Engaging cultured wilderness

"The desire to categorize what lies beyond the boundary of civilization must be resisted because only insofar as we can encounter untamed wildness, that which is other than civilization, can we understand what it means to be civilized." --Michael Zimmerman


Let me begin this post by stating that the waters in which I wade here are murky at best and opaque at worst. Whole academic programs are devoted to the topic of wilderness and civilization. That stated, let's take a glance at the intersection of wilderness and civilization through the lens of cultural resources at Glacier National Park.


As a wilderness fellow, I'm expected to develop measures for the five qualities of wilderness character. So far I've developed a pretty good grip of measures. I've even got a couple for cultural and archeological resources. In tracking down the conditional statuses of the historically classified structures found in Glacier I came across an anomaly when I was cross referencing the cultural resources data with facility management data. I found a structure of historical significance that didn't show up on the park's GIS layer of buildings or in its building inventory.


The gaging station was built in 1949 as a means to supplement information about glacier variation. M.J. Elrod took the first measurements to track the glacier's recession from 1925 - 1927. He paced the distance from a specific boulder to the ice edge. George Ruhle continued the measurements until 1937 when more accurate mapping began.

In 1945 the USGS took over the glacial studies. A precipitation storage gage was put in nearer the glacier the same year the gaging station was erected. The two facilitated correlative investigations among precipitation, runoff, and glacier size variables. The gaging station was functional until 1978. Migration of the creek channel left the station removed from the stream and it was abandoned, but not removed. Some have argued that it should be removed because it sits in recommended wilderness. Maybe.


There has been a disconnect between cultural resource folks and wilderness folks in the park service. There has been persistent confusion and misunderstanding that cultural resource management and wilderness stewardship are incompatible. I'd like to highlight one of the emerging principles relating wilderness and cultural resources.


"Cultural resources can benefit wilderness areas by allowing visitors to understand and feel connected to the vital and varied relationships between people and nature" (NPS Draft Wilderness Character User Guide).


I don't know what another visitor might feel if they came across the gaging station. I know that my curiosity level surged when I discovered the discrepancy between GIS data and cultural resource inventory. I imagine that if I encountered the station while exploring the wilderness I would feel bewildered and wonder what purpose it had served. I might ponder the relationship between people and nature.


I now feel more connected to the park having gotten to the bottom of the gaging station situation. I have insight to the human-glacier relationship. The orientational quote beginning this post mentions encountering "untamed wildness" and I see the gaging station situation as a wonderful example of untamed wildness. The quote also mentions "the boundary of civilization" and I see this as a case of nested boundaries.


Despite the efforts and surveillance of the USGS, the meandering nature of a mountain stream demonstrates the inability of humanity to keep perpetual tabs on primal riparian flows. When we try to get a grip we often find that we've only scratched the surface. We go back to the drawing board for a new design. To me, this shows how people are part of the natural process. To me, we are not just surveyors of the scene. There is much to be gained from careful observation. The balance goes to integration. The space between the stream bed and the structure accounts for this relationship.

Wilderness is paradoxical and it allows us to question boundaries and the line between nature and culture. Where does wilderness end and human nature begin?

Mark Douglas

Glacier National Park 

Wilderness Fellow 2012

Loosening your grip in the wilderness

As I sat at the edge of the tide, I thought about collecting and letting go.

The Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge (NWR) is located on the Virginia portion of the Assateague barrier island. There’s a trail that ends at the Atlantic seashore in northern Virginia. It is accessible by foot or bike but not by car. It is littered with seashells. I didn’t come here to beach comb but as I walked along a few shells caught my eye. I pick up black, amber, and deep amethyst colored bits. I sit at the wave’s break line and let the seawater rinse the sand off the shells. The waves push and pull the sand around my legs. I know if I loosen my grip just a little my small collection will tumble from my hand and disappear.

                                            Decorated Driftwood on Chincoteague NWR

It’s within my first week as a Wilderness Fellow that I sit on the beach debating whether to take a souvenir. What has already become the defining characteristic of the Assateague barrier island is dynamism. The island has existed for thousands of years but has only survived by constantly changing form.  It boils down to the sun, moon, and our irregularly shaped planet. The tides and littoral drift push and pull sand so that the island migrates –usually south and inland. Sometimes the island's migration is accelerated by storms and sea level rise or interrupted with seawalls and jetties. The islands, like anything really, are always responsive. A seawall or jetty deprives a different part of the island or a separate island of a sediment source. Starved, the island may contort more rapidly or ultimately thin and wash away.

