Nevertheless, I suppose there is some truth in describing me as a “libertarian environmentalist”, although I’ve never considered myself an environmentalist. I prefer the term conservationist. Further, I self-describe myself politically as a classical liberal, although the differences between that and libertarianism are mostly semantic. And so, I’ll accept the charge, and defend it thusly:

“The voice of nature is always encouraging.”

~Henry David Thoreau

The marriage of libertarians and environmentalists is not new. Thoreau is the obvious example. His stinging criticism of the state is only matched by his love for nature. He wrote, “Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be brought against a standing government.”

Nevertheless, Thoreau is best known as a naturalist, a poet. He famously wrote: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

That deliberate life is still the driving force behind wilderness occupation. The methodology has evolved; we hike, and ski, and pedal. But the intent—to see if we cannot learn—remains. Our lives, collectively as countrymen, are integrated into the wild spaces of desert and forest and mountain. As individuals we creep into wilderness, if only briefly, to confront the essential facts of life. In that sense, little has changed since 1845. Wilderness is still asking men the same questions it ever has. And men are still learning the answers to those questions.

For that reason, among others, wilderness preservation ought to be an essential part of the American character. Wilderness itself is a keystone of the American creation myth. The Republic was founded with westward intentions. Expansion meant economy, progress, and legitimacy. Exploration was, from the very beginning, a Jeffersonian imperative. The ink of the Constitution had hardly dried when Lewis and Clark were sent west.

An Unlikely Pairing?

Libertarianism and environmentalism are often thought of as contradictory. And as caricatures, they are. The common, but erroneous, assumption that libertarians are hellbent on paving over forests in pursuit of the almighty dollar is as misguided as the portrait of the environmentalist who is willing to watch men die, in order to save the life of an obscure woodland creature. Certainly both extremes actually exist, but the truth about both ideologies is far different. The truth, indeed,  is that liberty (the chief principle among libertarians) and wilderness (the primary goal for environmentalists) are symbiotic. The preservation of both wilderness and liberty are equally important to the preservation of American (or Jeffersonian) ideals. As Abbey said, “We cannot have freedom without wilderness.”

Libertarianism is generally described as anti-government. This is a true, but not a complete description. Libertarians oppose centralized power of all kinds. Centralized power can and does come in many forms: government, banks, churches, record labels, movie studios, news organizations, home owners associations, and so forth. Centralization empowers the few, at the expense of the many. Cultural (non-violent) revolutions are waged against centralized power. Modern examples of decentralizing revolutions include: blogging, file-sharing, digital photography and video, social media, crowd-sourcing, and self-publishing. Only a decade ago, individuals needed the approval and support of massive conglomerates to be heard or seen. Today, just a web connection will suffice.

Government is the quintessential embodiment of centralized power. Government draws its influence by force, and is a lagging indicator of social attitudes toward morality, value, and markets. Within our duopolistic electoral system, choice—and change—is non-existent.

“When confronted with anything resembling choice,” write Matt Welch and Nick Gillespie, in The Declaration of Independents, “most of us are now readier than ever to hop from one make or model to another.  Insurance, food, clothing, colleges, beer, wine, you name it–Americans, away from the political sphere, have learned how to demand what they want, and in a world of rapidly increasing choices, they are happy and excited to try out new things and move on once they get bored or disappointed with what’s on offer. In politics, of course, that choice has been artificially and dramatically restricted to effectively two options.”

Decentralization is a powerful force for good. It corrects incentives, eliminates cronyism, and empowers individuals. Decentralization democratizes power.

However, environmental policy is almost entirely mired in the swamps of federal bureaucracy.

Federal land agencies posses an abhorrent history. Land that ought to be developed is prevented from being developed. Land that ought to be protected is destroyed. Grazing permits are over-issued. Strip mines are illogically built. Zoning laws, environmental regulation—designed to enrich connected parties, rather than protect the environment—, and needless bureaucratic lunacy have done nothing to protect or conserve wilderness. Yes, the 1964 Wilderness Act was, and is important. But Wilderness designation is not a guarantor of preservation, nor a hinderance of overuse.

Legislative arguments about the proper permissions for public land use are heated, passionate, and partisan. However, in the end, land use policy is unchanged, regardless of which party controls the levers of power—over-grazing continues, needless construction rolls forward, and local input and opinion are ignored. Clearly, as SkiLink demonstrates, the federal government is readily willing to sell land to politically connected, financially influential groups, despite the majority opinion of the people who recreate on that land.

What Can Be Done?

Land management policy would benefit immensely from the disruptive powers of decentralization. “The focus on center stage should be on promoting institutions that empower people both politically and economically…” suggest Terry Anderson and Laura Huggins. “These institutions allow people to improve environmental quality indefinitely into the future. This stands in sharp contrast to the undying conclusion of the doomsayers for whom the environment and the plight of human beings will always be worse.”

