Senator BUMPERS. Thank you very much, Mr. Helfrich. STATEMENT OF STEPHEN R. McCARTHY, PORTLAND, OR Mr. MCCARTHY. In 1959 when I was 17 years old, I picked the loneliest, most remote spot I could find and could reasonably expect to get to and decided to hike across it with two friends. We had no guides. No one as far as we knew had ever done this trip before. Our route was from Barter Island, across the coastal plain tundra, up the Hula Hula River to Lake Schrader, through the Romanzoff Mountains, and down the east fork of the Chandalar to Arctic Village. There is a map attached of the route we took. Two eskimos took us from Kaktovik to the shore in a small boat. We stepped off onto the two foot high tundra edge at the Arctic Ocean and stood completely alone. From the edge of the Arctic Ocean to the hamlet of Arctic Village, 210 miles to the south, there was not a human being. The flat coastal plain alone took us several days to cross. We saw no buildings, no trails, no litter, no debris, no pipelines, no roads, no smoke or smokestacks. We heard no vehicles, no airplanes, no power saws, no three wheelers, no gunshots, no radios, nor boats. We saw a delicate carpet of flowers, a sparse collection of birds of all kinds because nothing at least in our experience was really abundant. And we heard only the wind. We saw a few caribou, a fox, caught some grayling, got rained on good, snowed on a little, and we began to feel an incredible loneliness, a searing, empty, almost desperate sense of isolation. Without knowing it, we had stumbled into a world when humans were only a minor feature of the earth. Lately it seems to me as a race we have not done well by the earth. We have been devouring the earth's surface, destroying vegetation, creatures, land forms, cultures and perhaps the fundamental systems that keep us here at all. In 1959 we stumbled into a place where none of these disasters had taken place. Since that time a few hundred or a few thousand people have, no doubt, had similar experiences. And thanks to great good fortune and minor political miracles, they still can, at least until now. Your committee will decide whether another few hundred or few thousand people can have this or a similar experience this year, next year and the year after and perhaps forever, or you can decide for sure that no one can. In all the world there are only a handful of places left where this type of experience is possible. I have seen in the Himalayas, in Europe, in Alaska, Canada and the U.S.A. these special places disappear. There are still a few left, and most of those few unfortunately cannot be saved. The destruction has already begun. In many cases the government of the country involved is too poor, too wrongheaded, or simply doesn't have enough muscle to deal with the powerful interests and to set aside such a global jewel, such a place of unique and overpowering but fragile beauty and loneliness. Our country can save this place. [The prepared statement of Mr. McCarthy follows:] Testimony in Opposition to Senate Bill No.1217 Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) October 22, 1987 Stephen R. McCarthy 1646 N.W. 32nd Street Portland, Oregon 97210 (503)248-9470, (503)227-7976 In 1959, when I was 17 years old, I picked the loneliest, most remote spot I could find and could reasonably expect to get to and decided to hike across it with two friends. Our route was from Barter Island (Kaktovik) across the coastal plain tundra, up the Hula Hula River, to Lake Schrader, through the Romanzoff Mountains of the Brooks Range and down the East Fork of the Chandalar River to Arctic Village. In 1959 we encountered true wilderness. Two Eskimos took us from Kaktovik to the edge of the tundra in a small boat. We stepped off, on to the two foot high landform, and stood, completely alone. From the edge of the Arctic Ocean to the hamlet of Arctic Village, 210 miles to the south there was not a human being. The flat coastal plain alone took us several days to cross. We saw no buildings, no trails, no litter, no debris, no pipelines, no roads, no smoke or smokestacks. We heard no vehicles, no airplanes, no power saws, no three wheelers, gunshots, radios, nor boats. birds of all kinds We saw a delicate carpet of flowers, a sparse collection of nothing was abundant-- and we heard only the wind. In July there was frost every night, and new snow made the Northface of the Brooks Range glisten. Eerie long, low banks of clouds moved in across the front of the Brooks, in the twilight providing a pink "sunset" and in the midday often obscuring the surroundings, forcing us to travel by compass. During our days on the coastal plain we saw a few caribou, a fox, caught some greyling, got rained on good and snowed on a little. And we began to feel an incredible loneliness, a searing, empty, almost desperate sense of isolation. Without knowing it, we had nibbled at the edge of the world of long ago when humans were only a minor feature of the earth. In the last few hundred years, but especially since the end of World War II we humans have not done well by the earth. We have more or less systematically devoured most of the earth's surface, destroying vegetation, creatures, landforms, other human cultures, and most recently we have learned, perhaps the fundamental systems that keep us here at all. In 1959 we stumbled into a place where none of this had happened. Since that time a few thousand people have, no doubt, had similar experiences in what is now known as ANWR. And thanks to great fortune and minor political miracles, they still can, at least until now. Your committee will decide whether another few hundred or few thousand people can have this or a similar experience this year, and next year, and the year after and perhaps forever. Or you can decide for sure that no one can. In all the world there are only a handful of places left where this type of experience is possible. I have seen in the Himalayas, in Europe, in Alaska, Canada and the USA, these special places disappear. There are still a few left. Most of those that remain cannot be saved. The destruction has already begun, albeit perhaps piecemeal. In many cases the government of the country involved is too poor, or too wrongheaded, or too much in thrall to cattle, oil, timber or mineral lords to set aside such a global jewel, a place of unique and overpowering but fragile-- beauty and loneliness. Our country can save this place. You can save this place. |