People put seawalls and jetties on the shore in an effort to stabilize what is there. It seems that they want to hold onto what they’ve grown accustomed to. They’ve become invested in the landscape as it is, invested maybe through commerce, real estate, or memories. One of the biggest management issues the Chincoteague NWR faces is trying to maintain its current location for beach-access parking. The parking lot in place is continually overwashed with sand. The solution would appear to be moving the parking lot back or rebuilding it. The refuge has done so multiple times at considerable cost. Now, because the island is thinning, the parking lot is being squeezed out.

My first reaction is to abandon the parking lot and let the beach do what it wants. My favorite thing about the beach is that it’s never the same. You can’t come to the same beach twice. The waves crash in a slightly different pattern and therefore tug the sand into new contours. The weather can cause the ocean to be steely and powerful or glittering and playful. The sea foam can be so fluffy that it rolls in the wind or instantly dissolve with a hiss into the sand. As a local pointed out to me, the only thing constant about a beach is change. How can we ever capture it? The beach will consume the parking lots or tear down the houses at the edge or become something completely different from what you saw in your childhood.

Parts of the refuge are intended for recreation and thus the battle of the parking lot. But the northern part of the refuge is proposed wilderness where the intention is to let natural forces reign. Wildernesses usually have the inaccurate reputation of being pristine. To me, pristine is closely associated with unchanged. Yet the proposed wilderness for the Chincoteague NWR will embrace change. The only permanence about the wildernesses is ensuring that natural forces are allowed to occur without restraint. I feel that sense of release knowing that the wind and waves may push the sand where it likes in the northern Chinctoeague NWR. Whenever I may visit, I will know it for that one day but even then I’m letting it go and when I return it will be new again. 

Taryn Sudol

Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge

Wilderness Fellow 2012

First Impressions

The Alaska Maritime National Wildlife Refuge (AMNWR) is arguably one of the most remarkable expanses of federally protected land in the United States. Extending nearly as far and wide as the contiguous lower 48, this refuge comprises most of Alaska’s islands, islets, emerging rocks and spires from Forrester Island in southeastern Alaska to the western reaches of the Aleutian Chain and about as far north as Barrow in the Arctic Circle. These land masses are home as many as 40 million nesting seabirds every year and provide a means of respite for other birds migrating between North America and Asia. Making up the northern-most ridge of the Pacific Ring of Fire, the Aleutian Island Chain is one of the more well-known units of this refuge. That is not to say however, that any of the other 4 units are any less spectacular. Beginning in 1970, hundreds of acres of land within each of these refuge units were congressionally designated as wilderness. As the wilderness fellow for the AMNWR, it is my primary task to complete a wilderness character assessment of these areas.

Prior to our first week’s training, I knew next to nothing about the “wilderness,” let alone the wildernesses of Alaska. Now, with only 3 weeks of work under my belt, I can confidently explain that congressionally designated wilderness areas are inherently complex. What does it mean to preserve and protect land in its natural condition? How do we define natural condition? Can nature be natural if we are constantly protecting it from change? How do you differentiate natural change from anthropogenic impacts? These kinds of questions plague every environmentalist. It is up to the FWS, NPS, FS and BLM to select the best possible answers for our nation’s wilderness areas according to the best available information. Ideally, the work of a Wilderness Fellow will help guide these agencies toward lawful and logical conclusions.

Unfortunately, I cannot yet claim to have ventured out to the vast wilderness of AMNWR, but my research thus far and personal reports from the refuge staff have me wriggling in my boots to do so. Until my time on the Tiglax (AMNWR’s research vessel and life support system for field camps) in early August, I write from a second hand point of view. From here, I can see that the wildernesses of AMNWR are not only ecologically, geographically and culturally diverse in and amongst themselves, but they are also incredibly unique compared to wildernesses throughout the United States. In the lower 48, it is relatively easy to enjoy a wilderness area first hand. In maritime Alaska, visitor access to the wilderness is limited. Without a boat or plane (and a seriously adventurous attitude), these islands are virtually inaccessible. Rather than visitor use issues, this refuge faces issues regarding subsistence use by native communities, marine debris, and military refuse from WWII. My work here has clearly just begun.