Public land ought to be managed as locally as possible. State and local governments ought to assume stewardship over state and local land. Change is much easier to affect on a smaller, more local scale. Further, public land could be successfully managed by private entities—conservation groups, individuals, non-profit, and for-profit corporations, and co-ops. Organizations such as The Nature Conservancy, Ducks Unlimited, and the National Audubon Society  are each examples of private groups working toward environmental preservation. Richard Stroup writes that, “[u]sing the market, such groups do not have to convince the majority that their project is desirable, nor do they have to fight the majority in choosing how to manage the site.” If selling the land is not feasible, governments can hire private managers to run state parks, campgrounds, and forest land; this is already happening, and the results have been positive.

Why decentralization? Incentives.

Incentives are a remarkably powerful force. Under current land use permissions, which revolve around federal leases being granted to miners, ranchers, loggers, and other interested parties, there is no incentive for any of the various groups to act conservatively. There is no accountability. And so, ranch lands are decimated. Forests are clear-cut. And strip-mines spider-web unchecked across the countryside. Federal leases are a grand-scale demonstration of the tragedy of the commons.

Privately owned, or managed, lands fare much better. A rancher will not over graze his own pastures. A timber corporation will not clear-cut its own forests. But rather, careful consideration is placed on future uses of the land, and its potential longevity. Economic survival is contingent on ensuring long-term production. Long-term production is founded on sustainability. Federal leases disincentives sustainability, and eliminate accountability.

A study in 2000 “found that civil and political liberties, the rule of law, less-corrupt governments, and the security of property rights reduced deforestation rates in sixty-six countries across Latin America, Asia, and Africa.” A similar study in 2004 concluded “a strong positive correlation between several measures of human well-being and varying degrees of the strength of the rule of law. For example, countries with a strong rule of law have a 45 percent lower death rate by age forty than countries with a weak rule of law; 59 percent have more access to safe drinking water; and 79 percent have lower deforestation rates.”

Anderson argues that “[e]conomic prosperity emanates from the institutions of freedom—namely, private property and the rule of law—and environmental quality emanates from economic prosperity.”

In other words, liberty is wilderness.

Wilderness As Wilderness.

If there is inherent value to wilderness, as Stegner, Abbey, Thoreau, and so many others have argued, then there is also a market for the preservation of wilderness. Wilderness is an amazing and wonderful boon to our lives. If we, as a people, love the outdoors, and demand its existence, just as we demand iPhones, fuel-efficient SUVs, and carbon fiber mountain bikes, then, and only then, will true wilderness preservation thrive.

Today we have little say in how public land is managed and used. The federal government is unchecked in this (and every other) regard. We can sign petitions, and write letters, and make phone calls. But the whims of senators and representatives, secretarys and ministers, cannot be stayed. The responsibility to protect wilderness is ours, but in order to do that, we must wrest control of these lands from the tentacled grasp of the bureaucratic kraken.

If we value wilderness as an idea, and as an ideal, then preserving it is imperative. We need wilderness to remind us that even today, in the technocratic world of 2012, that we are a wild species, an untamed and primitive creature that thrives in the uncertainty of forest and desert and alpine. Even if only in the pursuit of recreational fantasy. Do we value wilderness? If so—and I believe we do—then we will preserve it. Whether as private property, cooperative holdings, or with guns and pitchforks, we will preserve that which we value. And that is why liberty and wilderness are so symbiotic. They are similitudes of one another.

Government, while paying lip service to both, does not have any interest in the preservation of either. After all, a free people, left to explore and to recreate in a free land, are hardly governable.

In the end, the fight for environmental freedom is always a fight worth fighting. After all, ”the voice of nature is always encouraging.”

Related posts:

1. Stop The SkiLink Gondola
2. On Christmas
3. From the Archives (Boots not Bikes)
4. Abbey’s Freedom and Wilderness
5. For Me, But Not For Thee

But the views have been nice.

Related posts:

1. The Show Went On
2. The Hierarchy of Human Propulsion
3. Hurt So Good: UTCX 1
4. Sneak Preview
5. Dewey Bridge to the Slickrock TH

This was the country the Mormons settled, the country which, as Brigham Young with some reason hoped, no one else wanted. Its destiny was plain on its face, its contempt of man and his history and his theological immortality, his Millennium, his Heaven on Earth, was monumentally obvious. Its distances were terrifying, its cloudbursts catastrophic, its beauty flamboyant and bizarre and allied with death. Its droughts and its heat were withering. Almost more than the Great Basin deserts, it was a dead land…In the teeth of that—perhaps because of that—it may have seemed close to God. It was Sanctuary, it was Refuge. Nobody else wanted it, nobody but a determined and God-supported people could live in it.

