Nature is a term that encompasses the collective phenomena of the physical world, including flora, fauna, landscapes, and other earthly features, distinct from human influence or creations. On the other hand, an illusion is a misperception of sensory experiences.

“In every walk with Nature,” John Muir observed, “one receives far more than he seeks.” This thought resonated with me during a stroll through the evergreen forests of Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park a few years ago. Inspired by Muir's Wilderness Essays, I often revisit his words, which motivate me to embrace the outdoors.

As I hiked along the Glacier Gorge Trail, I was surrounded by Colorado blue spruce, their snow-dusted branches resembling Christmas trees. Stands of ponderosa pines, their bark rugged and exuding a vanilla-like aroma, stood tall alongside slender lodgepole pines piercing through the snow.

At a frozen creek, I encountered skeletal groves of quaking aspen, named for the rustling sounds their leaves make in the wind. However, on that day, the aspens stood still, their leaves having fallen months earlier, preserved in ice and snow. As spring approaches, these leaves will decompose, returning their elements to the earth—a reminder of nature’s cyclical existence.

From childhood, nature has served as my sanctuary. Though I was raised in a secular environment, exploring the meadows and forests around Mason City, Iowa, instilled in me a reverence for the natural world. My father, a physician, and my mother, a nurse, viewed the universe through a scientific lens, yet both appreciated the sacredness of nature, a sentiment that I have inherited.

My passion for the wilderness and the scientific understanding imparted by my parents shaped my life path, ultimately leading me to Colorado for my college education. I delved into molecular biology and chemistry, driven by a philosophical desire to grasp the beauty and mysteries of life. When not in the lab, I immersed myself in the mountains, engaging in activities like hiking, skiing, and rock climbing. The more I explored nature and understood it scientifically, the more sacred it became—perhaps explaining my acute awareness of its degradation.

The destruction of the environment is often more subtle than it appears. While in college, I worked in an environmental toxicology lab, investigating how two industrial chemicals—perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA) and perfluorooctanesulfonic acid (PFOS)—pollute our air, food, and water, bioaccumulating in our livers and correlating with serious health issues, including liver cancer. Following my graduation, I analyzed pollutants at an EPA-accredited lab in Colorado. The often disheartening results spurred my transition into science journalism, leading me to articulate my findings and observations.

One cannot visually discern a glass of water contaminated with PFOA, nor can one feel the presence of pesticides in soil or detect lead in the air. Testing is essential, necessitating the use of sophisticated instruments to uncover the hidden pollutants that may lie beneath the surface of seemingly pristine landscapes—where nature can sometimes merely be an illusion.

My walk led me to Loch Vale, an alpine lake at the heart of Rocky Mountain National Park, surrounded by timbered slopes and pines emerging from the water like lotus flowers. Rocky Mountain bristlecones adorned rocky formations beside the lake, while majestic granite faces loomed in the distance, shrouded in snow and evergreens. The lake, mostly frozen, invited me to break the ice, fill my water filter, and savor the refreshing taste of nature's water.

My water filter proudly claimed the ability to remove contaminants as small as 0.1 microns, including microplastics.

Years before my visit, scientists from the United States Geological Survey (USGS), led by Dr. Gregory Wetherbee, collected water samples from Loch Vale, not for drinking, but to analyze atmospheric washout—particles washed from the atmosphere by precipitation. Their unexpected findings prompted further investigation.

The team sent their samples to the National Atmospheric Deposition Program’s laboratory, where researchers discovered microplastic particles, primarily synthetic fibers of varying colors, in over 90% of the samples. Shockingly, Loch Vale was not exempt from microplastic pollution, despite its remote location.

When we envision plastic pollution, we often think of large debris scattered across landscapes—litter, entangled wildlife, or beached whales filled with plastic. However, the reality of plastic pollution is far more pervasive and insidious.

In less than a century, humanity has produced over 9 billion tons of plastic, with half of it either in landfills or discarded into nature. Projections indicate that by 2050, plastic waste may reach 34 billion tons. Annually, 450 million tons are produced, with 3 million tons of microplastics entering the environment.

