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Kaibab Junction - Sneak Peek

 

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Marble Canyon and the mosaic desert hues shrank out of view as Jackson Renn drove around the pastel-orange Vermilion Cliffs and west toward the green odiferous forests of the Kaibab Plateau. He had begun his trek from Flagstaff late morning and stopped briefly for a late lunch at a lonely restaurant near where the Navajo Bridge crossed the mighty Colorado River, still swelled with hazardous waters from the spring runoff. While crossing the bridge, he questioned if an opportunity would arise to float the river or at least hike down to the water’s edge during his summer employment in the area. Then he wondered, Was this a foolish thought? How long could the waiting list be for the coveted whitewater adventure?

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Pulling away from the steep switchbacks near the House Rock Valley Overlook, Jackson saw the first welcoming trees of the ponderosa pine forest dominating the north end of the plateau. Farther into the forest, he was subtly lulled into relaxation by the pine’s vanilla aroma ushered in through his open window. The scent reminded him of a candle his mother kept in the dining room of his family home in Panguitch, Utah, and it was comforting. But soon he found the combination of his full stomach and the natural air freshener too relaxing, resulting in an afternoon slump. His eyes grew heavy and his thoughts grew distant. The image of a blond-haired siren formed in his mind. She was the young woman he and other wildland firefighters had encountered in the Pioneer Mountains of Southwest Montana while on a local fire assignment. She had just escaped captivity from the hands of deadly fugitives when she saw them out on patrol and asked for their help. He easily recalled her name as Sammy Jo Pepper, a seasonal government worker like himself. But before his thoughts could drift further, a Kaibab squirrel darted in front of his truck snapping his attention back to the road. The sudden jolt of adrenaline told him a safety rest was desperately needed. He quickly found his break at the Jacob Lake Inn and Kaibab Plateau Visitor Center.

 

Jackson’s stroll among the buildings and several shots of caffeinated soda revived his senses. Although he would have preferred to linger, he could see the retreat of the afternoon sun on the horizon. Returning to his vehicle, he continued his journey. His destination was close, and he’d find better rest to his north.

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Exiting the magnificent ponderosa canopy and entering the steppe landscape dominated by pinyon pine and sage brush, the Sunday evening sun teased the last of the day’s warmth. Cool air spilling off the Kaibab Plateau would soon replace the latent heat of that early-June evening and refresh the high desert town of Fredonia—a modest establishment of the Arizona Strip. Often windblown and invaded by tumbleweeds, the town would serve as the new workplace for the recent college graduate. It would be the beginning of the next chapter of his young life, and he was eager to start filling its pages.

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Leaving the plateau in his rearview mirror and continuing on State Highway 89A in his white Toyota Tacoma, Jackson was getting more excited by the minute to report for his seasonal job with the North Kaibab Ranger District of the US Forest Service. He had found the wildlife-range technician vacancy on the USA Jobs website and applied, fearing an abundance of interest from fellow Northern Arizona University students majoring in natural resources. The job, although temporary, would serve several purposes. It would give him a foot in the door of the federal government, where he hoped to build a career and provide money to apply to his student loans, and it was in close proximity to his family in Panguitch. The job was about as good as a start as any new graduate could expect in the field of wildland management, especially in the current economic climate.

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“Times are really tough right now for graduates in your field,” Jackson would hear his father say repeatedly as a Forest Service employee himself on the Powell Ranger District of the Dixie National Forest. “The job may be seasonal, but you have to start somewhere. At least you’ll be close to home, and your mother will appreciate that.”

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Panguitch, Utah, being his latest hometown as his parents had moved frequently within the Forest Service system, stood only an hour and a half north of Fredonia. As such, both Jackson and his father knew he could easily come home any weekend, necessary or not. Mother must be kept happy.

 

Realizing he should get a restful night’s sleep before starting his new job on Monday morning, Jackson secured a room at a local motel. Finding the nearby café closed, he ventured north of town to a border tavern. Appearing extra-long on the outside, the tavern felt even larger once he entered the building. Even on a Sunday evening, the establishment was busy, but he was not there to socialize. Having a true western atmosphere, complete with stools and a bar boasting a two-toned patched livestock design, wood-slatted walls, and a genuine bison head mounted proudly among other wild game specimens, he fully expected a gang of horse-mounted outlaws to enter through swinging doors while shooting holes in the ceiling. But regardless of his active imagination, Jackson found he was too tired to eat a full meal, so his brief visit to the tavern sufficiently filled his need with a couple of appetizers of Mexican cuisine.

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His job reporting time of 7 a.m. would come soon enough, so he was ready to shower, relax, and watch some television before getting to bed at a reasonable time. He knew the importance of making a good first impression and had every intention of doing so and looking presentable. Getting his field gear organized and shaving was a top priority that evening.

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A good scout is always prepared, he thought.

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With little interesting on the television, Jackson turned to scrolling the internet on his phone. He decided to study any information about the North Kaibab Ranger District that was provided on the government websites. He didn’t wish to go into work without having some idea of the district and its origin. He surmised that having knowledge of and expressing interest in his place of work would set a favorable tone for his first day of work. Cruising through the websites, he quickly learned that the word “Kaibab” meant “mountain lying down” in Paiute, the language of the Indigenous people of the area. He was quickly captivated by the management evolution of the ranger district and Kaibab Plateau—how it began as the Grand Canyon Forest Reserve in 1893, was molded along with forested lands on the south side of the canyon into the Grand Canyon Game Preserve in 1906 by President Theodore Roosevelt, and was soon renamed the Kaibab National Forest in 1908. He found that In 1919 the portions of the Kaibab National Forest surrounding the Grand Canyon were sectioned off creating Grand Canyon National Park. Reading on, he learned about the 1934 absorption of the more southerly Tusayan National Forest into the Kaibab National Forest which formed the existing boundaries.

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Continuing his study, Jackson read the North Kaibab Ranger District was one of three districts making up the forest boundary, the remaining two being the Tusayan and Williams Ranger Districts, both of which lay south of Grand Canyon National Park. He sat in his motel room fascinated by the history and geography of the area and how the North Kaibab Ranger District was a forested island surrounded by the Grand Canyon to the south and high desert plant communities to the east, west, and north—a true oasis for local flora and fauna including the infamous Kaibab mule deer herd.

 

Serving as a historical lesson in wildlife management and conservation, the story of the Kaibab mule deer herd became one in need of recounting in every university offering the curricula. With a modestly estimated herd of 4,000 deer in 1906, protectionists were quick to all but eliminate the natural predators of the deer in the Grand Canyon Game Preserve, including mountain lions, coyotes, and wolves. It was an early example of good intentions with little forethought. So much so that by 1924, the herd had grown to an estimated 100,000. The crash and mass starvation of the mule deer herd was likely inevitable, but the cause would be argued by habitat professionals, ranchers, and scientists for decades. Some blamed the limited carrying capacity of the preserve while others argued that the fault lied with overgrazing by livestock and drought. The truth of the rapid decline of the mule deer herd likely resulted from the mixture of several ingredients, which created the perfect biological storm and a long-lived lesson for the world of wildlife management. Jackson’s self-imposed study of the ranger district and its famous mule deer slowly equated to counting sheep, leaving him with tired eyes and the naïve perception of a dreamlike utopia in which he would begin his job Monday morning.

 

But little could he know, like in every other setting and small town across the country, the district and Fredonia had its share of secrets and unsavory characters, both of which would alter the course of his post-academic journey in the field of wildland conservation.