The video shows the incident as clear as day: three
men push on a sandstone rock pedestal—known to locals as the “Duckbill”—until it
collapses to the ground in pieces. The footage instantly went viral and the men
were just as fast labeled vandals, criminals, jackasses. The court of public
opinion found them solely responsible for the Duckbill’s destruction. But
perhaps the blame should be shared. Perhaps the true cause of the destruction
is much larger, more complex, than anyone wants to admit. Perhaps social
media should share some of the blame.
After
the video of the Duckbill’s destruction went viral, more pictures of the iconic
rock began popping up all over the Internet. Most of these photos were posted
as a sort of “in memoriam” of the rock and depicted people climbing, standing,
doing yoga poses, etc. on the rock. Now, before we go any further, let’s make
it clear that this rock was situated on a portion of the Oregon Coast that was
not supposed to be visited by human beings, made obvious by not only signs, but
an actual fence, that one would have to climb over or go around to enter the
restricted area. So, what I can’t wrap my head around, is how you can memorialize
a fallen piece of nature by publicly sharing photos of yourself personally
molesting that very piece of nature. If you can’t see the hypocrisy in that,
then it’s not even worth my time to explain.
Unfortunately,
the destruction of Duckbill Rock is merely the tip of a seemingly ever-growing
iceberg. Over the past few years, a new culture has evolved due entirely to a handful
of social media websites (Instagram and Facebook bear the most responsibility);
a culture of “adventure photography” that has grown dangerous at an exceedingly
fast rate. Without making it too complicated, here’s the simple gist: people
take photos of themselves doing “adventurous” activities, they post these
pictures on social media, suddenly their friends need to replicate the
photograph and post it themselves, suddenly their friends need to replicate the
photograph and post it themselves, suddenly their friends need to…before you
know it, the Duckbill Rock is destroyed.
This
culture of social media adventuring has lead to the assumption that our wild
areas are nothing more than natural amusement parks. Over the past several months,
I have seen this phenomenon in both the media and in person. On the news: a
visitor at Yellowstone falls into a hot spring 200 yards off the main trail while
trying to take a selfie; the water was so hot that the park officials said
there would be no recovery because there was nothing left to recover…And, in
real life: last weekend I went hiking in the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area
(pay particular attention to the word “Scenic”), where I viewed people swimming
underneath waterfalls, jumping from the tops of waterfalls, and exploring areas
off the trail, making so much noise that you would have thought you were at
Disney World. The common bond among these “adventurers”? They all had their
cameras out, no doubt taking pictures of their “adventures” to share on social
media. As I was leaving, a woman in the parking lot asked me if the trail was
wide enough to take her newborn in a stroller. “These are the woods!!!” I desperately
wanted to yell. “There are 100 foot drop-offs around every bend! There are wild
animals that will eat your baby! There are drunk hipsters jumping off
waterfalls!!” In the end, I simply advised her against it.
And
this new culture goes way beyond mere individuals; if there’s a dollar to be
made…A few weeks ago I attended the first ever “Adventure Expo!” which should have
been more appropriately called “Nothing I would Ever Need to go on an Adventure
Expo!” The entire exposition revolved around nothing but branding: T-shirts,
hats, buttons, stickers, blankets, beer koozies; all with company logos plastered
all over them. Now, how do logos pertain to adventure? Well, won’t they look “cool”
and “hip” in your social media adventure photographs? But what does “adventure”
even mean? According to Dictionary.com: “A very exciting or unusual experience.”
Now, let’s pinpoint that word “unusual.” What is so unusual about taking
photographs of yourself doing things that you already saw other people doing on
the Internet? Aren’t the true adventurers those who posted the photos
originally? I can think of a better word for what all these social media “adventurers”
really are: Posers. The Dictionary.com definition for “poser”: A person who
poses; especially a person who is trendy and fashionable in a superficial way.
Sounds like a more appropriate word to me.
Now,
I’m not saying that people shouldn’t go on adventures (I am an adventure writer
after all, who has undoubtedly inspired others to go on their own adventures),
but I think people need to go on adventures for the right reasons. Do you
actually enjoy bold, risky, hazardous undertakings? Or is that merely a public
perception that you are trying to convey via social media? There is a real
simple way to figure out your true intentions. The next time you decide to go
on an adventure, just ask yourself: “Would I still be doing this if there were no photographs
involved?” Think about it—if not for the sake of our
natural areas, then for your own safety—that’s all I ask.
A Brief Afterward: If three men could so easily push
over the Duckbill Rock at Cape Kiwanda, then you can imagine how close it was
to ultimately falling over, and when it did eventually happen, there’s a pretty
good chance that somebody would of have been climbing on it at the time (in
order to take an adventurous selfie?), thus resulting in serious injury, or
even death. So, even though these guys are most likely some of the biggest douchebag
bros out there, (and in no way am I justifying their actions) they may have saved
a life in the long run. Just something to think about…
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