Monuments, Forests, Parks...What's the difference? And a winter summit of Mount Leconte

**Pulling another one from the draft archives that was never published. This was from the winter of 2014. I wrote about half of it today in 2018.

Hey y'all, thanks for reading! Today I am writing about a recent hiking experience I had in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, and the system in place here in the United States that affords myself and others these great opportunities. I'm going to dive a little into law and policy today, but I'll make it interesting I promise!

Winter Backpacking in The Great Smoky Mountains National Park

This blog was spurred by some thoughts and conversations I had while hiking in The Great Smoky Mountains National Park with my little brother during the Winter break from school in 2014. We chose to start at Newfound Gap, hike the Appalachian Trail to the Boulevard Trail that brought us to the summit of Leconte. We then took Alum Cave Trail down to highway 441 where my Aunt Kathy gave use a ride back to our car.

We were hoping to have an endearing winter summit, buried up to our knees in snow on the top of Leconte. The weather was frigid, and precipitation was in the forecast. My brother and I were in for an epic hike, or so we thought. We spent the night at Icewater Springs shelter along the Appalachian Trail. At the shelter we met a family from Alabama that was doing a short AT hike, and together we built a roaring fire to keep us warm as the snow approached. I was excited when we went to bed, because I knew I would wake up to a blanket of snow. I attributed the lack of cold in the shelter to our raging fire.

Turns out, it rained all night and was still raining when we woke up. My brother and I trucked a few brutal miles along boulevard trail in the rain until we reached the summit. Leconte was completed shrouded in fog, typical of the smoky mountains, and was being hammered by high winds. We could only stand a few moments at the top and elected to move back down to the cabins down the trail to have lunch behind some kind of barrier (the cabins are closed in the winter).

The thermometer on the side of the lodge read a comfortable 35 degrees, and it was still pouring rain. Here we met a teenager who had hitched a ride from Texas to come see the smokies. We loaned him our stove and fuel so he could heat some of his foot. The kid had been floating around the park, and sleeping in random outcroppings where he could shelter from the storms. I should note here that this is illegal, and also not advised. I'm still not sure anyone actually knew where he was, and if he went missing if anyone would know where to look. He followed us most of the way back, but ultimately disappeared into the woods once again about half way down the mountain.

These kinds of hikes may stink at the time, but I believe that they kindle a passion to get back out there in the long haul, at least for me. They leave me feeling alive.

Those of us that love the outdoors, undoubtedly love and appreciate our public lands. But, do we understand how they're different? Public lands can have various owners and funding sources, but today I'm going to break down the differences between the major federal public lands.

What's the difference between National Parks, Forests, Monuments, etc?

I'm always quite surprised by the number of my outdoorsy friends and acquaintances that are not familiar with the differences between federal lands that they commonly use. Then again, it can be a little confusing. I'll try my best to summarize.

National Parks are a very John Muir kind of conservation, where they seek to maintain the natural resources and sometimes cultural resources of an area "unimpaired". They do not allow hunting, nor do they harvest timber, but fishing is allowed in many cases. The idea in National Parks is that we have something here in this location that is so amazing or so important that it must be preserved in pristine condition.

National Forests are a very Gifford Pinchot/Teddy Roosevelt kind of conservation, focusing on multi-use management. National Forests allow hunting, biking, camping, fishing, and much more with regulations that vary across sites. National Forests are also managed for the production and harvest of timber resources (ie. logging).

Land owned by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) is also multi-use.

National Monuments are similar to parks but capture a broader range of reasons for their preservation encompassing multiple interests. They are also typically smaller. They may be preserved because of significant cultural or scientific values, but they are often managed by the NPS. Examples include the Statue of Liberty and Cedar Breaks National Monuments.

What powers this engine.

Money, Money, and You. Especially in this changing political climate we must be advocates for public land. Write your representatives and support public land advocacy groups. To loosely quote Edward Abbey, get out there and enjoy it while you still can.

The more who love it, the more who will fight to save it.

Sources:

www.nps.gov/aboutus/mission.htm

www.fs.fed.us

http://wilderness.org/article/how-we-designate-monuments

A community in the wilderness- A short journey on the Appalachian Trail

For whatever reason I never posted this blog from the spring of 2015.

