At First Blush I Am Tempted To

Cease Being Intimidated By The Argument That A Right Action Is Impossible Because It Does Not Yield Maximum Profits, Or That A Wrong Action Is To Be Condoned Because It Pays.

But Wherever The Truth May Lie, This Much Is Crystal-clear: Our Bigger-and-better Society Is Now Like A Hypochondriac, So Obsessed With Its Own Economic Health As To Have Lost The Capacity To Remain Healthy. . . . Nothing Could Be More Salutary At This Stage Than A Little Healthy Contempt For A Plethora Of Material Blessings.

Barring Love And War, Few Enterprises Are Undertaken With Such Abandon, Or By Such Diverse Individuals, Or With So Paradoxical A Mixture Of Appetite And Altruism, As That Group Of Avocations Known As Outdoor Recreation. It Is, By Common Consent, A Good Thing For People To Get Back To Nature. But Wherein Lies The Goodness, And What Can Be Done To Encourage Its Pursuit?

Man Always Kills The Thing He Loves, And So We The Pioneers Have Killed Our Wilderness. Some Say We Had To. Be That As It May, I Am Glad I Shall Never Be Young Without Wild Country To Be Young In. Of What Avail Are Forty Freedoms Without A Blank Spot On The Map?

I Have Read Many Definitions Of What Is A Conservationist, And Written Not A Few Myself, But I Suspect That The Best One Is Written Not With A Pen, But With An Axe. It Is A Matter Of What A Man Thinks About While Chopping, Or While Deciding What To Chop. A Conservationist Is One Who Is Humbly Aware That With Each Stroke He Is Writing His Signature On The Face Of His Land.