Microplastics, defined as plastic particles measuring five millimeters or smaller, originate from two sources: primary microplastics, which are manufactured at microscopic scales for products like toothpaste, and secondary microplastics, which result from the degradation of larger plastic items.

Household washing machines are notorious for releasing secondary microplastics. Fabrics shed tiny plastic fibers during washing, with studies estimating that each kilogram of fabric washed can release between 640,000 and 1.5 million microplastic fibers into the environment.

In the densely populated Denver Metro Area, with its millions of residents, household laundry likely contributes significantly to local microplastic pollution. Yet, the presence of microplastics in Loch Vale, a remote lake accessible only by foot, raises questions about the sources of this contamination.

Wetherbee and his colleagues noted that while urban sites displayed higher plastic fiber counts, Loch Vale frequently exhibited plastic contamination, suggesting that atmospheric deposition is a widespread issue, transcending urban boundaries.

“It is raining plastic,” they concluded, emphasizing that it has infiltrated our rain and snow, becoming an undeniable part of our environment.

Microplastics can also become airborne, carried by wind and eventually falling back to Earth with precipitation. This phenomenon raises concerns about the potential for microplastics to affect other national parks and wilderness areas across the West.

A year after the USGS findings, Dr. Janice Brahney and her team conducted a study, collecting rainfall and air samples from eleven national parks across the western United States. Their findings revealed an alarming average of 132 microplastic particles falling on every square meter of these wilderness areas each day, accumulating to over 1,000 metric tons annually—equivalent to the weight of 300 million plastic water bottles.

The majority of the microplastics discovered originated from synthetic textiles, such as outdoor gear, which shed microfibers during regular use. However, the study identified other sources, including household carpets and personal care products.

Brahney's team found that microplastics near urban areas tended to be larger, while those in remote locations, like Loch Vale, were significantly smaller, capable of entering the planet’s dust cycle and traveling vast distances.

These smaller microplastics may originate from global sources, having traveled thousands of miles before settling in America's wildlands, underscoring the global nature of microplastic pollution.

Microplastics have been detected in virtually every environment on Earth—from the peaks of the Rocky Mountains to the depths of the Mariana Trench. They infiltrate our soil, air, crops, and water, becoming a permanent fixture in our ecosystems.

As humanity continues to produce plastic, projections suggest that by 2025, eleven billion tons of plastic will pollute the global environment. The long-term effects of microplastics and their degradation into even smaller nanoplastics remain uncertain, but their presence poses significant ecological risks.

Microplastics can inhibit seed germination by clogging pores, enter plant tissues through root uptake, and bioaccumulate through the food chain, affecting organisms at every level. Humans are not exempt from this pollution, with estimates suggesting that the average American consumes tens of thousands of microplastic particles each year.

The health implications of microplastics are concerning, linked to various health issues, while other plastic components, such as bisphenol A (BPA), pose additional threats.

Microplastics have infiltrated every aspect of the planet's natural cycles, raising alarms about the consequences of plastic pollution. A study revealed that microplastics could form clouds, which may contribute to atmospheric washout, further complicating the pollution landscape.

As I sat by Loch Vale, watching snowflakes fall and envelop the landscape, I marveled at its pristine beauty—a façade of wilderness, yet a place subtly marred by human impact.

By 2025, billions of tons of plastic are expected to permeate the environment, with microplastics persisting for millennia. The ongoing production of plastic compounds the issue, challenging our understanding of its effects on ecosystems and human health.

As Bill McKibben articulated in 1989, we are witnessing the end of nature as we once knew it—a reality shaped by our actions. The definition of nature, which once distinguished it from human creations, has blurred. We have irrevocably altered the Earth’s chemical makeup, and the illusion of nature persists amid our pollution.

I express this with deep sorrow and a sense of loss for the natural world that was. The solutions to the microplastic crisis begin with an honest acknowledgment of our responsibility and the pressing need for collective action.