’t always put out a lot of smoke, even when they’re still very hot. This video is from a fire left burning in the Badger Creek Wilderness in the middle of August, far from any water source. Doubly frustrating was using much of my water supply on that hot day to put out a careless campfire…

The next photo set in this rogue’s gallery is a case study of the historic Cooper Spur stone shelter on the Timberline Trail, where misguided campfires are a recurring problem. The shelter draws regular overnight campers who, in turn, have built several rock wall windbreaks around tent sites. Not exactly “no trace”, but also not unusual on the mountain. In this case, they must also be viewed in the context of being next to a man-made stone shelter. The hand of man prominent here, however rustic.

Camping among the rocks at the Cooper Spur shelter has become increasingly common in recent years, thanks in large part to social media, and helping to drive the increase in campfires here

However, there is no water source anywhere near the shelter, so it’s not an ideal camping spot. It’s an even worse place to build campfires. Most campers at the shelter do abide by this obvious ethic, but the few who don’t leave a permanent record of their visit for all who follow in this very popular place. That’s because, beyond the lack of water to reasonably extinguish a fire, there’s also a lack of firewood… except for the federally-listed, threatened Whitebark pines that cling to life here, at nearly 7,000 feet elevation.

I’ve decommissioned many campfires here since unofficially adopting some trails in the area nearly 25 years ago. All of these campfires were perfectly legal under the current Forest Service rules, but also completelyunethical from a “leave no trace” perspective. They also fail simple common sense, given the obvious lack of a nearby water source to put them out. 

To put a face on this ongoing struggle, here are some of the rogue campfires that I’ve decommissioned at the Cooper Spur shelter in recent years:

This fire ring has been rebuilt against a boulder, directly in front of the shelter – a favorite location for the campfire builders

A closer look at the 2014 fire ring. The boulder is charred from many fires built here, but the rest of this ring was new, as you can see by the mostly uncharred, smaller rocks

Fuel piled next to the 2014 fire ring includes green limbs pulled from a nearby Whitebark pine, typical signs of a novice

In the intervening years since these photos were taken in 2014, I’ve disassembled and decommissioned this fire ring repeatedly, as the charred boulder seems to attract ever more campfire building at this spot. However, this year things seemed to escalate sharply. This was the scene in late July:

Three campfires – within a few feet of one another? The fire ring on the far left was built in the middle of the trail, the one below on the left was built (once again) against the same boulder shown in the 2014 photos and the fire pit in the lower right was also new – the first in this spot. A large stack of Whitebark Pine limbs, both dead and living, are piled over on the right

A closer look at the new ring built in the middle of the trail shows half-burned Whitebark pine limbs and an attempt to extinguish the fire by piling rocks on top.

A closer look at the new ring shows the rock source to be the recently collapsed corner of the Cooper Spur Shelter – those are mortar traces attached to the rock in this photo. Pure vandalism to use these rocks before they could be to repair the shelter, of course

Decommissioning all three of these fire rings at the Cooper Spur shelter meant carrying at least a dozen gallon-size ziplock bags of (cold) ashes to dump in a discrete spot, moving all of the visibly charred rocks from the area and covering up what was left with a light dusting of loose gravel. However, the char marks left on the large boulder in this newest fire location will be there for many years to come, likely encouraging more fires here so long as they are legal.

This was among the charred Whitebark pine logs scattered from the three fires, apparently in an attempt to put the fire out? This log was cut with a hatchet, another telltale sign of a novice camper

What’s left of this Whitebark pine near the three new fire pits at the shelter shows signs of limbs being sawed, chopped or simply broken off. The stumps still have their bark, so it’s unclear if this was a living tree when it was targeted for firewood

While it has been a frustrating rinse-and-repeat cycle to continually undo these fire rings, it’s also informative. They point to wilderness visitors who require very simple, understandable and enforceable regulations. Even if the area around the shelter were added to the current list of banned places on the Forest Service list, the campfires would almost certainly continue, given the lack of awareness of where fires are prohibited in the wilderness.

Making the case: Current rules aren’t working

In researching this article, I spoke to several seasoned hikers who have been visiting the Mount Hood Wilderness for many years. Even among this veteran cohort there was tremendous confusion and misinformation about the restrictions that do exist, or even where to find them. Some were adamant that campfires were already banned “above the Timberline Trail”, while others believed the ban was “above the timberline”. None could name all of the place-specific bans described in the actual policy, and most could only name one or two. This level of misinformation among the most experienced hikers bodes poorly for the thousands of less-savvy visitors to the wilderness each year might know.

Today’s wilderness hikers on Mount Hood rely more on social media and third-party phone apps for their trail information than on official web content from public agencies, making it increasingly challenging to communicate rules and restrictions

The lack of awareness and understanding of the existing campfire ban is easy to diagnose. First, the official Mount Hood National Forest website is labyrinth, and it’s especially tough to navigate if you’re looking for recreation information. When I Googled “Mount Hood Wilderness”, only the unhelpful Mount Hood National Forest home page and generic “recreation” page showed up in the top 20 search results. Both are dead-ends.

The crucial link for wilderness information (including campfire regulations) is found elsewhere on the website, on a page describing all of the wilderness areas within the national forest – a page Google did not find with a search for “Mount Hood Wilderness.” From this page, the link to information on regulations for the Mount Hood Wilderness is buried in a text blurb that contains a link to this external website describing the campfire policy. 

