A LEOPOLDIAN SUCCESS STORY: MOJAVE NATIONAL PRESERVE.

The Rocky Mountain system of wilderness areas covers a wide gamut of forest types, from the juniper breaks of the Southwest to the "illimitable woods where rolls the Oregon." It is lacking, however, in desert areas, probably because of that under-aged brand of esthetics which limits the definition of "scenery" to lakes and pine trees.

-- Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac 

On October 31, 1994, the 103rd U.S. Congress passed the California Desert Protection Act. Aldo Leopold would have been pleased. Expanding and upgrading Joshua Tree and Death Valley national monuments to the status of national parks, and placing the newly created 1.6-million-acre Mojave National Preserve under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service, this legislation marked a significant turnabout in American attitudes toward desert environments. The political orchestration of various interest groups, environmental organizations, public and private agencies, and citizens that culminated in the passing of the act was -- paraphrasing Frank Wheat's recent book documenting the political struggle -- nothing short of a miracle.

A Convenient Place for the Unwanted

To the untrained eye, Mojave National Preserve is a vast nothingness. Speeding along its northern boundary on Interstate 15 between Barstow and Las Vegas, or its southern boundary on I-40 between Barstow and Needles, the "lonesome triangle" appears little more than a wasteland for unwanted byproducts of a rapidly developing industrial civilization. There are few people in Mojave National Preserve and, at 70 miles per hour, few signs of any life.

The modern history of the Mojave is testimony to its unloved character. While earlier Native American cultures such as the Mohave, Paiute, and Chemehuevis called this desert home, more recently, many western European cultures have found little of value in the parched landscape.

In the 1800s, Mormons, working their way from Salt Lake City to San Bernardino, Calif., on the Old Spanish Trail, found inspiration in the Mojave's most distinctive plant, the Joshua tree. Sightings of the tree meant the settlers were half way to their destination. Like the prophet Joshua, the trees seemed to be reaching toward the heavens and pointing the way to the Promised Land. But the Mojave was a place to traverse as quickly as possible; it was a place to survive.

During World War II, Gen. George Patton spent four months in the Mojave, training his troops for combat with Germany's Erwin Rommel, the "Desert Fox," in northern Africa. Soldiers referred to the training ground as "the place that God forgot," and later on, after suffering defeat in Tunisia, Patton motivated his troops to regroup by threatening to return them to the Mojave.

By war's end, more than 1,000 of the 1 million soldiers who trained in the Mojave died there, never having gone overseas. Trace evidence of their sacrifice can still be seen in the sand in the form of tank tracks and abandoned training camps. The Mojave was -- and continues to be -- a true test of military preparedness for desert warfare.

Today, Mojave National Preserve is flanked on the northwest by the U.S. Army's Fort Irwin National Training Center and China Lake Naval Air Weapons Testing Center, on the west by Edwards Air Force Base, and on the south by the Marines' Air-Ground Combat Center. To the east is Arizona, and to the north is Nevada -- and the Nevada Test Site.

The history of nuclear-weapons testing in the Nevada desert also serves to support the Mojave's scorned character. The Nevada Test Site was chosen specifically in 1950 because of the Mojave Desert's isolation, sparse population, and aridity. Little rainfall meant little chance of radioactive fallout ending up in water supplies. And the prevailing winds would carry whatever fallout did occur north and east to parts of Nevada and Utah that, according to the Department of Defense, were "virtually uninhabited." Years later, when frighteningly large numbers of people in the region began to suffer from various forms of cancer, they referred to themselves sardonically as "virtual uninhabitants."

The Mojave has always been a dumping ground and, as author David Darlington describes in The Mojave: A Portrait of the Definitive American Desert, a "convenient place for the unwanted." Whether it is unwanted corpses discarded in the desert because of gambling debts, unwanted industrial waste discarded in the desert to avoid true-cost pricing, or unwanted human beings hiding out in the desert to practice their nefarious ways, this desert has held little appeal to anyone.

But there have been exceptions. Ranchers scattered throughout Mojave National Preserve have found something to love in the desert, in its openness, its spaciousness, its solitude. They have eked out a living over time, drawing from the desert what it allows, while understanding that what it allows is limited and often unattractive to others. Miners, too, have found precious metals and rare earth minerals (lanthanum and neodymium) that are used for specialized industrial purposes such as the production of color televisions.

More than a Mirage

In light of its history, how does one explain the success of a national initiative to protect and preserve the 1.6-million-acre Mojave National Preserve? Like the desert itself, a complete answer is elusive. Yet, it is probably not too far-fetched to suggest that we have come to understand that there is more to the Mojave than meets the eye.

Part of the growing interest in this desert is rooted in its natural history, in the significance of its flora and fauna. Mojave National Preserve is located in the heart of the Mojave Desert ecosystem, a vast area stretching from California's Antelope Valley across three states to St. George in southwest Utah. It is home to hundreds of species of plants including the largest stand of Joshua trees in the world, cholla cactus, California juniper, desert primrose, Mojave yucca, pinon pine, wildflowers galore, and the creosote bush, which can live up to 10,000 years in the desert.

It is also home to more than 40 species of mammals, including large numbers of desert bighorn sheep, 115 species of birds -- even golden eagles -- 33 species of reptiles, and several species of amphibians. Also included among its fauna are the California Desert Tortoise and Mojave Tui Chub, both threatened and endangered species. To give these animals a chance at life, nearly half of the preserve is designated wilderness.

