Adventures Northwest Magazine Spring 2022 by John DOnofrio

ADVENTURES NORTHWEST SPRING 2022

How William O. Douglas Saved the Wilderness Spring Multi-Sport Reefnet Fishing Deep Connections

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INSPIRATIONS

IN THIS ISSUE

Hiking for Change How William O. Douglas Saved the Wilderness

Ted Rosen

The Most Beautiful Beach in the World The Ozette-Rialto Traverse

John D’Onofrio

Variations on a Theme of Wonder

14 22

Bruce Barnbaum

Nick Belcaster

Matt Hainstock

An Ode to Multi-Sport Season

Gregory Scruggs

Recreation Northwest Charts a New Path

Todd Elsworth

Reefnet Fishing Sustainability on the Salish Sea

A Choice Deep Connections in the Alexander Archipelago

In ‘Just Spring’

Serving Northwest Washington Adventurists For Over 50 Years. Since 1967 LFS Marine & Outdoor has served the Pacific Northwest community. Now, with several stores in Western Washington and Alaska, LFS maintains its roots in Whatcom County with our flagship store and corporate office at Squalicum Harbor in Bellingham. The secret to our 50+ year success story has been dependable and reliable service through the most challenging times. We understand that our customers rely on us to help them navigate a successful boating and outdoor experience. That is why we’re here for you, and that is why we’re here to stay.

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DESTINATIONS In Praise of Awe Out & About 3 Great Hikes ... for Spring Bright Lines: Jayne Marek eARTh: The Art of Nature Mountain Haiku Field Trip: The Grand Staircase Cascadia Gear The Next Adventure: Ruth Creek

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Volume 17. Issue 1

CONTRIBUTORS

SPRING | 2022

Bruce Barnbaum’s photographic career began in 1970. He’s authored eight books and monographs (with another book coming soon), teaches photography workshops in the U.S. and abroad, and has photographs in museums, galleries and private collections worldwide. All of his black & white work is traditionally created, using film and standard darkroom. Visit his website at barnbaum.com.

for the Weather. Elsworth was captured in action while out exploring the Pacific Northwest by his daughter Violet. Soak in the essay at Elsworth.com. He also has a day job. Matt Hainstock is interested in the connections between places, people, and ideas. Calling different watersheds, ecosystems, and communities home, his favorite moments are connected to glaciers, old growth forests, and the open prairies.

Nick Belcaster is an adventure journalist who may be based in Bellingham, but he calls the ancient ice and spires of the North Cascades home. He contributes to local and national publications, and his work focuses on the intersection of recreation, energy, and the environment.

Trish Harding grew up on Lummi Island, studied art at Western Washington University and the Academy of Art University, San Francisco, and has owned Studio UFO for 20 years where she works and teaches. She also teaches art at Whatcom Community College in Bellingham for over 20 years and served as president of the Northwest Pastel Society. Learn more at studio-ufo.net.

Rich Bowers moved to Bellingham 21 years ago, and has been a Director, Board member and volunteer for a number of conservation organizations. Today Rich is retired, focused on wildlife and natural landscape photography, and how people can help protect and enjoy wild resources. Learn more at Northwestriversphotography.com

After a successful career composing music for TV & Film in Hollywood, Ken Harrison moved his family to the PNW in 1992, searching for a better quality of life. The mountains became his refuge. He skis, snowshoes, camps, and hikes hundreds of miles on adventures from BC to the Olympics with Boomer’s Hiking Club, a group he founded. With photography, Ken is able to capture those magic moments along the way.

Todd Elsworth is one of the “Mossy-haired lunatics roaming the dripping peninsulas”, described by Tom Robbins in I’m Here

Adventures Northwest magazine John D’Onofrio

Jason Rinne

Catherine Darkenwald

Print & Digital Account Manager catherineadventuresnw @ gmail.com

Staff Writer nick @ adventuresnw.com

Marian Jensen

Ethan D’Onofrio

Roger Gilman

Ainslee Dicken

Digital Media ethan @ adventuresnw.com

Adventures Northwest magazine is printed by Lithtex NW Printing Solutions, Bellingham, WA.

