Losing focus

“If you spend your life trying to be good at everything, you will never be great at anything.”

--Tom Rath

While in graduate school in the late 1960s, I occasionally put down the books and began doing a bit of hiking, learning to enjoy the great wilderness that surrounded me in the Pacific Northwest.  At the same time, I saw commercial and industrial threats to that wilderness, and realized that there were people and organizations that were trying to combat those threats.

As a result, in 1967, I joined the Sierra Club.  Within a few years, I had converted my annual membership to a lifetime membership, and have tried to support it ever since, to varying degrees at different times.

As I recall, in 1967, the Club had a membership of about 74,000.  You required a "nomination" from an existing member -- easy to get! -- to support your application.  Today, according to an article in today's New York Times, the Club has about a million members.  It's a mass operation.  No nomination is required to join -- just send in your dues.

Over the years, beginning decades ago, the goals of the Club became more diffuse.  Originally, I read the monthly Bulletin avidly, finding it full of information about wilderness and not-quite-wilderness areas that were worth visiting and hiking, and warnings of the threats posed to those areas.  At times, the articles emphasized the beauty and remoteness of areas, primarily those without formal protection, recalling the Club's history as a hiking club.  Other times, the articles were calls to arms, urging lobbying and other action by members, ways of persuading government officials to take action to preserve those areas.

Construction of Glen Canyon Dam, strongly opposed by the Sierra Club, was completed in 1966, the year before I joined the Club.  The tragedy of the flooding of Glen Canyon was still strongly felt, and had an emotional effect on me.  

At that time, the North Cascades was a vast undeveloped and roadless area in Washington state.  Congress debated creating a national park in some or all of the undeveloped area of the Cascades.  The issue was highly controversial.  I recall arguments that the area should be developed like the Swiss Alps, with highways, tourist lodges, and cable lifts carrying tourists high up the exposed rock peaks.  Supporters of a wilderness park were accused of wanting to "lock up" the wilderness for the exclusive use of "sturdy mountain hikers."  The public was invited to testify at Congressional hearings in Seattle; I volunteered and had the interesting experience of being grilled hostilely by the (Democratic) Chairman of what was then called the House Interior and Insular Affairs Committee.  

My point is that the Sierra Club had at that time a strong focus on protecting not only wilderness, but public lands in general -- preserving them for the general public and for future generations.  Going into the 1970s, however, I noted increasing numbers of articles in the Bulletin discussing more general questions of Environmentalism.  I appreciated the importance of these issues -- for example, toxic waste disposal, air pollution, damage to ocean life.  But these issues were already the subject of concern by other groups, and they weren't the issues that had drawn me to the Club.  I skimmed the monthly Bulletin increasingly casually, and looked more to smaller organizations such as the Wilderness Society for information about threatened lands.  

Now, reading the New York Times article referenced above, I read that the Sierra Club is consumed with controversy over racial issues.  Some of these issues seem appropriately raised -- those dealing with equity in its treatment of Black and other minority employees, and with concerns raised about "bullying behavior by senior employees."  These are issues that all organizations must confront.

More controversial, at least to my eyes, are concerns about the Club's alleged intrinsic racism, and its interactions with racism in society at large.  Claims have been made that the Club's revered founder, John Muir, was a racist.  Muir is said to have "characterized Black Americans and Native Americans as dirty and lazy," and that some of the Club's early members had been white supremacists.  A recent executive director of the Club, who has since left the Club, "disavowed" Muir, and said that the Club  must examine its "substantial role in perpetuating white supremacy."

The new executive director, Ben Jealous, himself a Black American, has taken a more moderate position.

When I look at John Muir, I see a man in the late 19th century, who talked a lot like men in the late 19th century.  The way that I grew up was really valuing him as somebody who helped preserve the most beautiful places that were the landscape of my childhood.

I agree.

But even aside from the Muir controversy and the claims of institutional racism,  Jealous agrees that the Club's mission has expanded far beyond wilderness preservation into concerns with industrial pollution, climate change, wind and solar energy, promotion of voting rights, and an attack on world poverty.  In fact, the Sierra Club's informal mission statement now appears similar to the Democratic Party platform (which I also support).

My concern is that in promoting all worthy causes, the Club loses its focus -- for its leaders, for its members, and for the general public.  There are many organizations, public and private, attempting to deal with world poverty.  There are organizations dedicated to voting rights and to combatting climate change.  I suspect that I'm not the only person who sees no particular point (or at least feels no great enthusiasm) in supporting an organization that is alarmed by everything that I'm alarmed about personally.  

That's what political parties are for.

