Righting the Unbalanced Scale
Josh Davoust
As I write this I can look out my back window and see the sunset over the pristine peak at the southern tip of the San Juans. As the sun sets the jagged slopes are silhouetted against a sky more vibrant than a fresh picked peach. Then twelve hours later the sun is pulled back up by the falling moon and the snow capped mountain turns as pink as a sockeye’s back. Every day I look out and see this peak as a reminder of the serenity I find as the ground rises into the layer of air so thin that trees fail to take root. But now the view of the mountains includes another aspect; a pale yellow front end loader on the far side of my back fence, its crooked extension reaches for dirt like a child’s arm into a cookie jar. It breaks ground on an empty plot of land where a fancy new home will soon stand. For me this piece of construction equipment represents our unending march to develop and extract every bit of this earth.
Now I don’t remember when I first gained my love of the mountains but I remember being three of four years old and being asked by my dad, “Where do you want to move?” to which I replied, “the snowy state, the one with the mountains.” And ever since we made our move to Colorado thirteen years ago I have lived among the mountains and explored the San Juan mountain range. My attachment to the high San Juans would best be defined as a spiritual connection. In the mountains I feel physically better; more comfortable and at home. Large cities make me anxious, the ocean leaves me uneasy, but in the mountains I feel ready to leap from stone to stone and scale rugged peaks. I know how to scurry across scree fields and mimic a pika’s shrill scream. The mountains are the playground I have scampered on for most of my life and I would want it no other way.
As the air grows thin in the San Juans an incredibly unique environment is created, it becomes a place to get to know both yourself and your friends. A few years back my dad and I packed a few sleeping bags, a granola breakfast, and some snacks in the back of a 1987 Suburban and drove north. As the stars began to appear we rode down a rutted dirt road following the thirty feet that our headlights illuminated. The destination finally came into our headlights, the perfect place to camp, a flat spot not even thirty feet past the sign reading, “no camping past this point”. Rising with the sun to avoid the possible encounter with a tan clad BLM employee, we continued north to the base of the peak we intended to climb. We follow the trail on foot around bend after bend, past glassy lakes that appear to be straight out of a national geographic magazine and unique wildlife that has made a home so high that trees will never even get close. After a few laborious hours we reached the top, and due to the five to ten other people on the summit it hardly felt like an achievement to be there. But two people or two hundred people the view is one of the few things that can never be adequately described. Looking horizontally there is nothing to obstruct the view, I am too high up. Below that, mountains reach for the sky like saplings yearning for scarce sunlight. In the distance exists a civilization that is not seen, for it cowers behind the peaks. Up here, where oxygen becomes harder to obtain, there is so much to gain. I learn that I, like all humans, are mere products of nature and that nature deserves respect. I become aware that this earth is the most precious thing that I can ever experience and it contains places of unimaginable awe. So we must not fail to uphold our duty to retain the ability to experience the natural world.
Climbing up a winding trail such as the one we were on allows for time to think and learn. Moving slowly I observe the detail in every leaf and stone, this is the beauty that will never be seen in a photograph, out of a car window, or in a nature channel special. This beauty is not only seen with our eyes it experienced with every inch of your body, the crisp breeze, the ever changing soundtrack, and the scent that Febreze™ can never replicate. After summiting, this pristine location seems like the only thing that matters. But as we return to the base the reality of our encroaching civilization becomes evident, roads are cut through the mountain sides, planes pass overhead, and some bigot parked a massive 27 year-old suburban here (that was me) that consumes gas like a fraternity house consumes cheap beer. However, without these technologies that even Rush Limbaugh would consider harmful to the environment no one would be able to take in this beauty. So we are faced with a predicament. Do we preserve this land or continue our accelerated march forward towards more development.
We are forced to decide between progression and pristine environments. We may try to find a balance but development doesn’t cease and it soils place after place. Natural gas rigs are scattered everywhere, open pit mines threaten to ruin ancient rivers, and power plants apply a brown filter of smog to the horizon line. We need to regain a balance. Preserving nature is necessary but could never sustain the seven billion human inhabitants of earth, but conservation alone can only slow the steam roller that is our pursuit of resources. Because nature can provide so much value to humans we must take care of it. Efforts such as replanting forests, preventing fracking fluid from leaching into the soil, and reducing consumption of energy are the only way our grandchildren will have an inhabitable earth on which to live. But we must go farther than habitable, the earth should remain beautiful because every plant, animal, and stone is a co-inhabitant of our earth. So we must preserve the beauty in the unturned stone, the flavor of the un-picked fruit, and the sight of the unseen animals. True preservation is not realistic but it can be achieved in isolated areas.