Even a specific Google search for “Mount Hood Wilderness Regulations” takes you to the generic wilderness page for all wilderness areas, where you would still need to track down the buried link to the external page that actually lists the regulations. Few will ever find this information, unfortunately – including Google’s search engine. Google’s AI-powered search provided an even more confusing result, reporting a complete ban on wilderness campfires (!) followed by a partial mention of the actual policy (only for McNeil Point and Ramona Falls):

Google AI not so intelligent when it comes to finding USFS regulations…

So, the internet isn’t much help in tracking down the existing campfire regulations. However, the current ban is clearly described at wilderness trailheads around Mount Hood – if you look closely – along with general guidelines on wilderness ethics, including no-trace ethics campfires.

These are the trailhead signs at the Cloud Cap trailhead, the entry point for the Cooper Spur Shelter, and the standard signboard format for most wilderness trailheads on Mount Hood:

There’s a lot of information at Mount Hood’s wilderness access points. Look closely at this sign at the Cloud Cap trailhead and you might find the limited restrictions on campfires (circled)…

…and a closer view of the campfire restrictions from the above wilderness trailhead sign. The wording here is simplified from the official regulations, yet still quite nuanced for visitors unfamiliar with the wilderness

A second sign at the Cloud Cap wilderness trailhead provides still more information for visitors. The two arrows point to additional info on campfires…

…this enlarged view of the inset on the upper right calls for “minimizing” (highlight added) campfire impacts under the Leave No Trace (LNT) principles…

…and the inset on the left side of the second trailhead sign lists special rules for wilderness, including “cutting or otherwise damaging timber, tree or other forest product” (highlight added)

The current, limited campfire ban is also posted on the back of required wilderness permits, which are required at the Mount Hood Wilderness entry points (except this year, unfortunately, due to Forest Service staff cuts):

There it is! The red arrow points to the Mount Hood Wilderness regulations printed in full on the back of the permit

A closer look at the permit shows a nearly complete version of the existing, limited campfire ban within the Mount Hood Wilderness, albeit slightly simplified from the online, official version

So, the regulations are certainly available enough where it matters – at the trailhead. But the fact that so few know or understand them suggests they aren’t really being read by wilderness visitors – whether on the entry signboards or on the back of permits. That’s likely a case of information overload (there is a lot to read on these signs) and human nature (does anyone really read instructions before assembly..?)  Add the complexity of the regulation, and it translates into a policy that is not only too limited in its geographic scope, but also in its effective communication to wilderness visitors.

Making the case: Protecting human life and property

Do the risks and impacts that campfires present at the Cooper Spur Shelter and elsewhere in the Mount Hood Wilderness warrant a total ban on campfires? Thirty or forty years ago, my answer would have been “no”. But the current state of our forests and changing climate doesn’t leave us the luxury to be romantic or sentimental about campfires.

Cloud Cap Inn covered in red fire retardant during the Gnarl Fire in 2008. This historic, priceless 1889 gem narrowly survived the event (USFS)

Cloud Cap area transforming into a massive ghost forest of bleached snags in 2010, two years after the Gnarl Fire

We’ve seen a string of three major fires in the Mount Hood Wilderness in recent years that have completely altered the forests on the north and east slopes of the mountain: the Bluegrass Fire (2006), Gnarl Fire (2008) the Dollar Lake Fire (2011) all burned hot across thousands of acres of subalpine Noble fir, Mountain hemlock and Western larch at an unsustainable pace, leaving large expanses of ghost forest that are only beginning to regenerate today. 

None of these fires were human-caused, surprisingly. But there’s little comfort to be found there, given the number of people who visit the wilderness each year – and the number unattended, smoldering campfires they leave behind.  

It’s also only a matter of time before similar wildfires return to the south and west sides of the mountain, where a century of fire suppression has left these forests primed for a major fire. And the risk to property and human life on the south side of the mountain is far more significant.  Early photos like those below show the extent of the most recent fires to rage through today’s Government Camp area in the decades before the completion of the Mount Hood Loop Highway in the 1920s, and the subsequent flood of ski resorts, Forest Service cabin leases and homes on private land that followed.

This view of the Government Camp area from Multorpor Fen before much development had occurred on the mountain. The arrows point to the ghost forests that marked widespread burns across what are now heavily developed ski resorts and private homes on Mount Hood’s south flank. After more than a century since these fires burned through, the south side of the mountain is primed for a major wildfire

While the surge in recent wildfires on Mount Hood has focused on the east and north sides of the mountain, the west and south sides were the main focus of wildfires in the early 1900s. This view is of Mirror Lake in about 1900, when much of the area south of today’s US 26 had burned in the Kinzel fire

This later view of Mirror Lake from the 1920s shows little forest recovery – and the beginning of what is now more than a century of camping — and campfires

The risk to human life and property only grows as you move to the Zigzag Mountain arm of the wilderness. Zigzag Mountain comprises a complex of forested ridges and peaks that extends ten miles west from Paradise Park on Mount Hood to the community of Zigzag, where the Zigzag and Sandy River valleys converge. Zigzag Mountain and much of the surrounding area burned repeatedly in the early 1900s, long before there were thousands of people living in forest homes along both rivers and scores of businesses had located along this section of the Mount Hood Loop Highway.

The view from Devils Peaks in the 1930s looked much different than today. The peak, itself, had recently been burned over in the Kinzel and Sherar fires, while the area north along Zigzag Mountain was also burned in a series of very large fires in 1904 and 1910 – including the Burnt Lake Fire

[click here for a large version of the Zigzag Mountain infographic]

While it is inevitable that wildfires will someday sweep through these areas again, igniting one with an unattended, smoldering wilderness campfire doesn’t have to be the cause. And while the Zigzag Mountain portion of the Mount Hood Wilderness is less busy with visitors, the human and property risks from wilderness campfires here are far greater because of the proximity to developed areas immediately adjacent to the wilderness. 

