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. | 
