Last week, a column in the Thursday, Aug. 21 edition of the Merritt Herald really struck a chord with me.
It was by our contributor and resident outdoors-man Othmar Vohringer, who wrote about the disturbing effects of litter left in the wild.
Clearly, the issue and his point of view resonates with a lot of people. The link to the column received many likes and even a few shares off of our Facebook page.
I was glad to see it get so much attention. I’m sure each one of the people who gave the Facebook link the ol’ thumbs-up has their own story about finding litter in their favourite places in nature.
The fact is, litter is litter because it doesn’t belong where it is. If it’s trash, it belongs in the trash. It’s plain and simple. Or so it should be.
Over the August long weekend, a group of young guys camping at Little Box on Spius Creek left bags of garbage behind, and even a still-smouldering campfire on the holiday Monday afternoon.
Thankfully, a group of Good Samaritans irked by the garbage was thoughtful enough to pack the trash out.
It’s just sad to me that so many people seem to callously disregard the very nature they’re out there, presumably, to appreciate.
If you can bring in a two-four, you can bring out your refuse.
Seriously, bringing it out is actually easier than bringing it in, because the beer in the cans has been drunk.
There is just no excuse good enough for leaving your trash lying around.
This is yet another appeal to common sense, and is very likely preaching to the choir.
I’ve certainly never heard anyone proclaim the great upside to littering. We all know it’s lazy and destructive.
Sometimes, even making sure your garbage gets to the garbage isn’t enough to prevent it from potentially harming wildlife.
Perhaps most publicized (some may argue over-publicized) are the perils of six-pack rings, those plastic contraptions that hold cans together.
They famously blow in the wind until they reach bodies of water or shorelines and get stuck around the beaks of sea birds.
I’m sure some are simply littered on the beach or at the campsite, and curious animals get into them.
Just cutting apart the rings can reduce the danger of those rings clamping the beak of a bird shut and causing it to starve to death, or from choking marine animals to death.
It’s not a perfect solution to every litter-caused problem, but it also doesn’t hurt.
Of course, wild animals get themselves in all kinds of pickles in human inventions and all the worldly material possessions we collect and store on our properties regardless of our solid gold intentions.
I once saw a deer at my parents’ house in Winnipeg stride up to the bird feeder hanging on the corner of their shed, stick its chin against the little tab that the birds would peck at to release the seeds, and drain all the seeds in one big gulp.
It was quite cute, actually, and solved the mystery of the rapidly-disappearing seed. (It was, as they say, not that deer’s first rodeo.) But for an orange cat called Butterscotch in Brandon, Man., sneaking some bird seed didn’t end so well.
In fact, a few scattered sightings of the cat with a brightly-coloured bird feeder stuck over his head prompted a weeks-long search and rescue operation earlier this summer.
Sure, the person who owned the bird feeder could’ve never filled it in the first place, thus not attracting any cats. But then it wouldn’t attract any birds, and what’s the good of that?
The simple lesson we all know is that in order to appreciate nature, we should keep a respectful distance between it and us, and that includes our stuff.
Providing bird seed or an ideal tree branch for nesting robins is one thing.
Dumping your trash in everyone’s backyard is another.