Kelly Pippins

Alaska Maritime National Wildlife Refuge

Wilderness Fellow 2012

Finding Value in the Inaccessible Reaches of Wilderness

Coming up Highway 40 from Colorado most people visiting the “on the way out of the way” Dinosaur National Monument will experience it in one of two ways; the first being to view the multitude of Jurassic era dinosaur bones found in the Quarry. The second being the permitted few who are lucky enough to enjoy a rafting adventure down the Green or Yampa Rivers. Both of these options, albeit starkly different, offer the visitor scenic views, educational experiences, and incomparable opportunities for recreation within the Monument. Yet both options are intentionally and decidedly predictable, directing visitors to known vistas or fossils and removing the challenge of personal exploration.

While the often rafted Green and Yampa Rivers certainly constitute as wilderness and rowing a raft is nothing to belittle, once one leaves the sight of water you face a much more taxing and self-reliant experience. There are no intricate trail systems here that visitors can trek to reach the highest pinnacles jutting above the horizon; and except for two dirt roads in and out of the park and the river system, somewhat limited access for those who prefer hiking on trails. Negotiating any significant portion of the dry, rocky, cactus laden, piñon juniper landscape off-trail becomes a bushwhacker’s nightmare. 

Prickly Pear Cactus Blooms (Photo Courtesy: Sarah Crump)

Herein lays my unique challenge in acting as the Wilderness Fellow at Dinosaur. I am faced with writing about the seemingly less-intriguing, yet expansive middle space of the park, the undiscovered and seldom ventured landscape that lies between the river corridors and the Monument boundaries. The wilderness. How do I attempt to analyze and confer the value of an area that is managed as wilderness, unbeknownst to most visitors, and that is not only physically inaccessible to me, but is inaccessible to its would be stewards and protectors?

This inaccessibility it turns out is part of the intrigue and definition of the Dinosaur wilderness and all wildernesses for that matter. Its remoteness and detachment lends to its character and quality of solitude. The fact that I can’t experience all of it in the conventional way of hiking along a known route makes it all the more imperative to preserve this space.  Knowing places like Pearl Park, Martha’s Peak, and Limestone Ridge exist, yet are located just out of reach for the everyday visitor gives me solace.  Areas like this don’t exist for you or I, but instead hold intrinsic worth in being left alone. “The middle of the park is mine; it is my playground,” exclaimed one individual who pours his heart into working for Dinosaur. Defending this area from the encroachment of park roads, visible trails, and from use as domestic rangeland has been a battle since before the Monument was expanded in 1938.  


Although the technical status of this area is held in a Congressional limbo, it is proclaimed “Recommended Wilderness” by the National Park Service and it is managed as if it were Designated Wilderness in order to preserve its wilderness character.  Simply because this area of the wilderness cannot be experienced from an overlook or river raft makes it no less valuable and in fact increases its importance tenfold. Bringing attention to the idea that this area of the wilderness deserves respect because of its inaccessibility will continue to be a grueling contest, but it is a worthy task with treasured rewards.

Yampa River from Warm Springs Cliff (Photo Courtesy: Sarah Crump)

Sarah V. Crump

Dinosaur National Monument

Wilderness Fellow 2012

Focusing on Wilderness Character

This introduction to wilderness character was given in a talk by Mark Douglas in Glacier National Park at an all staff meeting in East Glacier, Montana on June 26, 2012. The definition of the five qualities is expanded in this version.

How often have you gone to hang a picture, a painting, or even a poster to your wall? I would wager that in most cases, maybe you just eye-balled it. Usually, it ends up pretty near square. What if it's the most prominently displayed focal point of the home? You know, it's something we put above the hearth. Maybe it's a family portrait, maybe it's a flat screen television, maybe it's that monster buck, bull elk, or trout you harvested. The point is that if it’s the focal point of the den, if it's the thing that draws our attention the most, we really want to have it squared up.

