I glass the cool valley in front of me on an October afternoon in search of mule deer. I’m hoping to see an old buck out somewhere traveling from his elevated national forest summer basin to his winter grounds. This is western Wyoming, and “out there” means general directions given by a local cattleman who has spent 68 years watching these deer. Migratory flocks are heading south to Bureau of Land Management lands, where spring greens (hopefully) arrive just in time to drive away the ghosts of winter starvation each year.
It took 26 unsuccessful applications before my name was finally drawn from the state lottery and I was awarded this rare deer permit. But this is a very short time compared to the 12,000 years these courageous deer have traversed this route.
As I wait, deer after deer come down from the basin. Most of them are young, and each has been taught by his mother to follow this route to the winter range and then the 100-mile route each spring.
Migration is a major risk for these deer, and this risk is increased by increasingly man-made disturbances to their landscape. When winter habitat is degraded, the benefits of migration – food and shelter – are reduced. But still, mule deer have been taking this gamble for millennia, and they have mostly won.
Finally, I saw an old buck making his fifth migration. The crack of my rifle, muffled by the wind, marked it as its last crack. As I kneel beside the deer, my feelings of gratitude temporarily relieve the pain in my hands, which are frozen in the cold below zero air.
Stroking his smooth coat, I couldn’t help but wonder: How did it all happen, that I would be standing here on the public field at this perfect moment?
I think it started with Thomas Jefferson. When our third president nearly doubled the size of the United States with the Louisiana Purchase, no one knew how those lands would shape our national identity. Other nations (and the native tribes already living there) knew the value of these lands, and early Americans fought, killed, and died to colonize them. Treaties avoiding another war with Great Britain (1846) and ending the war with Mexico (1848) added half a billion acres to Jefferson’s acquisitions, covering almost the rest of today’s continental United States, and establishing the final pieces of our public-lands experiment.
I shot my deer in the same area where mountain people roamed nearly two centuries ago. Just across the Green River, these free trappers held a meeting each spring to trade their hides and celebrate the bounty they received from these lands. I wanted to explore this place like them, with a hunter’s eye and adventure in the heart.
The preservation of these hunting grounds did not happen by chance. This included the leadership of our 26th President, Theodore Roosevelt, who said, “The nation is well behaved if it treats natural resources as property which it must pass on to the next generation rather than increasing in value.” Someday you and I will pass on our natural resources to the next generation in accordance with Roosevelt’s vision. This will require our vigilance and advocacy.
Because of all that history and turmoil, I was standing in Sage’s Pocket on this cool afternoon, enjoying what was left of the untamed land after homesteaders, railroads, and mining and lumber companies had staked their claims.
As I head out with hot pieces of venison in my pack, the purple glow of the last light gives way to darkness, revealing a horizon filled with the flashing red and white lights of distant oil rigs, reflecting the pressure we exert on our land.
All paths into the future lead to increasing competition for space and resources, with each generation seemingly more disconnected from nature than the last. Heavy idea to go with my heavy pack.
But as hunters, we are naturally optimistic. So from the depths of my optimism came this realization: It is economic progress that will ensure America’s public lands are here to stay for generations to come. Both Jefferson and Roosevelt were impressed by the potential of the West, but they were not protectionists. They did not acquire and preserve natural places merely for the pleasure of experiencing them. He also saw utility in land. By using it we value it. When we value something, we work to preserve it.
Although it’s been 35 years since I took Economics 101, the laws of supply and demand have stuck with me. It goes like this: Goods in limited supply increase in value as we increase our demand for them. These principles apply to everything from toilet paper to our public lands.
Lands that are vital to our outdoor activities are certainly in limited supply. We have 640 million public acres in the United States, with varying degrees of access – a number that has held steady since Roosevelt. Private land ownership and population of our country is not nearly stable.
Touring America’s Public Lands The Greatest Accumulation of Wealth (Part 2)
In my lifetime (barring an untimely demise in grizzly country), the number of Americans will have doubled. To accommodate all these new residents, we create more than 1.5 million private acres of land every year. (For perspective, Yellowstone Park is 2.2 million acres. The equivalent of 10 Yellowstone Parks have been handed out to the dodger since I first applied for my Wyoming deer tag.)
Some of these private lands are being restored to their natural habitats by private dollars, but still, millions of acres of land have been developed. Losing private acreage permanently removes pressure on our public lands. Subdivisions and cities will not provide the experiences we want or the natural resources we need. In contrast, public lands are maintained by our governing institutions. Advocacy comes from passionate outdoorsmen and women who value wild places. We become part of them, and they become part of us.
I’m no Jefferson or Roosevelt. Still, from my experiences advocating for public lands, I have learned a lot about them. The public lands of the United States may represent the largest accumulation of shared wealth on the planet.
If there is to be a public-awakening in America, it will happen because of grassroots advocacy by the American people. In a country governed by a constitution that allows the judiciary to maintain land ownership rights (both private and public), the immense value that came from Jefferson’s unwitting public land experiment grows with each passing year.
By the time I take the last heavy step toward the truck, I’m too optimistic. I am confident about my path ahead. Like mule deer, Americans need wild public lands to thrive. We need them to become Americans.
Editor’s note: This story was originally published in the 2020 Fall issue of Outdoor Life.
