SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2019
BACKPACKER.COM 23park) at .1 mile. Hike counterclock-
wise, passing remnants of a 20th
century tramway used during the
park’s commercial diamond mining
and circle around West Hill at mile
.6. At mile .9, peer into the site of a
massive excavation, where 9,600
tons of dirt were pulled out of the
earth in the 1990s to see just how
many diamonds were in the park
(answer: a lot). Complete the loop
and head back to the diamond
fields to conduct your own search.
The entrance fee is $10. Contact
arkansasstateparks.com/parks/
crater-diamonds-state-parkMOAT MOUNTAIN
MINERAL SITE TRAIL
WHITE MOUNTAIN NATIONAL FOREST, NH
For hundreds of years, smoky
quartz has mesmerized rock-
hounds the world over. Sixteenth-
century Brits tried to see the future
in it. Crystal healers said it could
absorb misfortune and keep anxi-
ety at bay. In 19th-century China,
eyewear pioneers used it to make
prototypes of sunglasses (not rec-
ommended). Whether you believe
in its powers or not, find your own
piece hidden among the volcanic
rock of the Moat Mountains. Start
this 5.7-mile loop by hiking north
from the trailhead. Stay alert for
moose and black bears for .9 mile
across wooded, rocky terrain, tack-
ing right at the first two intersec-
tions. Switchback down 400 feet
and .7 mile through hemlock and
spruce to Red Ridge Road. Hang a
right and roadwalk .4 mile past a
gate to the intersection with the
Thompson Falls Trail. Take that .5
mile west, pausing at Thompson
Falls, which cascades through a
jumble of jagged boulders. (Art his-
tory buffs: This is where Benjamin
Champney found his inspiration for
White Mountain paintings in the
19th century.) Return to the Red
Ridge Road and veer left after .8
mile onto the Tent Boulder Trail,
then head south for 1.5 miles to the
Moat Mountain Mineral Site. Load
up on smoky quartz (small hand
tools allowed) and return your dig
site to the condition you found it in
before hiking out. Maybe you’ll
even see the future in what you find.
Contact http://www.fs.usda.gov/
PH recarea/whitemountain
OT
O^
BY
IS
TO
CK
.C
OM
/
E
BE
TT
IN
I.^
IL
LU
ST
RA
TI
O
N^
BY
JA
SO
N^
SC
HN
EI
D
ER
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO, my
Uncle Herb’s hunting cabin was a hive
of activity. Come autumn, a boisterous pack
of my relatives would arrive at the shack in
middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania. They’d
drop their duffels and coolers, put on their
highlighter-orange apparel, and shoulder
their rif les in search of the guest of honor: a
whitetail buck.
Today, the hunting cabin is
silent, windows boarded shut
and overgrown shrubs lining
the perimeter. Uncle Herb
passed away 10 years ago and
with him went the last ves-
tiges of a n old fa mily tradition.
Neither my cousins, my sister,
nor I hunt, either out of moral
qualms or disinterest. Either
way, few of the folks in my gen-
eration seem keen on taking up
arms. And we’re not alone.
According to a 2016 survey by
the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service,
less than five percent of Americans (older
than 16) hunt—that’s half the percentage
that hit the woods 50 years ago. Despite
recent government efforts to preserve this
“heritage” activity, the downward trend is
only expected to continue a s millennia ls opt
out and the old guard ages out. Some wildlife
advocates applaud the shift, but the issue is
more complicated than it appears, and the
dwindling number of hunters is not without
consequence.
Lifelong hunter Teddy Roosevelt was
alarmed by the loss of species and habitat
and when he became president he created
the United States Forest Service to protect
230 million acres of public land. Then, herequired hunters to pay for the privilege of
hunting the wildlife that lived there.
Today, nearly 60 percent of funding for the
state wildlife agencies’ conservation funds
comes from the hook-and-bullet crowd,
through tag fees, fishing permits, and the
Pittman-Robertson Act, which levies an
11-percent tax on ammo and arms.
But there’s a catch: The only way
states can access that cash is if
they put up 25 percent match-
ing funds from their own cof-
fers. With fewer license sales,
states a ren’t able to ra ise the
sa me dolla r tota ls that they
used to.
All of which presents a
challenge. Hunters may be
fading, but the numbers of
hikers, skiers, and paddlers
are increasing, and conserva-
tion needs funding more than
ever. One solution: a small conser-
vation tax on outdoor gear. Charging a
penny on the dollar for a sleeping bag or pair
of skis won’t make up all the lost revenues
from f irea rms sa les, but it shows that we,
as users of public lands, are ready to be part
of the funding picture. We need to get some
skin in the game.
I can hear the protests from friends who
a lready compla in when they have to pay a
modest trailhead parking fee. But hunters
pay that and the firearm tax. They accept the
cost a s pa r t of doing—a nd preser ving—the
activity they love. That’s a spirit I can get
behind. And if we don’t figure out a way to
put our money where our boots are, we might
look back in a few decades and realize we
have nowhere lef t to put them at a ll.Some hiking clubs get together once a month. Others, every weekend, or even every day.
The 1,300-member-strong Cleveland Hiking Club leaves all of them in the dust with, on
average, 400 hikes each month. Now in its 100th year, the club off ers 10 to 15 daily hikes
throughout northeastern Ohio. For adventurous members, the club organizes excursions
in winter, as well as trips abroad (they ’ve traveled to Argentina and Croatia in the past
year). But no matter where their trips take them, they’ll always have a home in Ohio,
literally. The club’s cabin south of the city hosts events like picnics, gear swaps, and club
meetings. Info clevelandhikingclub.org
Think your club deserves a shout out? Tell us why at [email protected]....IN WHICH WE HONOR THE BEST
HIKING CLUBS IN THE COUNTRY.IN THE CLUB9
PAY TO PLAY
Hunters fund conservation through taxes and tag fees. As their numbers
decline, it’s time for hikers to step up. By Heather Balogh Rochfort