A Vision of Wilderness: Re-Calling the Sacred by Mollie Matteson Recently, I looked up RESTORE's web site, and clicked to their section about wolf recovery in the East. It took a few moments for the photo to come up, and then, there it was. A pack of gray wolves. A pack of wolves that could have been photographed in the spruce woods of the Adirondacks. A pack of wolves that someday you may spot crossing a frozen lake in northern Maine, in search of a winter-weary moose. These could be wolves like the ones that some summer night will trot up a ridge in the Presidential Range as the moon rises like a giant peach. These wolves could even be like the wolves, that someday, I will hear howl above the Valleys of Vermont. It was only a picture on a computer screen. Then why, I thought as I found tears dripping off my face, why am I crying? I realized that a vision of a renewed wildness here, in a land much used and some of it much abused, was not just my own vision, or even that of a few lonely "radicals." A dream of wolves, of wild salmon, of silent lakes and trees that die of old age-these are images held in the hearts of many who love this land. It is a dream beginning to reach many more. I cried mostly out of joy, but also for my losses. Although I first glimpsed wilderness right next to my hometown in southern Vermont, I unconsciously "gave up" at some point along the way and decided that true wild country complete with wide-ranging predators existed only in the West. To me northern New England, northeastern New York-these were depauperate, if still pretty, and at times even inspirational landscapes. Thank goodness there have been others with more vision and imagination than I. I have two stories that illustrate the power of shifting one's understanding of landscapes, of revising, or "re-visioning" one's mental maps. The first concerns that initial wilderness "epiphany" I experienced at the age of 17. It occurred on Bald Mountain, in the Green Mountains. I'd hiked in that region quite a bit as a kid, especially around my family's rural property ten miles north of Bennington. I'd traveled many a backwoods by way with my dad, a dirt road aficionado. I knew Bennington County pretty well, or thought I did. But I'm quite sure I did not think much about wilderness or feel its presence until the day I stood atop that open summit and gazed toward the timbered plateau of the southern Green Mountain range. A Wilderness Epiphany I had intended to climb up for a view of my hometown. I'd been told that with binoculars, I could pick out my high school, maybe even my house. I saw familiar polygons of land-the golf course, the shopping malls, orchards, and farms. But I had not expected the view to the east, away from the valley, which was of a highland of unbroken forest. No highway, no house, no ski area was visible. I could not even hear a motor of any kind. I strained my ears for something besides silence. I caught the whisper of a distant brook. It was an experience of wilderness that has stayed with me to this day. I had an idea of what this place was. Yet, when I got atop that mountain, I found it was something else in addition to the genteel small towns, the pastoral countryside, and the patches of timberland I had filed away in my mind as "Vermont." I did not abandon those images, but their context shifted. Rather than being a barrier to travel and useful industry, I saw how the wild mountains held and protected this land. I saw wilderness harboring a primal memory that went far deeper than the monuments and historical relics so ubiquitous in New England. What I glimpsed was the soul of place, the spiritual geography that lay underneath everything else. Though I didn't then imagine that any more of this terrain could be retrieved from its long burial, I believe now that this is the mission of ecological restoration. We are recalling the dead, the vanished, the forgotten wilderness. We are both remembering and signaling to that wilderness, asking its return. We are indeed, at some level, asking its forgiveness. The Second Story About a year or so after I graduated from high school, the mother of a former schoolmate of mine was killed when her car plowed into a moose. At that time, moose were just beginning to recolonize southern Vermont, and I remember how puzzling, even eerie, it seemed that a human being should be killed by some creature, large and looming. A wild animal. It stirs something profound in our psyches, to think of our lives being at the mercy of the whim or mood of wild beasts. The resurgence of wildness is not always benign. And, for many in our society, this is a reason to combat wilderness and wild processes wherever they threaten, inconvenience, or are perceived to somehow jeopardize a human agenda. I have experienced a couple of near-collisions with moose in Alaska, and in those brief moments when the outcome was uncertain, I was terrified. I have had several other close-calls in wilderness situations, and survival has always been my first priority! I say this so you do not think I am callous or unaware of the suffering involved when forces of wild nature become obstacles to the achievement of our next birthday! But, the fact that we must take caution because we are in the presence of wildness is not cause for dismay. However, we also cannot deny that a restored wilderness brings with it not just gorgeous scenery and a diversified fauna and flora. Doug Peacock, renowned grizzly bear watcher and writer, says that wilderness is a place where there is something bigger and meaner than you that can eat you. I don't insist on this as the primary criterion for wilderness, but I do agree that a crucial element of wilderness is that it makes demands on us. It requires us to attend directly, and be responsible for, our own comfort, well-being, even survival. Wilderness can make us cold, hungry, and scared, despite our precautions. Moose on the road remind us that we are not in control. This is the darker aspect, the "unphotogenic" characteristic of wilderness restoration, the one not pictured in our glossy brochures. The essence of wilderness is that it is uncontrolled, and therefore, inconvenient and unpredictable. As inhabitants of the North Woods become neighbors to a revitalized wilderness, they will increasingly experience the sorts of encounters with which westerners are already familiar, such as predators threatening, and even occasionally killing livestock or pets. There will be blowdowns and bug kills in the forests. Some people will see this as disastrous and call for "management," despite the fact that such disturbances have long been an important part of the ecology of eastern forests. Rivers released from the constraint of dams may flood, again prompting cries for more management and control. But, continued coexistence with the wild clearly involves some appropriate mixture of tolerance, vigilance, and restraint upon our own actions, as well. A Wild Northeast I say all this not to frighten, or foster second thoughts about the wisdom of restoring wilderness and wildlife to the Northeast! I am joyful and humbled, that I am witness to a renaissance of nature in what many-including, once, myself-had understood as tamed, if still pleasant, terrain. Now, thanks to the vision and persistence of some hard-working activists, the Northeast is on the cutting edge of some very important trends in environmentalism-toward restoration, instead of reaction, toward creating positive visions rather than merely saying no, no, no, and toward thinking boldly and on a very big scale, while retaining strong grassroots connections. But beware your successes, too. As you accumulate allies there will be those that concede, even appear to actively support a campaign for wildlands and wildlife restoration. But their vision will be limited. They will see wolves put back in a few restricted areas, and kept from expanding into any other territory, as adequate. They will see Atlantic salmon retained in a few rivers as a success, and even a small park they will go along with as a token of their interest and concern for nature protection. But there is so much more possible! Please do not be content with token wildlife, or postage stamp wilderness, and not just because this won't represent functional, ecological restoration. I hope what all of you will be engaged in is a process of calling back, calling up, re-calling the wilderness soul of these mountains, lakes, and woods. You are uncovering a memory. You are recalling the sacred. This is both for the sake of the animals, plants, and places that humans have damaged and diminished, as well as for our own sakes. In this age of disconnection, biological and cultural homogenization, commodification of and technological assault on Nature at all levels-from the genetic to the global-wilderness is too precious and too necessary to have it be far away. Children growing up in the Northeast should not have to wait for a pilgrimage out to Yosemite or Yellowstone to experience the vastness, the silence, the complexity of wild places. Let them have it here. And someday this will be the place of pilgrimage, where people come to see and give thanks for the first great "Re-wilding" in North America.			Photo by George Wuerthner