Beaded Buffalo

“To keep your secret is wisdom; to expect others to keep it is folly.”  ~Samuel Johnson, 18th century English author

I know a place where the unicorn is the last one at the watering hole. It’s a tiny lake on the side of a mountain, encircled by forest primeval, and its still waters reflecting the surroundings like black glass. There are no trails leading to it, and it’s so small, so delicate, that this place of magic and wonder goes nameless on the map.

Where is this garden of earthly delights?

Some folks wouldn’t tell you. They’d say that after discovering a “secret” territorial gem devoid of human intrusion, the only way to keep it pure is to close the door behind you. Disclose the location, they warn, and barbarian hordes will quickly descend and desecrate the place.

Which brings us to Peter Tassoni, an author whose guidebook gives step-by-step directions to ancient ruins that are all that remain of the Anasazi culture. The book is titled A Hiking Guide to Cedar Mesa: Southeast Utah (University of Utah Press), and it generated a large dose of outrage when it hit the shelves.

“Cedar Mesa is supposed to be a huge secret, a sanctum sanctorum open only to those souls lucky enough to be recognized by the initiates,” says Jeffrey Grathwohl, director of the University of Utah Press. “Yet a lot of people know about the region. I knew there would be some controversy, but I felt it more important to impress on people the protocols of site visitation. They’re going to visit anyway.”

Such sightseeing is probably due to the gold mine of info available on this and other historical Southwest parcels. Use your search engine or scan any decent book store shelves and you’ll find plenty of web sites and guidebooks that point to ancient ruins. Here’s a typical excerpt from a guide that focuses on Utah’s roadless recreation areas: “(Anasazi) artifacts remain, richly displayed in the recesses of Grand Gulch, Slickhorn, Fish, Owl, Arch and Mule canyons.”

That book gives detailed directions to the various sites, and goes straight to the heart of a particularly thorny matter: Should so-called “hidden” or “special” destinations be revealed to the hiking world through guidebooks, the Internet, and outdoor magazines?

The “silence is golden” crowd holds that doing so destroys the very quality that makes these places attractive: their solitude. Similarly, they say, identifying historically sensitive areas is like giving artifact thieves a treasure map. As well, they contend there must be places no one knows about, so there’s still the possibility of discovery.

On the other side of the fence, the “tell all” crowd points to the fact that these places are usually on public land, where we all have a right to go. There’s also the high likelihood that the spots are already on a map or in some guidebook. Then there’s the issue of stewardship. The more fans the land has, the more protectors who’ll fight for its preservation, the argument goes. A classic example is Arizona’s Glen Canyon. One of the best-kept secrets in the Southwest, Glen Canyon was dammed in 1963, only a few years after outraged opponents beat back a proposal for a dam near the more-well-known Dinosaur National Monument.

As for the looters, the U.S. Geological Survey has quadrangle maps for every square inch of the United States. Thieves know where the artifacts lie, and energy companies know where to mine and drill. To them, the land holds no secrets, only profit potential, and they’ll find a way to get their booty — unless wilderness lovers get there first and demand protection.

There are those confident, highly skilled outdoorsfolk who shun guidebooks and magazines with where-to-go stories. They possess the Columbus gene, and are capable of striking off on their own and navigating uncharted terrain. But many others among us, who harbor a love of wildlands that’s just as devout, need a helping hand if we’re to see places worth dreaming about and fighting to protect. We need advice and directions to travel the backcountry safely, and that’s where the printed word provides a necessary service.

“I’ve been touched by this landscape, and would prefer to keep its teachings and secrets to myself,” Tassoni says of Cedar Mesa in his preface, “but I cannot. The experience of the desert should be available to everyone with the motivation to encounter it.

“Guidebook or not, more visitors are coming each year. It’s my hope that [A Hiking Guide to Cedar Mesa] will promote a heightened awareness of the area’s sensitive natural and cultural wonders, while emphasizing each individual’s responsibility to minimize the negative impacts of visitation.” (To their credit, all sources I checked stringently emphasize the Leave No Trace ethic.)
Some would say that both sides are simply posturing and espousing self-righteous indignation. Be that as it may, everyone should agree on one point: The land is there to be enjoyed, to be nurtured, and to nurture us. There are no such things as private playgrounds, unless you have a deed to the land.

So in that light, an obvious question would be: Where’s that unicorn lake located?

And here’s the answer: It’s gone.

A fire burned the area, roads were bulldozed in, and loggers salvaged the timber. The resulting erosion choked the lake to death. A friend who initially revealed the location to me went back there recently, then phoned with the sad news.

Maybe the answer is that once you find a special place, enjoy it, relish the qualities that make it so sweet, then never go back. Tell others about it if you wish, but let it live as a blissful memory, because even if you mention it to no one else, it won’t be the same when you return. It’s the cycle of life: All things change, except those places you hold dear in your heart.

A variation of this story appeared in Backpacker Magazine.