Bogged Down by Beauty: The Appeal of Unaltered Nature (Unit 10)
My family has a cottage in Georgian Bay, a small A-frame wooden cabin that I consider home. The cottage lies within a little cove, with the open waters of Lake Huron are somewhere far past the woods behind the property.
Last summer, I went for a ride in a small seaplane - or lake-plane, in this case - over the Bay; I saw everything I had seen before, the cabin, the island in front of it, the trees and the cove - from an entirely new perspective.
From the sky, I could see the entire expanse of woodsy wetlands that kept the cove isolated from the Bay. I could see ribbons of marsh cutting through each outcropping of rock, the wavy dark and light bands of gneiss visible even from high above. I could see everything, including a small little lake nestled right in-between the cove and the sea, surrounded by forest, invisible to anyone on the ground but impossible to ignore from above. I looked back towards the cabin. From this height, I could cover the distance from the cabin to the lake with just my thumb.
How long would it take to get there on foot? I wondered.
Photo description: Georgian Bay, the view from above. Photo taken by Serena Causton.
I made it my mission to find out. Later that summer, I enlisted two of my friends to come with me on a backpacking adventure through the forest to find the lake. We planned to spend one day getting there, and one day getting to the other side of the cove, coming out on the open waters of Georgian Bay, where my dad would come pick us up (thanks, dad).
The backpacking trip quickly turned into a bushwhacking trip - there was no trail, so we relied on a compass, a map, and a GPS. Before this trip, I had never realized how many barriers a trail removed; we spent most of our time getting hit in the face by branches and cobwebs, and stepping in deceptively muddy patches of earth. At one point, we had to backtrack at least a kilometer because we cornered ourselves in an inlet surrounded by bog on all sides. At another point, we actually had to cross the bog - we held our backpacks on our heads, and trudged through the murky, waist-deep waters, carefully looking ahead and not down to maintain willfully ignorant of any leeches.
Photo description: Into the bush we go! Photo taken by Serena Causton.
Photo description: Two friend wondering how to cross a bog at the edge of a cliff. Photo taken by Sequoia Death.
Photo description: Serena Causton walking across a bog with her backpack on her head. Photo taken by Julia Rose Sharpp.
Though we struggled at times, and wanted to give up, this trip brought us all a little closer to nature: physically, of course, but also mentally - how often do you find yourself waist-deep in a bog? How often do you stumble across bear tracks, or deer holes, or dried-up streams and creeks? How often do you find yourself miles away from anything man-made, completely isolated in unaltered nature?
No, seriously. When was the last time you were, at the very least, a kilometer away from anything man-made?
When's the last time you were surrounded by exclusively nature?
Within the last month
Within the last year
Never!
Voting ended onMar 30, 2025
Stumbling through the undiscovered forest, so clearly not meant for us, with inconveniently placed bogs, hills that unexpectedly dropped off into treacherous cliffs, and branches that held us back at every turn, gave me a newfound appreciation for nature, for its systems and intricacies and landscapes that exist wholly for themselves.
There’s a famous philosophical question:
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
When I was out in the woods, where no one had ever been, I learned that, for me, the answer is yes. Yes because the beauty in nature does not need to be observed to be beautiful. If we observe it, and recognize its beauty through observation, then we are merely making note of something that exists on a level independent from us, a level unrelated to our mere observation.
I believe in the intrinsic value of nature. I believe that a natural place is special and valuable even if no one goes there, and even if no one even knows it’s there. Even if intelligent life on Earth never evolved, I would still believe that the landscapes and natural terrain of Earth is valuable (though, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be around to believe anything).
If nature is something wonderful and awe-inspiring all on its own, and not just wonderful and awe-inspiring because we choose to perceive it that way, then it becomes our responsibility to ourselves to connect with nature and experience the joys and wonders of doing so. If bog behind my cabin is beautiful, independent of me, then in order to fulfill my own sense of purpose and experience all that life has to offer, it becomes my duty to go there.
Beck et al. (2018) presents a similar sentiment in Interpreting Natural Heritage. In Chapter 5 'Guiding Principles of Interpretation' states that an interpreter must give the gift of a spark by relating the subject (nature) to the lives of the people in the audience, they must give the gift of beauty by instilling the ability and desire to sense beauty in nature and experience spiritual uplift.
As a nature interpreter, it is my job to become the bridge through which others can know the beauty of nature. I cannot tell my audience what to believe, how to experience nature, or why they should care. All I can do is provide the opportunity that lets them experience nature for themselves (Beck et al., 2018, Chapter 1, p. 11).