In other words, I'd like to see the Club return to its original focus on lobbying for parks and for wilderness protection, dealing with extraneous issues only insofar as they may be obstacles to achieving those original goals in specific cases.  I can develop great enthusiasm for saving land for recreational use or for wilderness protection.  Saving the Amazon forests by eliminating South American poverty is too complicated, too problematic a goal -- maybe the forests can be saved even in the face of poverty; maybe eliminating poverty will actually increase pressure on the forests.  Both are admirable goals, but there may be conflicts between those goals that must be worked out by institutions with greater authority than that of the Sierra Club.

I remain a member of the Sierra Club.  I'm proud of its history and its accomplishments.  I'm proud of its membership.  I'm just concerned about the directions it's been choosing.

Hic sunt dracones

In high school, we learn to think of history as endless lists of dates.  Of presidential terms and royal reigns.  Of endless battles.  Of the rise and fall of one empire after another.

If, at the university, we venture further into historical studies, of course, we learn about social and economic history, of the history of science and technology.  Even  history as viewed from the perspective of agricultural development.

All of these approaches to history present as attempts to understand the lives and thoughts of peoples who lived in places and centuries other than our own.

Last night, Professor Robin Stacey gave the first of five weekly lectures, sponsored by the University of Washington Alumni Association, asking a packed auditorium to consider the world of medieval Europe as revealed by the myths, legends, folklore, and fairy tales that evolved during those centuries.  She also showed how many of the fictional persons and creatures from the medieval period have continued to speak to our own time and civilization, although often modified in ways that meet our own emotional or political needs.

Professor Stacey has presented public lectures on medieval-related subjects in the past.  I blogged on a lecture series discussing the writings of J.R.R Tolkien in 2008, and the "Medieval Antecedents of the Modern World" in 2011.  Both were interesting and well-presented series.

Last night, her topic was dragons, creatures whose Anglo-Saxon antecedents go back to the early eighth century A.D., back to the "dragon" that the hero killed (and was killed by) at the end of the poem Beowulf.  

Many other civilizations have even earlier stories and traditions about dragons.  In China, they are considered symbols of power and bringers of good luck.  (I myself was born in a Year of the Dragon, and under the sign of Aries -- for those of us so fortunate, our faults, if any, dear Reader, lie not in our stars but in ourselves.)  

In the Old Testament, dragons were used as symbols for the enemies of God, and in the New Testament, in Revelations, were specifically identified with Satan.  In Christian culture, pre-Christian stories seem to have been merged with Christian beliefs, resulting in stories such as St. George and the Dragon.  The Christian dragon has none of the favorable attributes of his Chinese cousins.  

Professor Stacey pointed out that there is a theme that runs through many stories of dragons -- portraying them as hoarders of great wealth.  The Norse story of the dragon Fafnir and his hoard of wealth, who was killed by the hero Sigurd, is told in many versions, and was incorporated by Wagner into his Siegfried opera.  When we watch Siegfried kill the dragon to stirring music, we are watching a character that has appeared in many forms, dating back far beyond Beowulf.

The Norse Fafnir also shows up under the name of Smaug in Tolkien's The Hobbit, where he is described as the greatest dragon of his day, a malevolent creature who has seized an enormous treasure from the dwarves which he hoards deep inside a mountain, a site from which he has driven the dwarves.

Stacey described vividly, and often with appropriate humor, these manifestations of the "dragon" idea in many civilizations over several millennia.  I would have enjoyed hearing in more detail how each of these occurrences of dragons in a civilization's mythology or folklore corresponded to the peculiar character of each civilization's culture.  But she covered a great amount of material in an hour's lecture.  She has written several books on medieval topics, books that might well be worth looking into.

Future lectures will discuss King Arthur, "Tales of the Greenwood," the Templars, and Joan of Arc. 

Professor Stacey concluded by joking that she had always dreamed of working the old cartographical inscription "Here be dragons" into a talk.  In her lecture today, she succeeded.

Hiking the Waihe'e Ridge Trail

I arrived home late Sunday night, following my four-night stay on Maui (plus a final night in Honolulu).  The weather was excellent, the accommodations were great, and the company was highly enjoyable.

As I mentioned in my last post, the occasion was the eightieth birthdays of two friends, Barton and Clinton (twin brothers), from undergraduate days, one of whom had later married my sister.  The celebration was organized by Barton's daughter, and was attended by Barton's two adult sons and adult daughter, as well as spouses and one of his granddaughters.  Clinton and my sister were there, but their son and granddaughter live in Thailand, and were unable to escape from school duties to make the trip.

This celebration came just four months after a week at Lake Como, Italy, with my closest graduate school friend, Jim, together with his brother and sister and their spouses, and with his own son.

Both gatherings gave me the opportunity to become acquainted -- with some, for the first time -- with the closest family members of my two closest friends from university days.  

