Teenagers are not known for making the best decisions.
I know because I used to be one.
Among the stupid, idiotic and ill-thought choices I made in my youth was an annual trip to what we knew simply as “the high bridge.” It’s located in the hills of Clallam County on logging land bordered by the Olympic National Forest.
The bridge is hundreds of feet above a creek that feeds into the Sol Duc River, and it has long been known as a popular hangout for kids looking to express themselves in a negative fashion. From the profane graffiti that adorns the railing to the piles of beer cans and tires that sit beneath the towering span, the bridge is essentially a monument to bad decisions, mine included.
Once a year, friends and I would gather up fireworks from the nearby Quileute reservation and head out to the bridge with every intention of blowing up every single one of them. We’d explode M-80s, make sparkler bombs and shoot Roman candles at one another, all while running back and forth at a height that would bring certain death if one of us were to fall.
Aside from my embarrassment at the retelling of this story, there are no lasting effects. None of us were injured. The litter has since been picked up by those with much better intentions than a bunch of hooligans with explosives and a lighter.
There were no fires, and I can’t say we even considered the possibility.
This all comes to mind after the devastating damage wrought by a 15-year-old with fireworks who inadvertently set a blaze along the Columbia River Gorge that has destroyed homes, burned thousands of acres and will scar the landscape for decades.
I’m not suggesting the young man shouldn’t be punished. To the contrary, I think he should face the toughest discipline available, both from his family and from the legal system.
I also think we all owe the matter a fair amount of empathy.
Most of us made completely illogical and potentially damaging decisions in our youth. For the most part, these inadvisable actions held no long-term consequences. This boy will likely be defined by the massive Eagle Creek Fire, and perhaps he should.
Still, you won’t find me among the throngs of righteously angered people shouting for his head or demanding a lifetime prison sentence.
You’re of course entitled to that opinion.
As a man still burdened by the embarrassing memories of my youthful idiocy, I’ll let those who didn’t shoot fireworks at friends for entertainment throw the first stone.
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Speaking of punishment, I hope the book that eventually gets thrown at the suspects in a massive poaching ring weighs 2,000 pounds.
I spent hours reading through hundreds of pages created through the Department of Fish and Wildlife, and the only feelings I had were anger and disgust.
Animals weren’t simply killed. In some cases, they were tortured by illegal hunting dogs that would chew into their innards while criminals who call themselves hunters stood by and laughed.
The most striking image in all the records, at least to me, is a photograph of a man whose face is covered in the blood splatters from a bear he shot at point-blank range. It’s accompanied by a text message to his mother joking he “got a little too close” this time.
These crooks of the forest give hunters everywhere a bad name. They weren’t in it for the sport. They weren’t feeding their families. They were simply murdering wildlife because it’s an activity that brings them enjoyment.
If ever there was an issue that we can all agree on, it’s that punishment should be swift and severe.
Among the most disturbing realizations is how little they cared about being caught. I’m glad this led to a mountain of evidence that will likely lead to convictions, but it creates the possibility there are others out there doing the same thing who are better at covering their tracks, so to speak.
Adults who commit this type of wanton disregard for life and civility should be afforded none of the empathy I suggest be offered a stupid teenager playing with fireworks.
This wasn’t youthful idiocy. This wasn’t just a stupid choice.
This was calculated carnage by adults who deserve the maximum punishment.
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Eric Schwartz is editor of The Chronicle. He can be reached at eschwartz@chronline.com or 360-807-8224.