Poetry Editor roger @ adventuresnw.com

CO2 N

Ted Rosen is a freelance journalist, an IT professional, and has served as chairman of the Bellingham Greenways Advisory Committee. He enjoys guitar, photography, and complaining about litter. Gregory Scruggs is the outdoors reporter at The Seattle Times. His favorite spring ritual is skiing in the morning then watching the Mariners on Opening Day that evening. Any day that starts with a snowy sunrise and ends with a Salish Sea sunset is a close second. ANW

COVER PHOTO: COURTESY SAN JUAN CRUISES

Nick Belcaster

Creative Director jason @ adventuresnw.com

100% green power

Jayne Marek has provided cover art photos for five journals and three of her poetry volumes: In and Out of Rough Water, The Tree Surgeon Dreams of Bowling, and Dusk-Voiced. Winner of the Bill Holm Witness poetry contest, she has received Best of the Net and Pushcart nominations.

www.AdventuresNW.com

Publisher/Editor john @ adventuresnw.com Accounting accounting @ adventuresnw.com

Bill Hoke came to the Pacific Northwest in 1970 and began a lifetime of climbing and hiking. He’s hiked— mostly solo— more than 1,500 miles in the Olympic Mountains and is the editor of the newly published fourth edition of the Olympic Mountains Trail Guide for Mountaineers Books.

Staff Writer

Alan Sanders

Photo Illustrations

Alicia Jamtaas Copy Editor

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IN PRAISE OF AWE

here’s nothing like spending time in nature to restore a sense of equilibrium during stressful times.

All trends indicate an ever-growing desire—nay, need— among the citizenry to unplug from our day-to-day ‘reality’ with all its bells, whistles, carrots, and sticks, and to seek connection with the woods, mountains, rivers, beaches, and so on, away from the frenetic rat dance. We need a break. If we make an effort to unplug from the maelstrom (now ubiquitous), we might gain the insight that what we think of as ‘reality’ is, in actuality, really more of a shared construct. Like lab rats, we navigate the maze that has been set up to guide our passage through this life, accorded pathways that may not always make us happy. Suppose we can replace these stimuli with a different set of conditions, say, a solitary afternoon in a mountain meadow

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where we can actually breathe? In that case, we might gradually be able to let go of at least some aspects of that construct, allowing the space for new perceptions. We might experience quiet. We might experience contentment. We might, if we’re especially lucky, experience awe. The dictionary defines awe as “an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc., produced by that which is grand, sublime, extremely powerful, or the like.” I am a long-time seeker of awe, although, truth be told, one cannot actually seek it out but rather strive to put oneself in a position where the conditions might be just right for awe to present itself. Awe inspires humility and opens our hearts. When experienced, it’s not just the most important thing; it’s the only thing. It jams the signals that otherwise emanate constantly from the ego, a chance to be truly centered. Not self-centered, mind you. One’s own cherished attributes and multiplicity of petty grievances vanish into thin air, like the excess baggage that they are. Awe puts the lie to everything being buttoned-down. Awe reveals mystery. And best of all, awe is not ephemeral, although it burns brightly in a perfect moment. It resonates in our lives over time. It appends who we are. Being awestruck gets us out of our well-worn routines: it changes the status quo and re-arranges the furniture of consciousness, a little vacation from the scrum. And in these difficult and tumultuous days, it’s a vacation that most of us can definitely use.