Barton and Jim were and are quite different in many respects -- in personality and interests -- although both are now retired university professors.  Barton is more academic, and Jim is more "outdoorsy" and athletic.  I was impressed and a bit surprised, however, with the fact that both sets of family members all enjoyed -- with varying degrees of experience -- the act of hiking while on vacation.  

In Italy, we had many opportunities for hikes, both long and short, along the lake and in the neighboring hills.  On Maui, Barton's offspring decided to hike the Waihe'e Ridge Trail on the leeward side of the island, its trailhead lying somewhat north of Wailuku.  I enthusiastically joined the hike, of course.

The hike was quite steep in places, with an elevation gain of just under 1,700 feet.  After a short, initial, steep concrete-paved climb, the trail is generally broad and is surfaced with hard-packed earth.  I've read warnings that the dirt trail can become quite muddy and slippery during and after rains, but we met excellent weather -- sunny and cloudless, with little evidence of recent precipitation.

We completed the round trip to the summit in about four hours.  Some of us found the hike a bit more difficult than others, but everyone agreed that it was fairly strenuous, and everyone succeeded in reaching the top.  The scenery of the Pacific coast to the east and of the jungle-covered mountain ranges to the west were inspiring and made our labors fully worthwhile.  The scenery also provided excuses for frequent "photo stops" while we restabilized our breathing.

Hiking offers many pleasures and has many benefits.  One of those benefits is the ease with which conversations take place, overcoming any shyness that strangers or near-strangers might otherwise feel.  None of us, on either hike, were actual "strangers," but we learned more about each other's interests and personalities and coping skills than we could have in a week of sitting on the beach sipping Mai Tais.  (No disrespect intended toward that latter occupation, of course, which we also found entertaining!)

I loved Lake Como, and I've always loved Maui.  At both locations, I also enjoyed the opportunity to develop closer friendships with people whom I had known only casually in the past.

Travel is broadening.  So is hiking.  They make an excellent combination.

Eightieth birthdays on Maui

Thirty years ago, my family celebrated the eightieth birthday of my mother and her twin sister.  We encamped for a week in a low-rise hotel on Maui's Napili Bay, looking across the ocean waters at Moloka'i and Lanai islands.  And we gathered one night for the celebratory birthday dinner at the Ritz Carlton in nearby Kapalua. 

We had a great time. 

Next week, we gather again on Napili Bay to celebrate the eightieth birthday of another set of twins -- two guys who became close friends of mine as university undergraduates, and whose relationship to me and my family was cemented by the marriage of one young man to my sister.  

We will again celebrate this Big Eight-O with a dinner at the same hotel in Kapalua.

Thirty years ago, we younger folks did a day hike in Haleakala crater while the guests of honor relaxed on their deck overlooking the ocean.  They may have been thinking long thoughts about age and youth and the speedy flight of time.  If so, we young Indians (as we still viewed ourselves) were unaware, as we strode across the black sand trails of the crater.  This year?  The young Indians have all become wise and perhaps somewhat more sedentary elders.  Some of us still hike, but I've heard no suggestions that hiking is on the agenda.  Even the "kids," those invitees a generation behind us, seem more attracted to contemplation -- assisted by occasional gin and tonics -- than to strenuous trekking.

Our treks this year will probably be limited to a quarter mile morning hike to breakfast at The Gazebo (known to us, because of its profile, as The Witch's Hat) at Napili Point, on the southern end of the beach.  But, hiking aside, I anticipate a highly satisfying, if altogether too brief, vacation.  Why brief?  Because of a late start, I was able to reserve a room for only four nights -- keep in mind, you future visitors, that winter is High Season in Hawaii.  In past years, while my mother was alive, even a week felt much too brief -- I recall annoying others by my complaints: "Three days gone, only four more to go!"  

But sometimes a short visit has certain benefits.  Every moment is precious, and all the wonderful experiences feel condensed and heightened in intensity.  And so I hope it will be next week.

What can I tell you about this year's twins, this year's guests of honor?  Both were somewhat artistic when I first met them, and both seemed to flourish among the typical required courses of the undergrad liberal arts curriculum.  But one eventually became a radiology professor at Stanford's medical school, and the other became a much loved primary care physician and active member of the community in Sonoma, California.  We all stayed in touch, and skied together at Lake Tahoe for many years, until the Sonoma GP (then a resident of Berkeley) startled me by marrying my sister.

They were both pretty cool guys and good friends when I met them as undergraduates.  Their success in their careers and with their lives has been no surprise.  And now, 62 years later, we can celebrate the good times of the past, and look forward to the future, a future that is unpredictable but that we trust holds the possibility of many new satisfactions.

As the hopeful birthday wish goes, "And many more to come!"