GUEST COLUMNIST: A walk in our nation's parks

If you're reading this over supper, feel free to join me in celebrating an anniversary of sorts. About this time last week, I was in hot pursuit of a black bear; today, I'm celebrating that bear's decision to outrun me. You probably think I'm stupid, but I wasn't trying to catch that bear; I just wanted a clean look. And sure enough -- as the bear crossed a park road on the way into the underbrush, I got a full-profile, glorious look at an American black bear. If you still think I must be stupid (and my mother agrees), well, you're right: Chasing bears is dumb, and I hereby thoroughly renounce it. Then again, I've seen my black bear. There is, you'll be happy to learn, a point to this tale: Your kids are less likely, and their kids less likely still, to be telling stories about bear chases. Oh, come back here -- this isn't yet another environmentalist diatribe. I confess to being the son of a tree-hugger, but the good news is that she considers me a lost cause. No, this is a story about a chain of places preserved by the federal government for our pleasure and wonderment: America's national park system. Virgin wildernesses, historic landmarks, natural wonders -- all are contained within the system's 32 million continental acres, and all have delighted generations of Americans since the first national park, Yellowstone, was created in 1872. But as ever-increasing numbers of Americans escape from suburbia for a weekend in the park, the system is bursting at the seams. The result? If you think traffic jams are bad on I-95 at rush hour, you should try driving through Yellowstone National Park at about 5 p.m. on a summer's eve. Unfortunately, there really isn't much opportunity to expand the system beyond its present bounds. After all, creating a national park is like setting aside the last beer. It's not something you do while the cooler is full. Besides, if you declared half of Kansas a national park, it probably wouldn't do much to cut down on the number of visitors at Yellowstone or Yosemite. There are just a limited number of truly world-class sights. Of course, that's only half the problem. The really, truly bad news is that even those areas that we have preserved still act just like any other kind of resource: they diminish with use. Take Old Faithful. In the 19th century, Yellowstone's most famous geyser erupted on a precise schedule, once every 55 minutes or so. Today, it erupts, on average, every 78 minutes. Give or take 10 minutes either way. Part of the increased unpredictability is the result of seismic activity, but the other part is the cumulative effect of all the junk tourists have tossed down the geyser hole over the years. But it's not just vandalism that causes wear and tear. Indeed, our efforts to "preserve" these pockets of unimpacted wilderness often clashes with our perfectly benign desire to experience them. Take the Grand Canyon's south side, jam-packed with cars and tourists. Environmentalists and state officials have lined up behind a plan to limit cars to the park's periphery and transport tourists to the precipice via light rail. That is only a partial solution. The wear and tear on the canyon ecosystem will continue, albeit at a somewhat-slower pace. But the attempt to mitigate the impact of tourism on the Grand Canyon reflects increasing concern over the future of the nation's parks. And not all of that concern is healthy. In 1988, fires swept through much of Yellowstone National Park, leading more than one congressman to call for firefighting action on the floor of the House of Representatives. The blazes were a natural and healthy part of an ordinary forest ecosystem; extinguishing the flames would have mortgaged the park's future for its present. But when there isn't another Yellowstone to shelter wildlife or amuse visitors, it's often difficult to ignore the demands of the present. That is a dangerous situation, and it is one we've created for ourselves. You want a happy ending? Sorry, I don't have one. We need our Yellowstones and Yosemites, and we can't (and shouldn't if we could) call a halt to civilization's progress. So what's left? The pragmatist in me wants to tell you to make the best of a bad situation. He's exactly right. So two pieces of advice: First, go see our national parks, early and often. Second, when you go, please try to keep them pristine. If you don't, your grandchildren may never have a chance to chase black bears.