Contemplating Wilderness

by Jen Jackson

Blog Last Updated; 7/26/2010

"A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man's work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation; (3) has at least five thousand acres of land or is of sufficient size as to make practicable its preservation and use in an unimpaired condition; and (4) may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value."

Such is the much-celebrated definition of wilderness as put forward in the Wilderness Act of 1964. The act has been lauded for its vision and its poetry at work. Few legislative efforts are known for the intentioned beauty of their language. However, in the Act's poetry, there is ambiguity. And with ambiguity, we also find conflict. And disappointment.

Perhaps unfairly, in my mind, I equate wilderness with wildness and empty spaces on the map. I think of wilderness as the counterbalance to cities, to the centers of human occupation and toil. I think of it as a peopleless place. A point into which one can disappear. This, I know, is a rather prosaic view of wilderness. This, I know, is not the truth on the ground.

Last week, we went backpacking in the Maroon Bells Wilderness, a jagged bit of alpine splendor sitting squarely between Aspen and Crested Butte, Colorado. Though it was an area of immense beauty and we loved our mountain ramble, the first ten miles were a zoo. Though we began on a Monday, we encountered scores of people on day one. Upon cresting the first pass at 12,500 feet, more than a dozen people stood yelling over the noise of the wind and one another ? relaying requests for photos and food. It was not the wilderness experience I was expecting. It felt a bit like Disneyland. I longed for the less spectacular but quiet mountains near my desert home.

Granted, every person there had the same right to the same experience I was seeking. Every person there put in the work and deserved the rewards provided by such great heights. I don't begrudge anyone their time in the Maroon Bells. Instead, I wonder at the definition of wilderness. Are my expectations simply outdated, or is the static language of 46 years ago no longer relevant? Do we now exist in an age beyond the utility of the Wilderness Act? An age beyond the vision of its authors? Is the cost of preservation now greater than its rewards?

In my experience of wandering the wild wide-open, I tend to have the greatest experiences of solitude, silence ? even surprise ? in places that bear no protective designation. Perhaps it is because I enter these places without the baggage of expectation that I carry into wilderness areas and national parks. But I also wonder if the fact that these places are not highlighted on maps and in guidebooks has something to do with it.

In essence, wilderness designation puts a big, neon sign on the map, flashing, "I'm special! Come see me!" Visitation soars in such areas. A 2004 study by the Sonoran Institute (www.sonoraninstitute.org) found that counties with protected public lands in the West tend to have the fastest rate of economic growth?thanks to tourism. Thus, in this era of overpopulation and increasing numbers seeking communion with and adventure in the wilds, is it best to put the undue pressure of wilderness designation on areas we seek to protect? Are we protecting such places from one use only to subject them to another? Without wilderness designation, would there be greater dispersal of recreationists? Is there another path to permanent and meaningful protection of wild places? And is such protection even bound to be permanent in a world ever more desperate for diminishing supplies of fossil fuels?

These are some of the questions we pondered amidst the Maroon Bells' rocky splendor and plethora of wildflowers. And since the peaks and primrose remained silent on the topic, I reached no resolution. Instead, I was left with a vague sense that it's time for wilderness ? in both word and work ? to evolve to meet the demands of a new era. It's time for a new kind of protective poetry and vision to emerge.