For spring break this year I decided to forgo the beach and sunshine, and head somewhere much colder and with a lot more rain. Seemed like a good idea at the time... Marie, a good friend of mine, has decided to hike the entire Appalachian trail and she invited me to join her for the first 53 miles. We were joined by our friends Emerson and Ethan.

I hear a lot of people talk about going into the wild to "escape" people and be alone. They get tired of the hustle and bustle of everyday life, tired of people, and tired of stress. Wilderness can be seen by many as an escape back to a simpler way of life (even when fully supported by camping supplies and products that are produced by those in the aforementioned "complicated way of life"). If an "escape" is what you want to do, the Appalachian Trail (AT) is not for you. It's something totally different, something I had never experienced before, and I found it to be an amazing place. I have never been one of those folks that wanted to "escape" people, I like the species of which I am a part, and this is why I really, really enjoyed the AT.

We put in at Springer Mountain, the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail. Here we met miss Janet, one of the most famous AT trail angels out there. She travels in her ole van, with her dog, up and down the length of the AT. Providing assistance to those in need on the trail is her calling. She offers a kind, and sometimes painfully blunt, word of advice or caution when needed and gear to those who need it. People like this are part of what make the AT what it is.

Hanging out at the summit of Springer Mountain.

On day one the weather was clear and cool, the sun hitting our backs and the breeze carrying us along the path to Hawk Mountain shelter. We hit camp at sundown thanks to our late start, and set up on the outskirts of the tent village. Remember how I said the AT is not an escape? There were about ten folks in the shelter and maybe 25 tents around it. The first few days on the trail the campsites will be packed. We managed to find a quiet little spot, make a quick dinner, and pass out. That night it poured down rain. Inside my tent it was a beautiful sound that brought me peace and quick slumber in the confines of my dry tent. Unfortunately, we knew it would not stop raining for the next three days.

About ten miles of hiking on day two, and we were substantially soaked. We decided we needed to dry our gear and stay at a the wolfpen hostel. We met some kids from New York, one of which was suffering from hypothermia. Before we knew it our group of four had grown to eight, so when we bummed our ride to the shelter we all rode in the back of a pick-up truck. That night, at the hostel, we met some truly inspiring people. We met a man with stage 4 pancreas cancer, who was given 2 to 5 years to live about 2.5 years ago, who had decided to hike the AT with his daughter. There was a man under the trail name "semi-colon", who lost half of his colon from stage 3 cancer. He was traveling to rural Appalachian towns to hand out cancer test kits to families that can't otherwise afford preventative tests for cancer. The two kids from New York had finished high school and decided to do the trail. We also found out about a man that was doing the whole trail at the age of 81. Our little second floor hostel (above the general store) was home to nearly 30 people that night.

Drying out our gear at the hostel. Marie says hello! The hostel also had a fresh litter of kittens.

We set out the next day in the rain and did about 10.5 miles to arrive at a shelter at the base of Blood Mountain. Blood mountain is a fairly strenuous climb and usually makes a lot of folks quit the trail and go home, so we camped at the base. Only one other person at the shelter that night, but the site was also known for high levels of bear activity. The fog grew so dense before bed that if you walked more than 15 yards from the shelter and turned back around you would not be able to see the shelter. Moments like this help you realize how people end up getting lost on the AT.

Day four was a big day, we hiked around 16 miles, with Blood Mountain right at the start. Fortunatley it was a sunny, clear day. We reached the summit in less than an hour, and it was not near as tough as expected. The summit provided a panoramic view all the way around of North Georgia and into North Carolina. After over two days of hiking in the mist, this spectacular view was needed.

At the summit of Blood Mountain, 4,458 feet. The prominence of the mountain is 1,480 feet, meaning it's that much higher than the saddle of the closest surround peak.

***Here I am, two years later, finishing this story. I don't recall the last few days of our journey near as well as I should. This is a testament to the importance of journaling and writing things down. Over the years nearly all of an experience can be lost to the mind, or the days blur together into a haze. I find that the sentiment and emotions of the hike and it's influence on you remain, but the specific details that caused that feeling are lost. Maybe that's all Deja vu is. You aren't remembering a specific experience, but a specific feeling that has been unlocked by that moment, the cause long forgotten.