Making the case: Protecting the Whitebarks

Protecting human life and property is deservedly the driver in wildfire management, but on Mount Hood, the impact of wilderness campfires extends to our threatened Whitebark pines. I described both their significance as a keystone species and plight in this article several years ago. These are trees worth protecting. 

Their ability to thrive in extreme, high elevation environments is part of their secret to dodging forest fires. The ancient groves of Whitebark on the mountain are often so isolated and scattered in their alpine setting that fires racing through the more continuous subalpine forests far below have repeatedly missed them simply because they were out of reach from the flames.

This advantage was borne out again with the recent fires on the east and north sides of the mountain, where the flames seemed to die out as they reached the tree line, well short of many of the ancient Whitebark groves. Their remote habitat is not out of our reach, however — or the impact of our campfires. 

This unlucky Whitebark pine has been harvested down to a stump for firewood at the Cooper Spur Shelter

The campfire threat to Whitebarks comes from being hacked apart for scarce firewood this far above the tree line. However, Mountain hemlock and other subalpine species are continuing to spread upward in elevation in our warming climate, infiltrating the once isolated Whitebark Pine groves, and thus increasing their exposure to wildfire.

Mature limbs from Whitebark pine in a large fire pit on the summit of Lookout Mountain, in the Badger Creek Wilderness

There is also an important aesthetic argument for caring about our Whitebarks. While you can’t place a dollar value on the visual and emotional impact of seeing a massive, ancient Whitebark pine in the wild, for most of us it is an awe-inspiring sight. Their contorted shape and especially their bleached bones tell a story of remarkable survival – but they can also provide senseless firewood to a few campers who don’t know any better. 

These ancient Whitebark pine skeletons are as beautiful and dramatic as they are vulnerable: the fire pit in the previous image is just a few yards beyond this grove

Beyond our human impact on these trees, Whitebark pine are experiencing a massive die-off across the West from a invasive diseases, insect infestations and worsening drought episodes driven by climate change. This has led them to be federally listed as a threatened species. Given their plight and importance, Whitebark pine may be the best reason for a total campfire ban in the Mount Hood Wilderness.

Whitebark pine along the Timberline Trail selected for seed harvesting in a Forest Service project to help save the species

Seed collection bags on one of Mount Hood’s selected Whitebark pines for genetic research

Since the 1990s, scientists at Mount Hood National Forest have been part of the national recovery effort for Whitebarks, where seeds are being collected from disease resistant trees for propagation to help replace groves where widespread die-offs have occurred in recent years. For more information on this effort, check out the Whitebark Pine Ecosystem Foundation, a leader in the effort to rescue this unique species.

All of these arguments – the threats to our remaining forests, to human life and property and to the Whitebarks — bring me to the conclusion that now is the time for a complete ban on campfires within the Mount Hood Wilderness. No exceptions. Just a simple, understandable and permanent ban.

Making the case: How it’s done elsewhere

The Park Service bans all wilderness fires within Mount Rainier National Park, a model for Mount Hood (NPS)

No doubt the Forest Service would be wary of doing this, but there is already precedent within our national parks. Mount Rainier National Park bans campfires in all backcountry areas, the equivalent of wilderness there. Many western national parks have complete bans seasonally every summer – including in their campgrounds – often beginning as early as late May or early June. These include North Cascades, Olympic, Crater Lake and Mount Rainier national parks in the Northwest, and several other national parks across the country.

Wilderness campfires are completely banned at Rocky Mountain National Park (NPS)

Kings Canyon National Park has a limited prohibition, banning campfires only in alpine areas above 10,000 feet – an abstract metric that would be unlikely to register with newbie hikers most prone to building campfires in these areas (NPS)

Beyond the goal of simply reducing the risk of human-caused fires, the simplicity of complete campfire bans helps compensate for the inevitable lack of enforcement capacity in wilderness areas, whether in national parks or forests. Unattended or dangerously built campfires aren’t there because people want to start a wildland fire, they’re simple a result of ignorance of the risks they present. 

The Park Service approach is a simple, direct, teachable way to serve both outcomes – to prevent the risk of human caused fire, and to educate the public on the reality of the risk. A total ban is at least something that can be understood and thus has a chance of being reasonably self-enforced.

Making the case: Taming our inner caveman…

Heat, light and cooking, all in one. We do seem to retain a primal connection to fire (…that looks to be one of my ancestors on the left, by the way – holding a very large marshmallow stick…)

There’s an undeniable romance with campfires that gives pause to land managers like the Forest Service when it comes to pre-emptively regulating them. Yet, human-caused catastrophic wildfires in WyEast Country in recent years in places like the Columbia River Gorge in 2017 (infamously caused by teenagers with fireworks) and the massive Clackamas Riverside Fire in 2020 (apparently caused by a campfire) have begun to change that posture, albeit very gradually.

For the past few decades, the focus of culture change with wildfire has been on a better public understanding of the benefits and necessity of fire in our forest. It’s an essential piece of changing our attitudes, especially since prescribed burns continue to be controversial — despite their proven value. However, letting go of campfires as a ritualistic part of the outdoor experience has not been directly confronted by the Forest Service – yet. 