When one is on top of any predominate peak in the San Juan our selective preservation is apparent. To the south the land is much lower, and there the natural gas comes in like a rising sea. This land is a haven for energy companies, just buy the mineral rights and move on in. To the north and west the horizon is spotted with mountains being encroached upon by roads, communities, and private land. And the eastern horizon got lucky, a preserved paradise with nothing but untouched wilderness. Humans play god by deciding what areas matter enough to be persevered and which areas are okay to be ravaged by open pit mines or other human creations that scar the earth like blades on flesh. Regardless there is little to be done other than designate more utopian land for preservation. If we fail to preserve the greatest parts of our greatest asset (the earth) then we are doomed to live on the deceased remains of our planet in a manmade mirage of beauty.
Before I begin to sound like a hyper-radical environmentalist strait out of the Monkey Wrench Gang I admit that humans are also intrinsically valuable. An, ‘environment is the only thing that matters’ view point attempts to cut society off from many of the things it needs, and will kill our society in the same way an alcoholic would die if they were denied water. And so we must remove resources from our earth and we have no choice but to harm the place in which we live. Oil will still need to be extracted, ores will still need to be mined, and forests will still need to provide lumber, but it must be done responsibly. In the areas we choose tap for resources conservation must be practiced, we must be able to retain our resources so we don’t screw over our world, after all it’s the only one we’ve got. As with anything balance is the key, there is no way to preserve our whole earth but I believe that without untouched nature our earth will become an insufferable and dystopian rock on which to live. So we give up some of earth’s beauty comforted by the knowledge that other beauty is saved.
Looking again out my back window the mountain remains visible but will soon become hidden behind technological marvel that is the modern home. The dusty plot filled with a high value home saddens me but it is easily acceptable. I am grateful that the mountains I love remain beautiful. I gladly trade the view I have and an empty plot for the knowledge that for now the mountains in the distance are still safe from the scars of humanities thirst for development.
Josh Davoust
As I write this I can look out my back window and see the sunset over the pristine peak at the southern tip of the San Juans. As the sun sets the jagged slopes are silhouetted against a sky more vibrant than a fresh picked peach. Then twelve hours later the sun is pulled back up by the falling moon and the snow capped mountain turns as pink as a sockeye’s back. Every day I look out and see this peak as a reminder of the serenity I find as the ground rises into the layer of air so thin that trees fail to take root. But now the view of the mountains includes another aspect; a pale yellow front end loader on the far side of my back fence, its crooked extension reaches for dirt like a child’s arm into a cookie jar. It breaks ground on an empty plot of land where a fancy new home will soon stand. For me this piece of construction equipment represents our unending march to develop and extract every bit of this earth.
Now I don’t remember when I first gained my love of the mountains but I remember being three of four years old and being asked by my dad, “Where do you want to move?” to which I replied, “the snowy state, the one with the mountains.” And ever since we made our move to Colorado thirteen years ago I have lived among the mountains and explored the San Juan mountain range. My attachment to the high San Juans would best be defined as a spiritual connection. In the mountains I feel physically better; more comfortable and at home. Large cities make me anxious, the ocean leaves me uneasy, but in the mountains I feel ready to leap from stone to stone and scale rugged peaks. I know how to scurry across scree fields and mimic a pika’s shrill scream. The mountains are the playground I have scampered on for most of my life and I would want it no other way.
As the air grows thin in the San Juans an incredibly unique environment is created, it becomes a place to get to know both yourself and your friends. A few years back my dad and I packed a few sleeping bags, a granola breakfast, and some snacks in the back of a 1987 Suburban and drove north. As the stars began to appear we rode down a rutted dirt road following the thirty feet that our headlights illuminated. The destination finally came into our headlights, the perfect place to camp, a flat spot not even thirty feet past the sign reading, “no camping past this point”. Rising with the sun to avoid the possible encounter with a tan clad BLM employee, we continued north to the base of the peak we intended to climb. We follow the trail on foot around bend after bend, past glassy lakes that appear to be straight out of a national geographic magazine and unique wildlife that has made a home so high that trees will never even get close. After a few laborious hours we reached the top, and due to the five to ten other people on the summit it hardly felt like an achievement to be there. But two people or two hundred people the view is one of the few things that can never be adequately described. Looking horizontally there is nothing to obstruct the view, I am too high up. Below that, mountains reach for the sky like saplings yearning for scarce sunlight. In the distance exists a civilization that is not seen, for it cowers behind the peaks. Up here, where oxygen becomes harder to obtain, there is so much to gain. I learn that I, like all humans, are mere products of nature and that nature deserves respect. I become aware that this earth is the most precious thing that I can ever experience and it contains places of unimaginable awe. So we must not fail to uphold our duty to retain the ability to experience the natural world.