~Wallace Stegner, Mormon Country

The Colorado Plateau, and its surroundings, is a fierce, rugged, and remote place. Even today. Only 200 years ago it was entirely unknown to mapmakers, industrialists, or pioneers. Lewis and Clark missed it entirely. The Dominguez-Escalante Expedition passed through much of the region in 1776, including Utah Valley—my home. The expedition reported abundant water and game in the valley, and friendly Indian tribes. But most of the explorers and settlers saw Utah, and the Plateau Country, as a harsh wasteland—waterless, shadeless, merciless.

Brigham Young saw home. Inexplicably. Perched on the east bench of the Wasatch Front, his sick, tired, eyes looking westward, couldn’t have been an optimistic vantage point. Stretched out before him, beyond the naked valley was the North American Sahara. But optimism was all that Brigham and the Saints that followed him had. After months of plodding, they had reached the end of everything. Somewhere over the horizon was the Pacific and California. But California would be overrun by Gentiles. Brigham needed solitude, isolation. His people were worn and tired. If he had led them, they’d have crossed that salty sea. And most would have perished.

Jedediah Smith crossed the Salt Flats in 1827, and is thought to be the first white man to do so. He survived, but only just. 19 years later the Donner-Reed party would experience costly delays crossing the Flats, delays that led to the greatest human tragedy in the westward era. For Brigham Young, the right place, was the only place.

And so Brigham Young stopped. “Here we will build a temple to our God.”

But Brigham Young, and his people, built more than a temple. They built an empire. An empire of outposts—small, reclusive, self-sustaining settlements. Stakes in a tent. A claim. A claim on what became, and largely still is, the Mormon country.

Wallace Stegner’s Mormon Country, while written from the perspective of the Mormon immigration (Stegner himself was not a Mormon), is more than a recounting of history. Rather, it is a glimpse into the culture, mindset, and mantra of the many different people and parties that tamed what is now Utah, northern Arizona and New Mexico, western Colorado, southern Idaho and Wyoming, and eastern Nevada.

The account is detailed, instead of sweeping. Stegner is more interested in people than he is their collective movements. That is, Mormon Country is about Mormons, instead of Mormonism. Miners instead of mining. Explorers rather than exploring. And so, he writes about the outlaw Rafael Lopez, who escaped justice after slipping into the shafts of the Apex Mine in the Oquirrh mountains. We read the account of Niels Nielson, who offered rest and food to a traveler who he believed with certainty, was one of the Three Nephites. Stegner highlights the careers of J. Golden Kimball, Butch Cassidy, Jesse Knight, and others—individuals who represented the heart and soul of the American West. People who were typical of the intrepid, hearty, stubborn breed required to make a home in a region God didn’t seem to intend for human settlement.

And while some of the featured cultural quirks of Mormonism have vanished, many of them persist. Mormons are still an inward, self-perpetuating people. A people that roost in tightly knit flocks, wary of the outside world, but welcome and open to outsiders themselves. The outposts still remain. Some have grown. Many are ghosts. And others still, someplace in between. Places like Hatch or Circleville or Wallsburg. Hamlets and villages whose roots stretch into the depths of Mormon, Utah, and American history.

The Mormon country itself hasn’t changed much either. Paved roads have connected the outposts. Tourists flock to National Parks. Mining, timber, and ski operations pock the landscape. But much of the region is as empty as it has ever been. Just as remote and inhospitable as ever. As easy to get lost in, to die in, to never be found in, today, as it was when Everett Ruess, Jed Smith, or some ancient equivalent wandered through the shelved, colored plateaus and cedar forests of this labrynthed, unexplored world.

Permanence is the legacy of the Mormon country. That is, it lasts. Outlasts.

True, we humans are doing our best to push the limits of its lasting power. But, comforting enough, I do not think we posses the will, nor the power to truly conquer the Colorado Plateau or the West Desert. It is far too patient, too vast, and we, severely distractable, soft, and ultimately, mortal.

The very same landscape that overwhelmed Powell, nearly killed Jed Smith, and that hampered and hindered the Mormon settlers, is today, inspiring artists, poets, explorers, and activists.

However, each new generation of Mormon country inhabitants must discover for itself the value and the beauty of this unique, mysterious, wonderful, place. Like Mormonism, one has to experience the minute details, the personal revelations, and the intimate encounters with the divine, to appreciate and to love the high deserts and rugged mountains of the Colorado Plateau.

Each generation must decide what value the Mormon country has to them. Is it merely a resource for ore and timber, coal and rock? Or is there something more than simple physicality? That there is an intangible, spiritual aspect to the land is undeniable. But is there value in preserving such bromidic ambiguities? Stegner’s answer was obvious. Even the early pioneers who timbered and mined and damned understood the divine—literal for Mormons, then and now—nature of Nature. For any place to be called home, that place must hold sway emotionally, more than physically. That intangibility sent Everett Ruess into the unknown depths of the Escalante, it moved the brush of Thomas Moran, and turned Edward Abbey’s monkey wrench.

