The Rainbow Warrior
The Aspen’s of Gold Peak were blossoming green and shimmering in the breeze. The snow glittered as it melted. It trickled down the Gore Range to form a cascading stream joining Gore Creek from the top of the Grand Traverse. It echoed loudly off the walls of the Vail Transportation Center as it rumbled through the Upper Eagle Valley. The young man and the girl with him sat on a bench under the eaves of the building. The Express Greyhound from Los Angeles would arrive in fifteen minutes. It stopped briefly in Vail before going on to Denver.
“Isn’t that a snow cat pulling a trailer?” the girl asked, pointing toward the mountain.
“Yeah, I guess they’re going to ski the back bowls,” the boy said.
“You mean there’s still enough snow to ski?”
“The bowls hold it pretty well. The corn snow must be great.”
“It’s funny but there aren’t many trees in the bowls.”
“It wasn’t always that way.” The boy turned to face her.
“They must have had a hard time clearing all those trees to develop the back of the mountain,” she said
“They weren’t cleared for development. The Legend is that when Lord Gore came through with his hunting party in the late 1800’s, the local Native Americans started great forest fires to drive them out. They were incensed by the sheer desecration of all the animals killed just for sport.”
The girl looked at the snow cat as the sun glistened off a window as it disappeared over a rise in the mountainside. She turned and faced the boy.
“It must have been awful-the fires I mean, all that destruction. The Natives destroyed the trees as well as animals.”
“The hunters had driven off most of the game or already killed them.”
“Violence never solved anything! They still lost their land. What are you going to do next Tom, join Earth First?”
“I have to go, I have to go do this Susan.”
“I don’t see why! You don’t care about me or you wouldn’t go.”
“That’s not fair. You know I care.”
“You could stay and spend the summer with me, here in Vail. You could get a job landscaping or something, instead you have to run off to Boulder. Why do you have to help Greenpeace protest against the Rocky Flats Nuclear Weapons Facility? God knows where you’ll go after that.”
The boy rose and walked to the cement retaining wall of the transportation center. He listened to the rushing water of Gore Creek. The leading edge of a spring storm moved rapidly down the valley. A brilliant rainbow formed in the mist of the advancing snow squall. The girl joined him and slid her hand into his.
“This creek full of fresh mountain water flows into the Eagle River at Dowd Junction,” he chose his words carefully. “The river is now rust colored and mineral laden. It is contaminated from the tailings pond of the Eagle Mine. It’s a Superfund cleanup in the middle of a pristine wilderness. Don’t you see now why I have to go?”
The Greyhound pulled alongside the terminal. The girl reached inside of her backpack and pulled out a book. She handed it to the boy.
“The Monkey Wrench Gang, by Edward Abbey, something for the Rainbow Warrior who has everything,” she smiled.
Brother's In Arms, Dire Straits
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