The Scars We Leave Behind
I spent last weak soaking up the beauty of the California High Sierra. I waded into lakes, dove into rivers, hiked to waterfalls, and generally took advantage of my access to the great outdoors. I’ve been to the region many times over the years. And while most of my attention is typically pulled to the natural landscapes there, I can’t help but notice the less natural landmarks as well. This is Gold Country, after all. Some of these landmarks are obvious. The old mine shafts, dilapidated miners’ cabins, and abandoned rusty equipment that can easily be spotted on hikes. Others blend in a bit more with their surroundings, at least to the unassuming eye: An old hydraulic mine carved out of the hills that is now dotted with trees. A popular swimming spot that is actually an old tailings pond. These last two, which I hadn’t noticed until my latest trip, got me thinking about the lasting scars we humans leave on the landscape. Gold Rush era mining peaked in the 1850s. Hydraulic mining was effectively banned in California in the 1880s. Though some mining operations continued for decades longer, much of the damage from the industry was done more than a century ago. Yet the impacts linger. Not only in the carved-out mountains and old infrastructure — physical reminders of the rush for gold — but also in the displacement of Indigenous peoples, the public safety threat posed by abandoned mines, and the toxins that were left behind in the soil and waters. The scale of the damage caused by the California Gold Rush is nothing compared to that caused by global mineral mining and fossil fuel extraction today. I hold out hope that, 150 years from now, we will be treading more lightly. And that the scars from today’s extraction, whatever form they take, will serve as poignant reminders of another era ended — and an extractive mindset that we’ve left behind.
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