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Out&About

Community Boating Center: Connecting the Community to the Salish Sea Bellingham Bay, long known as a recreational playground, is loved by sailors, yachtsmen, kayakers, stand-up paddleboarders, windsurfers, and all nature of water sports enthusiasts. Historically, the Bay served as an industrial center, but in recent years, the emphasis has shifted to more sustainable uses, and the waters are now a key component of our outdoor recreation economy, adding immeasurably to Bellingham’s appeal as an outdoor sports destination. The Community Boating Center (CBC) was established in 2007 by local smallwatercraft enthusiasts with the goal of facilitating access to these waters and to promote education, recreation and marine stewardship. Open to all, the CBC offers rentals of kayaks, small sailboats, paddleboards, rowboats, and keelboats, plus a wide variety of classes and waterborne experiences.

But as Rust says, the heart of their work is about connecting people to the sea. “I have personally seen— time and time again—how access to being on the water changes lives. “The mechanisms of wind and water deliver a profound, healing impact and help cultivate a deep understanding and respect for the natural world, while at the same time building skills, confidence, and independence in our students.” Rust expects continued growth in 2022 and is planning for an expanded presence on the waterfront. He welcomes the opportunity to positively impact the community during times that have challenged many people’s mental health.

Bryan Rust

“The CBC is not a club. There are no memberships and no dues, and we offer scholarships in everything we do,” says Executive Director Bryan Rust. “Working with our non-profit partners, we strive to make our programs available to all, regardless of income or ability,” The CBC’s partners include local organizations such as Vamos Outdoor Project, Bellingham Vet Center, HomesNOW!, and the Max Higbee Center.

“All the experiences we offer are inherently mindful,” he explains. “Students must focus on unfamiliar forces that are incredibly dynamic, contrasting with the familiar world that is left ashore.” Learn more: boatingcenter.org

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These days, the CBC is a very busy place indeed. Last year, their youth and adult programs drew almost three times the number of participants compared to 2020. They also did a deep dive on integrating marine science into all of their activities (an effort that included receiving 30 shark jaws from California State University, Long Beach).

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Athlete Ambassadors Selected Bellingham’s new Athlete Ambassador Program has selected eight local outdoor enthusiasts to help raise the profile of the plethora of race opportunities to be found in the local Bellingham area and help it gain recognition as the Mecca for racing that our area has become.

3 Great Hikes for Spring

Created by Pacific Multisports in partnership with Bellingham Whatcom County Tourism, the Jacob Roberts. program chose these Photo courtesy of Pacific Multisports ambassadors from 50 applicants, selected to represent a variety of sports, including mountain biking, multisport, running, and paddling. The ambassadors were chosen based on their passion for racing in Bellingham and destination races and their enthusiasm for sharing that passion with others. Selected were Kacie Cleveland, Deborah Eckhouse, Alicia Jenkins, David Larpenteur, Eric Olsen, Jacob Roberts, Jessica Rogers, and Ana Swetish. They are a diverse group, united by their unqualified love for outdoor recreation. At 22, Ana Swetish has already paddled in the surfski world championships twice, while Alica Jenkins is an ultra runner and leads local runs for the Bellingham Trail Running Club. Eric Olsen is finishing off the Cascade Cross season with first-place finishes at all three events. In June, he’ll be traveling to the UK and Europe to bikepack between the first three rounds of the Enduro World Series. Jacob Roberts is part of the Rikkole Cree Canoe Club, a local Native American group that paddles 12- person canoes with the goal of keeping the cultural tradition of war canoeing alive.

Stimpson Family Nature Reserve The trails of the Stimpson Reserve transport the hiker through the very embodiment of spring in Cascadia. Wetlands burst with vibrant greens, wood ducks preen on the glassy waters of Geneva Pond, and the towering oldgrowth forest suggests speaking in whispers. If you opt for the three-mile-long main loop, allocate some extra time to enjoy the short side loop to visit the pond, a tranquil and verdant destination. We have the Whatcom Land Trust to thank for this gem: an initial donation of land by the Stimpson Family was stitched into a mosaic of private and public parcels to create this beautiful public park. No dogs allowed. Trailhead: Lake Louise Rd., approximately 1.5 miles from Cable St. in Bellingham.