Climbing up a winding trail such as the one we were on allows for time to think and learn. Moving slowly I observe the detail in every leaf and stone, this is the beauty that will never be seen in a photograph, out of a car window, or in a nature channel special. This beauty is not only seen with our eyes it experienced with every inch of your body, the crisp breeze, the ever changing soundtrack, and the scent that Febreze™ can never replicate. After summiting, this pristine location seems like the only thing that matters. But as we return to the base the reality of our encroaching civilization becomes evident, roads are cut through the mountain sides, planes pass overhead, and some bigot parked a massive 27 year-old suburban here (that was me) that consumes gas like a fraternity house consumes cheap beer. However, without these technologies that even Rush Limbaugh would consider harmful to the environment no one would be able to take in this beauty. So we are faced with a predicament. Do we preserve this land or continue our accelerated march forward towards more development.
We are forced to decide between progression and pristine environments. We may try to find a balance but development doesn’t cease and it soils place after place. Natural gas rigs are scattered everywhere, open pit mines threaten to ruin ancient rivers, and power plants apply a brown filter of smog to the horizon line. We need to regain a balance. Preserving nature is necessary but could never sustain the seven billion human inhabitants of earth, but conservation alone can only slow the steam roller that is our pursuit of resources. Because nature can provide so much value to humans we must take care of it. Efforts such as replanting forests, preventing fracking fluid from leaching into the soil, and reducing consumption of energy are the only way our grandchildren will have an inhabitable earth on which to live. But we must go farther than habitable, the earth should remain beautiful because every plant, animal, and stone is a co-inhabitant of our earth. So we must preserve the beauty in the unturned stone, the flavor of the un-picked fruit, and the sight of the unseen animals. True preservation is not realistic but it can be achieved in isolated areas.
When one is on top of any predominate peak in the San Juan our selective preservation is apparent. To the south the land is much lower, and there the natural gas comes in like a rising sea. This land is a haven for energy companies, just buy the mineral rights and move on in. To the north and west the horizon is spotted with mountains being encroached upon by roads, communities, and private land. And the eastern horizon got lucky, a preserved paradise with nothing but untouched wilderness. Humans play god by deciding what areas matter enough to be persevered and which areas are okay to be ravaged by open pit mines or other human creations that scar the earth like blades on flesh. Regardless there is little to be done other than designate more utopian land for preservation. If we fail to preserve the greatest parts of our greatest asset (the earth) then we are doomed to live on the deceased remains of our planet in a manmade mirage of beauty.
Before I begin to sound like a hyper-radical environmentalist strait out of the Monkey Wrench Gang I admit that humans are also intrinsically valuable. An, ‘environment is the only thing that matters’ view point attempts to cut society off from many of the things it needs, and will kill our society in the same way an alcoholic would die if they were denied water. And so we must remove resources from our earth and we have no choice but to harm the place in which we live. Oil will still need to be extracted, ores will still need to be mined, and forests will still need to provide lumber, but it must be done responsibly. In the areas we choose tap for resources conservation must be practiced, we must be able to retain our resources so we don’t screw over our world, after all it’s the only one we’ve got. As with anything balance is the key, there is no way to preserve our whole earth but I believe that without untouched nature our earth will become an insufferable and dystopian rock on which to live. So we give up some of earth’s beauty comforted by the knowledge that other beauty is saved.
Looking again out my back window the mountain remains visible but will soon become hidden behind technological marvel that is the modern home. The dusty plot filled with a high value home saddens me but it is easily acceptable. I am grateful that the mountains I love remain beautiful. I gladly trade the view I have and an empty plot for the knowledge that for now the mountains in the distance are still safe from the scars of humanities thirst for development.