On any "normal" backpack trip in into a Wilderness, the purpose of going out is to still myself and receive the countless native languages going on around me. On such trips, there is a certain pace marked by as little linear activity as possible. Movement across the landscape is timed by topography, weather, and mood. The place becomes, as it should be, larger than me, and takes me in as an inhabitant. Conversely, the Wilderness work we do here has ironically been mostly about following roads and jeep trails and locating disturbances, and the work's efficiency is dependent upon spending many hours riding atop an internal combustion engine. The focus on such trappings diminishes the feeling that we are truly meeting the land we traverse, and this causes occasion for long philosophical yakkings among our jaded field crew when we compare notes on an area's "Wilderness qualities".

Still, I am reminded (by Kevin one day, as we sit in an office pondering these inscrutable and largely unnecessary complaints) that one doesn't need to ever set foot in a place in order for it to deserve to remain undisturbed. And I know he's right. I know we aren't doing this only to satisfy our personal desire to experience the wild in the present tense. Somewhere in an unnamed Midwestern suburb, someone with roots similar to mine is filing away papers in a cubicle, and in the back of his mind he is glad to know that wild and remote mountainsides he will never visit are being preserved. Maybe this person has an ethical background that allows him to value another life forms equally with humanity; or maybe be understands that the mere existence of Wilderness has the effect of balancing the domesticity of his own situation; perhaps he anticipates grandchildren whom he sees as beneficiaries of preservation. Whatever his reason, this person represents millions of people who own our public lands. His/their unselfish interest in saving "untrammeled nature" for generations to come is the reason we have been asked to do the work we do. (In spite of our petty philosophical whining) It is work that we are honored to undertake.

Lorah Waters.

Lorah Waters and Jeff Ensing spent months in central, southern and northern Nevada inventorying Nevada's un-recognized wilderness lands. From the birth of puppies in the backcountry to heat and cold, they tramped across close to a million acres of wild country, experiencing life in a spectacular environment. These are the folks who inventoried the recently designated Wee Thump-Joshua Tree Forest Wilderness. (They saw the forest AND the trees!)
We applaud their efforts and the efforts of all our fieldworkers. Thank you. Your work has been the catalyst for great change in Nevada.