The Knob In early spring, you’ll need snowshoes to reach the Knob, but the way is easy, and the rewards are profound. Simply follow the snow-covered White Salmon Mt. Shuksan from the Knob. Road (Forest Service Road 3075) down Photo by John D’Onofrio into the Valley of White Salmon Creek and then up again to the end of the line and a spectacular vantage point from which to admire Mt. Shuksan in all her glory. Sit for a while and do some avalanche gazing. The total roundtrip distance is five miles. Trailhead: White Salmon Road (FR-3075), between mileposts 51 and 52 on the Mt. Baker Highway (WA-542).

Sucia Island

The ambassadors will represent Bellingham at various destination events and will receive up to $500 reimbursements for race entry fees, free race entries to Pacific Multisports and other local races, and branded Bellingham/Pacific Multisport attire.

The northern San Juan Islands constitute the scenic apex of this blue-green archipelago. And Sucia Island State Park is by far the most hiker-friendly destination in the northern San Juans. But first, you’ll need to get there. The Washington State Ferry System does not serve Sucia; therefore, you’ll need your own boat (or better yet, a friend with a boat) to reach the trailhead at the head of Fossil Bay. Water taxi services are also available. From the dock at Fossil Bay, a six-mile loop will transport you along the island’s southeast shore to the island’s tip at Ewing Cove. Along the way, a succession of beautiful grassy headlands, statuesque madrone forests, and a surreal sandstone shoreline carved into fantastic patterns by the elements will leave you enthralled.

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Hiking for Change How William O. Douglas Saved the Wilderness Story by Ted Rosen

the migrant laborers, the Chicanos and the I.W.W’s who I saw being shot at by the police. I saw cruelty and hardness, and my impulse was to be a force in other developments in the law.” With help from his Whitman fraternity brothers, Douglas headed east and enrolled at Columbia University. Despite his academic excellence at Columbia, Douglas was troubled by money problems and struggled in the concrete jungle of New York City. The boy from Yakima William O. Douglas was who had spent every free moa judge. In fact, he was an asment exploring the forested sociate justice of the Supreme mountains of the North Court of the United States. Cascades was now trapped He was also the longestin a tiny apartment overlookserving jurist in the history ing a dismal air shaft bereft of the Supreme Court: 36 of anything green and alive. years and 211 days. Yet he The stresses of law school was also a fierce defender of Douglas Rallies the Troops. America’s wild places, happy Photo by John Vallentyne (courtesy of MOHAI, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, 1986.5.23791.6) were slight compared to the pain of being so far removed to make public demonstrafir that almost hid it from view—these from his beloved hills and streams. tions of his noble crusade. How these two combined to give it an air of mystery in Of his time in New York, he wrote: forces existed inside one man’s head is an the faint light that preceded the sunrise. “Packed tight in a New York City interesting story—and played a crucial The view stirred in me a feeling of eagersubway. I have closed my eyes and role in the preservation of the wild Pacific ness and suspense that I have experienced imagined I was walking the ridge high coastline of Olympic National Park. again and again on coming to a ridge above Cougar Lake. That ridge has Growing up in poverty in Yakima, overlooking an unexplored lake in the the majesty of a cathedral. The Pacific Douglas studied hard, worked odd jobs wilderness.” Crest Trail winds along it under great throughout his teens, and earned a seat at While at Whitman, Douglas worked cliffs that suggest walls and spires yet Whitman College in Walla Walla. As a as a waiter, a janitor, and a cherry picker. unfinished. At points along the trail young student, he was awed by the natuWorking alongside immigrant workers at are meadows no bigger than a city lot, ral beauty of eastern Washington State. the cherry orchard inspired Douglas to from whose edge the mountain drops “I stood at daybreak one August study law. off a thousand feet or more. Here one morning on the ridge above Diamond “I worked among the very, very poor, stands on a dais looking directly down Lake in the Wallowas. We were camped

e expect judges to be impartial, to render calm decisions free of emotional baggage, but judges are human. There will always be some influence from their own experiences and personal outlook. Usually, they strive to limit that influence and render unbiased decisions. Their success in that exercise is as variable as the people who wear the robe.

