D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
May
2009
Into the Wild
Riding along with the BLM's Wilderness Patrol volunteers, who keep an eye on lands in regulatory limbo.
By Jeff Berg
"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight."
— Bruce Cockburn
Lyndon Johnson might not have been too highly regarded when he was president from 1963 through 1968, but one thing that he did do that changed the lay of the land, so to speak, was signing the Wilderness Act into law in 1964.
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Many of the BLM's Wilderness Study
Areas are in rough, forbidding country. (Photo by Jeff Berg) |
Since then, it has been a constant fight between those who want to see every available acre of wilderness-worthy land protected against those who want to allow unbridled usage of almost all land that is not already developed. For wilderness advocates, the definition of "wilderness" in that 1964 legislation perfectly captures their goal: "an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain."
There are currently, within 44 states, about 107 million acres of wilderness in the US, not including those recently added when President Obama signed the Omnibus Bill adding 2 million more acres in eight states. More than 50 percent of that protected acreage lies in national parks.
With the possible exceptions of the Endangered Species Act and global-warming debates, wilderness-designation issues have probably been on the front page more than any other environmental issues over the years.
Common misunderstandings often include the idea that wilderness is shut off from almost all forms of use, when actually the only things that are clearly not allowed are commercial enterprises and the use of motorized vehicles or aircraft. Also prohibited are permanent structures and permanent roads; that doesn't mean a wilderness area cannot already have a pre-existing road. Hiking, camping, fishing, hunting, mining claims that already existed when wilderness designation are allowed, albeit with a few new rules, horses, grazing, skiing — the list goes on and on. Other complaints have been noted about the lack of access by the differently abled, who may not have access to certain wilderness areas.
One might have to look at this as an issue that requires the observation, "You can't please everyone."
There are also a number of Wilderness Study Areas (WSA) in the United States, most of them in the West, which are essentially proposed protected wilderness lands. Many of these areas, about 20 of which exist in southern New Mexico, have been in limbo for years. Utah is probably the leader of the pack with WSAs, as a map view of the state shows that activist groups such as the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance have taken a strong lead in the effort to keep some public land free of extraction industries and similar forms of land use.
The New Mexico Wilderness Study Report, Volume 2 — known as the "Gray Book" — published by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) was last updated in 1991, so you know this has been a slow and plodding issue.
In order for an area to be considered as a WSA, it must have certain characteristics. It must be of adequate size — at least 5,000 acres of manageable public land. It must retain a "naturalness," meaning that the area appears to be affected only by the natural elements, and not manmade. And a WSA candidate must offer "opportunities" — loosely defined as allowing for "outstanding opportunities for solitude or primitive and unconfined types of recreation."
The Las Cruces District Office of the BLM administers nearby Wilderness Study Areas. Mike Bailey, who recently transferred to Las Cruces from a position with the US Forest Service working in the Gila National Forest, is the new Wilderness Specialist for the office.
Bailey served with the USFS for 30 years, working in several western states and in numerous national forest areas including the Kaibab and Coconino in Arizona and the Uinta in Utah.
"I like to change and do new things, and when I start to feel like I am stagnating, I know I need a change, so I came here," Bailey says.
"The Gila is the 'home' of wilderness, you know," he adds. It was designated as the first wilderness area in 1924, protecting 558,014 acres.
As the BLM office's Wilderness Specialist, it is part of Bailey's job to make sure that the WSAs are managed just like designated wilderness areas, until Congress makes a yea or nay decision about wilderness designation. All WSAs have to be monitored at least once a month to make sure that nothing is going on that shouldn't be going on. That's where a small group of BLM volunteers, about a dozen in all, known as the Wilderness Patrol comes in.
These individuals work at least once a month if possible and go out to check each WSA in the Las Cruces BLM district. Some WSAs, such as the Robledos Mountains, are patrolled a bit more often, since they are not as far away from Las Cruces as others.
"We go border to border, from Texas to Arizona and from Socorro to Mexico," Bailey explains. "The volunteers are important to us to help us find out what is going on out there. Often it is just a matter of looking for vandalism or picking up trash, but whatever it is, it is important. The users need to follow the law."
As a former volunteer onsite caretaker for the BLM at the stunningly beautiful Dripping Springs Natural Area, just east of Las Cruces, I had heard of the patrol in the past. When my time was up at Dripping Springs, I volunteered to become a member of the Wilderness Patrol, but was never contacted to do so.
