In these times of fire danger in the national forests out west, if you call a park ranger for emergency assistance of any kind-she`ll be right there. The classic image of a national park ranger is a muscular, square-jawed man wearing a Smokey-the-Bear hat, and there are still plenty of those around. But when there`s fire-fighting, law enforcement, search and rescue, medical aid or general park operation to be done-you might be looking at a woman in a Smokey-the-Bear hat.
Long a bastion of male-dominance, the National Park Service since the 1970s has seen a steady growth in the number of women who are outdoor teachers, maintenance workers and even armed law enforcement officials.
Such a trailblazer is Bonnie Gafney, who stands 5 feet, 2 inches and wears a pistol on her hip.
Looking at such a petite figure, one finds it impossible to suppress the question: What would she do if she encountered something big and hairy and mean and ugly? And we`re not talking grizzly bears here.
”We make arrests,” Gafney responds firmly-in a Gary Cooper matter-of-fact way.
Gafney is one of only 59 female police park rangers trained to respond to any sort of emergency: fires, medical and law enforcement. A nine-year veteran of the park service, she is stationed near the visitor`s center at Old Faithful, the world`s best known geyser, in Yellowstone National Park.
Thousands of visitors go to national parks each year for the peace, serenity and beauty of the wilderness, but they sometimes bring their bad habits with them.
Gafney finds that 99 per cent of her arrests are alcohol-related, often involving driving-while-intoxicated or domestic disturbances.
She finds that most people are basically cooperative, although there are exceptions. In a tense situation, she says, ”It`s a matter of talking to them.
”If it`s bad, we back off until we get enough people to handle it safely,” she says, explaining standard strategy for trouble-makers. ”There are certain people who are not rational.”
These women of battle are relative newcomers to the ranks of national park rangers, unlike Linda Olson, a ranger interpreter-naturalist at nearby Grand Teton National Park, near Jackson, Wyo.
Women who wear guns and do protection work have been in the parks for several years, says Olson, formerly of Auburn, Ill.
”That blossomed in the 1970s,” she says. ”That was a feminist statement when it was new. Not anymore.”
Almost uniformly, the woman rangers say they are treated as equals in the wild, where cooperation sometimes is necessary to survive.
”I`m one of the boys,” says Olson, her voice dropping to a fake baritone. She is one of 2,749 female national park rangers.
Olson points out that the interpreter-naturalist unit was the first in the park service to employ women, often from the ranks of teachers.
”We are the teachers,” she explains. ”We try hard in the parks to bring about an understanding of the natural resources and an appreciation for them-the birds, plants and wildlife. If we are lucky, people go home and practice some outdoor ethics.”
The equality the park women share these days was hard-won, however, and service in the national parks can still pose special challenges for women.
When Janet Wolf joined the service in the summer of 1969, she was undergoing training in cliff rappelling, first aid and search and rescue when word came that a little Indian girl was lost.
”Four or five women in our training group were told not to go out,”
recalls Wolf. ”Nobody has the nerve to say that today. But in 1969, it was usual to get that.”
Today Wolf, as superintendent of Morristown National Historic Park in New Jersey, is one of about 30 women park superintendents out of the nation`s total 341.
”In business,” she says, ”some people won`t deal with a woman. It is harder to do community relations when you are a woman in a community with organizations that don`t accept women members, especially in the west.”
The only recourse is to tough it out and find community groups that accept women.
It was more common 10 or 15 years ago for women to enter the park service as a feminism statement. Today women believe only that they bring their skill and insight to a job that appeals to them.
”I see myself as being more caring” than a man ”in interpersonal relationships,” said Wolf. ”There is more of a willingness by women for sharing.
”Besides, this nation is made up of men and women. If you have a balanced work force, you can reach out to the entire population. There are ways men look at the world that don`t occur to me.”
Gafney, Olson and Wolf are national park women who are out front and highly visible to the public.
Another group of women also is serving, but almost invisibly.
In this number are wives of male park superintendents-women like Thelma Warnock, who is national co-chairman of National Park Women (NPW), founded in 1952.
Warnock is a bubbly woman, the kind who sits down at the breakfast counter of a restaurant and immediately begins chatting with the person sitting next to her.
”You have to learn to deal with the isolation,” she says of the life of a national park superintendent`s spouse. ”That`s why we are so outgoing.”
Warnock is the wife of the superintendent of the Redwoods National Park in California.
Like many of these wives, Warnock`s life is filled with stories about strange and exotic places, including one she remembers as ”60 miles to bread and milk.”
Warnock has five children, one born in Yosemite, another at Carlsbad, and still another in a Navajo hospital in New Mexico. In fact, hers was the first Caucasian child to be born in the Navajo hospital.
”I didn`t know that until a nurse told me they thought something was wrong with him because he was so pale,” she laughs.
These are places people love to visit for short periods on vacation. But park superintendents and their families stay until they are assigned to another park and uprooted.
A roving lifestyle of this kind involves ”adjusting to all the moves we make, leaving all the friends behind and helping the kids adjust to a new school.”
But service to each other runs strong in the national organization, which also has an activist agenda.
”One of my vows is to never leave anyone alone to completely fend for themselves,” she said. ”You can`t just stay in your home and wait for people to call you. They don`t do that. You put yourself where they are.
”We join the church groups. We`re Brownie leaders. We don`t have family around. We become each other`s family. We pick up people at the airport.”
As more and more women enter the work force, wives of park superintendents have a special problem, because nepotism rules forbid government employment.
”Because they are so isolated, it`s hard to find jobs,” said Warnock.
But a far more nettlesome issue faces the park wives: What happens to those whose husbands die or are killed in the line of duty?
”We are all away from home, doing government service,” said Warnock.
”There is no provision for getting us back home.”
Under a 1973 law, the spouse is moved to the nearest town.
”That was mainly to empty the house so a new superintendent could move in,” explains Warnock. ”The wife could not sit there in bereavement and decide for six months where to go.”
NPW has negotiated quietly with federal officials on the issue, but is having little luck. Any concessions to the park wives might apply to other agencies.
Warnock`s outgoing spirit bubbles up again, and now her thoughts turn to a woman`s changing role in the park.
”Women are working more, having fewer children,” she observes. ”They are not home having coffee. We have more women superintendents. We have fewer wives.
”Some of us old-timers have a feeling that some of the younger ones are not quite as caring. . . . We worry about the future. Sometimes it becomes a job instead of a lifestyle. We believe this is a lifestyle.”