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at Tombstone Lake, and I had risen early to find and explore Diamond, which lay below me 800 feet or more in a deep pocket of the mountains. The dark sapphire of its water, its remoteness from the trail, the steep slopes surrounding it, the

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on the tips of pine and hemlock….” He took trips back to Yakima whenever he could, revitalizing himself by tramping the silent trails and taking in the glory of Washington’s snow-capped peaks. Eventually, he graduated second in his class at Columbia and took a job at an established New York City law firm. This was supposed to be everything a Columbia law grad would want: a coveted position at a powerful ‘white shoe’ law firm in the greatest city in the world. If he stayed, he could rise through the ranks, maybe become a partner. The money and prestige would be unmatched. He lasted four months at the firm before heading back home to Yakima’s grassy hills and craggy rocks. Between hiking trips in the mountains, he tried to find amiable work, but nothing presented itself. In dire financial straits, he took a teaching job at a local public school. This also proved unsatisfactory. He wanted to put his skills to work for the betterment of humanity and

the planet they inhabited. So he went back east and scored a teaching job at Columbia. He had by then identified

Douglas Calls for a Rest Break near Cape Johnson. Photo by John Vallentyne (courtesy of MOHAI, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, 1986.5.23791.5)

with the new concept of Legal Realism. It centered on the understanding that the law should be applied with an apprecia-

tion for the real-world results of its application, not merely its strict conformity to text. Douglas was vividly aware of his own beliefs and ethics, and he felt they should not be wholly separated from his application of the law. He took his Legal Realism to Yale Law School, where, as a faculty member, he molded young minds with the works of John Dewey and Oliver Wendell Holmes. A passionate defender of free speech and a leading expert in corporate law, Douglas was a defender of American capitalism but was also quick to condemn its excesses. Douglas advanced quickly at Yale, accepting an offer to become Sterling Professor of Law. But in the end, academia couldn’t hold him. In 1934 Douglas accepted a position at the newly-created Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) in Washington, DC. As an expert in bankruptcy law and commercial litigation, he used his influence to reign in the excesses that had plunged the country into the

An AAI rope team passes the striking Black Buttes on the descent from Baker’s summit back to high camp.

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Great Depression. While serving at the SEC, Douglas became a regular at President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s frequent poker games. Roosevelt liked Douglas’ fiery oratory and progressive ideals. By 1937 Douglas was a full-fledged advisor to the president and was soon promoted to chairman of the SEC. Two years later, Roosevelt nominated Douglas to take the Supreme Court seat vacated by the death of famed jurist Louis Brandeis. Just 40 years old, Douglas became one of the youngest Supremes ever appointed and, by many accounts, was also one of the most prickly. He was quick to dissent from his fellow justices and was not shy about explaining himself. For Douglas, some truths were indeed self-evident and shouldn’t be shackled by the letter of the law. Sometimes too impatient to apply tact, he earned the nickname “Wild Bill.” Douglas was even called “rude, ice-cold, hot-tempered, ungrateful, foul-

l e v a r g l e v a unr

mouthed, and self-absorbed” by his law clerk Richard A. Posner. Fortunately for us, the fire of William O. Douglas was often directed at the enemies of land conservation. In 1954, Douglas became aware of a plan to build a motorway along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, a serene strip of green to the northwest of Washington, DC. The canal was Douglas’ favorite respite from the noise of the city and he considered the plan to construct the motorway a desecration. Unconcerned with judicial impartiality, Douglas, joined by an entourage of news reporters and eminent conservationists, staged a public hike along the length of the canal. To the editors of the Washington Post, he wrote: “The stretch of 185 miles of country from Washington, DC to Cumberland, MD is one of the most fascinating and picturesque in the Nation…It is a refuge, a place of retreat, a long stretch of quiet and peace…a wilderness area where we

can commune with God and nature, a place not yet marred by the roar of wheels and the sound of horns.” Douglas’ protest march worked. The motorway plan was halted and eventually abandoned. Eventually, Congress set it aside as a historical park in 1970. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal protest was just the beginning of a series of protest hikes that would make William O. Douglas admired by conservationists and demonized by developers.