Stegner concludes that the Mormon country is “good country to look at, and with the initial hardships out of the way, good country to live in….For all its homley domesticity and its tradition of laborious piety, it is a country that breeds the Impossibles.”

Wallace Stegner feared that the wilderness of Utah, and the West, would be lost, swallowed up by the jaws of industry and concrete. That fear was not unfounded. Our cities have grown. But so has our capacity to preserve. Our need for resources has expanded, but so have the methods for extracting and replacing those resources. We are, in 2012, equipped to live among the mountains and the deserts more cleanly, quietly, and efficiently than ever before—despite the sheer enormity of our numbers. However, our technological progress will be meaningless if our love for wilderness fades.

I do not fear the bulldozer. I fear apathy.

This generation—my generation—values the mountains only as a form of entertainment. We are a people led by steel cables and dashed, painted lines. We explore, but only until the pavement ends. We stand at the edge, our childlike wonder diminished by the expediency of “reality” and “practicality”. There is nothing beyond the red tape of the resort, or the shoulder of the Scenic Byway. If it cannot be viewed mechanically, it cannot be viewed at all.

Apathy is the bulldozer.

In his watershed Wilderness Letter, Stegner wrote: “What I want to speak for is not so much the wilderness uses, valuable as those are, but the wilderness idea, which is a resource in itself. Being an intangible and spiritual resource, it will seem mystical to the practical minded—but then anything that cannot be moved by a bulldozer is likely to seem mystical to them.”

It was an idea that brought the Mormons to Utah. Indeed, the very idea of Heaven pulled the Saints across plains and mountains. That the Mormons found their Heaven in the shadows of the Rockies and among the tablelands of the Plateau is beyond coincidence.

The Mormon country is still a refuge and a sanctuary. If we are willing to trade that for the false promises of convenience and modernity, then we deserve our fate. However, if any imagination still lurks in the hearts and minds of men, then hope and optimism remain. If we are willing to slow expansion, and preserve the idea of wilderness, then we may yet pass on the animating wonder of the Mormon country. We may yet leave a record of reverence, appreciation, and wonder that, like Stegner and others have left us, will ignite the future rediscovery and courtship with this landscape. A landscape that is—and always has been—the homeland of the Impossibles.

Related posts:

1. Paradox: The Bearded Mormon
2. The Book is Done. Almost.
3. High Country
4. The Art of Walking
5. Long Live Steve Jobs

Forward movement is the means to every human end. Progress, such as it is defined, is often elevated above all else. Politicians speak of progress in reverent whispers. For athletes and coaches, it as an eternal pursuit. The businessman is obsessed with his progress up the corporate ladder, or the growth of his bottom line. But progress is ambiguous, and in our bizarre world, often regressive. However, physical progress, the literal act of moving forward, is definite, obvious, and everywhere.

We walk. We run. We hike and skin and ski. We pedal. We propel ourselves forward. Upward and onward, progress is the result of every human action.

But not all methods of forward progression are created equal. Some are inherently better—more efficient, faster, more enjoyable—than others.

The Hierarchy of Human Propulsion

My conclusions below are based on my own experiences. Your own conclusions may differ, however, I think many of you will agree with my observations. These ranking are independent of any terrain considerations. Clearly different tools are better for different roads and trails. But efficiency doesn’t always equal enjoyability. And all of the activities listed, except for road running, and post-holing through snow, are inherently enjoyable—but not equally. I’ve divided the activities into 2 categories: Summer and Winter.

Summer

Mountain biking > Cyclocross > Road biking > Trail running > Hiking > Walking > Hike-a-bike > running.

Winter

Skinning > Snow biking > Skate Skiing > Snowshoeing > Classic skiing > Post-holing.

A couple of notes: I didn’t include traditional alpine skiing because the uphill is lift-served, and the skiing itself is incorporated into ski touring, which I’ve listed above as skinning. Also, cyclocross is listed not exclusivley as ‘cross racing, but rather, as ‘cross riding, a mix of pavement, trail, dirtroads.  In other words, Roadirt. (Cruuuush!)

Oh, and yes. I would rather spend 2 hours pushing my bike, instead of 2 hours running down the street. I’ve done both, and at least a hike-a-bike comes with the possibility of an enjoyable decent or traverse, whereas running (is what criminals do) along the road is forever and always a painful exercise in self-flagellation.

Now, clearly there is an apples-to-oranges aspect to comparing bikes and feet. Wheels beat legs. And wings beat wheels. But wings are slightly more difficult to obtain than wheels. And anyway, I’m not sure there is any method of human flight that can be considered human-powered.

Anyway, the rankings above are not perfect. There are always exceptions and caveats. But they do reflect my order of preference for the time I spent outdoors.

What’s your hierarchy look like?

