Reverence
A Column by Ted Benge
The runner looked up from his footfalls as he approached my horses in the trail. He tapped the AirPod in his ear to cease, for a moment, the music piping into his brain and paused Strava on his GPS watch. He snorted and hustled past without a word.
Daily I encounter some iteration of this new mountain athlete, and have done these very same things myself. Yet I wonder if, in our pursuit of the next physical challenge - in a world in which we have largely conquered nature - we have lost a sense of reverence for place.
Recreation has supplanted the mining and agricultural industries of yore to become a key driver of local culture and economy. Aspen’s famed ski resorts (and luxury living) have drawn global crowds for decades - but increased interest in mountain biking, climbing, trail running, hunting, backcountry skiing, motorsports, and other outdoor activities, combined with a booming population, has yielded an explosion in year-round backcountry recreation. Technological advances and information sharing (social media, etc.) mean many of these new recreationists are going bigger, faster, and farther, the sports themselves becoming increasingly competitive.
Long gone are the days we lived close to the land. Even those among us who hunt, garden, forage or fish rely on global industry for food, shelter and clothing. But we still seek connection.
For most of us in the Valley, interactions with wild places take a recreational form - we leave jobs and homes in a bustling town for a brief respite among the trees. With more focus on sporting performance, equipment, and social recognition, we seem to be alienating ourselves and missing the whole point. We pop into the woods, unload gear, exercise, and leave. I often hear people refer to the mountains as a “playground.”
As our forms of recreation become more complex and equipment-based, our technology increasingly overwhelms the senses and guides our experiences. These beautiful places begin to resemble the very society we are looking to escape.
In the winter, I am a full-time freeride ski coach for AVSC - and though I spend five days a week sliding through stunning mountains, my interaction with the terrain and ecology around me feels artificial. Riding a chairlift to ski groomed snow on runs cut through the forest en route to a hot chocolate break at the Sundeck hardly feels natural. On most days, my attention is entirely directed to the movements of skiing and attendant human relations.
Does it really matter if we take time to smell the roses? Perhaps not. But we must acknowledge that our presence affects ecology. The recreational infrastructures we build and use cause direct habitat loss, and our presence on the landscape, especially in increasing concentrations, causes indirect habitat loss through fragmentation. Our recreation limits total and usable habitat - when we use a trail, we disturb natural animal movement patterns.
Numerous studies also show that our presence in wildlife habitat directly degrades animal health and increases mortality. When we run, hike or bike through habitat, our sound, scent and sight elevates animals’ adrenaline and boosts their caloric expenditure during flight. Animals with lower caloric reserves are more vulnerable to stress, which affects calving, lactation, winter survival and adolescence.
A CPW biologist once told me, “Habitat is a necessity, and recreation is an amenity.”
We need not burn every technical thread and walk naked through the woods. The first steps towards repairing our culture and relationship with our environment are simple. Pay attention. Try turning off the audiobooks and music. Listen to the birds. Sometimes, just be there. Beyond that, many tenets are simple. Abide seasonal trail closures and, for crying out loud, stop building and using illegal trails. In wildlife habitat, leash dogs (which are predators and whose scent is alarming to prey animals), clean up your trash, give wildlife a wide berth, and speak softly (no need to hoot and holler). Then, advocate, in whatever capacity you can, for healthy public land.
Ted Benge was born and raised in the Roaring Fork Valley and is a lifelong hunter, skier, and hiker. The owner of Capitol Peak Outfitters and an AVSC ski coach, he lives in Carbondale with his fiancée, Aisha Weinhold.
