The Last Season (18 page)
Authors: Eric Blehm
Over time, Scofield noticed that Randy's bond with the Sierra was at a level he had never encountered in anyone else and how curmudgeonly opinionated Randy was about
his
mountains. Among other things, “People who moved too quickly over the land were, in his opinion, disrespectful,” says Scofield.
Randy called them “trail pounders,” and he couldn't understand them. Once he met a fast-moving “lad” coming toward him on the stones that cross the outlet below Helen Lake. He recorded the encounter in his logbook:
“Stepping to the edge of a large rock, he motioned me by, obviously not noticing my shirt with the badge. But just as I passed, he spotted the NPS shoulder patch. âOh, oh! Uh, wait!'
“He had âtwo quick questions.' âHow's the snow on Muir Pass?' âIt's
just fine,' I replied cheerfully, but it went right past him. âOkay, good. And, uh, do you know, what's the fastest time the Muir Trail's been done in?'
“I just laughed. Another Muir Trail marathoner. And this one is going to make a record, having already âdone' the PCT [Pacific Crest Trail] in what he calls record time of 110 days.
“What is this infatuation with âest'? Why are we beating our brains on a hard surface to be fastest, biggest, richest, on and on ad infinitum ad nauseam? I asked how many Audubon's warblers he'd seen or hermit thrushes he'd heard and he grinned sheepishly, looking down at his bootlaces. But this was an unfair question. Such a hiker has probably never slowed enough to notice, but I continued: âHave you tried meadow sitting or cloud watching?' âAnyone can do that,' was his response. There it is again. Machismo. This fellow is going to achieve, be a first, do things not everyone does or even can do. That becomes his goal.
“We're a restless breed, we moderns. Hardest it is to sit still and be attentive to our surroundings. Boredom comes to most of us very quickly.”
Alden Nash took note of Randy's sometimes condescending, if not self-righteous, tone in his logbooks, but he felt that if a backcountry ranger could vent on paper and remain a friendly and cordial wilderness host while interacting with the public, that was a fair trade-off.
“No doubt about it,” says Nash, “Randy was opinionated, and if he was ever cynical or condescending in public, he did it in a way that flew right over most backpackers' heads. Bottom line, Randy was a good rangerâone of the best to ever wear the uniform.”
Nash put his money where his mouth was, so to speak, on December 8, 1981, when he gave Randy an Outstanding Performance Award for a flawless record as a seasonal ranger, the first official award Randy had ever received.
“Dear Randy,” wrote Nash. “This is to compliment you on your Outstanding Performance for 1981 and for the past few seasons. The National Parks and the park visitors have benefited from your work
as a seasonal Park Ranger for the past 14 seasons. Your knowledge and experience in the Backcountry Ranger position is unsurpassed in these parks. Both seasonal and permanent Rangers look to you for information, ideas, and inspiration on the job.”
Nash went on for a page and a half of single-spaced accolades, recounting Randy's accomplishments before ending the letter with “In short, your overall attention to detail, your perspective and personal priorities concerning the job, and your experience and job related skills add up to an outstanding work performance. It is my pleasure to present you with this award.”
With the letter was a government check for $350ânot chump change for a seasonal ranger.
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DESPITE RANDY'S
curmudgeonly stance on wilderness issues, he was considered almost exclusively a kind and gentle man and ranger who made a positive impact on hundreds of wilderness travelers, many of whom called upon his medic skills and calm, composed, and reassuring nature during times of crisis. The parks' superintendents and chief rangers over the course of Randy's career received dozens of letters and verbal commendations beginning his first season, 1965, and continuing till the year he disappeared.
One letter, left on Randy's cabin door in LeConte Canyon, was from a woman who apparently had hiked into the mountains for some emotional healing, but seemed conflicted about whether or not to stay. The wilderness was a scary place. Where to find reassurance?
