When Greatness Passes

I’m not going to pretend to have known Martin Litton, or to have ever even met him.  The people I share an office with and report to on a daily basis, did.  They loved Litton, and they committed to carrying on his legacy far before he was ever done shaping it.  I would love to have the privilege to write about Litton, I would have loved to have met him and would have loved to witness the fiery spewing of wisdom, equal parts burn and love.  But all I know is from what I have heard, what I have read, and what I can imagine through the eyes of my fellow O.A.R.S. staff who were awarded that privilege to float the greatest canyon on earth in his company.

(This is from my time in Hells Canyon.  The dory legacy that OARS continues to carry out is Litton's)

For those who don’t know, Litton was a conservationist and a boater.  He saved the Grand Canyon from two dams that would have flooded its sacred crevasses, and he started the legacy that enables me to make an income today.  He founded Grand Canyon Dories, and he rode these beautiful and majestic boats through the canyon despite the fact that wooden hulls don’t mix well with jagged rocks. Grand Canyon Dories later become a company of O.A.R.S., and dories were cemented as our main artery. Litton also holds the record for the oldest person to row the Grand Canyon- a record set when he was 87. But like I said, I can’t feign authority in writing about the man that stands taller than most in the more recent histories of our country.  But I can appreciate some of what he has left behind- the great forests of California, the valleys of the Canyon, and even the coastline I am very shortly relocating to and will be calling home.  “What is wilderness? It's mankind's acknowledgment that there is a higher value, a higher purpose. It ceases to be wilderness when we're here. But we are its stewards. It is vital to our souls. It is the source of much of our inspiration.”  And I thankfully am privileged enough to be inspired regularly by what made this man’s heart tick.

(Sunset on the Central Coast, a place Litton fought hard for, but lost in his battle against the Diablo Canyon Power Plant. Not because it is nuclear, but becuase it is ugly).

So what am I doing then, if not writing about Litton?  I’m taking a moment to be inspired. Without Litton O.A.R.S. would be a different company, and I am proud to play my tiny part in continuing one great man’s legacy.   I work with people every day who fight to keep wild the places we as a country cherish— or should anyway.  I work with the legends behind running rivers, with the pioneers of adventure, and with the people who dreamed up a world saturated with wildness and nature and made it into a lifestyle worth pursuing every single day.  It’s my job to expose people to rivers and canyons and places that have the power to transform souls, ignite passions, and foster successful movements of preservation.  Sure, I do this from a desk somewhere in California.  But if that’s my part to play, I’m grateful.   

(Yosemite, one more place we owe to wilderness visionaries)

"People always tell me not to be extreme," Litton declares. " 'Be reasonable!' they say. But I never felt it did any good to be reasonable about anything in conservation, because what you give away will never come back—ever. When it comes to saving wilderness, we can't be extreme enough. To compromise is to lose."  When the greats of this world pass on, one can't help but be grateful for a legacy worth crawling out of bed for, every single day.