A Nasty Dispute Over Wilderness Access

To actually access the North Cascades National Park wilderness from anywhere other than along the North Cascades Highway, you have to board a boat in Chelan, Washington and ride all the way up Lake Chelan to the small town of Stehekin. Then you can drive a dusty dirt road to the end and begin a magnificent hike across the North American Alps.

The road has been subject to periodic washouts, like many roads in the Pacific Northwest, and usually the National Parks repairs the washout. But the last washout gave proponents of the "no new roads" movement an opening. They have lobbied the National Park Service to defacto expand the wilderness by not opening the road. Their reasoning is that the proposed restoration of the road will encroach a few feet on the wilderness boundary and the legislation establishing wilderness designations does not allow any evidence of human impact.

The North Cascades National Park's creation was contentious. Residents of the Methow Valley were concerned that their dream of a road between the west side and the Valley would not be built. Fishermen were worried the high alpine lakes that they stocked with rainbow trout would be inaccessible. And hardcore wilderness advocates wanted neither the highway, the dams, or the fish stocking.

Slowly, over time, the hard core wilderness advocates have won out. Hiking in the North Cascades is severely restricted (no dogs, advanced designation of camping spots). Recently the Park Service has proposed eliminating the fish stocking and poisoning the remaining fish in order to "restore the lakes to a pristine condition."

The road from Stehekin is more than a road. It has become a symbol for the wilderness movement, just as other road washouts, such as in the Dosewallips entrance to the Olympic National Forest and Olympic National Park. The washouts are the last battlegrounds over defining wilderness. Over the past few years wilderness areas have blossomed throughout the West. But to purist wilderness advocates, these recent designations have seemingly been worse than if the land was left alone. The reason? Too many compromises to get the wilderness designation. Motorized recreational vehicle users have gotten areas to drive their snowmobiles and ATVs. Mountain bike users are allowed to use some trails. And oil and mineral rights holders peel off pieces of land to continue their explorations. Wilderness advocates refer to these negotiations as quid pro quo wilderness. Wild Sky Wilderness is an example of this type of wilderness. Many of it's acres had been logged, traditional snowmobilers and ATV users retained rights to use their vehicles on parts of the land. And pure wilderness advocates look at that area with distain.

There are several problems here. First, what is wilderness? There is no ecosystem called "wilderness." Indeed, there is no land that has not, at some point in time, been untrammeled by humans. The idea that land is "pristine" or "virgin," is, well, nothing short of paternalistic and frankly, odd. Wilderness are arbitrary lines drawn on maps. And these arbitrary lines are, in some ways, a continuation of the colonist attitudes we have sustained since 1692. "Here, we can do a better job with this land that you can."

Second, as we expand our ideas of how to curb global climate change, we should be thinking about ways to help people gain access to nature. Look at Europe. It's quite easy to catch a train in Munich and be in the Alps within hours. Then to walk trails, eat a nice lunch, walk to another hut, have dinner, and sleep. We do not have that here. It seems our idea of nature is that only a few young, hearty, people can access it, and for the rest of the public it should remain locked under some glass. Because, you know, you have to protect the "virgin land." Is this really what we want? As we begin to watch Ken Burns 6 part series on the National Parks, look closely at the original intent. It was to get people there, mostly by train, to be able to stay in fantastic hotels, hike trails, fish in lakes, and be a part of nature.

Third, as we continue to debate these artificial designations, who gets to be part of the discussions? As we have witnessed with the recent town halls and debates about health care, the more antagonistic elements seem to dominate the discussions. The same thing is true in the debates about wilderness. In fact, the strong conservation lobbying organization, North Cascades Conservation Council, had a board member resign and denigrated because he supported the restoration of the Stehekin Road. It seems paradoxical that people who fight so hard for the "preservation" of nature can be so angry with anyone who may disagree with them.

I think access issues should be carefully examined on a case-by-case basis. There are communities involved, whose livelihoods depend on tourist dollars (think the Dosewallips on the eastern side of the Olympic National Park). And many of these access roads have been a traditional part of many people's lives for decades, long before the wilderness or park designation. Nature survives and is resilient. It has survived ions of human tinkering, much less natural disturbances. It will survive a little road construction.

Rules and Wilderness

This weekend I saturated myself listening to eulogies and tributes to Senator Ted Kennedy. As I was driving to take the dogs on a short hike, I heard over and over again about his graciousness, kindness, and ability to treat each human he encountered with dignity. My bubble full of hope in mankind was burst the minute I stopped my car.

I got to the trail head, opened my car door, and within seconds, a man said to me: you can't take dogs into the wilderness. First, the generic statement isn't true. But second, there were several recreational opportunities available from where I parked. Somehow, for some reason, this man decided to pounce before he even knew what I was going to do. And last, as a believer that wilderness is a state of mind, an artificial boundary, an anthropomorphic designation of a geographic area, I have a hard time with equally artificial rules. Somehow, a lot of white guys decided these areas are "wild" and "need protecting." That these areas were "untrammeled" by man. Never mind we are essentially colonizing these areas, but that is a whole other discussion. What unnerved me was this presumption to tell me "the rules."

I guess I tend to think of wilderness as a resource, just as water, trees, wildlife. It's boundaries are irrelevant. There is no special "ecology" within the wilderness boundary. It is not any more fragile than other areas.

The rules about dogs or cell phones or helicopters or horses (ironically, horses are allowed on these trails but not dogs or even more ironic are the complex electronics many of these guys now take in lieu of topo maps) are justified as protecting fragile systems, when really they are about protecting some white guy's idea of what a back pack trip should be about.

We have gone a long long way from when wilderness was about wandering, with or without dogs, friends, or GPS systems. Now we are all about rules.

What many of these guys don't understand is that a lot of people are more scared of them then they are the wildlife and adventures they will encounter in the wilderness. Hence, a perfect reason to take a dog along!

Re-Thinking Wilderness Advocacy

I happen to have many heroes. Ray Ring is one of them. Has been for years. Among his many "hats," he is a writer for High Country News. But he also works for a quiet non-profit, Sonoran Institute. And he is an effective thinker about long simmering conflicts here in the west. You know, those kinds of fights where people have been at it for years and no one really remembers why? Loggers v. environmentalists. ATV users v. wilderness preservationists.

So it didn't surprise me to see Ray Ring's most recent op-ed in High Country News. We're thinking along the same lines. Many of these long entrenched battles become more about stereotypes and less about the underlying issues. I remember years ago, during the height of the "Spotted owl" battles when a forest activist said to me, glass of wine in her hand, "well you know, all loggers are alcoholics." And of course, I also remember a student of mine, a former mill owner, regaling me with stories of Birkenstock wearing greenies, as he called them. Ray Ring's op-ed (with one minor stereotype slip, can you spot it?) punctures those mental pictures and adds some serious thought to how wilderness advocates can bridge the gaps with the ATV and snowmobile crowd (traditional whipping boys and girls of The Wilderness Society).

I have always believed that education is a far far better way to achieve change than mandates, laws, and regulation. Especially when it comes to environmental and natural resource choices. One of the most effective ways to educate is to bridge the gaps between yourself and your "students." Dressing in snowmobile outfits, showing up at snowmobile rallies, and talking about ways to find common ground is not just a tongue-in-cheek idea, it's brilliant.