Parks and Wreck - Against jet skiers, snowmobilers, and other louts.

Bill Clinton is being generously lashed for his efforts on behalf of swindlers, tax cheats, crack merchants, traitors, and other well- connected felons, to the point that it will be a long time before anyone can say "pardon me" without eliciting a smirk, just as it will be a very long time before anyone dares name a daughter Monica.

But in one important area, Clinton resisted the entreaties of an entire army of disreputable persons: those who ride snowmobiles and jet skis. The ex-president had the good sense to ban them from some of America's premier national parks. Unfortunately, the snowmobile industry was able to enlist another group of lowlifes (congressmen) into delaying the Clinton order. The forces of darkness will have two years to maraud while the two sides to this dispute-industry and environmentalists- battle for primacy.

One hates to preach heresy, but perhaps this equation could be shifted a bit. While right-wingers tend to side with industrial interests (so long as the industry is not headquartered in Hollywood), they might consider the merits of opposing the snowmobile/jet ski cartel. And this opposition can be based on truly conservative grounds. Right-wingers are by nature against loud, intrusive, arrogant, reeking, self-centered pests (give or take a few radio personalities). They also believe certain places are appropriate for certain activities-no bus-station sex in the Oval Office, for example-and thus recognize that Mother Nature's bosom is no place for a bunch of motorized louts. Besides that, earning a green credential will gain wingers a measure of political respectability with their children.

All told, there is only one legitimate dog in this fight, and he isn't riding a jet ski.

It is often argued that environmentalists traffic in hysteria. There is some truth to this, as anyone who recalls warnings about the coming ice age (since changed to warnings about global roasting) knows all too well. But there is plenty of guilt to spread around. The industry is doing a lot of mouth-breathing of its own on this issue. "It's a slippery slope," the chief of the International Snowmobile Manufacturers Association told the Los Angeles Times. "If you took out the word 'snowmobile' and put in the word 'automobile,' you would see that they are preparing to remove automobiles in national parks." Meanwhile, jet ski interests warn that the ban on "personal watercraft" is being carried out by "extremists" with a broad agenda: "If the ban is allowed to stand, it is only a matter of time before your favorite activity becomes the target."

Yeah, yeah: Hysteria peddlers we will always have-and the industry's assertions should be taken for nothing more than yacking from special pleaders. Their notion that they represent the common man against elitists is especially daring. The industry's ability to enlist the efforts of two usually pro-enviro Democrats, Rep. David Obey and Sen. Tom Daschle, to overturn the national-park ban indicates a decidedly elitist ability to manipulate the political process.

There is also the fact that one must be something of an elitist (broadly understood) to afford these machines, a fact underscored in the industry's own literature: "The average PWC (personal watercraft) operator is not who you think he is. A study by Bowe Marketing Research revealed that the majority of personal watercraft owners are married with families (71%). The average owner is a middle-aged, highly educated, white-collar worker with extensive boating experience."

What this description fails to mention is that many of these people have clearly built their lives on the Jerry Springer model. They reject all sensible notions of beauty, order, and civilized behavior. A jet ski advertisement tells us all we need to know: "Scenery is for Saps." This is the mindset of the adolescent yob who gets his thrills passing gas in elevators, setting off cherry bombs in movie theaters, scaling the walls of convents, and otherwise strutting his ignorant stuff any place he can put one foot before the other.

At this point, let me abandon the neutral, fair-minded tone that has marred this essay thus far. The fact is, if you love the majesty of nature, and recognize that it speaks to us in the most profound of all languages-silence-then you have to see these people for what they are: slothful vandals who are unable to haul their thick butts around without the help of an internal-combustion engine. One can no more enjoy a walk in the forest with one of them around than one can enjoy an opera while sitting beside a barking dog.

My first deep encounter with this subspecies took place in Colorado, specifically the Pike National Forest, an immense spread of public land where the eagles fly, the elk saunter, and the trout convert insects into entrees. It is also a place where, in some sections at least, one can be run down by dirt-bikers-many of whom no doubt have a jet ski and a snowmobile back in the garage. Thanks to their efforts, this beautiful stretch of forest sounds like downtown Los Angeles on the Fifth of May. On many days, I found myself wishing for a few long strands of piano wire to stretch between trees at roughly Adam's apple level. It is a hard thing to admit, but these intruders do turn the mind toward homicide.

And then there are the jet skiers. Countless times I've been driven from the riverbank by these wankers, all of whom seem equipped with a self-satisfied smirk and the belief that innocent bystanders are awestruck by their ability to make noise, create waves, and make Mennonites suddenly wish they had a Gatling gun. The standard procedure is to buzz the bank a few times until the fishing's destroyed, then move out a bit and spin the craft around and around and around until a tidal wave is created. We on the riverbank call these people "circle jerks," but that somewhat demeans the activity that initially inspired the expression.

I have, in fact, been present when jet skiers provoked a potentially fatal reaction among the hoi polloi. The place was a fishing pier on North Carolina's Outer Banks. The sky was blue, but the blues weren't biting. Some blamed the sun, some the tides, while others blamed a group of four or five jet skiers who periodically buzzed the pier. Finally, patience broke.

A few pier rats strung line through the eyes of lead weights, and when the buzzing recommenced they spun the weights above their heads and let them fly. None struck home, though it is safe to say that a three-ounce pyramid of lead upside the head can prove a fatal experience. This possibility did not restrain anyone from pressing congratulatory beers into the hands of the would-be assassins.

Now, many of us would not approve of killing jet skiers, at least without a prior legal proceeding. We will also agree with manufacturers that snowmobiles and ATVs allow handicapped Americans access to the outdoors they would not otherwise enjoy. We agree that some waivers should be granted, though recipients should have no more than one leg at most. But we remain adamant that these people are national pests and should be kept out of national parks. It's not as if there's a shortage of places for them to go. One study says there are 130,000 miles of designated snowmobile trails, with only 500 in national parks. But like grasping adolescents, these people must have it all.

True right-wingers have historically known how to handle adolescents: Be sweet, but also be firm. To this crew, let us say: "Here's some sugar, kid. Go dump it down your gas tank."