Mojave National Preserve is also rich in cultural resources ranging from petroglyphs, pictographs, and pottery shards left by early Native American cultures to more recent reminders of western European settlers, miners, ranchers, and other "outcasts" who have taken refuge in the desert. Historically significant trails throughout the preserve include the Old Spanish Trail, the Mojave Road, and "tracks" left by trains and automobiles, footprints of the country's westward push.

Consequently, in terms of its natural and cultural history, Mojave National Preserve is a living museum, an ecosystem unlike any other in the United States, which has something to teach us about unity in complexity and the integrity of a place. Safeguarding that opportunity is an important part of the National Park Service's administrative mandate.

The preserve is also intended to be a place for human recreation, for refreshment of mind, body, and spirit in preparation for everyday life back in the California cities of Los Angeles, San Diego, San Bernardino, Riverside, and elsewhere. It is a mecca for off-road enthusiasts and hunters of upland birds and mule deer. The decision to designate the area a preserve rather than a park or monument -- and thereby allow for multiple uses -- served to garner sufficient political support to secure the preserve's establishment and accommodate many of the preserve's more traditional, and more consumptive, recreational uses.

Riding the Wave

An even larger part of the explanation for the timeliness of the California Desert Protection Act and in particular Mojave National Preserve, can be found in the bigger picture of the growth and development of the Pacific Southwest. For decades, the Mojave has been a thoroughfare for the westward movement of Americans seeking a fresh start in California. From John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath to the popular '60s television series Route 66, the Mojave has accommodated people's desire to "go somewhere else." That is now changing.

As the Los Angeles basin has filled to the brim with more than 20 million Californians, some of its inhabitants have begun to spill northeastward into bedroom communities such as Hesperia, Victorville and Apple Valley. Forty years ago, sociologist William Whyte witnessed the beginning of this trend and labeled it "urban sprawl." Today, these "high-desert" communities are indeed sprawling, and there is no end in sight. Like a wave splashing back on itself, hordes of Southern Californians are inching closer to the western edge of Mojave National Preserve.

Meanwhile, to the northeast, plans for the continued development of Las Vegas threaten the integrity of the preserve's eastern boundary. An initiative to build a new airport near Stateline, Nev., which would accommodate 747s, would make Las Vegas directly accessible to international travelers. If the venture prevails, it is only a matter of time before Las Vegas itself reaches the California border.

The Mojave is being squeezed like never before, and the California Desert Protection Act is the only thing preventing the formation of a Los Angeles-Las Vegas megalopolis. Still, pressures for growth and development continue to mount.

The military would like to expand Fort Irwin to enhance its readiness as the prime proving ground for desert warfare in the 21st century. Private landowners are clamoring for a return on their investments. And a golf course has been proposed near the small town of Baker, Nev., known as the Gateway to Death Valley, where summer temperatures frequently reach 120 degrees.

Prospects for the Long Haul

In the midst of this uncertainty, placing Mojave National Preserve under the stewardship of the National Park Service is reassuring to those who are concerned about safeguarding its ecological integrity. Historically, the Park Service has leaned toward protection when carrying out its mission. The legislation governing the multiple uses within the preserve tends to be more stringent than on other federally managed public lands. Mining in Mojave National Preserve, for example, is subject to the Mining in the Parks Act, which is more restrictive than the General Mining Law of 1872.

In this and other ways, the Park Service has positioned itself to ensure the long-term sustainability of the Mojave Desert ecosystem. The challenge is magnified, however, by the relatively meager staff of 40 assigned to look after the third-largest unit in the National Park System outside of Alaska. Still, as one observer described the situation in Darlington's book, "the Park Service is going to do what's expected of it. A robin is always gonna lay the same kind of egg -- you don't have to climb up into the nest to see if it's gonna be blue."

As if to confirm the wisdom of this observation, the Park Service is now in the process of acquiring more than 86,000 acres of private land in the preserve, owned by the Catellus Development Corporation. One of the largest private land holdings in the state of California, it covers a 50-mile by 35-mile section in the heart of what is designated "critical habitat" for the threatened California Desert Tortoise. This is great news for conservationists and desert tortoises alike.

The message it sends to private landowners in Mojave National Preserve is that while the Park Service is trying to put the pieces of the desert landscape back together for the benefit of generations to come, it is also willing to work with them to get a fair economic return on their investment.

Conclusion

In retrospect, the California Desert Protection Act was passed in the nick of time. While changes in the Mojave Desert have always been measured in decades, centuries, or even millennia, impacts brought about by the rapid influx of people into the Mojave are felt almost overnight. In his essay "Las Vegas Versus Nature (Reopening the American West)," journalist Mike Davis notes how some developers think nothing of blowing up an important part of the past to pave the way for the future. Such a mindset would wreak havoc along the Las Vegas-Los Angeles corridor were it not for our collective maturation of thought and our embracement of the Leopoldian ideal of land as a community -- an ideal manifested poignantly today in Mojave National Preserve.

The orchestration of various interest groups, environmental organizations, and public and private agencies, which culminated in the passage of the California Desert Protection Act, write Daniel L. Dustin, Ph.D., a professor in Florida International University's Department of Health, Physical Education and Recreation; Mary G. Martin, superintendent of the Mojave National Preserve; and Richard M. Barbar, the recently retired executive director of the California Desert Interagency management team, was nothing short of a miracle. The act, passed in 1994 by the 103rd U.S. Congress, placed the 1.6-million-acre Mojave National Preserve under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service, marking a significant turnaround in American attitudes toward desert environments (p. 68).