The Olympic Beach Hike Douglas’ next public protest hike was back home, in his beloved Washington state. In 1958, a coalition of local municipalities and state legislators planned an extension of Highway 101 that would strike right through the coastal wilderness between La Push and Cape Alava in the northwest corner of the Olympic peninsula. At the time, this area was the longest unbroken strip of primitive coastline in the United States. (This was before

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Alaska and Hawaii attained statehood.) host of news reporters and conservationArrayed against this highway plan ists to join him on a three-day hike from were Howard Zahniser of the Wilderness Lake Ozette in the north to Rialto Beach Society and the cheerfully tenacious Polly Dyer, an outspoken conservationist based in Seattle. They asked Douglas if he was interested in supporting their cause. In fact, Douglas already knew the area well. He had a small cabin near La Push. This long stretch of wild coastline is where the Olympic rainforest presses against the ocean, sculpting it into myriad picturesque bays and alcoves. Along the shoreline, massive rocky islands rise from the sea like shark Douglas (R) and Polly Dyer (L), August 19, 1958. fins, some of them sporting groves Photo by John Vallentyne (Courtesy of MOHAI, Seattle Post-Intelligencer of cedar on their backs like ancient Collection, 1986.5.23791.1) sentinels from the era of the dinosaurs. in the south. In all, seventy-two hikers It’s a place of striking beauty. Douglas assembled at Douglas’ humble riverside was eager to oblige. cabin on the 18th of August. Packed into This wasn’t his first rodeo, so Douglas the tiny cabin and spread out in tents quickly formed a game plan and invited a across the property, the group prepared

for their epic hike, and Douglas treated everyone to a salmon feast. The next day, he hired logging trucks to ferry the group north to Lake Ozette, where the seventy-two hikers began their three-day odyssey along the coast. Douglas’ young wife Mercedes led the way. Although few could keep up with her, her enthusiasm pushed the protesters to make good time. Mercedes brought along her daughter Joan and their dog Sandy. Dogs were prohibited in the park, but the superintendent was lenient: “How do you tell a Supreme Court justice he can’t bring his dog?” The hikers wended their way south, taking in the beauty of the coastal vistas and slogging down the soft trail beds of the Olympic forest. They braved slippery boulders, haunting mist, and path-clogging driftwood. Douglas intended the hike to include

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proponents of the new highway, thus creating a chance for the two groups to have a “walk and talk” about the pros and cons. But none of the highway proponents accepted the invitation. After three days of walking, the group finally emerged at Rialto Beach, exhausted. A lone highway supporter, L.V. Venable, director of the Automobile Club of Washington, stood at the trail’s end with a host of signs, one of which said: “BIRD WATCHER GO HOME.” A photo of Douglas, Venable, and his sign made the national news the following day. After the hike, Douglas continued to write to the National Park Service in opposition to the proposed road, but the project remained on the books. Undaunted, Douglas repeated his protest hike in 1964, a sweet reunion for the hikers and renewed national interest in the Olympic coastal wilderness. After that, the road project quietly fizzled out. To this day, the coastal strip from Cape Alava to La Push remains pris-

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tine and, in the words of William O. Douglas, “untrammeled.”

