Bargaining for Eden: The Fight for the Last Open Spaces in America
As a Writer, Photographer, and Naturalist, Stephen Trimble explains the battle over open land in the American West in his book, Bargaining for Eden. (UC Press, June 2008). You can check out his website here, as well as his blog below.
By Stephen Trimble
As Bargaining for Eden approaches publication, I’ve been looking back on my ten-year immersion in these stories with both nostalgia and astonishment at just how much territory I’ve covered.
My journey began in 1997, when I drove up the winding road on Mount Ogden for the first time (just over the rocky ridgeline from Ogden, Utah), on assignment to photograph funky Snowbasin ski area before it became a mega-resort. The Salt Lake City Winter Olympics would transform the place. As a writer, I saw an intriguing story.
In seeking answers to a simple question—“what will it take to bring an Olympic downhill racer to the finish line in 2002?”—I found myself reporting a chronicle, scene by scene, character by character—that captured the history of the Public-Lands West, from overused commons to reclaimed national forest to beloved local ski area, and finally, the transformation to corporate showplace and a resulting loss of community.
Earl Holding, owner of Snowbasin, wanted to craft his own version of the mountain. His fierceness and ambition were implacable. And the United States Congress gave him what he wanted—by passing a bill to privatize public lands in the national forest at the base of Snowbasin. To make that happen, Earl used the Olympics as an excuse. And nearly every institution in our society fell in line.
Every town in America has someone like Earl whose desires often trump community interest. He isn’t as bad as many other tycoons, but he gets his way.
Earl Holding is a fabulously successful entrepreneur whose power grows—straightforwardly—from his $5 billion and his connections. Earl Holding owns the Little America hotels, Sinclair Oil, Sun Valley and Snowbasin ski resorts, and 500,000 acres of land in the West—making him the 63rd richest American.
If I expected to understand Earl’s dream for the mountain and penetrate to the roots of his values, I had to understand my own. I looked to my childhood and my family just as I poked around in Earl’s past, to comprehend why we had such contrasting visions of caring for landscapes.
And, then, in the middle of tracking these stories in the northern Utah mountains, my wife and I fell in love with a mesa just outside Capitol Reef National Park, near the village of Torrey in southern Utah. To make our own dream of ownership financially feasible, we split the land, selling an existing house and a few acres. And so I became a land developer, too. On a tiny scale, I became Earl—and had to face Earl’s values within myself.
The tension I felt when confronting this irony became the dramatic core of the book. It wasn’t just a theoretical acknowledgment of the old line, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” It was much more startlingly personal: I had become the enemy, and my story became much more complex and nuanced as I turned from observer to actor and struggled to come to terms with my new identity as a second-home owner in The New West, a newly-minted citizen of rural Utah.
Note: the caption to the picture to the right is:
The Henry Mountains framed by the author’s contractor as he positions a window in the bedroom of Trimble's house, Torrey, Utah, 2002.