I am not a steward for the environment

I am not a steward for nature. Wait, what? Why would a wildlife biologist say that? Hear me out on this one, I promise I will come full circle on this and it will make sense, I hope.

The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, waters, plants, and animals, or collectively: the land... In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such.”  -Aldo Leopold

One of my favorite biologists, authors, and modern philosophers (if I may) is Aldo Leopold. Although this statement from "The Land Ethic" was published in 1949, the idea he offers here would arguably still be considered radical here over 60 years later. But even in 1949, this was not a novel idea.

A few years ago I spent some time working in Hawai'i with a small non-profit organization called Hawai'i Wildlife Fund, and I learned that the Hawaiians had long since had a similar idea of nature and their place in it. I had probably known Hannah, the president of H.W.F., for less than an hour when she started to explain to me that conservation work was very different in Hawai'i. Traditionally, Hawaiians did not consider themselves stewards, they saw themselves as a piece of the ecosystem, not some overlord over it. I really liked that mentality. I thought it forced you to think about things in a more holistic sense.

And this brings me to why I don't like the term "steward". The word steward can refer to a designated official for overseeing and organizing, as well as looking after something. At first this sounds like a fine idea, but I think it's sort of a dangerous line of thought. Looking at it this way I feel that you jeopardize seeing yourself as separate from the ecosystem that you are looking after. It may enable you to "do your part" or whatever, but as soon as it gets uncomfortable or politically challenging you can step out.

But that's just the thing. You can't step out of your ecosystem, really. You're ALWAYS part of it. No matter where you are or how far away you are from the woods, you are part of an ecosystem. In fact, unless you're completely self sustained on your own property, you're probably part of several ecosystems simultaneously. But that's the cool thing! You get to be part of this. Your actions have direct consequences, both positive and negative, and you can't escape. That doesn't mean you have to constantly over think things and live in guilt though.

If we were to go back in time we would find that most cultures would also see things in this way. Us folks here in the rural south probably understand this pretty well, despite what some folks might want you to think :). So, in what ways are you tied to this planet? Do some brainstorming and mull it over, some things are less obvious than others.

You can still be a steward if you like, but never, ever, ever forget that you are part of this. You are more than a steward. In a way we are all captains of this "ship", and we will go down with her should she sink. On a positive note, we can steer her to some degree, so long as the winds are in our favor. So let's step back, plot a course, and see where we can go.

Chimney Tops, Great Smoky Mountains. Because I like them.

This Land has a History

The land upon which we stand has a history. Blanketed in the impressions of millennia of influences, each leaving its own unique trace upon the earth. The careful and patient eye can read these signs and learn to read the history of a place. Those who wish to read the land can follow it's story from ancient times, across the Anthropocene, and through the last few hours.

Long before the presence of man, the land was shaped and molded into high mountains, lush valleys, and wide open plains. Where tectonic plates collided land was raised up into mountains. Where rain fell the land was shaped and trees grew, sediment washing down forming fertile soils in the lowlands. The powerful forces of weathering and erosion at work. Here the strongest trees and densest grasses grew. These are the most readily observed and easily understood stories that land can hold. They are ever present and seemingly unchanging. We have noticed them so much that we no longer notice them.

As time passed both beast and man created new history for the land. The beavers dammed creeks, turning low valleys into wetlands. Animals grazed this land, selecting for heartier plants and plants with defense of thorn and poor taste. Lightning struck, fire burned, and wind cleared the forests, creating a heterogeneous landscape of forest and field. Disturbance by forces of nature further molded the land into it's present form. Can you see it in the land? Like small scars, healed but not forgotten. Boding of a time when disturbance was fresh and landscape was changing.

As you walk along you may see an old rotting log, and around it there may be many young trees. With the passing of the elder tree, sunlight increased and it's young began a race for the canopy, a final gift of sunlight from a dying mother. The wind blows and the creaking of many trees draws your attention. Glancing up it is apparent that you are surrounded by many dead trees, all pines. The bark has begun to peel from many and the tops are broken off a few. Walking up to the trees you can see what furrows in the wood where small pine beetles have worked their way through the soft outer flesh of the tree. This pine beetle infestation has slowly but surely killed the pines on the hillside. Soon they will all fall, making way for new species that love sunlight, like blackberry. Next summer there will be an abundance of fruit, much to the delight of the birds.

