"In God's wilderness lies the hope of the world--- the great fresh unblighted, unredeemed wilderness."
John Muir

A late summer driving trip to Alaska, four or five years back, brought my wife and I to Denali National Park, north of Anchorage. Reading up on what Alaska might offer, prior to taking off on this 12,000 mile odyssey, we looked forward to Denali, largest and most naturally wild in the National Park System. We had hoped to see caribou and moose in a surrounding as natural and untouched as sparsely settled Alaska might offer. Denali is also home to Mt. McKinley, the tallest mountain, from base to summit, in the world. Heady stuff for a couple from Chicago.

It was a major disappointment . . . we never saw the park. Never got further than the Visitor Center, where long lines waited to sign up for short bus rides into a very limited area of the park. Although we camped throughout our trip, Denali hadn't nearly enough campsites for the demand, a circumstance it had in common with its lower forty-eight companions. We found a lovely campsite, just down the road at lesser known Denali State Park.

Most of our National Parks suffer from overuse and under access and the major and better visited sites suffer a degree of degradation unknown and unforeseen a mere fifty years ago. Too many cars, no place to park, too much litter and not enough care. National Park Service staff are overworked and morale is at an all-time low. Yet more and more people clamor for access to wilderness as their lives become more grindingly suburban.

There should always be sufficient access for those who are willing and able to hike or paddle into wilderness areas. That's an experience as unique as it is limited by physical ability. Anyone who has paddled into the Boundary Waters understands the solitude of a motorless wilderness, but there just aren't many of us able or inclined toward meeting wild places one on one. Those who do, find themselves overwhelmed by automobiles and campers.

What to do?

I suggest the construction of suspended monorail systems, park by park and beginning with the most overused, to improve our ability to see the American wilderness, without destroying it. Above ground rail would be equally accessible summer and winter, cutting the need for road systems and their maintenance within the parks. Such a system would be user friendly for the handicapped as well. At entry point parking lots, visitors could board observation cars that would make periodic trailhead stops providing access for fishermen and hikers, allowing whatever time is desired to view and enjoy a wilderness area without the pollution and degradation of automobile and camper traffic.

Additional stops would access food, lodging and campsites, as well as centers for horseback or rafting trips where they are appropriate. Maintenance trains on the same system could take in food, supplies and employees, bringing out garbage and recycleables. Trains would operate on an endless loop, connecting all major points of access and make itself available by a call system at trailheads.

Most advantageous of such a system, the wildlife would get a break . . . migrating freely across and through the parks without being harassed by people and vehicles. Fishermen and hikers could make their way into the wilderness for a few hours or a few days, depending upon their desire and ability. Handicapped access would be enormously improved, bringing this delightful experience to those who may never have had such an opportunity.

Of course, a system such as I describe will cost a lot of money. But if our defense contractors are ever to be weaned from their former dependence upon military contracts, such a project might be a good way to ease the transformation. The long term relief from increasing pressure on our most used parks would be worthwhile. The same government dollars that are saved from building a decreasing number of F-16s could be partially diverted, giving the taxpayer something tangible and worthwhile for his investment.

Friends tell me that Yosemite, one of the most spectacular of the parks is almost impossible to get through during peak summer months. Smog is a major problem. I've not been to Yosemite, but have spent time at Glacier and Yellowstone. You don't have to be much of a nature lover to be aware of the problems caused by public road access within these parks. Bumper to bumper traffic is the rule, backed up whenever an elk or moose is sighted, cars left helter-skelter with doors hanging open, as photographers creep close enough for confrontation.

Quiet is one of the magic ingredients of wild places and electric rail would restore a measure of peace to these heroic expanses of American wilderness. We're coming to realize, in our more modern zoos and wildlife parks, that it makes sense to free the animals and cage the people.

If this sounds like bringing Disney World to the wilderness, I hope it will have just the opposite effect. Minimal manmade structures are a better solution than roads and cars and minivans and campers, along with suburban parents, who encourage their children to run headlong at herds of buffalo or elk.

Some of the most magnificent log structures to be seen are found in the interiors of our older national parks. These would remain as visitor centers and restaurants, shops and recreation facilities. In cooperation with local business, the entry points of national parks should be subject to reasonable, yet improved zoning requirements, in order that these areas not be downgraded into unsightly conglomerations of neon, kiddie rides and miniature golf. Local business has a lot at stake in these entry points, yet a degree of regulation can bring profit and visitor amenities, without degrading the experience.

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