Today is different. I will be accompanying Monte Shriver, who used to be a day volunteer at Dripping Springs when I worked there, and Paul Pirtle, his patrol partner. We are headed out to one of the more distant areas, the Alamo-Hueco Mountains WSA, which is just a cow-chip toss north of Antelope Wells, about 75 miles south and west of Deming.
While Pirtle and Shriver gather equipment — camera, GPS, maps — and procure a vehicle (the curiously monikered Jeep Rubicon), I visit with Bailey for a few more minutes. I learn that he still lives in Glenwood, he is engaged, and in his spare time, he loves to get out in the field and hike — something that isn't going to happen much while at work, as I note the stacks of paperwork that await him. He is determined to make it home for the weekend, however, so he can go to a community dance.
At about 8:30 in the morning, Shriver, Pirtle and I saddle up. I sit in the cramped back with equipment and lunches, while Pirtle drives and Shriver fiddles with a GPS.
We head west on I-10, appreciate the compliment directed to the Rubicon ("Why don't we ever get the cool-looking vehicles?") offered by the Border Patrol officer who is manning the checkpoint west of Las Cruces, and settle in for a somewhat noisy ride. (The Rubicon may look cool, but its comfort level is suspect, at least in the backseat.)
It is nice to be a passenger for a change. In fact, I can't recall the last time that I have been chauffeured for this amount of time. It is nice to note the landscape, dull as it is in many places, and curious to note that almost every rail car parked along the highway or moving along the tracks has become a mobile canvas for any number of unimaginative taggers.
Soon, Pirtle glides the Jeep off of the freeway onto state highway 81.
It's too noisy to try to talk with my Jeep-mates, so I look through Shriver's BLM Gray Book to learn more about Alamo Hueco.
This WSA consists of 16,264 acres of land, most of which is BLM land, with the rest consisting of split-estate holdings, state lands and 240 acres of private inholdings. Within this seemingly small area, the Alamo-Hueco Mountains reside; later I note, with interest, that they look quite similar to the Organ Mountains, although not as tall.
As is true of most of the WSAs in the Gray Book, not one acre of the Alamo-Hueco Mountains WSA is recommended for wilderness designation by the BLM, because of the "land status pattern in and around the WSA," in part because of the split-estate holdings. These holdings "split" property rights between surface rights and mineral rights; in New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana and Utah, roughly 51 million acres of "surface estate" properties are owned and managed by private parties such as ranchers, farmers, homeowners and retirees, while the subsurface "mineral estate" is owned, leased and managed by the federal government.
The Gray Book further notes that even though this WSA offers "outstanding opportunities for primitive and unconfined recreation," visitors would not be able to fully experience these opportunities without trespassing on private land. This summation is immediately suspect to me as I keep reading — suspicions that are confirmed later in the day.
It is also important to note that this information came from an Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) that was completed in 1988.
Another reason for not wanting to take this area out of WSA limbo is because in 1986, the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish reintroduced the desert bighorn sheep to the area. Fears were raised at the time that the agency would not be able to "intensively manage" the bighorn herd.
Not long after getting off the freeway, Shriver shares an important rule for the wilderness patrol members as we pass a road sign that says "Do Not Pass."
He points out, "It doesn't say, 'Do not piss.'"
Pirtle thankfully pulls the Rubicon over for a pit stop.
After this, er, break, I learn that Pirtle is a real rocket scientist. Really! He retired as a lieutenant colonel after serving 20 years in the Air Force and 16 more in aerospace. He's been in the Wilderness Patrol for about six months, and is already encyclopedic in his knowledge of the area. He also is very much into photography, and is all too happy to help shoot photos of the WSA.
Shriver is in his seventh year as a member of the Wilderness Patrol, and has also done the same type of volunteer work for the US Forest Service. He worked in the Bell telephone system for many years in Colorado and New York, and was an adjunct professor at NMSU from 1989 to 1996.
"Those are the Big Hachitas dead ahead," Shriver says, pointing to the volcanic columns in the distance.
The only signs of human habitation on this beautiful road are distant ranch buildings and the omnipresent cows. To our left are small rugged mountain ranges, bathed in shadows and sunlight; to our right is land that is more open, with purple mountain shadows in the distance. Along both sides of the road, there are clear signs of overgrazing.
As we arrive in Hachita, population dubious, we are greeted by a javelina that darts across the road. We slow down to let him waddle past, then pull into Hachita, a small town that would probably blow away if it not for the "garage sale" being held in front of an abandoned store, replete with a cardboard sign offering free coffee. We whoosh by the enterprising locals, who probably won't get a customer all day, and continue south.
