Repairing Our Relationship With the Land

Promoting Stewardship Through Recreation

By Taylor Brandt

“It will be objected that a constantly increasing population makes resistance and conservation a hopeless battle …

Wilderness preservation, like a hundred other good causes, will be forgotten under the overwhelming pressure of a

struggle for mere survival and sanity in a completely urbanized, completely industrialized, ever more crowded

environment.” – Edward Abbey, “Desert Solitaire”

I had always thought that what made me an environmentalist was my relationship with the

land. I grew up exploring and learning from the natural cycles of life. While exploration was

once running around the neighborhood woods and picking up snail shells, it’s become mountain

biking, backcountry skiing, and backpacking. As I’ve studied the environment—and society's

relationship with it—I’ve encountered links between outdoor recreation and urbanization of the

land. I’ve realized that oftentimes, my desire to recreate on the land overpowers my desire to

honor it.

The essence of the environmental movement revolves around protecting the Earth. It’s Rachel

Carson’s “Silent Spring,” which exposed the dangers of DDT and led to the Environmental

Protection Agency. It’s Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire,” wishing that the only way to access

national parks was by foot and warning about the growth of outdoor recreation.

As more people move to the West and participate in outdoor recreation, we see and

experience the impacts that such idealization of open space and solitude has on the environment.

Wide-spread developments increase as we all attempt to spread out, droughts intensify as we run
out of water for growing populations in arid environments, and trails erode as high volumes of

traffic attempt to access wilderness.

In hopes of escaping the crowds and heat of Bozeman last summer, I hopped into my Jeep—

which, at best, gets 18 miles to the gallon—and drove 291 miles to Pinedale, Wyoming. My

cousin Tucker had called me a few days earlier and asked if I wanted to go on a backpacking trip

in the Wind River Range. With over 40 named peaks that exceed 13,000 feet, seven of the largest

glaciers in the Rocky Mountains, over 1,300 named lakes, and legendary alpine rock climbing, it

was an easy answer for me.

I met Tucker in Pinedale—the closest town to the trailhead we were planning on going to—

and we drove another 57 miles. It felt like we were in the middle of nowhere until we reached

Big Sandy Trailhead and had to desperately search for a parking spot. The Wind Rivers were

clearly no longer a secret.

As we organized our gear, we migrated to the trailhead board to take another look at the map

of the area and sign-in. Looking over the logbook, we saw that many groups had come from all

over the country to backpack in the Wind Rivers. On the trailhead board, we noticed a sign that

neither of us had encountered before: Are you aware? Overused areas: Create congestion,

pollution, eroded trails, visual blight; Generate discontentment, concern, bad experience;

Instigate enforcement, restrictions, closure. It is up to you.

My body tensed as I read the placard. It looked like a hand-drawn flow chart, but

authoritatively placed behind plexiglass. Just like all the “Smokey the Bear” signs that I’d grown

accustomed to seeing, the message placed responsibilities onto the recreator; however, it

provoked quite a different reaction. I could follow guidance on wildfire prevention while

backpacking, but it seemed that the only way to prevent areas from overuse was, well, to not use
them. A part of me wanted to turn around and drive back to Bozeman to help prevent the

problem, but I'd already traveled so far to get here.

During the five mile walk to Big Sandy Lake, we encountered more groups on the trail than I

could keep track of. Because of the minimal elevation gain to reach the first lake, it was an easy

hike and a popular camping spot. Tucker and I ultimately planned on continuing past it to

another one—higher up, and a few more miles away.

Our camping spot was undeniably gorgeous, but also showed undeniable signs of use: eroded

soil, worn down fire rings, and scattered granola bar wrappers littered the space. Across the lake,

two other tents were visible. By the next day, another had joined our ranks. Unfortunately, due to

a continuous rainstorm throughout our short, three-day trek, we couldn’t climb any of the peaks

we had planned on summiting. At times, when the clouds parted and light shone down on us with

warmth, I felt immense gratitude for the sun.

During my 348-mile drive back to Bozeman, I found myself admiring the Teton Range while

sitting in Jackson Hole rush-hour traffic. I couldn’t help but wonder if this—excessive fuel use,

increasing populations, and eroding trails all in efforts to access a sublime environment—was

what caring for the land looked like. I knew it wasn’t. My desire for solitude in the wilderness

was futile. We have already far surpassed Abbey’s fears that urbanization and technological

advancements might overpower conservation.

There was a time when moving to the West and being encompassed by wilderness signified

giving up on a professional life and economic success. Now, this sacrifice isn’t required: it’s

possible to live in Bozeman, enjoy outdoor recreation, and still run a tech company. The West

has become more accessible and livable; the outdoor lifestyle has been glorified, sold as a

technique to inspire others about the environment, and used to help grow the economy of small
towns. But somewhere amongst the articles, documentaries, and advertisements highlighting the

many ways to use the land, we’ve lost the importance of caring for it. We’ve cultivated problems

of overuse and congestion.

As we continue to develop and industrialize society, human presence in the wilderness is

having greater impacts on the land. People have flooded the wilderness in their desire to explore

and recreate, and we must acknowledge that this level of recreational land use is not sustainable.

Outdoor recreation requires immense amounts of gear and equipment. Legendary and sought-

after areas often require extensive motor vehicle travel. Parking lots are overflowing, and the soil

is eroding all around us.

I’ll admit that I don’t want to stop mountain biking, backcountry skiing, or backpacking

because of the impacts these activities have on the environment. But, we must remind ourselves

that outdoor recreation isn’t equivalent to caring for the land. Environmentalism is about much

more than being a conscious trail user; it’s about more than enjoying the scenery and escaping

into the wilderness. Being an environmentalist is about honoring the land and understanding our

place within the natural world.