Wilderness and Wasteland: The Challenge of Perspective

It looked like something from a world after an apocalypse. Huge grey forms swept rapidly over the landscape in chaotic patterns, drawing air toward themselves and sending heavy streams of moisture trailing behind, resembling an army of enormous alien machines.

Pale waves raced across stretches of dark water, driven into uneven ripples by a powerful wind. Beyond them, patches of brown earth rose from the sea, while distant mountains stood beneath grey clouds and streaks of snow. It was a landscape that seemed both wild and desolate.

Wester Ross, in the north-western Scottish Highlands, is home to some of Scotland’s most dramatic scenery. The region is isolated, rugged, sparse and exposed, battered by Atlantic winds and frequently soaked by rain. It also contains the area commonly known as Scotland’s “Great Wilderness”, an extensive landscape of mountains and lochs untouched by roads.

The country beyond me was undeniably impressive. The scenery constantly transformed as sunshine and passing showers collided in flashes of colour. Peaks covered in snow remained hidden behind mist for hours before suddenly emerging like shining landmarks. As clouds and shadows moved rapidly across the slopes, patches of brown and red appeared and disappeared beneath the shifting light. It was easy to understand why visitors were drawn to this place and to the powerful sense of untouched nature it seemed to express.

Yet the same landscape suggested something quite different, challenging the conventional idea of wilderness. It could also be viewed as a wasteland: repetitive, barren and seemingly empty of life, almost like a rain-soaked desert.

In some respects, it appeared to represent humanity’s influence over nature more strongly than nature’s dominance over people. Even the traces of human history were difficult to recognize, while the communities, traditions and societies that had existed here for generations seemed to have disappeared almost completely.

The Scottish Highlands were transformed in the public imagination during the Victorian period. Poets and writers, particularly Sir Walter Scott, helped romanticize these remote landscapes, while the British royal family also embraced their appeal. As a result, public attitudes gradually shifted. What had once been viewed as harsh and empty terrain came to be celebrated as picturesque wilderness, while its lack of human presence was interpreted as something beautiful rather than something tragic. Today, however, that perspective is beginning to change once more.

New approaches to ecology, together with a greater understanding of what these landscapes might once have supported, have raised questions about whether maintaining the present condition is morally defensible. If land described as “wasteland” could once again support forests, should restoration be considered? Can developed nations ask less-developed countries to preserve untouched ecosystems while refusing to restore damaged environments at home? Could the land provide greater benefits to the people who live nearby? And what role could restoration play in preparing for climate change?

Proposed answers to these challenges have included ambitious measures such as large-scale forest regeneration and the return of predators, including wolves.

But who should have the authority to make these choices? And what should those choices be? Does reaching a universal agreement really matter? To one person, the landscape may represent wilderness; to another, it may be nothing more than wasteland. Perhaps the important question is not whether everyone can agree, because any decision will ultimately reflect human values and concerns. Those values belong to the present and, inevitably, will evolve with time.

The landscape itself will not care. The weather will continue to be harsh, while the meeting of mountains, sea and lochs will remain powerful and imposing, regardless of how people choose to define it.