On a glorious summer day last month, I finished a hike near a stream at the base of Mount Mansfield in Vermont.
Approaching the trail head near some parked cars, I came across a family with two young boys. One of the boys was carrying a large boulder from the stream to the family Land Rover with a New York license plate.
Perhaps I should have minded my own business but I looked at the parents and said, “you know, you shouldn’t be removing rocks from nature.”
The parents smirked, looking back at me like I had rocks in my head. And, they’d be correct — I was thinking of the rocks. My brain often thinks of rocks.
I am a recovering rock thief.
I’ve been taking rocks from all sorts of places I have visited ever since I could remember. My first science fair project in third grade was showing off my sizeable rock collection.
I could and would spend a whole day at the beach, whether on Maine’s rocky coast, or on Cape Cod, on the Connecticut or Rhode Island shore, collecting shells and rocks. My parents, of course, from a generation that thought the American spacious wilderness was unlimited and never ending, encouraged this habit. They even took pictures of me with my rocks.
The problem is that there are too many others like me. We’re ruining the environment.
Some years ago, my wife, Denise, who has the strongest moral compass I know on this planet, told me to stop.
“Think about all the other rock nerds like you taking all the rocks,” she said. “Soon there won’t be any rocks left where they belong.”
I looked back, my eyes as wide as a geode.
It was like she had hit me over the head with my own granite. It stopped me in my rock hunting tracks. “What, no more rocks?” I stammered. “Taking rocks … from where they belong …” I whimpered, “Is wrong?”
“Yes, John,” she said, “it’s wrong.”
Now I don’t take rocks. If I am hiking or out and about anywhere, and I see a rock to enjoy, I look at it, maybe even pick it up, but I put it back immediately. OK, so I probably shouldn’t even be picking them up, but, hey, like I said, I am recovering from a serious rock neurosis.
Now I just take a picture of the nice rock and add it to my now ginormous rock picture collection that is housed on my ginormous hard drive full of other rock pictures. This is, I’m sure, probably another mental behavior for me to be concerned about, but at least I’m not damaging the environment.
In New England, where our topography famously shows the result of thousands of years of rock erosion and glaciation, rock picking is a big deal. Our rugged and rocky grandeur is known worldwide. Why ruin it by poking at it and removing it?
If you think I’ve gone off my rocker, then listen to the park rangers. Rock pilfering has become a serious problem. According to the Acadia National Park website, more than 2 million people visit Acadia every year, and too many of them are taking or moving rocks.
Taking rocks is like cutting a tree down in the forest, said one ranger. If every person took even one pebble, there would be very little park left to enjoy. Rock pilfering also affects the resiliency of the beaches, which are important in protecting our region’s scenic coastline.
Acadia is now on a public service campaign to stop people from removing rocks or even building stacked rocks, known as “cairns.”
Last winter, the Friends of Acadia National Park in Maine, produced a charming video of a rock release after a longtime park visitor mailed rocks back. The beach cobbles are set free from a pet crate and they return to freedom in the ocean wilds.
In Westport, Mass., town officials have become so irate over people raiding its beaches of its rocks that they passed a law this year imposing fines on anyone taking rocks or vegetation from its town-owned beaches.
Across the nation, there’s growing awareness for Leave No Trace practices. Leave No Trace means leaving no sign that you traveled through an area. When you move or remove rocks, you are altering nature for the next visitor.
I’ve learned my lesson. Besides, I live on a street off Rocky Hill Road, where I live amongst the rocks, some so gigantic no one, not even me, could remove them.
John Paradis, a retired U.S. Air Force lieutenant colonel, lives in Florence and writes a column published the second Friday of the month. He can be reached at columnists@gazettenet.com.