Related posts:

1. The Human Experience?
2. Big and Bigger
3. Run!
4. The Joy Ride

Ultimately dirtbaggery is about one thing: respect. Respect the alpha-dirtbag. Respect the gear. And respect the mountain.

Respect The Alpha-Dirtbag

A true dirtbag is an expert at his craft. He can ski. He can ride. He’s not stupid. He doesn’t put himself or others at risk because “duuude, gnarly!” In fact, he never (un-ironically) uses the word gnarly. Or brah, planks, shred, and siiiick. No, a dirtbag is a reliable partner in the backcountry and on the trail. He’s intelligent and savvy. Well read, and full of amazing stories that are actually true. The dirtbag demands respect because of his expertise, leadership, and ability. Up and coming dirtbags must recognize the alpha-dirtbag in any group, and concede thier own ambition to his alpha-status. In return, he offers reciprocity. The results of cooperative dirtbaggery are epic.

Respect The Gear

Gear—bikes, components, skis, binding, boots, tires, clothing—is at the heart of every outdoor adventure. If the gear is junk, then so is the experience. But that doesn’t mean every piece of equipment has to be the most expensive, highly reviewed, editor’s choice gear. Well maintained stuff will last a long, long time. Especially if it was well built and designed in the first place. A dirtbag finds ways, even without the overt financial means, to acquire solid core gear. For example, a dirtbag backcountry skier will have comfortable, light boots and durable bindings that might be ten years old. But they work, and work well. Why replace them? His money is spent wisely, on the equipment that matters most. What’s the point of pairing $450 ski pants with cheap plastic bindings?

A few gear shortcuts:

Leather work gloves. For as little as $8, one can purchase a pair of leather winter work gloves that can be weatherized into being ski gloves. For $25 one can purchase a pretty darn nice pair of leather winter work gloves. Work gloves make excellent uphill and backcountry gloves. They also work in a pinch at a frigid cyclocross race.

Shop glasses. Shop glasses (or shooting glasses) are no longer the embarrassing, ill-fitting goggles you wore in 7th grade. Today they look and fit almost like $200 sunglasses. Except they don’t cost $200. Rather, a fine pair of shooting spectacles will cost less than $10. The clear lensed pairs are excellent for night-riding.

Bulk CO2. CO2 cartridges are expensive. At bike shops. But at big-box stores the 12g cartridges that are meant for paintball guns are 25 for $15. In fact, as repulsive as big box stores can be, they offer some really fantastic prices on decent outdoor clothing. Wicking t-shirts especially.

Store brand. Not everything in your pack needs to be name-brand. Store branded gear—REI, Stoic, etc—can be every bit as comfortable and functional as name brands, but usually cost less. Dirtbags don’t care about trendy name branded gear. Dirtbags want function and durability, and store brands offer it in bunches.

Packing Tape. Packing tape isn’t duct tape. But it can be really useful in its own right. One example: Ski tails. A layer of packing tape on ski tails can help prevent delamination and other wear-n-tear from the tail clips on climbing skins. It’s not a perfect solution, but it does work.

Respect the Mountain.

Dirtbags are smart. They don’t cross rivers that shouldn’t be crossed. They don’t pressure others into dangerous or uncomfortable situations. They respect and understand the inherent danger of the mountain. Dirtbaggery means knowing the terrain. Maps are a dirtbags constant companion. He studies them with religious zeal. He knows where trails lead and what the morning’s avalanche forecast reported. Dirtbags become dirtbags because they live to ride and hike and ski another day.

In fact, I don’t know that a true dirtbag can be younger than 40 years old. Someone that young just doesn’t have the experience, the knowledge, or the conquests to qualify. Until 40 the best anyone (myself included) can hope to achieve is neo-dirtbag status. And even that is fleeting, and will need consistent tutelage from a bona fide, through-and-through dirtbag.

Someone like Tom. The best dirtbag I’ve ever known:

Related posts:

1. $8 Ski Gloves
2. It Begins
3. Ski Tour Clothing

The obligations, expectations, stretched budgets, terrible food, awkward social engagements…

And that’s just the office party.

But Christmas can also be wonderful.

Underneath the material urgings is an ideal that transcends custom, culture, and borders. It isn’t an ideal that is exclusively Christian, or even primarily religious. But it is divine, if not Divine. That is, Christmas is—should be—the superlative of peace. Of goodwill. Of gratitude. The very best of human interaction is rooted in the simple, but tragically disregarded, idea that each of us is free. The recognition of that self-evident truth is the root cause of peace. And its dismissal—the idea that one man can justly rule another—is the sole proprietor of war.

If there is an ideal society, it is one wherein men cherish above all else, liberty.

Christmas is, in its most utopian sense, a celebration of liberty. Christ is, after all, the great liberator. And liberty is the great clarifier.

