Molly and I will be on the road over the holidays. Probably poking around the Oregon/Idaho border when this goes live.
We both share a growing appreciation for our access to The American West. Ever-increasingly it’s impossible to imagine living east of the Rockies. The roam-able vastness of western states calls to us, and this non-negotiable has worked its way into the conversation any time we find ourselves entertaining the idea of relocation. The West is irreplaceable.
This wide-ranging veneration came surprisingly late for me. I’ve lived in California most of my life and have always enjoyed our general corner of the country. But, I also took much of it for granted and looked past the region’s less obviously compelling features. The grandeur of granite monoliths and verdant valleys are easy to admire, but having grown up in the Mojave Desert, it took some time (and some books, and some impactful travel) to look across 175 million acres of arid sagebrush with equal excitement— and a bit longer still to recognize the value expansive solitude holds in my life, and how important it is that I occasionally stand in the middle of all that sagebrush to marvel. Turns out it’s a feeling worth seeking out.
True wilderness is hard to come by.1 But the west is still somewhere you can get lost. (Or get into trouble.) There’s something to be said for exploratory, ambling travel…light adventure with a touch of hardship and uncertainty. Less trodden, vast land and note-worthy distance between oneself and the next town/road/human is refreshing. It’s exciting. All that wide open space and explorable public land allows for ample "What’s around the next bend?” energy. Just be sure to pack a map.
In Desert Solitaire Edward Abbey said, “Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.” Hyperbolic maybe— he was a hyperbolic guy. But, as time has gone on and my values and interests have distilled, I have come to realize that my ability to roam the west really is paramount, and that those bursts of awe-inspiring remoteness are pretty damn necessary. I’d put them right up there with a good number of bread products.
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Of course you could argue it almost doesn’t exist in 2024— all this American dirt has been inhabited for over ten thousand years, was farmed or mined sometime in the past few hundred years, and is now roamed by cattle ranchers and some guy (this guy) in a GPS-enabled Toyota. Nothing is uncharted, but it’s still comparatively and—at times astoundingly—wild.
Hey Jeff-- I enjoyed this read. I too love/need to regularly wander the vastness of the intermountain west. Question: where did you grab the fed protected lands map from? Thanks!