The mythology of the American West in the 1800s continues to be another part of our romance with campfires. These cowboys are preparing their morning Double Caramel Frappuccino with freshly baked Petite Vanilla Bean scones…

The utilitarian purpose of campfires for cooking is long gone. For wilderness backpackers, alternatives to a wood fire for cooking came in the early 1950s, when compact gas and alcohol stoves were first developed, based on portable military stoves. Today, the advantage of stoves for their simplicity, ease of use and certainty for cooking has made them standard practice for backpackers. And while it’s true that you can’t roast marshmallows or hot dogs over a portable gas stove, that’s what our developed campgrounds offer.

It is true that a fire can be a life-saving source of heat in a wilderness emergency, but so can proper clothing and shelter that are among the 10 essentials that every hiker should carry. And a rare emergency survival fire that might be warranted still represents a fraction of the impact and risk that not having any limit on campfires represents. 

Our modern-day connection of campfires to the camping tradition began with the arrival of the automobile and developed roads into our public lands in the 1920s. Though early adopters hauled everything for their campsite in their Model T, developed public campgrounds with picnic tables and formal campfire pits soon followed. Campfires in developed campgrounds today are rarely the source of wildfires today, so they continue to provide a safe solution for campers looking for that S’mores experience

In the end, the most personally compelling case for a ban in our time may be the environmental impacts and risk of wildfires that campfires bring. People head for the wilderness to get away from the human-impacted world, and the despair and sense of loss that so many have shared from our recent, catastrophic fires in the Gorge and on Mount Hood underscore just how personal the connection to wilderness is. That’s a winning argument for a ban that most would understand. 

Wilderness is special, and this is where a broader understanding of the ethics of wilderness campfires could begin. What not begin growing that awareness here on Mount Hood? 

Making it Happen…

The good news is that a national forest supervisor can make this happen with the stroke of a pen, as these policies are made at the local level. The most direct approach would begin with signage at Mount Hood’s wilderness trailheads, with both regulatory and interpretive messages. For those who take the time to read the signboards (and we salute you!), the messages already posted could be adapted to make the interpretive case for a campfire ban. 

However, if the goal is to get the message across to the majority of visitors, a blunt, direct and unavoidable approach is warranted. Like this sign – which, for the record, is not a real Forest Service sign (yet):

Keep it simple and direct. To ensure visibility, a sign like this should be posted away from the information overload of the main signboards and directly below the wilderness boundary markers that that are typically the last sign a hiker passes when entering the wilderness. Again, this example is from Cloud Cap, where you can see the wilderness marker in the distance, just up the trail:

Make the campfire ban (and associated fine) the last thing hikers see as they enter the wilderness, where it might just catch their attention…

To reinforce this very direct approach, the same message could be added to the front of the wilderness permits to better catch the eye of those of us (ahem) who are clearly not reading the back of the form:

…and make it the first thing they see when they complete their wilderness permit

Where would this ban apply? Everywhere inside the Mount Hood Wilderness boundary shown below. The wilderness has been expanded several times since the “Mount Hood Primitive Area” was first designated as wilderness in 1964. This is the current boundary where the campfire ban would apply – and including a ban icon on maps like this could be still another helpful reminder for visitors:

The boundary of the Mount Hood Wilderness where the campfire ban should be enacted

[click here for larger view of the map]

While I’ve highlighted what most consider to be the Mount Hood Wilderness on this map, several nearby wilderness areas have been created or expanded since the 1980s, including the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness and Badger Creek Wilderness, as well as smaller pocket-wilderness additions at places like Twin Lakes and Tom Dick and Harry Mountain. Should these areas be included in the campfire ban, too? 

My answer is no, at least for now. That’s because these areas are mostly less visited and – with the exception of the summit of Lookout Mountain in the Badger Creek Wilderness — don’t have a Whitebark pine population that could be impacted by wilderness campfires. Over the longer term? Yes, these areas should also be included, as we continue to grapple with the wildfire crisis that is unfolding in our forests.

Why it matters…

Ancient Whitebark pine just off the Timberline Trail on Gnarl Ridge

I’ll close with a photo of one of my favorite Whitebark pine ancients (above). It has likely been growing in this sandy flat near the crest of Gnarl Ridge for at least a couple centuries. And it therefore likely witnessed multiple eruptions of smoke and ash from Mount Hood in the late 1700s as a young tree, the last major eruptive period on the mountain.

This old survivor was just getting established here when Lewis and Clark opened the floodgates to white settlement, and thus far it has survived our arrival in the intervening 200 years. Because of its remote home on the mountain, it also survived the Gnarl Fire in 2008, and very likely other wildfires on Mount Hood’s east slope over the centuries. So far, it has also survived the bug and disease infestations attacking our Whitebark pine forests.

Constant sculpting of this ancient Whitebark pine on Gnarl Ridge from blowing sand and ice crystals prevents the it from oxidizing to grey before it is sanded away, continually revealing the underlying color of the wood

This old tree is also about 200 feet from a group of tent sites along the Timberline Trail. What it may not escape is some camper snapping off its ancient, gnarled limbs for firewood — or worse, a spot wildfire caused by an unattended campfire left burning here for lack of a nearby water source on this windy, exposed alpine ridge.

For me, helping these threatened survivors live another century so that future generations might see and be inspired by them is perhaps the reason of all for finally putting an end to our wilderness campfires.

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Tom Kloster • August 2025

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Postscript: I’ve noted this in recent articles, but it bears repeating: this piece is written at a time when the Forest Service, National Park Service and Bureau of Land Management are under siege from a hostile administration in an unprecedented, orchestrated and blatantly corrupt attack on our public lands. My intent is certainly not to pile on at a time when our public workers at these agencies need our support and respect. 