Shriver points out some of the highlights of the land, including the low and rugged-looking Alamo Huecos. We buzz right by the "road" that will lead us to the WSA, and have to turn around just outside Antelope Wells.
About 10 miles in, on a fairly well-maintained private road, we arrive at the Hurt Ranch, where William Hurt (the rancher, not the actor) has lived for the last quarter-century.
This is a courtesy stop, since much of the WSA is on land leased by Hurt, whose family still works another ranch that they homesteaded west of Deming in 1909.
Heavyset with soft features and shaggy hair, Hurt doesn't look like my idea of a rancher. His female companion does not speak English, and they make a rather odd couple. We are not introduced to her. (One of my companions later says that we are only inches from the border, where it is not uncommon for a Mexican woman to be employed or to become a bride at such isolated places as the Hurt Ranch.)
Hurt grumbles a bit about the government in general, tells us he makes more money from stock in a local bank than from the livestock he owns that roams the desert, and announces his need to return to his tax-preparation work. We bid him adieu, and start down a very rough road that will circle around the west side of the Alamo Huecos.
The area is stunning in its geographic beauty, marred only by the presence of Hurt's cows and their own landmarks — trampled flora, large areas of cow pies, and an abundance of flies.
Not far down the road, Shriver points out a coyote. It's the only other form of wildlife we will see all day except for three mule deer.
Pirtle is putting the Jeep through its paces, driving roughshod down the gravel track. We stop every half-mile to shoot pictures of this stunning and quiet landscape, until we come to a fork in the road.
Shriver notes that the other road goes into the Big Hachita WSA, which is the way we will exit to head back to Hwy. 81 later in the day.
The drive to this WSA is twice as long as the road within the WSA itself, and we soon come to the end of the trail. In the distance is Mexico. Shriver says that the buildings on the horizon are Mennonite farms, but he has no further information about them.
We circle back and stop for lunch.
I'm proud to think that I am probably the first human being ever to eat leftover pizza for lunch in this place, which probably looks the same as it did 400 years ago. The quiet and the majesty of the small mountain range are almost overwhelming.
After lunch, we head down the road that will circle part of the Big Hachita. This "road" is not much more than an eroded track, washed out in several places, and very muddy in others. The cattle remain our constant companions as we bump and grind our way into a large valley.
The scenery has pretty much ended now. There is an old rock house that was probably a line camp for the cowboys of long ago, but the rest of the view is very much the same. Ocotillo, mesquite and cholla are the plants of choice for the next two hours. The view becomes monotonous, even for someone who loves the desert. Further, I had thought we would get out and do some patroling on foot, perhaps a short hike from here to over there, but this trip is all by motor.
We spy what might be a primitive airstrip, just over the border. Shriver has been here several times and knows the lay of the land pretty well, and is puzzled by this distant building. (Bailey later informs me that the farms grow cotton, and the airstrip is part of the Mennonite operation.) We pass by another ranch, which has a large number of buildings and is also home for the local school buses.
By now, I am becoming restless, and start to wonder, "Are we there yet?" The nondescript desert is taking a toll.
After a long silence, Shriver points out Doubtful Canyon — so named because in the old days it was often doubtful if travelers would make it through alive. He is studying a map that was printed in 1918, combining this information with data from the GPS.
We reach Hwy. 81 at about 2:30, and head back to Las Cruces. It has been 60 miles of bad road in beautiful country, and in spite of the lack of visual stimulation for the last two hours, it has been a disarmingly beautiful day. We've discovered nothing out of the ordinary, and it is probably not wrong to say that no one has been where we had been for quite some time.
I also note that this road is marked with signs that say "Public Land Access" and arrows pointing in the appropriate direction. So I dismiss the Gray Book comment that says access here is available only through private lands.
Even before I knew anything about environmental issues, I knew that places like Alamo Hueco were important. This trip made me one of not very many people privileged enough to ever see this place. I heard the same quiet, the same silence that those few other travelers before me heard — travelers from hundreds of years ago — and I am a better person for it.
I don't need gold, silver, a motorized vehicle between my legs or even cows to make my life better, to make me whole. What I need is a sense of place that allows me to be silent and introspective.
For those who may have differing thoughts, I offer this maxim from author and naturalist Rachel Carson: "The 'control of nature' is a phrase conceived in arrogance, born of the Neanderthal age of biology and philosophy, when it was supposed that nature exists for the convenience of man."
Senior writer Jeff Berg says he eschews most of the human race, only occasionally venturing from his hovel in Las Cruces.