Wilderness Deficit Disorder

The World of un-make believe

Wilderness Deficit Disorder

Charro style reality

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

             I saw the car arrive.

            We were waiting for the charros, the Castro boys. They would arrive shortly in a cloud of white paint, chrome, and dancing horses. Rough on those horses the prevailing view might suggest, but few in our country can still rope wild cattle on the rocky side of straight up and down like that family of Mexican rodear fame.

            Inquisitive eyes were looking at us from an unfamiliar car.

The occupants quickly backed up and left. They crossed the cattle guard, parked, and emerged. They started making preparations to venture forth on their Saturday nature hike. Decked out in the modern paraphernalia they had the whole works … two way radios, ventilated hats, the latest in ankle high tread lightly boots, hydrated packs, and all kinds of stuff attached to their vests.

They left without acknowledging our presence.

            The charros soon arrived and we scattered to make our drives. I had one last thought about the hikers and their reaction when we pushed cows into that boxed canyon where they had disappeared.

            The Gather

            The three of us gathering the ridgeline and the backside of Bell Mountain saw him. He was watching us from the Corralitos side of the fence as we came up the ridge. A good buck he was. He was a welcome sight because he was the only adult mule deer buck anybody had seen … all fall. The mere fact we saw him necessitates mention of his sighting.

            An hour later, I was back in the bottom of the canyon waiting at the mouth of the first box in Valles with the intention of holding cattle from going back up the canyon as they streamed off the slopes from both sides of the drainage. It was then I heard Pepe, Jr. hollering from the west. The way he kept up the vocals made me worry we had left cattle on the slope to our south, but I couldn’t leave until cattle were pushed down the creek in front of me.

            Finally, I could ride to the gathered group of cowboys on the slope above excitedly convening and discussing what had taken place. Pepe and J.J. had jumped a lion. It was the third lion we had seen on that place in the various fall works. Seeing any lion is a rare event. Seeing three in a matter of successive gathers indicates many, many cats are present.

            Our lone buck’s future made me worry.

            An hour later, we were still holding the expanding herd waiting for the final cattle to arrive before we started the whole drive on down the drainage. It was then I saw the hikers returning. There was no choice. They had to come right through us and the cattle.

            I was sitting horseback in the mesquites watching a cowboy to the west. When the hikers neared I took a deep breath, asked for patience, and backed out into the road right in front of them. They acted like I had emerged from thin air.

            “Oh, my goodness,” the lady started. “It’s a horse and cowboy!”

            The discussion started when I got off and introduced myself. In short order, the generalities of their morning unfolded. They were frequent hikers of the area and they enjoyed their outings immensely. They were inquisitive about our situation.

            “What are you doing?” was the question.

            “We are moving these cattle from this pasture,” was the most simplistic answer.

            “How do you know where they hide?” was the response.

            The conversation continued with the revelation they were not hunters. I then posed what I expected to be the disruptive inquiry.

            “I suppose you folks are going to be supporters of the monument-wilderness legislation if it happens,” I commented.

            “Absolutely not!” the lead gentleman’s response was. “Those people that want to shut this all down are the nature lovers that you encounter at the mall!”

            It was then the fellow with the long gray ponytail got involved. “Our only hope is to outlast them,” he commented. “We have been fighting this since 2008 (actually 2005) and they haven’t gotten it done yet.”

            I was pleasantly surprised by their responses.

These folks, in all appearances the very people who I expected to be supportive of the negative threats looming to our customs and culture that would come from such legislation, were not at all wilderness devotees in this Dona Ana County setting.

            “We want this to remain exactly how it is,” the lead speaker continued. “We want to be able to drive to these places and do our thing.”

            Our conversation continued with a trendy commentary of the claims and influences of the senatorial effort, but what was unfolding was unexpected common ground. The lady, though, elevated the relevance of the most central argument being used in the whole campaign … our children and our children’s future.

            “My grandkids and all those like them could care less about this whole business of nature,” she continued. “They are too busy doing this (she mimicked texting or using an electronic device).”

            I couldn’t agree more …

            Wilderness Deficit Disorder

            Recently, I read with a great deal of interest an article entitled “Secretary Jewell Targets Nature Deficit Disorder”. The article recounts how today’s youth have no direct ties to any relationship with the rhythms and patterns of wild nature. The article made me flinch when it restated the obligatory wailing against fossil fuels and industrial farming. That stance has become so monotonous and stale it no longer captures any argument advantage.

            Implicit in that reaction, though, is what I believe is a further deduction of the real problem. This whole fascination of nature and wilderness is a bifurcated phenomenon. On one margin, the enormously rich and influential conservation industry is revealed while on the other resides the artificial imagery imprinted populous. It is in the latter that the Harry Potter interpretation of all things natural is used to judge the myriad of modern causes. It is largely predicated on an electronically animated world.

            It is reinforced by the void of consequential feedback emanating from actually dealing with the natural world.

            Absolutely, our country has a nature deficit disorder, but, more importantly, it suffers more acutely from the misguided and dangerous wilderness deficit disorder.

What the anatural intelligentia is actually prescribing as the serenity and soul enhancement of their view of wilderness is the pastoral environs of controlled nature. Every farm or ranch kid knows that intimately.

            Real wilderness will eat you … exactly what is revealed in the lives of human generations that survived it.

            Seek any historical literature and discern what prompts the human condition of inner peace and fulfillment. It stems from exposure to natural conditions, but there is always a safe place. That safety is concentrated in familiar pastures, fields, farmsteads, and villages nestled within rural surroundings. Whether from biblical scripture, diary references of those who actually lived a wilderness life, or accounts of untamed territory and valleys of the moon, wilderness equates to a different reality.

            The most famous designated wilderness in our surroundings, the Gila Wilderness, is the best example. When it was truly wilderness, it was no bucolic retreat to go sit on a mountain side and download some electronic app for inner peace. It was a hard, tough place. It was not a place families went on some afternoon jaunt. It was an unforgiving and life threatening place. Women were largely absent. Kids were not allowed.

Harry Potter’s magic would fail miserably.

Managed environs

At sundown, I was returning with my pickup and trailer to haul more horses out when I met the charros horseback coming up the road. The youngest were still swinging ropes and chattering. They had roped one of the maverick bulls we anticipated and maneuvered a truck and trailer to him. They loaded him with their ropes, their horses, and their talent. The truck was following them.

What transpired would have been incomprehensible to the hikers of the morning. What was connective, though, was the unexpected positive reminder to me that those folks wanted stability in the management of the land as it is today. Those conditions were represented in the living, breathing horsemen assembled in front of me.

As we talked in the fading light, the eyes of men and horses alike showed supreme weariness but flashed with an exhilaration of life that only those who have experienced what they did would understand. Together, man and beasts displayed a timeless oneness to the natural world that urban America can not even imagine.

As I inspected the slick eared bull, he ran repeatedly at the side of the trailer at me. The symbolism was immense, but the day was done, and … we had to get off the mountain.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Come to your own conclusions … mine will remain entrenched with the unrehearsed life performers.”