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At first I was appalled at the notion that some segments of the Continental Divide Trail might be financed by corporate donations, acknowledged by signs along the route.
I presume the messages on these signs would resemble the
non-commercial
announcements on public radio: The
next 8 miles have been made possible by a generous grant
from the International Grain Cartel, proud provider of the
raw materials that make up your gorp.
This prospect seemed to negate the very reason one might go for a get-away-from-it-all stroll in the mountains -- I suspect that most of us don't head for the high country to see billboards, even tasteful billboards, of any size.
Then again, in modern America, it's pretty difficult to
escape commercial messages. Public schools sell advertising
along their hallways, coaches and athletes at state
universities sport corporate swooshes to indicate their
true loyalties, humble bus benches are festooned with gaudy
promotions and shopping carts carry placards. Ads now
appear even the walls above urinals where we used to read
advice like Why are you laughing? The joke is in your
hand
and For a good time, call Candy at
555-1234.
So why should the Continental Divide be any different?
But even at that, I'm not too sure trail sponsorship would be a good deal. When you're above timberline and a dozen miles from pavement, you're not in a position to make an immediate purchase.
The trail sign is thus a form of institutional
advertising, designed to make you think Well, next time
I need a pair of hiking boots, I'll buy some Hobstompers,
since they're such caring people who share my interest in
establishing and maintaining back-country trails.
I don't know about you, but when I'm at 12,000 feet and up, hypoxia means that I have trouble thinking, let alone reading and remembering some brand name. The last time I climbed a 14er, I dumbly sat and enjoyed the supernal fireworks of an electrical storm headed ever closer. Only when my skin began to tingle as my hair stood straight did it dawn on me that I'd best hasten down before I got a real big charge from the expedition.
So I don't know that the trail-sponsorship signs would do much toward enhancing the sponsor's revenue stream, but there could be some educational possibilities if anybody, not just a corporate external-affairs department, were allowed to put up signs along the trail:
· The next nine miles of sunny, open meadow laced with skidder trails and punctuated by stumps, formerly a gloomy forest, was made possible by the routine activities of the Louisiana-Pacific Corporation, which has since shut down its local mill and moved on. Please report any lingering formaldehyde vapors to the state health department.
· Fill your canteen now. Water in the next four miles of Wightman Fork contains cyanide compounds and high concentrations of heavy-metal ions, on account of a generous chemical donation from Galactic Minerals, a Canadian corporation beyond the reach of United States law.
· Your easy hiking in the next twelve-mile stretch, where you will not need to fret about bogs, swamps or the perils of fording a raging torrent, is the result of bountiful diversions by the Aurora Water Department, the Northern Colorado Water Conservancy District and the Colorado Springs Utility Department.
· The next 160 miles of gentle grade, complete with trestles and tunnels, was made possible by a major abandonment from the Union Pacific Railroad Corporation, which has been avoiding Colorado since 1869.
· Convenient willow-free access to the creek for the next 21 miles has been facilitated by the National Park Service, which encourages over-population of elk, since visitors like to see big herbivores and the more visitors, the more money for the Park Service. The elk eat all the willows, and so you enjoy a better view of the creek. Another service from your federal government, protecting our environment.
· As you overlook the valley for the next three miles, the brilliant glares that temporarily blind you have been made possible by the Acme Steel Roof Company, proud providers of high-snow-load high-reflection covers in the high country since 1958.
All manner of other possibilities come to mind --
severely eroded single-track
ruts created by the
mountain bike industry, begging marmots made possible by
the dried-fruit processors, fire-blackened ruins in the
Stupid Zones resulting from our hard-working rural
real-estate developers.
So I've come to terms with this commercialization of a public trail, just as long as they're not too restrictive about signage.
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