Edward Abbey’s views on wilderness are black and white. He’s seemingly at one end of an extreme where he thinks nature should be preserved and protected, but only if he’s still allowed to enjoy it. He thinks, similar to Muir, that the wilderness is for humans to enjoy but not destroy, specifically humans such as himself. “There is no compelling reason, for example, why tourists need to drive their automobiles to the very brink of the grand canyon’s south rim. They could walk the last mile” (428 Abbey). Apparently, according to Abbey, everyone has a pair of working legs and no one on the planet is disabled, who knew?

He views it as some sort of ableist privilege to wander through the woods and… get eaten by a bear? “A venturesome minority will always be eager to set off on their own, and no obstacles should be placed in their path; let them take risks, for Godsake, let them get lost, sunburnt, stranded, drowned, eaten by bears, buried alive under avalanches – that is the right and privilege of any free American” (430 Abbey). I couldn’t help but think of that song about New Hampshire we all had to sing in elementary school, “I want to wander through the wildwoods where all the purple lilacs grow [and then get eaten by a bear]” That’s exactly how that song goes, at least according to Abbey that’s how it should go. 

When referring to children and the elderly he says “Frankly, we need waste little sympathy on these two pressure groups” (428 Abbey). The complete disregard this human has for other people is not only problematic and exclusionary but sickening as well. He refers to cars as “motorized wheelchairs” inferring (and explicitly saying at times) that people never leave the cars when they’re out in national parks. This is simply untrue, but not the most problematic thing he says. The problematic part is how ableist it is to use the term “motorized wheelchairs” to describe cars. This man has never had a physical problem in his life. Do the disabled not get to see the wonders he talks about just because they happen to have drawn a bad hand in life? What about actual motorized wheelchairs, Abbey? He seems to believe that part of “experiencing the wilderness” includes dying at the hands of it. What a joke. 

Don’t get me wrong here, at first, I agreed with him. Why would we build highways in national parks? Why “ruin” the peace and quiet in them? I realized, however, that that is like asking “Why do we put elevators in buildings? It takes up so much more room we could use for design that we shouldn’t have them at all.” Well you see, there are many people who would need to use that elevator – even if they have a “working pair of legs” as Abbey so eloquently put it. I am one of those people. So many people in this world have “invisible” disabilities. On the other hand, I’m sure Abbey could care less about people with “invisible” disabilities because he certainly doesn’t seem to care about the people with “visible” ones. Not to mention, he has zero clue what those people’s lives are like. Maybe that elderly couple wants to see the national park one more time before they die or maybe that child should be exposed to this wonderful beauty to know why they should be preserving it. He refuses to see the benefits of roadways in national parks. I’m not saying we should fill national parks with roadways but I am saying that making them accessible for everyone is important. Ironically, this man’s ableist drivel made me consider this question: What if we had wooden walkways on the trails that would be able to handle wheelchairs? Would this even be possible? Nature and wilderness does not need to be inaccessible to people – especially if it’s supposed to be for human benefit. Shouldn’t accessibility go hand in hand with Abbey’s ideas of wanting humans to experience nature? He believes humans should experience the wonders of nature but then doesn’t consider the people who might not be able to do so without roads because it doesn’t fit his narrow agenda. All in all, this reading almost had me in the first part, lost me in the second, and had me seething by the end of it.