The horrific and perpetual wars that plague our world are devised and executed by coalitions of tyrants, waged at the expense of the peaceful and for the enrichment of the violent. Nobody, save for the tyrant, profits from war and destruction. Brutality has never bred devotion. Bullets cannot foster peace. The wholesale and worldwide demise of liberty is the goal of tyranny, and the means of ruin. Liberty, freedom, and peace are always precarious and fleeting. But their abolishment is hardly inevitable. Indeed, inherent in all men is a desire for autonomy and dignity. It is a desire that can neither be extinguished, nor ignored.

If there is anything in this world worth fighting for, it is peace.

Peace on earth, according to Luke, begins with good will toward men, which of course begins with you. And me. Each of us has the capacity to radically change the course of history. Peace will never come from governments, or treaties, or threats of violence. Peace always has been, and ever will be, a product of individuals working for the preservation and betterment of each other. We cannot demand the privilege of dignity for ourselves and rightfully confiscate it from others. Our individual perpetuation of liberty is our only and best method of achieving a collective peace.

“Liberty and peace toward all. Agression toward none.”

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

Related posts:

1. Merry Christmas
2. A Christmas Story
3. Christmas
4. Merry Christmas!
5. Merry Christmas

Related posts:

1. Photo of the Week (Week 40)
2. 2011 P2P Aftermath
3. Camp Lynda 2011 (Words)

~Jim Butcher, Death Masks

I’ve maintained this space for well over 6 years. It’s been through several changes and upgrades. Dry spells. Indirection. And, once in a while, periods of dynamic conversation and content. I’ve enjoyed keeping this blog immensely. And I have no intention of killing it. I want to help it grow and thrive. I hope to continue reaping the benefits (such as they are) that doing so provides.

But the inevitable reality is that at some point, it will die. In order to put that off, I need to create meaningful, interesting content. Otherwise, its death would be a merciful relief. To both of us.

I’d like to avoid that apocalypse. But I’ll need your help.

I need to know what you want.

I’m borrowing from Dave in asking for this. And really, this sort of looking back is becoming an annual tradition. Dave always asks the good questions. The compelling questions. And so, encouraged by his results, I’m shamelessly imitating him (again) here. That is, I want to know your thoughts on my future. Or rather, the future of this blog. I have ideas of my own, but I’ve heard enough of them.

I want to know what you enjoy most about this space.

Why are you here?

What do you want to see more of?

Less of?

Over the last 6 years I hope I’ve gained your trust. And maybe even your loyalty. I’d hate to squander that by cascading into content that is uninteresting, or manipulative. Those of you that know me well, know that I love to talk about policy and politics. Especially the first principles of human rights—life, liberty, property. I’m fascinated by the philosophical, moral, and ethical dilemmas that human interaction causes, and the solutions it uncovers. And while I’ve dabbled among those topics here, and mostly in an outdoor context, I really don’t feel like I have your permission to go much further. And so, perhaps I’ll avoid taking this space too far down that road?

Nevertheless, I do want to expand into topics beyond race and trip reports, gear reviews, and training diaries. Exactly what that entails? I don’t know.

That’s where you come in.

And don’t worry. I have thick skin. I want you to be honest in your feedback. I have lofty ambitions for my writing, and so, I don’t need to be coddled or dandled. I’ll benefit from your honesty.

Leave a comment below, and let me know what you think.

Oh, right. The token photo:

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The project is being ramrodded into reality under the guise of traffic management and economic growth, two worthwhile causes that a gondola in Big Cottonwood Canyon will have no effect on. Senators and House representative from Utah have sponsored bills that would permit the sale of the needed land in BCC to Talisker, effectively bypassing the need for environmental impact studies while ignoring input from the current land owners—the public. I oppose the SkiLink gondola. This is why:

“Growth for the sake of growth”, wrote Abbey, “is the ideology of the cancer cell.”

The Wasatch Range is home to some of the most lauded ski resorts in the world. And while the resorts themselves are partially responsible, providing extraneous benefits such as dining, lodging, shopping, and entertainment, the core attraction, the reason these resorts are featured in every travel, ski, and real estate magazine, and why people come from all over the world to visit, is the snow. The mountains. The Wasatch mountains are wonderful. And so are the ski resorts. Mostly. That is, the ski resorts are wonderful, exactly as they are.

The 8 resorts within an hour’s drive of the Salt Lake airport provide 17,500 acres of skiable terrain. Canyons, already one of the 5 biggest resorts in the nation, contains 4,000 acres alone—nearly 25% of all the skiable acreage in the Salt Lake/Park City area. The resort has 19 ski lifts and 182 trails, spanning 9 mountain peaks. Boston Globe columnist Tony Chamberlin is proudly quoted on the Canyons website: ”So large and varied is Canyons that every level of skier will find not just some terrain, but a bewildering amount of it.”

But for Talisker Mountain Inc., that’s not enough. How much is enough? More.

