Let me make my position clear: Crowds of people are the antithesis of wilderness and to dilute opportunities for solitude in any way destroys the intent of what wilderness is and should be. You shouldn’t have to wander off the trail to find solitude and you shouldn’t have to encounter large crowds of people on the trails and mountain tops.

If we succeed in maintaining opportunities for solitude will it mean that hikers up Cascade Mountain will find no one on the summit? No, but they shouldn’t encounter a mob of hikers either.

A living nightmare regarding crowding and the lack of solitude is seared into my brain from the summer of 1974 from a hike up Ampersand Mountain. Because Ampersand is easy to access, provides a great workout and has great views, I always expect to see a fair number of people. I was not, however, prepared to see what I did that day.

There were so many people it looked like the Blue Line version of the Long March. We decided to bushwhack away from the mob to a nearby outcropping. When we got to our viewpoint it looked like rush hour in New Delhi. There were over 300 people spread over the summit. I don’t see how anyone can argue that kind of crowd is appropriate in wilderness.

These two photos contrast crowding. Which should be the norm? (Provided photo — High Peaks Advisory Report — 2021)

Those not in support of solitude argue that solitude is subjective. Of course it is. But often your doctor’s diagnosis is, too. It is based on the list of symptoms you rattle off to her. Does that mean we should ignore her opinion?

I believe three elements of the New York state definition of Wilderness support solitude and a limit on crowding. Wilderness is “… in contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape.” Wilderness has a “primeval character.” And wilderness “… has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation …” That said, I argue, a throng of hundreds of people on a mountain summit is the exact opposite of those things.

Visitor-use management is about managing the visitors to public lands, in order to protect natural resources and provide high-quality visitor experiences. In visitor-use management jargon, appropriate indicators and standards must be determined in order to prevent crowding. What’s that mean? Perhaps you have an indicator of, “Large groups of over 100 people gathered at one place.” The standard might be, “No more than six days a year.” This recognizes that there may be large crowds of people on a summit on the big three holidays (Memorial Day, Fourth of July and Labor Day), but we don’t want it occurring every summer weekend. If, however, there were more than six days with over 100 people on the summit, some form of action would be taken. For example, perhaps limiting the number of cars in the parking lot. I’m no expert on visitor-use management but you get the idea.

Some people argue that solitude is a cultural value and not every culture values it. That is absolutely correct … and it’s also beside the point. One, it is the law, and two, the concept of wilderness itself is a cultural value. It is a North American concept based on European heritage. As we travel the world, we visit cultures that are in stark contrast to ours. But we don’t expect them to change because we are visiting them any more than we should change our cultural values because they are visiting us. They have their definitions and we have ours. Ours is the one we’re using here.

My biggest fear is that if we dilute the concept of solitude, wilderness travel will no longer be a primitive adventure that requires visitors to be self-reliant. It will no longer offer a sanctuary for introspection and re-connection with nature, and it will no longer allow individuals to step away from the noise and distractions of daily life. Furthermore, It won’t give us a sense of peace or a chance for self-reflection.

It would just become a walk in the park — a park in the suburbs.