This summer’s drive through the West’s most iconic landscapes — Montana, Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, Nevada and California — surpassed expectations. Adventures and celebrations with friends and family in jaw-dropping surroundings were reminders of what’s important and worth preserving. I acquir ed new perspectives. Standing in a windswept dry-land prairie underscored the power of geography on history. The wide expanse of grasslands and roughed-up mountain steppes of eastern Montana define the Little Big Horn National Monument and Crow Agency. It looked formidable, and I thought, no wonder Custer lost. The charm of historic Bozeman and sublime beauty of Yellowstone’s Paradise Valley proved a welcome contrast. The network of roadways criss-crossing the West connected me to novel cultures and activities. I watched skilled anglers cast dry flies from taught lines in the waist-deep waters of the Missouri, Snake, Madison and Yellowstone rivers and got swept up in the excitement as young Crow horsemen rode wild ponies in traditional bareback relay races. In Sun Valley poets tapped fanciful prose on vintage typewriters at a writers conference, in coastal California a stranded sea lion was rescued, and in Reno hundreds of wildland firefighters left home to save the lives and homes of strangers. Fierce wildfires exploded across the terrain in every state I traveled. Ominous clouds of smoke unfurled, drifting over the West’s mountains, meadows, parks and townships. The scope of nature’s fury and impact on human households, faultless wildlife and pristine lands, boggles the mind. A secret backcountry lake in the Sawtooth Mountains and Lake Tahoe’s crystal clear waters offered a refreshing and cool escape from planetary perils. Ah-h-h-h. Covering thousands of miles in this road trip, I encountered only one road-kill casualty. A small mule deer. The pretty doe lay face down on a rural road near Monterey County’s Carmel River. When I returned to Utah, a friend who regularly travels a different rural road, mentioned seeing a dead black-quilled porcupine in East Canyon, likely killed by a speeding driver. Could this New World porcupine Erethizon dorsatum be the same slow-moving creature I observed late one night on the 910 Ranch? My breath caught. I remembered, watching alone in the dark, the porcupine’s hunched-back silhouette, adorned in bright quills and glistening silver in the moonlight, cross safely towards East Canyon Creek’s red-twigged dogwoods. These porcupines, also known as quill pigs, belong to a descendant wild species with an impressive migration history. Three million years ago these wild animals traveled thousands of miles from South America to North America. They are the only species of porcupine to survive north of Mexico. That the 910 porcupine couldn’t survive crossing a man-made road feels tragic and ironic. Wild elk, deer, moose, coyotes, skunks, hawks and porcupines are strewn along Utah’s roads. On highways 40, 224 and 248, Interstate 80 and River Road between Midway, Park City and Kimball Junction, some 27 square miles, drivers are exposed to a gruesome display of mangled bodies. Sometimes I count two, three, or four carcasses per week. My figures are anecdotal, but the local non-profit organization Save People Save Wildlife produces numbers that count. They consult with experts who collect data and assess best practices for wildlife habitat connectivity and safe passage based on science. According to Director Erin Ferguson, their work exists to “look at (wildlife) corridors of concern, where and when the animals are actually moving and when and where the conflicts are actually happening.” She explains how “every deer crossing near the river, every elk pushed out by new subdivisions, every driver on a roadway in a wildlife zone, is a kind of lottery.” A few weeks ago, the lottery caught up with Park Record columnist Tom Clyde in a dramatic wildlife-auto collision. His car was totaled and a deer was dead. Gratefully, Tom was not. Books are written about road ecology. Remedies to Summit and Wasatch County’s wildlife auto collisions exist in neighboring Western states and Canada. We have the answers, but do we have the will to implement them? Since 2018, when the Parleys wildlife overpass was built, Utah State University documented more than 700 successful wild animal crossings. According to Ferguson, the original cost of $5 million has to date saved taxpayers $15 million. Wildlife detection systems, fencing and underpass guidance, strategic signage and dedicated overpasses like the one over Parleys Summit, are desperately needed. We are honored and graced by the wild life in our communities. The sculptures of sandhill cranes, elk and moose reflect an admiration for our region’s abundant wildlife. They are attractive symbols but they are not enough. Wild animals deserve more than banners, slogans and sculptures. Comparing the natural world wonders and human endeavors that define communities like Ketchum, Truckee, Carmel or the Crow Agency with my own, I recognize similarities reflected in our cultural celebrations and recreational pursuits. We share like-minded spirits and a potential for the greater good. On a slow, late-night drive along East Canyon’s graveled road, an impressive, dark quilled rodent appeared in our headlights. We stopped to watch as the 910’s wild porcupine lumbered confidently toward his native land of scrub oak, red-leaf maples and the quiet peace of refuge. Ah-h-h-h. Leslie Miller is the co-editor of “Reimagining A Place for the Wild” and a former, long-time resident of Park City who now lives in Midway.  The post Wild Seeing: A postcard from the wild West appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less