However, I also accept the unfortunate reality that it will take many years to restore these organizations. In the meantime, we will need new approaches to protecting our public lands until we eventually rebuild the agencies charged with their management.  This article is written in that spirit and in deep support for our public lands agencies.

To leash… or not to leash? (hiking with dogs)

/ Tom Kloster / 8 Comments

The author with our current pack — Shasta, Whiskey and Weston

There probably isn’t a more divisive topic among hikers than whether dogs should be leashed on trails. To qualify myself, I’ve included a few images of me with the beautiful pack of dogs that pretty much run our lives. We love dogs (and cats). My wife and I have owned 11 in our nearly 41 years together, with plenty of time spent in the outdoors with them. For what they are worth, those are my bona fides for posting this opinion piece!

My own experience as a longtime dog owner informs me on a couple fronts in the debate over leashes. First, owning a dog is an ongoing learning experience where the humans become increasingly aware of what is (and isn’t) in their control when hard-wired canine behavior simply takes over, no matter how well a dog has been trained. Second, nobody can love your dog as much as you do, and — can it be true? — sometimes people might really dislike your dog! What is  wrong with these people?

Dogs and exploring have gone hand-in-hand since the evolution of domestic canines. This rare trail scene is from around 1900 on the west summit of Lookout Mountain, with Mount Hood in the distance. Rover is even caught barking in this unusual image (head sticking in on the far left)

And thus the ongoing debate over leashes and trails. It really shouldn’t be a debate, because dogs should ALWAYS be in a leash on hiking trails. If they need a space to play unleashed, and don’t have room at home or a fenced backyard, then a dog park is semi-safest bet. Otherwise, when dogs are outside the home, they should be on a leash – especially on hiking trails.

Why? Aren’t trails meant to be a place where both you and your dog can escape the stresses of urban life and become immersed in nature? Absolutely. But as a physical space, trails are narrow, confined spaces, often in steep terrain with little room to navigate approaching hikers – or for other hikers to navigate you and your dog. This is especially true for our most popular trails, where you likely to encounter many other hikers, often with their own dogs. Keeping your dog on leash is as basic a gesture of mutual respect for others in sharing the trail. And while we humans find roaming a tree to be a stress-buster, dogs are usually more stressed off-leash than on one. They’re pack animals and leashes (with the pack leader at the other end) help maintain the pack order they crave.

Oregon Humane Society Technical Animal Rescue Team (OHSTAR) volunteers in 2014 rescuing an off-leash dog that had fallen over a 150-foot cliff in the Columbia River Gorge. Most don’t survive these falls (photo: OHS)

Leashing your dog also protects it from harm, especially from other dogs. Dogs on trails behave differently than they might at home, including how they interact with other dogs they may perceive as a threat in an unfamiliar place. Unleashed dogs in WyEast Country also fall from cliffs in the Columbia River Gorge with regularity, and usually don’t survive. Rescuing those that survive the fall often involves putting volunteer crews at risk. This is why the Oregon Humane Society (OHS) recommends always keeping your dog on a leash when on the trail.

Perhaps most compellingly, leashing your dog helps avoid traumatizing other people who may have a deep fear of dogs, especially large dogs. This includes young children inexperienced with dogs, and whose lifetime perspective comes from their earliest encounters with animals, especially big dogs. 

When leashes are required… should you say something?

I hiked the Labyrinth Trail in the east Columbia River Gorge a few weeks ago, and noted the obvious sign at the trailhead: leashes required from December 1 through June 30. Winter and early spring are my preferred seasons for this trail, so it has been an ongoing frustration of mine to see so many people flouting this simple rule. After all, it’s intended to protect wildlife during a vulnerable season, who could disagree with that? Normally, I just grit my teeth and greet folks in a friendly way, but with a thought bubble that says “didn’t you SEE the sign?”

Yes, this signpost at the Labyrinth Trail is busy and somewhat confusing….

…but the leash requirement is quite clear!

Within a minute of taking the above photos, two hikers came from behind me with a pair of dogs off-leash, glanced at the sign, and walked right by without pausing to leash their pups. Emboldened by my recent high-speed chase for my stolen backpack, I decided to self-deputize as a ranger for some enforcement of my own that day, and speak up to people who had their dogs off-leash. I made the trip an experiment in “reminding” folks of the seasonal leash requirement. The response was not what I expected!

Over the course of that cool, clear Sunday afternoon, I encountered eight separate groups of hikers with dogs. Seven groups were on the main trail, and of these, only two had their dogs on-leash. The eighth group was walking along the abandoned section of highway that leads to the signed trailhead, and had two dogs on leash. Of the five groups who had dogs unleashed, the degree of roaming ahead of their owners varied largely based on size, with big dogs much more likely to roam. 

How did people respond when some greybeard stranger confronted them about their off-leash-dog? There were a variety of reactions, though I’m pleased to say that I gradually perfected a non-threatening (I think) approach to my newly self-deputized role of The Enforcer.

This pup is properly leashed on the high slopes of Mount Hood, protecting alpine wildlife who have little cover at this elevation

On my first encounter, the owner seemed startled and surprised that anybody would say something about their off-leash dog. I opened the conversation with “Hi, just FYI this trail is on leash-only this time of year.” They broke eye contact and muttered something that sounded like “oh, okay…”. I responded with a cheerful “have a nice hike!”. 

It felt very awkward. While I always greet people I see on the trail, it’s usually just to wish them a nice hike. Commenting on their off-leash dog came across as a scold, something I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of, nor is my nature to do. I don’t know even how effective the “scold” was on this firsts encounter, as the person certainly didn’t pause to leash their dog as they scooted down the trail in the opposite direction.

