If the Wilderness Act were a person, its mailbox would now be crammed with AARP solicitations. On Sept. 3, the legislation that set the framework for wilderness area preservation celebrated its 50th birthday.
A wilderness, by congressional definition, is “an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain.”
With mechanized transport prohibited, the only way to visit is on foot, horseback or to float in. That makes them perfect enclaves for tree-huggers like me wanting to escape the din of civilization.
Since the first time I strapped an Eddie Bauer sleeping bag to my Kelty Pack, I’ve loved backpacking into wilderness areas. In 1975, before the Wilderness Act hit puberty, I set out to visit as many as possible.
In a VW camper van, my girlfriend, stepdog and I began a seven-month exploration of the West’s best wilderness. Back then, the Centennial State had only five designated wilderness areas. We pitched our tent in three of them.
Our first Colorado wilderness sojourn was a four-day backpacking trip into the northwest of Gunnison. We hiked its valleys and ridges, spending nights camped near streams blanketed with wildflowers. Through the entire trip, we saw nary another human being. As I found on a recent return visit, the solitude has not changed.
Our next adventure came in the south of Aspen where we backpacked to . After an 8½-mile slog with a 2,500 vertical-foot climb, the ability to sit back and simmer in soothing water feels absolutely divine, especially if someone brings wine.
When I last hiked to Conundrum, our designated wine steward brought a five-liter box of cheap white zinfandel. With upturned noses, we and fellow soakers begrudgingly held out drinking mugs. By the time everyone finally emerged from the pool, not a drop of wine remained.
Next stop on my 1975 journey was Steamboat, where we car-camped for a night at what is now Strawberry Park Hot Springs. Back then, this was an undeveloped, unregulated, unrestrained haven for skinny-dipping hippies, one of whom tripped past, boasting that he’d found magic mushrooms. The next day, we escaped to the nearby , where we camped mushroom-free on the shores of Three Island Lake.
Years later, a group of us backpacked into the same area. Late one afternoon, a spacey hiker wandered into our camp intent on showing us the strange mushrooms he had picked. It may not have been the same guy, but this fungi forager looked vaguely familiar.
It would be years before I got to the final pair of Colorado’s five original wilderness areas, the La Garita, north of Creede, and the Rawah, northwest of Fort Collins. Since then, more than 35 additional wilderness areas have been added to the state’s mix, with more awaiting possible inclusion.
The Wilderness Act’s birthday may have been last month, but the celebration continues. On Oct. 25 at 7 p.m., Colorado photographer John Fielder will present a program () at the Buell Theatre featuring 1,000 wilderness images accompanied by a band playing John Denver songs. I plan to be there unless, of course, I’m camped somewhere in wilderness solitude with a box of wine and a plate of sautéed mushrooms.
Dan Leeth is a writer/photographer whose travels have taken him around the globe; more at LookingForTheWorld.com.