I am an avid proponent of private property. Property rights are the foundation of a civilized, free, and prosperous society. Ownership promotes stewardship, and stewardship provides an elevated standard of living. We take care of that which is ours. Collective ownership, while practical on a small scale, diffuses responsibility and the rewards inherent with it. The result is often neglect, decay, and contention. Private property—including land, homes, and even our persons—promotes mutually beneficial behavior, and production. Thomas Jefferson wrote that “The true foundation of republican government is the equal right of every citizen in his person and property and in their management.”

But the United States is enormous. Geographically as well as culturally, and is filled with vast tracts of undeveloped, open land. The republican government that Thomas Jefferson and his colleagues established granted collective ownership of these open, diverse lands to the people. To us. Known today as “public land” and largely made up of forest, desert, and mountainous landscape, we are the collective, if nominal, owners of millions of acres. And while we own—and cultivate, trek through, camp in, float by, fly over, drive around, and live among—these public lands, they are hardly ours. Instead the land is managed by Federal bureaucracies that rarely consider the input or the prevailing opinion of the proper (but, again, nominal) owners. That is, you. And me. And why would they? We are many. Too many. We can’t even agree on—or understand, if the busybodies are to be believed—the simple, stark things of life, let alone the (supposedly) complex issues of water rights, timber regulation, grazing permissions, the cultural benefits of helicopter-aided skiing, or the economic boons of mountain roller-coasters. We are many, and we are fickle, messy, stupid.

So, rather than worry too much about the public, The Department of the Interior, the Bureau of Reclamation, the Bureau of Land Management, the United States Forest Service, and (naturally) the Department of Homeland Security, manage the forests and the deserts and the mountains according to the whims of politics, and the decrees of senators, representatives, judges, presidents, lobbyists, and special interests. That is, of dollar signs. In other words, our public lands (and the agencies that manage them) will always and eternally be for sale.

Public land, while a noble, and even needed, gesture, is doomed. Especially so, when the maleable minds of Utah’s congressional representatives are involved.

Who ought to manage public lands? Why, the public, of course.

Ted Wilson is a former Mayor of Salt Lake City. He is also, apparently, a former champion of wilderness preservation in the Wasatch Range. He recently stepped down as Utah Governor Gary Herbert’s senior environmental advisor. He quit that job to become Talisker’s director of government affairs—Talisker’s chief lobbyist. Wilson was quoted in the Salt Lake Tribune, saying that “the position combines everything I love, working with private and public interests in land-use policy and advocacy for the Wasatch Mountains, which I’ve loved and respected all my life, and a chance to boost Utah’s position internationally as a great resort destination.” His immediate assignment: SkiLink.

I wonder if the contradictory nature  of “advocacy for the Wasatch Mountains” and “Utah’s position internationally as a great resort destination” has ever occurred to Ted Wilson? Apparently not. And clearly, lobbying for the enhancement of Utah’s international standing among ski industry magazine editors, is far more lucrative than advocacy of the Wasatch Mountains themselves. Unless of course, in the mind of Ted Wilson, advocacy is mere marketing.

In principle, I have no problem with the selling of select public land to private owners. Nor do I object to (on principle) a private land owner destroying his own land, as Talisker has done, and is doing, at Canyons. But the incessant development, seemingly mindless and obligatory, taking place at Canyons is a stark glimpse into the mind of Talisker, and is reason enough to oppose its expansion into adjacent public lands. Especially when those public lands are home to the Crest, Mill D, and Mill Creek trail networks, and some of the best backcountry skiing in the area.

In most cases, the selling of public land to private owners is a net gain for both the public in general and the private owner in particular—the government has a little less space to manage, and the private owner is motivated to create something of value. This is prevalent in urban areas—abandoned lots become private, but accesible parks (Zuccotti, for example), restaurants, grocery stores, markets, baseball diamonds, and office buildings. In such cases the benefit to the public is obvious, and rarely controversial.

However, the selling of public wilderness is nearly entirely controversial. As it ought to be. Wilderness (generally, and not specifically designated Wilderness) is highly valuable for both its recreational and economic potential. In the American West wilderness is integral to the mystique, character, and economies of both large cities and small towns. Wilderness usage and ownership is a passionate, heated topic. Common sensical expansion of industry and civilization into open spaces is often necessary. But rarely does the expansion of a ski resort qualify as necessary. Rather, resort expansion is nearly entirely useless.

The United States is in the midst of cultural and social turmoil. The economy is terrible. Politics are volatile. Kids are angry, misguided, and disenchanted. Adults are worried, frightened, and tentative. The reach and scope of government is unchecked. Corporate greed is rampant. The American people are being swindled by an elite group of politically connected coporatists, the Federal Reserve, the United States Congress, and legions of lobbyists, unions, bankers, and traders. Legislation today has little to do with upholding the Constitution. Liberty, the eternal nemesis of the State, is being marginalized, dismissed, and forgotten. None of this is new. But, largely thanks to the internet, the dark rooms of deceit are being flooded with light. And we don’t like what we see.

