Dan Nielsen: Reservation systems arrive in the natural world

Jun. 2—Americans historically have been divided into two types of people.

First, there are those who love hiking, campfires, desert vistas, views from mountain peaks, the sublime peace of a hidden forest clearing. These people scream with delight when they dunk into the icy water of a creek to wash off a day's build-up of sweat and dust.

Second, there are those who get grumpy if they don't have air conditioning, wouldn't dream of walking three miles of muddy trail to access a remote hot spring, and consider "tent" to be a nasty four-letter word. These people scream with surprise if a firefly lands on their sleeve.

There always have been people who at some point in their lives cross the line, in either direction.

Books by authors like John Muir and Edward Abbey historically have caused waves of people to discover the joys of poking around in nature. Ken Burns' 2009 documentary series "The National Parks: America's Best Idea" caused a tidal wave of interest in national parks in particular.

A tsunami of visitors is hitting America's wildlands right now, stirred up by the social earthquake called the COVID-19 pandemic.

The last year of lockdowns and social distancing has converted millions of indoor people into outdoor people. Fresh-air activities provided an alternative use of personal energy when health concerns made it unwise or impossible to breath deeply in dance clubs, bars and theaters. (The pandemic also appears to have led some folks to realize they never again want to leave their apartments.)

Last year, many national parks were closed for extended periods, but others — including Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore — saw record visitor numbers. Most parks have reopened this year, and rangers expect a big wave of visitors from coast to coast.

Millions of formerly indoorsy folks, their normal social activities limited for a whole year, have become card-carrying outdoorsy people. Now that social distancing rules are fading, they aren't likely to forget about nature. America's wildlands this summer likely will be trod by more feet than ever.

That's great news for hospitality businesses near national or state parks. Hotels, campgrounds, bed-and-breakfasts, restaurants, taverns, gas stations, coffee shops, grocery stores and auto repair shops are gearing up to serve travelers.

Managers of the nation's wildlands face challenges of their own.

Some wildlands already are becoming overcrowded, forcing the implementation of reservations systems — long used for campgrounds — for certain roads and hiking trails:

* Yosemite and Rocky Mountain national parks require reservations just to enter.

* Waianapanapa State Park in Hawaii recently began requiring entry and parking reservations for non-residents.

* Acadia National Park in Maine last week began requiring a $6 reservation for vehicles on Cadillac Summit Road, a popular place to watch the sunrise.

* Free reservations now must be made to set foot on the Gothics mountain trail in the privately owned Adirondack Mountain Reserve in New York State.

* Glacier National Park in Montana just launched an advance vehicle reservation on its 50-mile Going-to-the-Sun Road and quickly sold out the initial slots.

I'm glad more people are discovering that walking in the woods is at least as much fun as drinking whiskey sours, doing the Hokey Pokey and yelling over the cacophony in a crowded bar.

But I'm also troubled. Because America's wildlands belong to me, and are there for my personal enjoyment. How can I bask in solitude if I share it with herds of people from Tampa, Toledo and Tuscaloosa?

Reservations require planning and scheduling. They mean you need to be at a certain place on a certain date. They mean you can't play it by ear and move along at a relaxed pace, lingering at leisure to smell the roses.

Spontaneity was one of the great joys of travel in my younger days. I got my fill of detailed planning in the workplace and at home, so when I took an extended vacation or long weekend, I left planning behind. I'd settle on a possible destination, pack a map, a toothbrush and a sleeping bag, then hit the road and see what happened.

Details developed along the way as needed. "Clock" and "calendar" became dirty words, unwanted symbols of societal oppression. Down with scheduling! Long live serendipity! Those trips always worked out, always lowered my blood pressure, always created enduring memories.

* I backpacked in northern California with a dozen assorted friends-of-friends, our destination a lake in the high country that required some off-trail bushwhacking to access. We got lost a couple of times on the way in, but the long weekend was filled with fun.

* I once took a disused dirt road that wasn't on the map and discovered a delightful babbling trout stream in the mountains of Colorado. (Fillet two freshly caught brook trout, dredge in flour, fry in butter on both sides until brown and cooked through. Transfer fish to serving plate. Add more butter to pan, toss in slivered or crushed almonds, salt and pepper to taste, fry until browned. Pour mixture onto trout. If desired, add a touch of lemon juice.)

* I camped deep in the Lake Superior State Forest after threading my motorcycle down a faint trail that dead-ended near nothing. Morning delivered fog and beautiful utter silence.

A common thread that links those pleasant recollections is social distancing. They all were escapes from the noise of daily life, peaceful breaks from the grind. The hushed stillness of nature and the beautiful scenery are the two things I love most about exploring public lands.

I mean, people are great. Sometimes, though, I just want to get away from them.

I selfishly mourn the fact that the post-pandemic popularity of outdoor recreation is making it harder to find natural solitude.

But the United States has about 640 million acres of federally owned land. States own another 201 million acres, including 4.5 million acres in Michigan. So there's plenty of wildlands for us all. I'll just need to aim for less popular places, natural areas that don't require reservations.

That in itself is another bit of planning drudgery — one worth the effort.