We have also played a part in this more recent history. Looking down the path you can see the land is broken and segmented. It is as if the gods dug staircases into the hillside to ease their passage. These terraces were used for agricultural crops, helping to reduce soil erosion and regulate soil moisture. Even though crops may not have been present here in 70 years, the terraces have remained and continue to influence the land.

The land also bears the signs of immediate events and changes. Beneath the brush sits a fresh scat from a bobcat. This not only tells the story of the presence of the bobcat, but also the story of the bobcats most recent prey. There is fur, of squirrel or rabbit, and a multitude of small bones within the scat. A nearby tree is scraped bare a few inches from the bottom where a buck in rut has rubbed its antlers. Puddles of muck show who has walked by recently and how fast they were going. The low brush has been cut clean a few inches from the ground. Because it is a clean cut and not a tear you can tell it was made by a rabbit and not some other creature.

Across all forms of land there are signs and stories. They can tell us the history of the land and help us to understand our place upon it. We can learn of our surroundings and the events around us long after they have occurred. Next time you go for a walk in the woods, look around. Who or what is trying to tell you a story from yesterday?

Climbing King's Peak (13,527): High Uinta Wilderness

Somehow this story starts in a Books-a-million in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. I was perusing around the aisles of the nature section for something to read while on our church beach retreat. I came across "The New Age of Adventure", a collection of short stories from ten years of National Geographic Magazine. The book was full of wonderful tales of travels in the middle east, sailing raging waters, climbing Everest in search of the body of a long lost climber, and getting lost in the Rockies of Colorado. This little beach read ended up sparking a light in my mind, and I knew I had some friends out West who would be in for a little adventure.

I sent out some texts, made some calls, and got the word out that I was considering a visit and was interested in climbing King's Peak. As the time drew nearer I found my dreams might actually be a reality (courtesy of some help from an awesome friend and travel agent- shout out to John Haisley!) I was also fortunate to have a friend in Utah who had family that had done this hike before and wanted to lead the trip (Thanks Wesley and family!). Another good friend (Thanks Rono!) hosted me for a few days in Salt Lake. And all of the sudden I was being picked up at the airport by yet another awesome friend (Thanks Monica!) and driven straight to the Uintas on July the 31st, 2014. Who needs to acclimate right?

Until a few weeks ago the highest this South Carolinian had ever hiked was around 11,700 feet in New Mexico, back when I was 16 with the Boy Scouts. But I felt confident as I, along with six friends, set out for the hike at Henry's Fork entrance to the High Uinta Wilderness. We met in Fort Bridger Wyoming, and drove for about an hour, most of which was on a dirt road, across the plains and into the mountains. I'm suffering from jet lag at this point and sleep through most of the ride, but I'm sure it looked great! After parking the cars and doing one final gear check, we hit the trail. The plan was to hike about 8 miles up a steady climb into a large valley near the base of King's Peak and the surrounding ridges. Our hike took us along the river and through dense forests of douglas fir trees, many of which are dying due to the douglas fir beetle outbreak. This is cause for concern should there be a wildfire.

Entering the first valley opening after about 6 miles of hiking in the forest up Henry's Fork.

After six or so miles (who's counting anyway) you reach a large valley/marsh and the canopy opens up. You can see for miles, and are surrounded on all sides by massive ridges with steep, rocky slopes that top 12,000 or more feet. Another few miles and we arrived at a small wooded area near Dollar Lake that we decided would be a good place to set up base camp. I was starting to feel the altitude via bouts of nausea and a headache. A nice warm fire, and a lucky break in weather, made for a great sleep.

The next morning we hit the trail and headed along the Eastern Edge of the range, towards Gunsight pass. Gunsight pass brings you up to about 11,700 feet, where you get a great view of the valley you just crossed. Climbing the boulder field that builds the pass we saw chukars, rock chucks, and pikas. At the pass we were then faced with two options, hike down into the next valley and lose precious elevation or cut across a boulder strewn ridge to maintain our current elevation. 

Taking the option to cross the boulders and a small cliff to maintain elevation.