Corporatism, also called crony-capitalism, is a condition “in which success in business depends on close relationships between business people and government officials. It may be exhibited by favoritism in the distribution of legal permits, government grants, special tax breaks, and so forth”. Corporatism is a plague on the American economy. Our bubble-laced financial system, government grants and loans (bailouts) to insolvent, overly risky banks and businesses, and the volatility of the stock market are the natural product of cronyism. Obvious examples of crony-capitalism are readily available—Solyndra, GM, Haliburton, the entire career of Newt Gingrich—and now Talisker Mountain Inc.

If SkiLink becomes reality, it will be yet another triumph of corporatism. It isn’t coincidental that the only non-Canyons/Solitude supporters (of any clout) of SkiLink are politicians and bureaucrats, and that the forward movement SkiLink is enjoying is due to a Congressional bill, H.R. 3452/S. 1883, that has been sponsored by several Utah lawmakers—sweet talked, no doubt, by their old friend, Ted Wilson.

Talisker Mountain Inc. can’t win public affection for SkiLlink. So, instead, it bought off local pols. Cronyism, at its dirty finest.

Public opposition to SkiLink is widespread. Talisker understands this. They know that the skiers, mountain bikers, and hikers that recreate in the Cottonwood Canyons, and the larger Wasatch Range are an active, awake, and intelligent gathering of conservation-minded people. We love the Wasatch. We love it for its accessibility, scale, abrupt ruggedness, and beauty. We understand that the existing ski resorts are a boon to our economy, and cultural persona. But, as I quoted above, “growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.”

Economic growth is important. But it must be organic, spontaneous, and unforced. Government stimulus spending, for example, is none of those things, and is incapable of spurring real, actual, growth. Instead, superflous demand is created among favored companies and industries through manipulated and subsidized prices, artificially low interest rates, and the promise of protection from catastrophic failure through bailouts. Normal market incentives are warped by regulation, law, and politics. Connected parties profit, while everyone else founders.

SkiLink is the epitome of growth becoming warped and corrupted. It is the sanctification of expansion—”it could create jobs!”—at the expense of common sense. There is no demand for a gondola between Solitude and Canyons. There is no benefit—either short or long term. Not to skiers, not to the local economy, and not to either resort involved. That a skier would driver further, increasing fuel usage, and then pay double for the cost of his lift ticket, just to spend a better part of his day traveling, via ski lift, from one resort to another is mindless.

SkiLink is a ruse. A ruse for the shameless intentions of Talisker Mountain Inc. to expand onto nearby National Forest land. Today they want just 30 acres. But tomorrow they will need another 60. And then another 120. And then 240. When, I wonder is enough, enough?

Constructing this gondola will fundamentally alter the landscape of the Big Cottonwood and Mill Creek drainages and the Summit/Salt Lake County ridgeline. A landscape that is essential to the character of the Wasatch Range. Character that is essential to us, the people of Utah. Indeed, how do we want to define ourselves? Are we willing to sacrifice every last aspen grove and hogsback ridge to the machine of progress, and the cancer of meaningless growth? Are we ready to trade away the benefits and joy of human-powered exploration for the lazy, removed, flotation of a gondola? Are we so enthralled with the ambiguous notion of “world-class” and “premium” that we will assassinate the founding appeal and personality of the Wasatch Range?

I can’t believe that we are. I won’t believe that we are.

Stopping the SkiLink gondola isn’t only about saving Big Cottonwood Canyon. It’s about saving ourselves. Preserving ourselves. A reminder that we still value open, wild, dangerous space. That we need, more than ever, someplace where there is no commerce and politics, no steel and asphalt, no cable cars, tractors, or artificiality. To quote Abbey once again, “we need wilderness.” We need clean air, running streams, spruce trees, avalanches, windstorms, winter sunrises, and alpenglow.

Alpenglow without a gondola marring the horizon.

Stand up. Stand up and stop the mindless development, the crony-capitalism, and the drone-like devastation of Talisker Mountain Inc.

Related posts:

1. Libertarian Environmentalism
2. Skinning is Not a Crime
3. The Show Went On
4. Stop and Smell the Flowers
5. Ranting on About Big Brother

I’m tired.

As I should be. As you should be.

But I’m hopeful. About 2012 (unless the Mayans were right), this space, and other ambitions and lofty plans occupying my brain.

In the meantime, we’re all enduring this ‘tweener season. Not cycling season. Not ski season. And while that the seasonal indecision can cause an agitated unrest, it is a needed, appreciated time of reset, recovery, and reflection.

Related posts:

1. The A-Season
2. 2005 Season Recap
3. Singletrack Season