It was reported that the BLM rangers responded to these injuries with heroism and efficiency, in some cases organizing quick air rescues. Moaning off-roaders were flown out in helicopters and patched up.
But why then have the off-roaders been attacking the people who’ve been wiping their brows and bandaging their wounds? Why have the off-roaders been pelting the BLM rangers with eggs?
The answer is a complex one, and has to do with Nevada’s reputation as being the freest state in America, and the reality that it is also the fastest growing. The answer also involves a butterfly. A beautiful butterfly, which transforms from the sand in late summer, the males glowing a pale blue.
In the evening Jane settles with her feet up, reading an Andre Dubus collection in the truck. Before I leave, she asks, "Why are some sports so clearly part of a certain socioeconomic group?" and I begin a walk up the side of the dune, along the forbidden zone - a marked line where hikers are free to go but motorized vehicles firmly restricted.
That the off-roaders do not respect this line is obvious, because there are tracks everywhere, cutting into the brush. Off-roaders have even scarred the desert study area, a sensitive species section far from the main dune area that includes colorful wildflowers and the recently pillaged remains of an old Pony Express station.
To many of us, this idea of the sand dune conceptualizes the American southwest. But sand dunes are few and far between. Their rarity and their unusual geologies create unusual diversification in the living kingdoms. Dunes, like islands, attract unique plants and animals. Think of a sand dune as like a little rainforest, only more beige.
Walking up this dune, I feel like an outsider, trespassing on someone else’s property. Motors are screaming by the dozens, sand is flying in the air, radios are playing below. The stink of gas and oil, the shouts. As a non-motorized walker, maybe this beautiful dune was not designated for me?
I see a man riding a four-wheeler slowly, photographing the brush along the way. His behavior seems odd, him being the first ‘duner’ I see without the throttle gunning. I approach him and ask, “Excuse me, are you the ranger?”
He says yes, he is. His name is Dean. He looks like a Stormtrooper in his helmet and goggles and white desert clothing. Dean was hired by the BLM five years ago as the resident plant ecologist. He is personally responsible for the plant management of five and a half million acres. “Which is why I’m always lagging behind,” he says.
I ask about the attacks, about off-roaders going after the rangers with eggs.
"Not just eggs," Dean says behind his helmet and goggles. "They've also smashed through the window of the ranger truck with a rock."
Despite the threats and violence, Dean respects the off-roaders, and is clear that his duty is to balance their interests with the other duties of the BLM. "Usually they spend an hour or two riding, and then they come back down, but I'm over there on the back side all day, and they know I'm out there, and they keep an eye out for me, because you know it can be dangerous way out there."
The off-roaders are angry, because the BLM rangers are regulating Sand Mountain in order to protect species' that have allegedly been threatened by off-roading. The sand mountain blue butterfly is not on the endangered species list, but it is on its way to being listed. The off-roaders are doing everything they can to stop this from happening. And this fight is raising the temperature around here.
)
){kind=link}