Life Lesson #54: The Human Herd and National Parks

In spite of all of my schooling and years of experience, sometimes I still make gross underestimations of the human herd as it moves through its annual cycles. Like a group of ungulates in search of better browse, the human herd also moves from place to place seasonally, although rather than browse, this group is searching for something much more complex: the ultimate experience. Individual humans instinctively know when and where to locate the herd, and will be inexorably drawn to it by a fear that they may miss out on something really cool and become an outcast. This is commonly seen at the grand opening event of major retail outlets, professional sporting events, beer festivals and space shuttle launches. In the winter, the herd might niblle on great deals on Christmas gifts at the mall, and during the warm months, the herd frequently migrates out to places of spectacular natural beauty, in the hope that they can capture it and take it home on a t-shirt.

My life lesson occurred this time in Zion National Park on a warm Tuesday afternoon in June. Having spent a delightful weekend in Bryce Canyon - just to the northeast of Zion, I thought I could just take a little detour through Zion, check out some important cultural landscape stuff, and head back to the hot desert floor before it got too late. No problem - just an extra couple of hours added to our trip, and I'd get to take in some fantastic scenery along the way. Right?

Wrong, wrong, wrong. My instinct about where to find the human herd must have been turned off, because I usually use it to avoid the crowd. Bryce Canyon, due to the combination of its more remote location and perceived inferiority to its larger cousins Zion, the Grand Canyon and Yosemite, is a relatively quiet park, with only about 1 million visitors per year (compared to the Grand Canyon's 4 million or Zion's 2.6 million). I was lulled into a false sense of security during my time there by the lack of annoying crowds, the relatively unpopulated backcountry trails and the availability of tables at the lodge dining room. The cool temperatures and whispering pines only helped to cover up the sound of my instinct screaming at me that the herd had descended upon Zion to the west.

I should have listened. Zion National Park, with it's proximity to the very convenient Las Vegas International Airport, it's reputation for swimming holes and shady slot canyons, and it's catchy place names like 'Court of the Patriarch' and 'Altar of Sacrifice', had drawn the human herd to it like mullets to a Monster Truck Rally. Literally thousands of people swarmed the canyon floor, armed with digital cameras, aluminum walking sticks and idiotic hats - each one determined to return home with stories that are better than those of their friends and neighbors. People who have not read the post on hiking etiquette. People who will stop their cars in the middle of a busy park road to take a photo of a chipmunk. People who will feed that chipmunk a bit of nut to get a better picture and don't care if that same animal will later chew a hole through my pack to get at my trail mix because it's learned that people mean yummy eats. People who, in general, wouldn't know a quality wilderness experience if it came up and bit them on the nose.

Needless to say, I had a great time.

Add to the crowd the fact that the temperature on the Canyon floor topped 101º that day, the mandatory shuttle buses were un-air-conditioned and subjected to frequent long delays and the fact that the human herd in the park was of the international variety, and you have a recipe for disaster. As opposed to the patriotic herd at the shuttle launches or the soccer mom herd at toy stores during Christmas, the international herd is generally generously seasoned with individuals from Latin America, Asia and Canada, with a special extra dose of my personal favorite: the European. Europeans are characterized by an enthusiasm for long hikes and garlic-laden foods as well as a distaste for bathing or the use of deodorant. Although usually pleasant to deal with one-on-one, being surrounded by (in this particular case) French tourists on a packed shuttle bus for nearly a half an hour in post-centennial heat is tantamount to torture. Yet, myself and thousands of others gladly shuffled aboard for our own little personal rides to hell. All that beautiful scenery all around, and what did I get to see? The armpit hair of a 60 year old in running shorts.

So, what is the real lesson here? We could talk about the carrying capacity of our National Parks, and whether or not systems should be in place to limit the number of visitors present in the park on a given day (thus ensuring everyone who visits has a more valuable experience, and helping to prevent damage to the natural resources parks were created to protect). We could have a debate about the NPS's policy of prohibiting private vehicles in the busier parks (which I entirely support - but there needs to be sufficient shuttle service to adequately serve the number of visitors). There's even a subtext in here about avoiding the bus seat that is under the up-raised arm of a euro-tourist fresh off the Angels' Landing trail.

But I think the real lesson for me was that visiting our wonderful National Parks is best done in the off-season. Though trails may be icy, the historic lodges may be closed and it will be a little less fun to buy an ice-cream cone from the cafeteria, falls and winters will present a Park experience that might just allow one to have that private moment of peace that is better than any photo and encounter a type of nature that far exceeds a road-side chipmunk sighting.

However, if you're the type of visitor that complains if they have to walk more than 3 feet from their car, will rate their whole experience on the variety of double-xl t-shirts in the gift shop or how actually knows many times your child can push the button on the talking display at the visitor center before you get kicked out, then by all means: visit in the summer. You'll fit right in.

Some photos from my trip: