For the first time since my personal grizzly encounter on Sept 7, 2019 at sunrise, Chasmo has caught the essence of my experience: "The presence of this bear looms over the wilderness like a temperamental old God: you know he can see you, and could destroy you in an instant, so you just hope he has other things to keep him busy.” I was out for my usual run, while attending a conference at the B Bar Ranch in Paradise Valley, Montana. I have since then been amazed that this incident, lasting maybe a minute (How should I know?), has so impressed itself upon me as an event of paramount significance.
As individuals, we're not the boss of wilderness. And, for the most part, can't control it (though even individuals impact Wilderness by illegal motorized vehicle use, creating shortcuts on switchbacks, creating rock "art" and et cetera). As a species, though, the story is different. Man-caused climate change is definitely impacting wildness and wilderness (big "W" or not). Micro-plastics are coming down in the rain. Our mismanagement of wildfires has impacted Wilderness. The effects of activities on the fringes of Wilderness, such as hunting and mining, seep into the adjacent Wilderness. And a final, fatal blow could happen if Republicans gain enough control in Congress to indulge the desires of those Republican politicians who would be more than happy to see the Wilderness Act go away. Perhaps the best way to celebrate wilderness is to divide your time between enjoying it and being an environmental and political activist to protect it. Ά la Ed Abbey.
All this is well said, David. But I might add that, ironically, part of celebrating wilderness might be to NOT "enjoy" it. An early draft of the op-ed included this paragraph: "Preserving wildness calls for restraint. It calls for all of us—motorized users, e-bikers, mountain bikers, pilots, snowmobilers, floaters, climbers, drone flyers, outfitters, horse-packers, backpackers, and more—to back off." Because (in a Zahniser quote I do include in the op-ed), "We must not only protect the wilderness from commercial exploitation. We must also see that we do not ourselves destroy its wilderness character in our own management programs.”
People tell stories. And one of the benefits of traveling in the wild is the stories with which one returns. But to be even more cryptic (but hopefully not annoying), do we create the stories or do we find them there waiting for us?
I hear you. I'm open to your arguments. But from my perspective, we find those stories within ourselves. I made my case in Wonderlandscape: "often, when people (including myself) think we’re reacting to nature in Yellowstone, we really do so in the context of how other people have reacted. Maybe our reaction is shaped by the comments of a tour guide, the content of a Ken Burns documentary, or our previous history with religion or spirituality. Or maybe the reaction is in a class by itself, but in trying to express it we find ourselves quoting or paraphrasing Thoreau, Theodore Roosevelt, or Edward Abbey."
I am embarrassed when I find myself paraphrasing Henry David or, less often, Ed. But I do, and I agree with your point about the influences to which story-telling is subject.
But I am trying to get past dualisms, social construction, representationalism, and other expressions of ego to see that within is also without and vice versa, to be able to say, I guess, that the damage we do to the world is also damage to ourselves, not just at a practical level, but that we lose so much wonder.
For the first time since my personal grizzly encounter on Sept 7, 2019 at sunrise, Chasmo has caught the essence of my experience: "The presence of this bear looms over the wilderness like a temperamental old God: you know he can see you, and could destroy you in an instant, so you just hope he has other things to keep him busy.” I was out for my usual run, while attending a conference at the B Bar Ranch in Paradise Valley, Montana. I have since then been amazed that this incident, lasting maybe a minute (How should I know?), has so impressed itself upon me as an event of paramount significance.
Good point!
As individuals, we're not the boss of wilderness. And, for the most part, can't control it (though even individuals impact Wilderness by illegal motorized vehicle use, creating shortcuts on switchbacks, creating rock "art" and et cetera). As a species, though, the story is different. Man-caused climate change is definitely impacting wildness and wilderness (big "W" or not). Micro-plastics are coming down in the rain. Our mismanagement of wildfires has impacted Wilderness. The effects of activities on the fringes of Wilderness, such as hunting and mining, seep into the adjacent Wilderness. And a final, fatal blow could happen if Republicans gain enough control in Congress to indulge the desires of those Republican politicians who would be more than happy to see the Wilderness Act go away. Perhaps the best way to celebrate wilderness is to divide your time between enjoying it and being an environmental and political activist to protect it. Ά la Ed Abbey.
All this is well said, David. But I might add that, ironically, part of celebrating wilderness might be to NOT "enjoy" it. An early draft of the op-ed included this paragraph: "Preserving wildness calls for restraint. It calls for all of us—motorized users, e-bikers, mountain bikers, pilots, snowmobilers, floaters, climbers, drone flyers, outfitters, horse-packers, backpackers, and more—to back off." Because (in a Zahniser quote I do include in the op-ed), "We must not only protect the wilderness from commercial exploitation. We must also see that we do not ourselves destroy its wilderness character in our own management programs.”
Spot on. (Traute)
So: Are the stories gifted to us by wilderness different from other stories?
I'd enjoy listening to your thoughts on why they would. But seems to me the stories come from people.
People tell stories. And one of the benefits of traveling in the wild is the stories with which one returns. But to be even more cryptic (but hopefully not annoying), do we create the stories or do we find them there waiting for us?
I hear you. I'm open to your arguments. But from my perspective, we find those stories within ourselves. I made my case in Wonderlandscape: "often, when people (including myself) think we’re reacting to nature in Yellowstone, we really do so in the context of how other people have reacted. Maybe our reaction is shaped by the comments of a tour guide, the content of a Ken Burns documentary, or our previous history with religion or spirituality. Or maybe the reaction is in a class by itself, but in trying to express it we find ourselves quoting or paraphrasing Thoreau, Theodore Roosevelt, or Edward Abbey."
I was hoping someone else would hop into this.
I am embarrassed when I find myself paraphrasing Henry David or, less often, Ed. But I do, and I agree with your point about the influences to which story-telling is subject.
But I am trying to get past dualisms, social construction, representationalism, and other expressions of ego to see that within is also without and vice versa, to be able to say, I guess, that the damage we do to the world is also damage to ourselves, not just at a practical level, but that we lose so much wonder.
Enough deep thoughts.
"more air than I could ever hope to breathe" -- how well this describes it ...
Looking forward to reading your Writers on the Range piece!
I wonder if people can see the link behind the word "here" in my first Discussion bullet. The piece is here: https://writersontherange.org/youre-not-the-boss-in-wilderness/
Yes! I saw it. I just didn't have time to go read it yet. :)