Photo description: Bridge from 'The Bridge to Teribithia' (Csupó, 2007).
I try to do that by planning trips like the bushwhacking one last summer, or through my research project that examines barriers to access for cultural ecosystem services. I have learned through this course that interpretive efforts can take place formally or informally, almost anywhere (Beck et al., 2018, Chapter 21, p. 460). This knowledge renewed my efforts to share nature with others in whatever way I can - I don’t have to set up a formal trip, or plan something elaborate with a theme and a goal and an itinerary. I can simply say to a friend, “Hey, do you want to go look at that stream with me?”
I also write on my blog (my other blog) so that even the most inaccessible places I end up in can still be known and appreciated. I love creative writing, and after taking this course, I try to incorporate philosophies of nature interpretation into my writing. In the textbook Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage by Beck et al. (2018), ‘Chapter 14: Interpretation and the Written Word’ helped me improve my writing by providing helpful tips for every step of the process - for example, in the revision phase, the textbook quotes Zinsser (2006) to advise that:
“The essence of writing is rewriting” - Zinsser (2006)
This helped me revalue the importance of editing. Now, even for this blog, I often write my post, leave it, and come back a few days later to reread it and make sure I like it. Oftentimes, just taking a few days gives me clarity to move on to the editing process.
Hi! I'm a Canadian traveller and environmental scientist, here to share my adventures!
Photo description: My other (better) blog.
When nature inspires me, or enlightens me, I try to share that gift with others in whatever way I can. In this technology-driven age, the journey to appreciating nature is like crossing the waist-deep bog (Louv, 2012). I try to use fallen logs to build bridges behind me where I can, and leave helpful notes on how to cross when I can’t, so that whoever comes after me can use my connection as the foundation to build their own. As interpreter Kohl (2017) suggested,
“While we interpreters cannot provide amazing experiences to our audiences, we can pull a thousand different levers, many invisible, to coax them toward creating their own transformative, unforgettable, and amazing experiences" (Kohl 2017)
My friends and I eventually found the inland lake, which was big enough to have a little island in the middle, but small enough that we could swim across it (which we did). The water was warm and shallow, and filled with little sunfish that had no fear - we used our Crocs to catch a few before they wised up. We set up camp for the night on a flat rock beside the water, and ate soup as the sun went down. That night, we laid out all our clothes to dry - they never did, but the attempt was made. When the sky was dark, we looked at the stars and wondered what was going on up there.
Photo description: The inland lake. Trees went right up until the edge. I guess at most lakes I visit, the trees have been cleared away from the edge so we can see the view. Not at this one. Photo taken by Serena Causton.
Photo description: The lake from the other side, where we set up camp. Photo taken by Serena Causton.
An eerie call startled us out of sleep in the middle of the night, and we all stayed awake to listen; after a while we decided it was a loon drifting across the lake. The stars were brighter than I had ever seen before; it was just us and them. And the loon.
That trip brought me closer to my friends, to myself, and to nature - closer to finding joy in my life, closer to living a life that is meaningful. To think that one weekend in the bush can do all that! Maslow (1962) describes this concept of "peak experiences," intense moments of joy and fulfillment, suggests that these experiences are indicators of self-actualization and can lead to greater creativity, spontaneity, and a sense of unity with oneself and the world.
If it’s my responsibility to seek out meaningful experiences like that one, then it is also my responsibility to share meaningful experiences when I find them. I challenge all of you to go somewhere completely isolated from all evidence of humanity - just walk off the trail and trek through the woods until you can’t see anything but trees anymore. I promise you - you’ll find more than trees.
Beck, L., Cable, T. T., & Knudson, D. M. (2018). Interpreting Cultural and Natural Heritage: For A Better World. SAGAMORE Publishing, Sagamore Venture.
Csupó, G. (2007). Bridge to Terabithia. Walt Disney Pictures. https://archive.org/details/Bridge_To_Terabithia
Kohl, J. (2017). Beyond the Interpreter’s Words Experiences Erupt from the Visitor’s Entire Context. Global Heritage Consortium.
Louv, R. (2012). The Nature Principle: Reconnecting with Life in a Virtual Age. Algonquin Books Of Chapel Hill.
Maslow, A. (1962). Lessons from the peak experiences. Journal ofHumanistic Psychology, 2(1), 9–18.