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Photos by Ed Iversen |
I’m pleased
to announce, as we welcome a new year, that Montana Trail Crew is now incorporated as a nonprofit corporation in
Montana. MTC
is here to stay. And we hope that it will serve the trail and ultra running
community as a source for information and good stories.
And yet we hope it does even
more, and this larger purpose is a central reason why we filed our papers.
We would like to serve as an educational and conservation-based organization, dedicated not just to providing a
forum to discuss all things trail running but to advocate and educate on behalf
of the preservation of wilderness and open space. One of the “charitable and
educational purposes” of MTC, as elucidated in our bylaws, is:
To advocate for and to educate on
behalf of non-motorized access to public lands and the preservation of open
space, and to encourage and promote conservation measures that protect our wild
lands.
On the
surface, we understand—as any trail runner does—that we need open spaces and
healthy wild lands to do what we do. We need to safeguard access to the trails
that we use every day. We encourage support of Friends of the “M” Trail, we
applaud and support the work of the Montana Conservation Corps and other similar organizations, and we
acknowledge in gratitude the work done by men and women to ensure we have
open spaces and wilderness places protected and accessible for use.
But we also
recognize on a deeper level the intrinsic connection between mountain running
and wilderness. It’s worth reflecting on that relationship.
When Congress
passed the Wilderness Act in 1964, officially designating America’s wild
forested areas as Wilderness (with a capital “W”), it deliberately defined Wilderness as places “untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who
does not remain.” Congress authorized that certain wild lands would be set
apart, permanently “retaining [their] primeval character and
influence”—“unimpaired” for future generations. It was a deliberate act of
bringing our motorized civilization more in harmony with the natural
world. The idea was that we—including future generations—need these places, protected by our government, to
escape the sights and sounds of a mechanized America.
Howard Zahniser, an architect of the Wilderness Act, selected the term untrammeled deliberately: a trammel is a net used to catch birds and fish, so untrammeled, as Zahniser understood it, meant free, unbounded, unhampered, and unchecked. I can think of no outdoor activity better suited to this wilderness definition than mountain running. The freedom of the runner is unmatched: she glides effortlessly on her own two feet, carrying the bare minimum, free to scan the terrain in front of her and to venture to places that might be more difficult to reach for someone on a mule or carrying a large backpack. Runners enter wild places for a short time until beckoned back to the society from which they came. The runner’s encounter with wilderness is brief, as it should be, reflecting the idea that wilderness welcomes our arrival but will be grateful for our departure.
Howard Zahniser, an architect of the Wilderness Act, selected the term untrammeled deliberately: a trammel is a net used to catch birds and fish, so untrammeled, as Zahniser understood it, meant free, unbounded, unhampered, and unchecked. I can think of no outdoor activity better suited to this wilderness definition than mountain running. The freedom of the runner is unmatched: she glides effortlessly on her own two feet, carrying the bare minimum, free to scan the terrain in front of her and to venture to places that might be more difficult to reach for someone on a mule or carrying a large backpack. Runners enter wild places for a short time until beckoned back to the society from which they came. The runner’s encounter with wilderness is brief, as it should be, reflecting the idea that wilderness welcomes our arrival but will be grateful for our departure.
But mountain
runners know intuitively that they are not mere foreigners in wilderness. When we
venture deep into it, we feel a belonging not just to a
particular place but to the larger world around us. And yet, wilderness is
not just an abstract concept: it is, rather, profoundly familiar, at least in
the biological and subconscious realms. Our species was born and thrived in the
wild for generations. Returning to it
seems not only timely, given the continual buzz of modern life, but
wholly natural. Wilderness to us is not just federally protected places where
motorized vehicles can’t go. It is an escape from our modern life back to the
embrace of the natural world.
Most mountain
runners I meet recognize experientially what all humans must “know” intuitively
(but perhaps have forgotten)—that we must return to wild lands for renewal.
While we might not remain there, we need to find time to return. We understand
the value of wilderness, of Edward Abbey's idea “that out there is a different world, older
and greater and deeper by far than ours, a world which surrounds and sustains
the little world of men as sea and sky surround and sustain a ship.” It is not
some fringe idea. Like running, wilderness is basic to the human
condition. We need it just as we need food and water. Wilderness sustains us.
Mountain
running profoundly reflects wilderness “values,” beats to the impulse
that prompted conservation forebears to value wilderness and protect wild lands, and proudly belongs to a storied tradition of people venturing
into the backcountry—for renewal, for solitude, for connection.
MTC aims
to be involved in conservation and wilderness efforts. We are currently
partnering with the Montana Conservation Corps for trail work to be done in the
Rattlesnake area. And we are excited to explore other ideas to be involved
in this work. Let us know yours.
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