I can find as much solace and peace by doing a little extra homework and working a bit harder to find areas that don’t pass through so many paved areas, where hordes of people are less likely to frequent, where I can find the illusion of “wilderness,” because honestly, that’s all we really have left. Illusion.

The absolute worst hike in New Hampshire is Mount Washington in the summer (highest peak in New England). Not only do you have to deal with large groups racing up in sneakers and tshirts, but by the time you reach the glorious summit you step off the trail and onto the blacktop of a parking lot, then on to the observation deck with armies of people, all the various buildings, and into the cafeteria, where you can watch the Cog Railway chug up the other side of the mountain spewing black smoke. Needless to say I quickly make for the next trailhead and continue wherever I’m going. Something about the “tallest” mountain in any given area attracts people unworthy of their ascent (i.e., Everest).

Having said that last summer I hit one of my favorite peaks: Mt. Carrigain. From the summit — the highest peak in that part of the forest (4700′) — my fellow hikers and I searched across the clear unobstructed horizon for as many signs of humanity that we could. We found four: the ski trails at Attitash and Waterville Valley, the distant small town of Bartlett, NH, and of course, the summit of Mt. Washington.

The Pemigewasset Wilderness is huge and expansive and beautiful from that spot. Much of the forest in the Pemi is only about 100 years old … old growth was decimated by big logging companies in the 19th and early 20th century. They clearcut much of that forest and used big old trains on erector-set rail lines that often derailed and started forest fires. Thankfully the land was protected and the wilderness has returned.

The 100 mile wilderness in Maine represents either the start or the finish of the AT, and anyone who’s done 10 days without crossing much humanity can attest to the existence of wilderness there.

And most importantly is the Boreal Forest of Canada. A little bit of it exists on the high peaks of the Whites. This forest is VITAL to the carbon sequestration on the entire planet and is the subject of an increasing amount of attention in that regard. It plays a similar — and even more important role — to the rainforests in South America. Canada’s government will be far more inclined to conservation than those governments, thankfully. But the Boreal is about as wild as it gets in N. America.

Is what we have pure wilderness, as in no signs of human existence? No. But I would not say that should be what we want. In my opinion as a lifelong outdoorsman and naturalist, no wilderness “state of mind” can exist without the existence of actual physical wilderness. If there were no human knowledge of true wilderness, then how would we appreciate it, treasure it, experience it, or protect it? We need people who know and appreciate wilderness in all its forms to fight for their continued existence and rightful place in human experience. Our dual roles as both its greatest protector and its greatest threat are a challenge indeed.

I believe it’s a compromise, but it is a necessary one. What other choice do we have?

As I recommend on my Web site, if you are hiking in a popular place, go as early in the morning as you can. I frequently set out on the Arethusa Falls Trail before the sun rises. I sit on top of the cliff for an hour or so in “wilderness.” Then the first ice climbers or day hikers arrive, and “wilderness” departs.

Funny, there are two places (that I can think of off the top of my head) in my neck of the woods that have “wilderness” in their names, the Pemigewasset Wilderness and the Dry River Wilderness. Whenever I see them on the map, I can not help but think that if it has a name, it’s not a wilderness.