Wild Camp
New Fine Art Photography
We know what wilderness is, both by definition and law.
From Merriam-Webster:
Wilderness
1 (a) 1: a tract or region uncultivated and uninhabited by human beings
1 (a) 2: an area essentially undisturbed by human activity together with its naturally developed life community
1 (b): an empty or pathless area or region
From The Wilderness Act of 1964, Section 2(c):
A wilderness, in contrast with those areas where man and his works dominate the landscape, is hereby recognized as an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is further defined to mean in this Act an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which (1) generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man's work substantially unnoticeable; (2) has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation; (3) has at least five thousand acres of land or is of sufficient size as to make practicable its preservation and use in an unimpaired condition; and (4) may also contain ecological, geological, or other features of scientific, educational, scenic, or historical value.
These definitions highlight a key distinction, among several, that sets wilderness apart from other types of space on the landscape. Yes, the text does say that people ought to be only visitors in the wilderness, but this is aimed at achieving some other end. Many of us have traveled and ‘visited’ large cities with plenty of human impacts. So, the amount of time spent there, in the wilderness, is not the full picture or distinguishing feature. There is a thread of reverence for the natural world in these definitions, but this implies a world view where people, the alleged ancestors of single celled organisms and ancient hominids, are not somehow part of that revered nature.
The particular distinction wilderness in these definitions is the absence not just of people in general, but of the impact of people in particular.
Why does the work of a beaver or bird not receive the same treatment? The answer is that we are stuck between two philosophical extremes. We can see both views in the definitions above. On one hand, we have one view that sees human beings as dominant or somehow better than nature. In the West, this is a theological misunderstanding based on a literal reading of the Biblical text bereft of any context or tradition. It is also imbued with what we call secularism, but what is really a religion all its own, one that serves money and progress and politicians and approved thinking. On the other side, we have a view which I have already highlighted is contradictory. People can’t be both one with and equal to nature while also claiming our impacts on nature are somehow less than nature or less than other creatures. In this latter view, we ought to ban beaver dams and birds’ nests from wilderness areas, too. In the former view, we could logically extend our impact on the environment in such a way that would pave the world. In the latter, we could rid the earth of people and the planet would be all the better for it.
What are we left with? Is there a third way?
This third way looks different. It feels different. The third way is not reactionary, it does not exist in opposition to some other way because it is The Way, it is the pivot point around which all nature and humanity bends. When we follow The Way, we find that we are not separate from nature, but neither are we the same or less than nature. We are, however, unique within nature. Humanity sits at an inflection point between the material and the spiritual, between the natural and the built, between the animals and the angels. Along The Way we find that our impacts are not detrimental to nature, and that our alterations to the environment are not somehow bad. On the contrary, nature needs human beings as much as human beings need nature.
The wilderness, not the definition(s), but the place, has something to say about all of this. Why else would we find it beautiful? Why else would we float its waters and hike its ridges if it did not first invite us in? There is an echo in wilderness. The secularists might say it is from the Big Bang and the religiously minded might say it is from the moment of Creation. That echo is more than the sound of the rapids or the wind in the aspens, that echo is the awe of the hunt, it is the tranquility of a creek, and it is the glowing beauty of the Northern Lights.
My newest fine art release, Wild Camp, illustrates this need that we have for wilderness, and the call that the wild sends out to us. Remove the tent from this photo and it becomes less impressive. Remove the landscape from the tent and the story is buried.
There is another definition of wilderness from Merriam-Webster:
1 (c): a part of a garden devoted to wild growth
I like that term; devoted to wild growth. We won’t find wild growth in a city and we won’t find it in a place devoid of human life. Wild growth implies an intertwining of people and nature, like a trellis and vine, like steps carved into rocks, like the Northern Lights over elk camp.
It’s good to have wilderness in definition and policy. But in practice, we only need these forms of wilderness because we haven’t navigated our own. The wilderness may be indifferent to life and death, to comfort and fear, but it is not neutral when it comes to human beings. The wilderness calls to us. Instead of answering, we’ve locked it away behind a wall. Wilderness is not the whole garden, it’s only a part of it. There is a path through it, whether we can find it or not. The path is called The Way.
I love your Wild Camp photograph. Inspiring.