We elected the more difficult pass across the ridge, climbing a small cliff and then making a speedy walk across an alpine meadow until we reached the boulder field. Here we spent a little over an hour hopping from boulder to boulder, ranging in size from basketballs to small buses. Another steep climb and we're up on top of Andrews pass, looking up towards the false summit, knowing King's Peak is just behind it. First we have to ramble over boulders and a steep, slippery slope to get there.

Looking up to the false summit from just below Anderson Pass.

Around 1300 hours we finally reach the summit, and I lay out on a rock with my legs dangling over a cliff overlooking a drop several thousand feet to the next valley below. It's humbling, it makes you feel awake, and a little dizzy (or was that the altitude?). The view is incredible and worth every dollar, every bead of sweat, and every aching muscle. My head hurts from the altitude and my water bottles are empty, but we made it. We made all 13,527 feet (or 4123 meters for my friends overseas). There is a chilly breeze in the air, and it just smells clean up here. Everything below is green from the rain earlier this week. Below me I see for what I feel like is hundreds of miles (but I know it's not). I can see vast forests, large marsh/grass lands, and dozens of cerulean blue lakes dotting the landscape. Each lake seems to have it's own unique hue of blue. There is not a road or building in sight. This is true wilderness. This is what people like John Muir and Teddy Roosevelt fought to protect. This is what draws us to these places and makes us into something new, something better. We are blessed that our forefathers had the insight to protect sacred places like this, and I rest easy knowing this place, and others like it, will remain as such for my children to experience.

The summit of King's Peak overlooking the valley below.

The climb down proved to be my favorite part of the whole hike. We scrambled down the peak fast onto Anderson Pass. I managed to get pretty far ahead of my comrades and rested at the bottom. But like I said, I have no water and I'm dying of thirst. Altitude and open sun take the liquids right out of you. I find a small puddle from a headwater stream that I noticed on the way up, and fill up my half liter bottle three times, chugging all of the water each time in about 30 seconds. I have no purification handy as it's in Rono's bag and the filter pump is in Monica's, but I felt at this stream I'll be OK to drink it anyway. I figured if not it'd just be another experience to talk about, right?

Once the party reunited we traveled down to the chute, a large rockslide that drops at a steep angle down into the valley where base camp is. We must descend in a line across the slope to avoid hitting each other with boulders that we dislodge on the way down. No joke, this stuff will kill you, you don't mess around in rock slides. About 1/3 of the way down another party starts to descend above us, sending boulders down carelessly. We yell at them and get them to move over to another area on the chute, but not until after a large boulder the size of a beach ball is sent hurtling towards our party. I jump behind a rock ledge for cover but two of the others are exposed and in the boulders path. Fortunately it stopped rolling after about 100 yards. We get down the rest of the chute alright, and hit the marsh land.

At the top of the chute.

Once in the marsh we navigate to higher ground on a grassy knoll and use this vantage point to select our route through the marsh, being sure to stay dry. After a few miles of this we reach the main trail and head steadily back to the camp. We hike out the next day, throw the tomahawk around for fun, and drive back to Salt Lake City. Excellent Trip with Excellent People.

The climb, although physically challenging both in altitude and steepness, was not anywhere near perilous enough to qualify for what many would consider adventure (although I would disagree). So here I am, challenged but not defeated. I can't help but wonder, what's the next summit goal for this east coast small mountain guy? Where is the next adventure? Where can I buy a climbing pick? I want to be beaten by a mountain again like Haleakala, it's a strange, but humbling and invigorating experience. It's not about beating a mountain and getting that summit photo. To me it seems, something deeper. It's the push and pull between man and nature, learning to understand and respect nature. Nature can give us what we are seeking, but as quickly as it can give us wisdom, it can take away life. And that's why it keeps drawing many of us back to it's wild places.

There are Sallies in These Hills: My First Field Season as a Masters Student working in the Southern Appalachians

One month ago today I began my first field season for my masters degree at Clemson University. I had a general idea of what to expect and I felt fairly well prepared, but I've learned in just a short month how many unexpected curve balls and situations a first field season can throw at you. I have been happy for these experiences and I've really felt myself going through a steep learning curve towards becoming a better field biologist.

Myself, along with my wonderful wildlife technicians, relaxing after a days work.

