Celebrating the Wilderness Act of 1964

By Timothy Beatley

September marks the 50th anniversary of the federal Wilderness Act. A watershed law and a cornerstone of contemporary environmentalism, it established important safeguards for the protection and development of some of the nation's most impressive wild areas.

As we celebrate the accomplishments of this law and the incredible wild and wondrous places it protects, maybe we should also reconsider the concepts of wilderness and nature, and how they will need to evolve and change on an increasingly urbanized planet.

The Wilderness Act of 1964 contained an essential and often repeated definition of wilderness: lands that are "untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain," and an area "retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation." The act created the National Wilderness Preservation System and now protects the more than nine million acres, placing important restrictions on road building and development in these areas.

But the law has also had an unintended consequence: It has helped to solidify the notion that genuine or "authentic" nature must by definition be remote, pristine, large in size, and for the most part absent (other) human beings.

Rethinking urban wildness

Perhaps on this important anniversary it is time to broaden our view of wilderness — not to deny the value of experiencing remote quietude, but to acknowledge the equally valid experiences of wild nature in and around cities, where most people live.

Much has changed since 1964, including our knowledge of the history of land and landscapes. Books like Charles C. Mann's 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus have helped to show the true (and considerable) extent to which native peoples have modified their habitats over the centuries. There are few places in North America or elsewhere that have not been highly impacted by humans, calling into question the very notion of pristineness.

We also increasingly recognize the importance of natural areas that are in symbiosis with humans, and understand that any notion of modern environmentalism must include — not exclude — people. More and more research shows how important any kind of contact with nature — especially a daily connection — is to our health and happiness. Nature, so the new view holds, is often more essential and useful when it is close to where we are.

Landscape historian William Cronon helped in the mid-1990s to stimulate new thinking and discussion about what we think of as nature, most importantly in his book Uncommon Ground: Rethinking the Human Place in Nature. As Cronon writes: "Wilderness gets us into trouble only if we imagine that this experience of wonder and otherness is limited to the remote corners of the planet, or that it somehow depends on pristine landscapes we ourselves do not inhabit." When we talk about cities, maybe "wildness" is a better word.

Wildness all around us

The potential for experiencing the wonder and amazement of the natural world is everywhere, even in dense cities. We need to work to overcome an overly purist view of wildness that questions natural views and settings that contain buildings or urban skylines. While more fleeting, and less immersive, than the Wilderness Act envisioned, this experience better fits the reality of urban life.

We know, for instance, that there is immense biological diversity in the soil, and in water at a microscopic level (what E.O. Wilson has referred to as micro-wildernesses). We know that there is often remarkable wildness in the diverse world of the many other small things that surround us in cities, from moths (there are more than 10,000 species of moths in North America, many of which are micro-moths, with wingspans of less than 20 millimeters), to lichen, to mushrooms and fungi. Larger green spaces will remain important, of course, but much of this wildness is delivered in the often small, but potent, interstitial spaces of cities.

The experience of wildness, moreover, need not be solitary to be meaningful or beneficial. It can happen even in the presence of many others, like when hundreds congregate each fall in Portland, Oregon, to watch the amazing spectacle of thousands of migrating Vaux's swifts as they converge on a school chimney to roost for the evening.

The evolution in our thinking should encompass the new ways in which flora and fauna are adapting to cities and urbanization. We're only now beginning to understand this: Certain bird species are changing the frequencies of their songs in response to urban and traffic noise, and increasingly what ecologists call novel ecosystems — unique assemblages of native (and nonnative) species and habitats — have formed in and around cities. Nature in the future will be different from what we previously have known, and we need to better understand and come to grips with it.

Urban notions of wilderness necessarily will entail a hybrid of the built and natural environments. In Richmond, Virginia, an interesting ecosystem model is emerging in which a wild river (the James, with class-five rapids) interacts — successfully — with a highly designed and constructed city.

Access to this river wildness has become a key feature of planning for the city, and the 2012 Richmond Riverfront Plan seeks to foster new opportunities for contact. One place where this is already possible is on the Pipeline Trail, a walking trail on top of an actual pipeline that runs parallel to and into the river. It's a breathtaking experience, especially when water levels are high, and even more so when the reassuring handrails disappear from the pipeline.

On a recent visit with students from my Cities + Nature class, we found a churning river, with abundant shad (a migratory fish quite important to the history of the river) jumping and swirling in the eddies of water caught in the corners of foundation walls. Walking the Pipeline Trail takes you in close proximity to a large heron rookery, and on that day these majestic birds were sunning, on the lookout for shad — as was the osprey flying overhead.

On this day my students and I were on the lookout for a bit of close-in wildness. And just a few hundred feet from a busy downtown, we found it.

Timothy Beatley is the Teresa Heinz Professor of Sustainable Communities at the University of Virginia, where he directs the Biophilic Cities Project.

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Image: The Pipeline Trail on the James River in Richmond, Virginia, lets people experience wildness right in the city. Photo by Timothy Beatley.