The next encounter is one I rehearsed when I saw a pair of big dogs running wild in the short video clip that I captured, below. I really wanted to talk to this group because these dogs were roaming well beyond sight of the owners. This is clearly the impact on wildlife that leash rules are intended to minimize, let alone the impact on other hikers — especially those with their own dogs. Alas, I never did catch up with this group, though I did hear much whistling and loud calling as they attempted to keep their unruly dogs within sight. I wondered how many other hikers might have had their day on the Labyrinth Trail spoiled by unwelcome encounters with this group? Or wildlife that had been terrorized or even harmed?

Dogs gone wild on the Labyrinth Trail…

Next, the pair of hikers with three dogs in the second part of the video approached me. This was the same pair that had walked right past the trailhead sign. I attempted a smoother, more sympathetic delivery on this encounter: “Hi, how are you? Hey, you might not know, but this trail requires a leash this time of year. It’s sort of hidden on the trailhead sign.” That’s not remotely true, of course, but I wanted to try something less threatening in this round. 

One of the hikers said in a rather surly reply “well WE didn’t see any sign“ and the other simply looked quite annoyed that I had dared to say anything at all. Thud. Clearly, my smooth, low-key delivery hadn’t worked. So, I replied “no worries, not trying to be a jerk, I just thought you would want to know. Have a great hike!” Silence. 

I’m not sure how that last part landed with this pair, but there is zero chance they had not seen the sign at the trailhead, nor did they bother to leash up their dogs as they headed off from our exchange on the trail. Did they actually read the sign on some earlier visit? Hard to know, but from my vantage point they walked right past it, as if they had hiked the trail many times. Most of us stop to read directional signs, after all, especially if we’re not familiar with the trail.

While I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt, more likely they just decided the rules do not apply to them. That was the vibe I got from our brief exchange, and therein lies one of the great obstacles to posting leash requirements on trails without any enforcement. Some people really just don’t care, unfortunately.

This dog on the Cooper Spur Trail should be on a leash. Big dogs can terrorize a lot of wildlife in open terrain. On Mount Hood, unleashed dogs also regularly chase wildlife onto loose glacial canyon slopes, sometimes becoming stranded and requiring rescue

The next two sets of hikers had their dogs on-leash, so I decided to complement my self-appointed policing with some unsolicited praise. The first was an older hiker with an adorable dog that looks like it might have been an unlikely Corgi – German Shepherd mix. I greeted them with “Hi! Thank you for keeping your dog on leash!” 

The hiker smiled (I think the dog did, too) and replied that it was the only way they could really keep track of where their low-to-the-ground dog was, and that they worried about it tangling with a rattlesnake or other hazards off trail. That’s a responsible dog owner! I’ll return to those potential hazards later in this article. I wished them a good hike and moved on.

Even little dogs should be leashed. Though they may not be scary, even when they approach grownups aggressively or barking, they can be terrifying to youngsters. This hiker is setting a great example by leashing their small dog in the Mount Hood Wilderness

The second group with their dog on-leash was a young couple with a roughly six-year-old kid and a very friendly golden retriever. I said “Hi! Thank you for leashing your dog, not many people are today!” Then, thinking about impressionable young ears, I added “I think the leash requirement is to protect wildlife this time of year.“ 

The couple beamed and were very receptive. I’m going to guess they spent some time talking to their youngster about this as they headed up the trail – hopefully, anyway. They were setting a really good example, and what kid doesn’t want to watch out for wildlife?

Family outing to Elk Cove with their beautiful, big dog properly leashed — and they even posed for me!

I continued to fine-tune my comments as I encountered still more hikers with off-leash dogs. 

“Hi! Beautiful day up here! Hey, just letting you know that this trail requires a leash this time of year. Your dogs are beautiful! Have a good hike.” 

“You, too!” they called back to me with smiles.

Bing! Bing! Bing! It turns out that dog platitudes are the secret sauce – of course! In both cases where I tried this approach, they even thanked me for giving them a heads-up. Truthfully, a couple of these dogs were downright homely, but they were beautiful to their owners, and that’s all that matters — as any dog owner knows.

This dad is setting a good example for his son at Horsethief Butte. Leashing your dog on trails is a great way to help youngsters understand the importance of protecting wildlife and respecting other hikers

Take-aways from my self-deputized stint as leash-enforcer? Most people follow the rules, or are at least open to following the rules. Yes, there will always be those who knowingly exempt themselves from the rules the rest of us choose to live by (and yes, people with that mindset are having a bit of a moment in our society right now), but most people appreciate the concept of The Commons — and our responsibility as individuals to protect it from tragedy.

Better signage where leashes are required could build on these generally good intentions. At the Labyrinth Trail, the signage is a part of the problem. While simply stating regulations in rather dry fashion at trailheads is the default on our public lands, here’s another way this could be conveyed both firmly, and in a more explanatory way at the Labyrinth:

Clear, concise and visible…

Too pollyannish? Okay, here’s an alternative version for the more self-centered hiker with dogs:

When altruism doesn’t work, try fear…

These examples are also important in their location. By the time most people get to the Labyrinth trailhead, they have already hiked a fair distance an abandoned highway section that functions as the access trail from Rowland Lake. Before my creative license was applied, here’s the actual sign that greets hundreds of hikers who park here every week to hike the Labyrinth Trail:

The existing signpost could use an upgrade!