Getting started:

During our first week in the field we experienced everything from smashed side view mirrors on the truck, getting stuck in the truck(and the only tow Clemson could authorize was 80 minutes away), losing power at the field station during an incredible thunderstorm, getting rain almost every day, losing and having to locate new field sites, and trekking down several near cliffs to reach streams.

Snakes (hopefully we will see a bear soon!):

One afternoon while going for a jog next to the Little Pigeon River in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park (GO VISIT IT'S AWESOME) I came across a rattlesnake that had just crossed the road and scared some people. Several wanted to kill the snake (within a national park) but after saying "I'm a biologist" the mood totally changed and I managed to get the crowd to leave the snake at a safe distance and come one at a time to take pictures. Several stayed to ask questions about the snake, and one women stayed and talked to me for about 30 minutes about wildlife encounters within the park she had had. All in all it was an amazing experience that I thank Clemson and my professors/former employers for helping me know how to handle it. I think we all left that situation in a positive mood.

I need to keep my mouth shut sometimes. Monday the 2nd of June I say, "Weird, we haven't seen any snakes in the field other than that northern ring-neck during the first week". Tuesday June 3rd, we encounter a milk snake (awwww) and one of my techs comes closer than she would have liked to two copperheads (both within the stream itself). Each copperhead was a juvenile, with a bright yellow-green tail. What an awesome experience though, these guys are so pretty when they're young. The colors are very right and well defined. Also, I'm so glad my tech. was not harmed!

Citizen Science:

We've also had the opportunity to bring volunteers into the field thanks to our friends at the Great Smoky Mountains Institute at Tremont. They broadcast an announcement of my their citizen science list serv. and several volunteers came out and helped us in the field on two days. Volunteers ranged from a 10 year old to an 8th grade science teacher! It's always awesome to have an opportunity to show the public what I do, and to engage students of all ages in the wonder of the great outdoors and in field biology. Citizen science is a great opportunity for anyone to have hands on involvement within a research project. The data I collected with these people is real data and will be used in my thesis. It is much more than public outreach or education, it is involvement, and that is going to be what gets people to care about preserving our natural world.

Things to see:

So, so much to see. Get out to the Smokies and flip over some logs and rocks. See what you find but watch for snakes! Walk down a quiet walkway and just listen, listen for the birds, the water rolling of the rocks, and the wind blowing in the trees. Take some time to sit still, even in a place without a view, and just look. Look for the small millipedes in the leaf litter that smell of cherries when picked up (arsenic secretion don't eat). Notice the little stuff. Become absorbed in what you see and realize that you are and have always been a part of this. No matter how hard you may try, you cannot be separated from this, even though it may seem so when you are buried in the concrete of the city. In just a month we've seen all kinds of snakes, about 14 different species of salamander, countless birds, synchronous fireflies, coyotes, waterfalls, several peaks over 6000 feet, and Tourons (tourist morons getting too close to wildlife). In this area I'd recommend you make it out to Cades Cove, Clingmans Dome, Alum Cave Bluffs, Mt. Leconte, and Ramsey Falls for starters. All are great highlights in the Smokies. And if you make it out to Highlands, NC, be sure to hit up Buck's Coffee and the Ugly Dog Tavern.

Ramsey Cascades, Great Smoky Mountains National Park

General Thoughts, and advice to my younger colleagues interested in obtaining graduate degrees:

In general to future biologists I would like to say a few things based on what I have experienced in my first few weeks of the field season. First, if you think you've planned and done enough to be ready for your first field season, you're wrong. Keep planning, keep preparing for the unexpected. Have a back up for all equipment (if affordable) and have a back up back up plan in case something goes wrong. Be sure to figure out logistical stuff like payment plans, access to sites, emergency plans, etc. well before the field season.

Don't be afraid to adapt, you will have to if you're doing field biology. We don't work in controlled environments. We work in harsh environments where nothing is the same, weather changes, droughts happen, land owners change their minds about letting you on their land, and who knows what else. Don't expect everything to be perfect, but do your best to make it that way. If you try to find sites that are all exactly the same (slope, aspect, size of stream, canopy cover, etc) you're going to go insane. That's why we get enough field sites to reach statistical significance, to rule out outliers and variation between sites.