Dear Randy:
I wanted you to know that even though I only briefly met you, you have stayed with me. A couple of times I thought of walking up to say hello but I knew I needed to be alone and go through the things I went through. Sometimes I thought I was crazy and wanted to leave, but you can't run away from yourself (and someplace in me didn't want to). Anyway, I finally began to feel
calm and more accepting and was able to let more of that gentle meadow into my heartâ¦. This place definitely tried to care for me and help me find a more caring place inside of me. I could see that God was all around meâ¦. Anyway, I did finally feel more open and more at home here. Thanks for your help.
Nancy
To many, Randy personified the wilderness steward, not a wilderness cop, as exemplified by the following letter, written to the chief ranger in 1985. The backpacker, on an “enjoyable” hike from Onion Valley to Sixty Lakes Basin, had chosen a campsite he thought was above the No Camping area surrounding Bullfrog Lake:
The next morning, as we were packing to leave, Randy Morgenson, the Park Ranger at Charlotte Lake, came by and said that our camp had been in the area intendedâ¦to allow the area around the lake to recover. After hearing my description of the way we had selected the site, Mr. Morgenson issued us a Courtesy Tag as a reminder to avoid this mistake in the future. I want you to know how very courteous Randy Morgenson was in this situation. In all my 25 years of backpacking in the Sierra Nevada, and encountering a number of Forest Service and National Park Rangers, I don't recall meeting a more considerate person. I hope you can convey this thought to him in some appropriate way. Thank you for the assistance you provided our party specifically through Randy Morgenson and in general by preserving a beautiful natural area.
Judi Morgenson, designated a Volunteer in the Park, was often a part of these accolades. In 1985, a man wrote to the superintendent:
The Morgensons were literally lifesavers. I suffered pulmonary-edema and had to be copter-lifted out of Charlotte.
â¦Without their help, I might be history right now. They acted quite professionally as they performed their duties. I hope the park decides to keep these wonderful people. In an era of cutbacks, we can't afford to lose good rangers.
The letters continued. In 1986:
Exceptionally helpful. Told me what to expect ahead, where to cross streams, and where I could best camp. Polite, honest and willing to listen to me. I will remember him as an exceptional ranger willing to assist.
To the superintendent that same year:
I met your backcountry ranger Randy Morgenson on a recent trip over Bishop Pass. We experienced heavy snows on September 23 and 24 and found him to be helpful and accommodating. His devotion to the country and to his job was certainly a credit to your organization and I thought you should know about it. He also is a hell of a great maker of buckwheat pancakes.
In 1988, to the superintendent:
Your ranger, Randy Morgenson is to be commended for service to the public above and beyond the call of duty. Last yearâ¦my wife sustained an acute low back strain at upper LeConte Lake. After a two day layover, we decided to return over Bishop pass because of her painful infirmity.
Ranger Morgenson was kind enough to come up from LeConte Station and carry her pack down. The next day he came up again and carried her pack over the pass to a high lake.
This year we tried it again, butâ¦I experienced an acute ulcer attack at Sapphire Lake which incapacitated me for a couple days. We saw no one for three days until we reached McClure
meadow. Ranger Morgensonâ¦arranged the next morning for horses to take us out from Piute Creek to North Lakeâ¦. I would not have been able to climb out unassisted. Throughout these trials, Ranger Morgenson was very encouraging and supportive, which was a great comfort to both my wife and myself.
In 1986 a woman from Palo Cedro, California, slipped and fell and was unable to bear weight.
The next day my husband discussed the situation with Mr. Morgenson, who examined my ankle, made suggestions for alleviating pain, and caring for the ankle in case of a possible fracture, or torn ligaments. He showed deep concern for the situation we were in.
The woman explained how Randy arranged for a helicopter flight the following day, after her husband and son hiked out.
This meant I would be spending twenty seven hours in the backcountry by myself. During this time Mr. Morgenson was extremely kind. He showed utmost consideration of my situation, checking that I was all right, bringing me fresh water, and when he learned that I'd sent our stove with my family, he brought me some hot food.
Mr. Morgenson said he was just “doing his job,” but I am sure he has many duties, and having an injured hiker on his hands only complicated his job. Yet he never showed this in his manner, and was always very patient and kind.