Fair enough, but this would be a great spot to post the leash rules where dog owners can still fetch (ahem) a leash from the car, or perhaps even decide to pick another trail. The existing sign post was installed by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, so it would require some agency coordination, as the Labyrinth Trail is on U.S. Forest Service land, but I suspect the two could agree in the interest of protecting wildlife.

Just beyond the “no overnight parking” signpost is one of the more obscure signs in the Columbia Gorge:

This is one solution to wood signposts that rot off at the base…

Whoever installed this hunting sign meant business: it’s bolted to a basalt boulder… which also means that hunting season is every season? Maybe this could also be a spot to talk about the on-leash season and its purpose?

Another problem with the Labyrinth leash rule is that it’s way too complicated for most to remember. On-leash season starts on December 1? Or was it December 30? And it ends on June 30 …? Or was it June 1? Or May 30? Add in the May 1 to November 30 equestrian season, and this is the sort of trailhead word salad that people begin to tune out. 

Meanwhile, just a few miles to the east (below) at the Catherine Creek trailhead, leashes are required year-round on trails that are inter-connected to the Labyrinth trial network (below).

The Forest Service has a tighter leash on its dog policies at nearby Catherine Creek, including a bit of explanation to educate pet owners

Though the conflicting policy is confusing, this is much better, and  kudos to the Forest Service for drawing a bright line with leashes on the Catherine Creek end of the trail system. More leash-rule signs should follow the Catherine Creek model. Protecting wildlife and other hikers is important, and making this point clearly and prominently where people park, before they head up the trail, is as important at the message, itself. 

The Catherine Creek policy also gets it right on leashes, overall. Given the many good reasons for alwayskeeping dogs on leash, complicated seasonal requirements don’t make much sense, and only serve undermine the main goal of protecting wildlife if hikers are confused.

Kids and wildlife are the best arguments for leashes

I have been charged many times by loose dogs whose owners are far behind or out of sight. Fortunately, I have never had to harm one by defending myself with a hiking pole, but I’ve come close on a couple occasions with a couple of big, snarling dogs. Inevitably, the owners catch up, and — usually embarrassed — apologize that “Fido is never like that at home!” 

Think your dog is under “voice control”? That’s a fallacy – especially with a puppy like this one seen on the McIntyre Ridge trail. Were it to wander off and become lost, the chances of this young dog surviving in a wilderness would be slim

In these moments, I’m usually irritated enough that I don’t say anything at all, but in my new, more forward mindset, I already have a response: “But Fido isn’t home, is he? And neither are you. So unless he’s on a leash with you at the other end, this is how you should expect him to respond to a stranger. He’s a dog.” 

Well, I’ll say that in my unspoken thought bubble, at least — but it’s quite true, and any dog owner should know this. Most dogs are not themselves when they’re out on a trail, away from home.

I’ve also watched several off-leash dogs chase down wildlife, from tiny pikas to rabbits and deer. I was hiking on Mount Hood with a friend once and they commented on the lack of marmots compared to Mount Rainier – a national park where dogs are simply not allowed on trails. I knew the reason, but a few years ago I was able to catch a canine culprit in the act just west of Timberline Lodge. These hikers (below) had climbed past me, and they were just beyond this section of trail when their roaming dog took off in a sprint.

Fido way out ahead, looking for wildlife to chase down..

I already had my camera out, and photographed the dog as it chased a terrorized marmot down the rocky slope on the right (see below), across the snowfield and up to the marmot’s den, under some boulders on the left side of the snowfield. The owners were yelling helplessly as the dog attempted to dig into the marmot’s den at least 100 yards away from them. For its part, the marmot climbed up on the boulder and tried frantically to distract the dog. Why? Probably because this was in late spring and it may have had a litter of pups in its den. Marmots give birth to litters of just 3-8 young every other year, so they’re highly vulnerable to natural predation, never mind unruly dogs. 

[click here for a larger view]

None of this incident was the fault of the dog: it was just being a dog. The owners? They were just being thoughtless. Did they leash their dog after this incident? Nope. Why would they? The official pet policy for Mount Hood National Forest requires leashes “in developed areas” (that legal definition is left to visitors to figure that out). Otherwise, the Forest Service simply requires that “all dogs must be within sight of the owner and in complete voice control.” 

That last part is the real misnomer. There is no such thing as “complete voice control” of a dog, especially out in nature. The illusion that this level of discipline even exists results in lots of sad signs posted at trailheads where an off-leash dog has been lost in the woods. The cruel reality is that most these lost dogs will likely die from exposure to the elements, injury or even predation — not something any dog owner would wish for their pet.

Posters like this get me every time, and I see them all the time at trailheads. Losing one pup in a rugged area like the Hatfield Wilderness is heartbreaking, but two? I don’t know if these dogs were ever found, but the risks of falling or getting stranded on a cliff in the Gorge have needlessly claimed many dogs over the years

While impacts on wildlife can seem a bit abstract when drawing the line on leashes, a more compelling argument comes when off-leash dogs terrorize young children on trails. It’s more common that most of us would like to believe, and usually only reported when a child is injured (or worse) by an off-leash dog. Young kids are disproportionally attacked by dogs compared to adults, accounting for more than half of all dog bite victims. Kids four years and under are also the most likely to be fatally attacked, a horrific outcome to consider.

A more far-reaching impact is on the untold number of young kids who are traumatized by an off-leash, out-of-control dog on a trail. This isn’t even a factor in most land agency leash rules, but for our broader society, it could be the most lasting. It’s so widespread, it has a name: cynophobia, or the fear of dogs, with most adults reporting that this condition began with a terrifying childhood experience. An off-leash dog aggressively rushing a youngster on the trail might not result in a dog bite, but it could needlessly be cheating that child of a lifetime of the joy that having a pet offers by instilling deep fear from an early, scary encounter.