All in all this first month has been a blessing and one of the most exciting months of my life. I look forward to what else this project has in store for me and to seeing what conclusions the data point to.

"Climb the Mountains and get their good tidings." -John Muir
"In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." -John Muir

 (Looking out at angels landing, Zion NP).

This fella was on to something, I believe. Furthermore, he witnessed the changing landscape and felt a need to do something to preserve what he and many others see as a holy place.

"The gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature, and poetry, and all that is spiritual."

-John Muir

Although the above quote is a bit more abrupt and accusatory than I would usually put things, it pulls at a place in my heart. The world's forests and wild lands are changing drastically for the "good" of man, and have been for quite some time. John Muir was a preservationist, meaning he believed that there were places man should just stay out of. While I agree with him in some regard, I do believe that man is a part of the ecosystem in which we live, and has been for a very, very long time. For example, fire has been a part of the southeastern USA landscape for over 10,000 years, primarily through the controlled burns of natives.  These fires provided opened tree canopy, increased food and habitat for wildlife, and increased productivity of the land. Private land owners and federal agencies are now resuming this practice in many areas. We can live in harmony with nature, using the knowledge we gain from local land owners and scientific exploration.

I believe as a whole human kind is well meaning, but that the private interests of relatively few land owners have had negative effects on nature that will outlast both the lives of you and myself. People want to live in nature, people want to be comfortable, and the developers of mountain resort communities are filling a demand for vacation and retirement homes with great views. The development happens fast, the homes are large, the forests are overcut (for the view), and there is limited regulation to control runoff. along with homes comes the golf courses (pesticides and fertilizers), Ripley's Aquarium, Dollywood, steak houses, strip malls, Tanger outlets, casinos, and massive amounts of impervious surface. Our mountain home is changing, and people are benefiting from this change economically. That's great, but is it costing us more in the long term than we are gaining in the short term, and who really is profiting most from the economic benefit?

The cost of this development, and urbanization in general, is immediate and long-term in regard to biodiversity, ecosystem health, and water quality. People want to live in Nature, but at some point, when is it no longer nature? Can we not move to the mountains, and expect that because we live in remote areas we just don't get strip malls and excessive amounts of shopping? Why must we cut the forests and destroy the streams we came to enjoy, so that we can buy and do things we could do at any major city? Do the resort homes need to be so large even when people are only in them part of the year? I believe people mean well, and want to enjoy nature, but just don't know about the issues that come with exurban development.

(Exurban neighborhood development outside Highlands, NC.) 

(Pigeon Forge, TN. Photo courtesy of Smoky Mountain Mall. Development primarily associated with exurban housing, condos, and tourism. This type of mountain development is less dense and more sprawling, exhibiting similar habitat and water degradation to larger, more dense cities. This type of development is also in steep areas with much rainfall that experience a significant level or erosion and pollutant runoff after urbanization has occurred.)

The drivers of how and where development happen are very complex,too complex for this post. Take a drive through Pigeon Forge, TN and try telling me that's what that extremely productive and picturesque valley was supposed to look like. Can we work as people to go to the mountains for just that, the mountains and what they have to offer us? Our friend John Muir and many like minded people realized the value of the mountains, and the wisdom they offer. I'm not arguing to cease growth or jobs in the area, I'm just trying to show with my research that we need to plan development around how to preserve these ecosystems we are drawn to in the long-term. We need to think about who is really profiting, is it the locals? Is it outside investors? Is it big real estate agencies? That way our kids get to keep going there and enjoying the same wild areas like we did!

I leave you with one final quote. Take a walk in the wilderness, find yourself, find a connection, and find something you want to hold on to in this changing world. Do we want our grand children to ask why we were so short sighted? We look at our ancestors and wonder how they just dumped toxins into the Cuyahoga River. Will our children ask us why we thought a carnival ground was more fun than a healthy stream full of trout and good tubing opportunity, or why a mansion was better than a cabin in the woods? Why the strip mall where you can buy an air brushed shirt that says "best friends" was better than a great hunting spot you could share with your best friend?

"Take a course in good water and air; and in the eternal youth of Nature you may renew your own. Go quietly, alone; no harm will befall you." -John Muir