We'd like to be more confident in how true it is before we turn to some other chore. We might want to get our hands on a level. We may even whip out a laser level to get it ultra precise. Even if we don't use a tool, we'll often ask someone else to have a look. "Does this look all right to you?"

What are the focal points in Glacier National Park. What gets people's attention? It's the country. It's the marvelous mountains. It's the gorgeous valleys. It's more than scenery too. It's habitat. It can even be human habitat for a while. Those are the focal points. And those focal points become memories attached to this place. And the memories become stories we keep sharing. Just like the story we might associate with whatever gathers attention around the hearth.

When I hear people talk about a place I've been that I feel like I know first hand, often I'll say something like, yeah, western Montana, that's some real pretty country. And in Glacier, mostly it's backcountry.

So let's catch up with ourselves and get re-oriented. When something is special to us, when something is the focal piece of our world, we want to be sure we know how it stands. Well, over 90 percent of Glacier has been studied, proposed, and recommended as wilderness. But, what is it's standing? How would we know? What we'd like to know is, what is the character of that wilderness. That's where I come in with the wilderness character framework this summer.

Just like that focal piece in our den, wilderness character is something we'd like to gauge more precisely than asking, how's it hanging. Don't get me wrong, the rangers here have been doing really good work monitoring the recreation ecology conditions on the ground. However, wilderness envelopes more than recreation. And, how do those extras square up to measuring wilderness character? We need a tool. The wilderness character framework is that tool. By unpacking the baggage that can come with wilderness values, the "eye of the beholder issues" –the wilderness character framework helps us make sense of how decisions in Glacier might degrade or enhance wilderness character.

So… how does wilderness character get unpacked? There are five qualities* that outline wilderness character. They are:

Untrammeled—Wilderness is essentially unhindered and free from the actions of modern human control or manipulation.  This quality is influenced by any activity or action that controls or manipulates the components or processes of ecological systems inside wilderness.  It is supported or preserved when such management actions are not taken.  It is degraded when such management actions are taken, even when these actions are intended to protect resources, such as spraying herbicides to eradicate or control non-indigenous species, or reduce fuels accumulated from decades of fire exclusion.

Natural—Wilderness ecological systems are substantially free from the effects of modern civilization.  This quality is preserved or improved, for example, by controlling or removing non-indigenous species or restoring ecological processes.  This quality is degraded, for example, by the loss of indigenous species, occurrence of non-indigenous species, alteration of ecological processes such as water flow or fire regimes, effects of climate change, and many other factors.

Undeveloped—Wilderness retains its primeval character and influence, and is essentially without permanent improvement or modern human occupation.  This quality is influenced by what are commonly called the “Section 4(c) prohibited uses,” which are the presence of modern structures, installations, habitations, and the use of motor vehicles, motorized equipment, or mechanical transport.  This quality is preserved or improved by the removal of structures and refraining from these prohibited uses.  It is degraded by the presence of non-recreational structures and by prohibited uses, whether by the agency for administrative purposes, by others authorized by the agency, or when uses are unauthorized.

Solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation—Wilderness provides outstanding opportunities for solitude or primitive and unconfined recreation.  This quality is primarily about the visitor wilderness experience and is influenced by settings that affect these opportunities.  This quality is preserved or improved by management actions that reduce visitor encounters, signs of modern civilization inside the wilderness, agency-provided recreation facilities, and management restrictions on visitor behavior.  In contrast, this quality is degraded by management actions that increase these.

Other Features— In many cases, a park may find the above four qualities do not fully express the values and features found in its wilderness areas.  The NPS has defined a fifth quality, Other features, based on the last clause of Section 2(c) of the Wilderness Act which states that a wilderness “may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.” This fifth quality may be used by a park to capture elements that aren’t included in the other four qualities.  Unlike the preceding four qualities that apply throughout every wilderness, this fifth quality is unique to an individual wilderness based on the features that are inside that wilderness.  These features typically occur only in specific locations within a wilderness and include cultural resources, paleontological localities, or any feature not generally under the other four qualities that has scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.  In addition, National Natural Landmark sites and features may confer significant scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.  While many different types of features could be included, the intent is to include those that are only significant or integral to the park and wilderness.

*Definitions from Keeping It Wild in the National Park Service.

Bowman Lake, Glacier National Park