Young kids and off-leash dogs — especially big dogs — don’t mix on trails. These moms are setting a great example on the Wahclella Falls trail by leashing the family dog on this popular path

With a crazy quilt of uneven, confusing and mostly ineffective public land leash rules, most trail users are poorly informed on the true risks and impacts of having their dogs off-leash, while some folks are just plain defiant their perceived right to let their dog run loose. 

Only in our national parks (and a few local parks, like Metro’s in the Portland region) is there a serious effort to manage dogs, and usually with a fair amount of grousing from dog owners. While the National Park Service has been especially fearless in how they manage dogs, other state and federal land agencies continue to be wary of confronting the issue. So, is this a problem that can even be fixed?

It’s on us…

Unfortunately, the public agency reluctance won’t be solved anytime soon, as the lack of continuity in leash rules simply reflects the lack of consensus – and knowledge — among dog owners. Therefore, it’s really up to us as hikers and dog owners to change the culture of off-leash dogs. The days when dogs could run free on our trails on public lands are long over, both because of the sheer number of people using our trails, but also because we now know of the impact it has on wildlife, the environment and our dogs.

That’s not a pack on the hiker in the back — it’s their injured 30-lb dog that they were carrying out of the Mount Hood Wilderness. Keeping a dog on-leash is the best way to keep it safe from injury on the trail – though in this case, the trail proved too much for the dog, and it would have been a safer call to simply leave Fido at home for this hike

Is it possible to foster a new, grassroots leash ethic for dogs? Of course! After all, not many people toss garbage out the window when driving these days, though this was common practice until the anti-litter campaigns of the 1960s and early 70s. Those efforts grew from local, grassroots efforts that changed both our ethics and laws. Recycling began in the same way in the 1970s, first as a grassroots movement, and eventually transforming how governments manage waste collection.

Hikers with dogs began their own ethics conversion in the late 1990s with poop bags, an outgrowth of the Leave No Trace movement that has now become mainstream. Yes, people forget to pick up their poop bags on the way out (pro tip: tie them to your pack — yes, you read that correctly), but only a few leave them behind when you consider how many dogs and hikers are using our most popular trails. The overall benefit is still very good.

This hiker set their poop bag on a stump, presumably to help remember it on the way out? 

These hikers went for strength in numbers, but the best plan is to tie it to your pack. Nobody wants to see forgotten poop bags on the trail!

How do we start a new on-leash ethics movement? Why not online? I probably don’t have the pull with Mark Zuckerberg to add a trending “My dog is leashed!” badge to Facebook or Instagram, but short of that… why, I can at least post some handy (and somewhat facetious) clip ‘n save wallet cards on my obscure blog to download and share! 

I’ve provided two versions to reflect our divisive times. The first appeals to the recent lurch toward self-involvement and me-ism that is reigning in our current political climate. This clip-n-save card speaks to the self-interest in all of us – like it or not:

Card for the times..?

But for those who seek a higher philosophical plane — and perhaps defying the current political zeitgeist — please join me in carrying this more altruistic version:

Card for the caring!

Conflicted? You can carry both! Better yet, we can all simply adopt these principles in our everyday trail ethics. Whatever our motivation, the facts argue for keeping dogs leashed on trails, simple as that. The first step is knowing the facts — clip those cards — and especially the risks of letting Fido run wild. Who knows, we might just change our little corner of the world?

The author back in 2009 with our big (and little) dog pack — Borzoi sisters Joker and Jester and our little rescue Whippet Jinx. He thought he was a borzoi, too… and so did the girls!

Thanks for reading this far, and for caring about our public lands in WyEast Country. I hope to see you and your (lovingly leashed) dogs on the trail, sometime!
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Postscript: I’ll close this article with another acknowledgment that our federal lands workforce are under unprecedented, highly personal attack by a new administration stacked with political appointees chosen for their radical, fringe views toward the environment, and who are openly hostile to the very concept of public lands that belong to everyone. The attacks are reckless, cruel and purposely vindictive to the perceived “enemies” of the regime. 

In just the past two weeks, thousands of Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management and National Park Service workers have been fired for the crime of being recently hired, or having accepted a promotion or new position. It’s outrageous, illogical and probably illegal, but that doesn’t make it any easier for the public servants who have been targeted.

U.S. Representative Cliff Bentz answering to a one of four overflow town hall crowds last week across Eastern Oregon that confronted him over the attack on the federal workforce last week

We’ll be on defense on this front for the next few years, unfortunately. So, at this moment, it’s especially important to share our unequivocal support for the federal workers who have devoted their careers to caring for our public lands. We can all do that with kind words when we see them working in the field, by helping them care for the land, and by pushing back on disinformation wherever we see it. 

Hundreds turnout out in Gresham last weekend to press freshman U.S. Representative Maxine Dexter to do more to push back on the attack on federal agencies (photo: OPB News)

We can also act by voicing our support for public lands and federal workers to our congressional representatives and senators. It really does work. Oregon’s lone Republican in Congress recently got a loud taste of it when he ventured home to what he thought would be a just another series of safe, sleepy town halls in his Eastern Oregon district. Instead, he faced overflow crowds of angry, deeply concerned constituents. 

Other Oregon representatives have seen similar town hall turnouts and are reporting thousands of phone calls from concerned constituents, and they are scrambling for ways to be accountable. This is already having an impact! More to come, of course, but the tide does seem to be turning…

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Tom Kloster • March 2025