The Beaten Path

Trailbuilders work hard to clear the way for hikers

STORY BY DANIEL DEMAY

Anyone who has ever hiked a trail in the Pacific Northwest has seen trail builder handiwork. Not that they’d notice, since it’s the things missing that stand out the most — the trees that fall in winter windstorms, the ground that is washed away in a slide or a stream crossing, the boulders that fall and block a path.

Those are just a few of the troubles that will befall trails this autumn. But the trees and rocks don’t melt away in sunlight.

“It’s a lot of back-breaking work,” says Jon Knechtel, director of trail operations for the Pacific Northwest Trail Association (PNTA).

Knechtel’s organization maintains and oversees the 1,200-mile Pacific Northwest Trail, running from the Continental Divide in Montana to the Pacific Coast on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. He has been involved with trail building since the 1960s, when he first worked on a part of the Boundary Trail in the Pasayten Wilderness, an area east of Ross Lake in the Okanogan National Forest.

Knechtel doesn’t typically work in the field these days, but he spends plenty of time on the paperwork necessary to get the work done.

Environmental issues first

Before any maintenance project can begin, the area must undergo an environmental analysis, says Gary Paull, wilderness and trail coordinator for the U.S. Forest Service in the Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest. The process looks at potential alternative routes for the trail, as well as plants and animals in the area that may be impacted. With many factors to consider, this process is often time-consuming, Paull says.

“The easy part is doing the actual work,” he says.

The analysis is the beginning of a multi-part process that includes public approval and sometimes an appeal process. That process doesn’t happen overnight, either.

“It could take anywhere from one year to, I don’t know, forever,” Paull says.

Knechtel remembers a time when a brief environmental review process made it easier to work on trails.

“It’s a lot different than it was 15 years ago, when you would just go in and start working,” Knechtel says.

Another major issue for maintaining the roughly 1,300 miles of trails from Mount Rainier to the Canadian border is funding, Paull says.

Trails can cost upward of $1,800 per mile per year to maintain, he says. Trails farthest from roads (such as in the Pasayten Wilderness, where trails rise above 6,000 feet and extend well beyond 20 miles into the wilderness) might cost as much as $5,000 per mile annually — and that doesn’t include the salaries of people tasked with coordinating the projects, Paull says.

One forest manager (called a conservation scientist in the industry) might make $60,000 annually, according to data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics.

Funding for the forest service — which comes primarily from the federal government — has declined heavily in the past 20 years, as evidenced by increased fees for use, Paull says. But the work must go on.

The forest service utilizes more than 50,000 volunteer hours per year, making Washington’s volunteer programs one of the largest in the nation, Paull says. The use of volunteer programs is one way to keep up the level of maintenance.

Power tools or hand tools?

Knechtel says trails in the “front country” — areas that can be day-hiked or accessed by automobile — can be maintained with power equipment, such as a trail excavator or power wheelbarrow that can carry up to 500 pounds of dirt or rock.

Many of the trails that need the most maintenance are far from drive-up access and require one or two days just to hike in. On those trips, Knechtel says his crews will pack shovels, picks, plastic buckets and hand-held cutting tools on their backs or on pack horses and they will stay in the wilderness for 10 days or more.

“Sometimes they’ll come out for a couple days and then go back in,” he says. Occasionally, the crews will simply stay put, take a couple days off, and then continue work.

The work often includes clearing out brush, keeping adequate drainage on the trail, repairing switchbacks and cutting back fallen trees.

If a large boulder or slide has blocked a trail, it may require explosives to clear, and that’s not something just anyone can do, Knechtel says.

“It’s not a real simple task,” he says. “You get into that situation [and] you need a licensed powder monkey to do the blasting.”

In the 1960s, when he was helping build the route through the Pasayten Wilderness, Knechtel hauled dynamite by horseback to the front of the trail. Sometimes, it would require blasting through solid rock to keep the trail moving forward. In those days, the process was simple.

“There were really no rules or regulations governing [blasting] back then,” Knechtel says. “Any Tom, Dick and Harry could go out and buy dynamite.”

After the holes were drilled in the rock, someone would cut the fuse, drop the stick of dynamite in the hole and get out of the way, he says.

Nowadays, blasting requires a license and, if it’s in the wilderness, it could require a special permit, Knechtel says.

The forest service uses regular contractors for blasting, making it a bit easier than if the PNTA needs to do blasting, Paull says, but the need for explosives can still slow down the work and add expense.

The blasting can be the most challenging part of keeping up or building a trail. But it’s all worth it in the end.

“I just enjoy trying to share some of the knowledge that I’ve gleaned over the years with the younger generation,” Knechtel says.

Knechtel has been with the PNTA in one form or another since 1999, after some years away from the maintenance side to take a job with Weyerhaeuser, a timber company, but now he works full-time with the PNTA.

Knechtel isn’t the only one with a strong tie to the trails.

Gene Joy is the president of Skagit Whatcom Island Trail Maintaining Organization, a volunteer group that donates about 2,000 hours annually to help maintain trails. Joy started working on trails back in 1998, simply for the love of improving access for other hikers. He hikes less, but he takes pride in helping others gain access, he says.

Joy began his trail maintenance career with two friends when the Swift Creek trail, connecting Baker Lake to Swift Creek Canyon and then up beyond Mount Baker Ski Area, was blocked. The forest service had ignored the trail, and was set to abandon it.

Joy and his pals set to work on the route, making it passable once more, though it took a lot of hard work.

People such as Joy, Knechtel and Paull, are the ghosts who melt away the wear and tear on all those miles of trail. The paths don’t fix themselves, after all.