Editor's Note: Where the wild things are

"Any society that feels itself too poor to afford the preservation of wilderness is not worthy of the name civilization."--Edward Abbey

In some ways, I'm not a good person to write a passionate defense of the Wilderness Act on its 40th anniversary or to support a bill creating new wilderness areas in Lincoln County. The truth is, I don't get out much anymore--out into the wilderness, that is. I spend most of my time enjoying the creature comforts of the city, working downtown, residing in the suburbs, shopping in the urban mélange and flitting from one air-conditioned building and vehicle to another. One might suppose that a more appropriate advocate would be someone who, if he doesn't exactly live off the land, at least spends his weekends hiking up hillsides and marveling at natural wonders.

On the other hand, perhaps I'm an ideal candidate for such a defense. Because if someone like me can appreciate the value of protecting wilderness, perhaps there is hope for the cause. After all, I suspect most Americans live more like me than like the guy who spends his free time venturing beyond the clutches of civilization.

What's more, wilderness preservation is of interest not only to those weekend Thoreaus but to someone like me who comes face to face with true wilderness only occasionally. Wilderness preservation is important even if I don't go there all the time.

"I come more and more to the conclusion that wilderness, in America or anywhere else, is the only thing left that is worth saving."--Edward Abbey

Wilderness protection is not exactly a popular concept in Nevada. The Silver State was founded by miners, who tear up nature to get at its mineral resources. And during the Cold War, Nevada's wide open spaces became a destination for federal largesse, in the form of nuclear tests and bombing ranges. Nevadans generally supported these programs that gouged and befouled the desert. More recently, Nevada has worshipped the almighty bulldozer, embracing growth and development and forsaking the environment in the process. In short, Nevada never has been a place where the ecologically minded have had a seat at the big table.

There are exceptions to every rule. Thanks to the efforts of a few far-sighted politicians, some of Nevada's natural treasures have been protected, such as Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area west of Las Vegas and Great Basin National Park near Ely. But in recent years these kinds of protections have come at a price. For every wilderness protection, there seems to be a parallel measure smoothing the path for development. Those far-sighted politicians know that if they want environmental legislation to pass, they have to satisfy the deep-pocketed miners, ranchers and developers.

This is not the worst thing in the world. In fact, to their credit, most wilderness champions in Nevada have come to terms with this compromise approach. They understand that they probably can't get the whole enchilada. They can get something or nothing at all, and they choose something. The Southern Nevada Public Lands Management Act of 1998 and the Clark County Conservation of Public Lands and Natural Resources Act of 2002 are prime examples of this yin-yang approach. Under the 1998 act, the developers got what they wanted--lots of land to build on in the Las Vegas area--while the environmentalists got millions of dollars to preserve and protect natural areas. Under the 2002 law, the environmentalists got hundreds of thousands of acres of wilderness, while the developers got more urban land to build on.

A pending bill would do roughly the same thing in neighboring Lincoln County. It would clear hurdles for development in the rural county, while preserving 770,000 acres of wilderness. The bill has the general support of both sides. The wilderness advocates are particularly upset about one thing: the lack of protection for the Pahranagat Range, which, they say, contains thousands of rock art panels and vital wildlife habitat and is therefore prime territory for wilderness designation. The environmentalists make a reasonable and compelling case for Pahranagat's protection, and perhaps something can be worked out before the bill comes to a final vote.

In the meantime, the bill's advocates must contend with the still-beating view that most, if not all public lands should be turned over to the miners, ranchers and developers. Vin Suprynowicz, libertarian columnist for the Review-Journal, gave creative voice to this sentiment recently when he ridiculed the Lincoln County bill's wilderness provisions. Rather than allow the "Green loonies" to create more "human exclusion zones," Suprynowicz says the land would be better used for a "dude ranch and silver mine."

Vin, of course, prides himself on not being engaged in the mainstream discussion of things, but his viewpoint is no doubt shared by thousands of Nevadans. This extreme approach, however, fails to put things in perspective. Vin himself notes that wilderness areas in Nevada currently constitute just 2.2 percent of the state's land. If the Lincoln bill passes as is, we're talking, what, 3 percent or 4? This is a very small sacrifice for the forces of commerce who, more often than not, find a clever way to make money off environmental protections.

In this age when government is routinely demonized, protecting wilderness is the essence of good government.

"God bless America. Let's save some of it."--Edward Abbey

--GEOFF SCHUMACHER