His wisdom and expertise on the proper care of this type of injury has been proven, as subsequent examination by a physician showed that I do indeed have torn ligamentsâ¦.
We want to thank you for employing such a fine person in your service, and indeed making the LeConte Canyon area a safer place to be.
More praise:
I'm writing to express my appreciation for and sing the praises of your ranger Randy Morgenson. Last Wednesday we were in dire need of helpâone of our party was stricken with severe abdominal pain and needed medical attention. We were in the Forester Pass area and were fortunate to find Randy on the trail. He was superb! We were anxious and concerned, naturally, and he handled all of us with great concern and professionalism. He inspired great confidence and gave us all tremendous peace of mind, and had Mary out to help in no time. You have a truly excellent man on your staff and he deserves recognition and appreciation.
The public applause for Randy can be summed up in one sentence from a letter written by the parents of a boy who was airlifted out of the backcountry for a medical emergency: “It's great to know people like you are around when we need you.”
Randy did seem to have an uncanny knack for being in the right place at the right time for wilderness travelers in need of assistance: Super Ranger, sans the phone booth and cape.
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THE DEVIL'S CRAGS
shoot up out of Kings Canyon like the crumbling, rotting teeth of their satanic namesakeâjagged, constantly eroding remnants of black metamorphic rock that is ages older than the hard gray granite dominating the Sierra range. In 1988, Randy was stationed in LeConte Canyon, 8 miles from the Crags, the closest backcountry ranger station to these charcoal pinnacles. Randy considered the Crags geological wonders that were alive and constantly evolving. In early August, he was reminded that they were also one of those volatile areas in the Sierra poised for trouble.
Robin Ingraham Jr. and Mark Hoffman were two experienced climbers who lived in Merced, California, not far from the famed climbing walls of Yosemite. Though Hoffman was known in Merced's
climbing community as “the mad soloist,” the truth was thatâuntil he met Ingraham in 1985âhe just hadn't found a reliable partner whose climbing appetite and skills matched his own. For the next four summers, the two climbers sojourned into the High Sierra, bagging more than a hundred peaks. Not a day went by that they didn't either climb or talk, “a friendship,” says Ingraham, “that comes once in a lifetime, if you're fortunate.”
They also shared an interest in preserving mountaineering history. In 1988 they created a program reminiscent of the early Sierra Club's efforts revolving around summit registers: checking and replacing damaged peak registers on mountaintops across the Sierra. They collected the registers and delivered them to the Sierra Club archives.
On August 11, 24-year-old Ingraham and 28-year-old Hoffman awoke at 4:30
A.M.
to begin their ascent of Crag Number 9, a peak first climbed by Jules Eichorn and Glen Dawson in 1933 via the class 4 right side of the northwest arête. Their goal fifty-five years later was the left side of the arête. Still class 4, but a route nobody had ever climbed.
Ingraham and Hoffman picked their way up the loose, crumbling rocks in the predawn hours. It was the twenty-second mountain they'd climbed that summer, but for some reason Ingraham felt an unprecedented anxiety. Hoffman, noticing his partner's unusually slow pace, asked, “You all right?”
“I'm not doing this,” Ingraham answered with conviction. “I've got a weird head today,” he added.
Hoffman pulled a rope from his pack and said, “Let's be safe and rope up. I'll lead.”
Perhaps the anxiety arose from a moment when the two had been traversing the west face of Crag Number 5 two days before. Ingraham had reached a large ledge and leaned against an “automobile-sized” boulder that shot down the cliff. “Despite our climbing abilities,” says Ingraham, “they [Crags 5 and 6] tested every move. One hold after the other seemed to break with the smallest body weight.” With “the greatest care,” they had reached the summit and found and replaced the fragile Crag Number 5 peak register that Sierra climbing icons David Brower, Hervey Voge, and Norman Clyde had placed there in 1934.
After roping up on Crag Number 9, Ingraham's uneasiness subsided. Finding no summit register at the top of their first ascent route, they built a rock cairn and left a small book inside one of the weatherproof PVC canisters they'd brought along for that purpose.