L.V. Venable, director of the Automobile Club of Washington greets the hikers at trail’s end. This photo was published in newspapers around the U.S. and helped galvanize support for preservation. Photo by John Vallentyne (courtesy of MOHAI, Seattle Post-Intelligencer Collection, 1986.5.23791.7)

Fighting to the Death One would think this was enough for an aging Supreme Court justice. It wasn’t. In 1962, The Army Corps of Engineers were finalizing plans to install

two hydroelectric dams on the Buffalo River in Arkansas. Meandering east from the tallest peaks in the Ozarks into a wide, placid confluence with the White River near Buffalo City, the Buffalo River is hugged by dramatic limestone karst formations and some of the prettiest countryside in the entire region. Black bears, elk, and bald eagles live along the riparian corridor. Canoeists discovered it in the 1950s and formed a movement to save it. The newly created Ozark Society went up against the might of the Army Corps of Engineers and a consortium of business interests. Once again, the conservationists reached out to William O. Douglas for help. In April 1962, Douglas put together a canoeing expedition with folks from the Ozark Society and the regional press. At the end of the two-day paddle, Douglas emerged to greet the cameras and said, “The Buffalo River is a national treasure worth fighting to the death to preserve.” It took three years of constant pres-

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sure, but eventually, the notoriously conservative Arkansas governor Orval Faubus informed the Army Corps of Engineers that he would not approve of the dams. As a result, to this day, the Buffalo River runs free, and the Ozark Society continues to do good work. Also, in 1962, a hundred-year flood devastated the small town of Clay City, Kentucky. Municipal leaders and local business owners lobbied the state and the federal government to install a protective dam in the Red River Gorge, another spectacular riparian strip teeming with sandstone escarpments, thick forest, natural arches, and stunning waterfalls. Located deep in the Daniel Boone National Forest, the Red River had been a recreational wonderland for generations. Local hunters, fisherfolk, and conservationists appealed to the Sierra Club to speak up for the Red River Gorge. And who better to champion their cause than Associate Justice William O. Douglas? Heeding the call once again, Douglas

set off to Kentucky. On November 19, 1967, William O. Douglas and over 600 enthusiasts went on a long day hike up the Red River Gorge. This time, television camera crews were there to capture the spectacle, including a young TV reporter named Diane Sawyer. The Louisville Courier-Journal was there, too, and recorded, “...a 4-year-old boy who fell in a creek; a tall, bearded Indian with his two small sons, all wearing turbans; Boy Scouts in uniform; lots of dogs, on

and off leashes; men in florescent orange hunting clothes — and even a little old lady.” Once again, the public display of solidarity set off a tenacious movement to save this public land. The fight carried on for years until Kentucky governor Julian Carroll withdrew state support for the dam in 1975. Finally, in 1993, President Bill Clinton placed a 20-mile section of the Red River into the National Wild and Scenic River System. Today the Red Visit Orca Network’s

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POETRY FROM THE WILD

Yesterday the Yellow Crocosmia By Jayne Marek

flowers hung like miniature napkins folded in the shapes of swans. The red crocosmia in its turn drifted along slim green stems, touched the spaces between here and there with its florets.

of the world there is – the voice of a towhee, the gabble of pigeons on an overhead wire, and the taste of blossoms in one bite each for the fawn that came into the yard and made its slow way along the sheaves. Such a morning could not last, with its sensuous excess so fine the fawn could not resist eating all my blossoms at once.

Photo by M. Lizzy

In this way memory serves to delight the mind at rest with these color splashes, like bright notes hinting how much more

River Gorge is an enormously popular outdoor recreation area with campgrounds, cave tours, river rafting, hiking trails, and cabin retreats. Its massive stone arches are the most spectacular you’ll find east of the Mississippi. Back on the bench in 1972, William O. Douglas made his opinion about the preservation of our wild places abundantly clear. In Sierra Club v Morton, he wrote: “The critical question of ‘standing’ would be simplified and also put neatly in focus if we fashioned a federal rule that allowed environmental issues to be litigated before federal agencies or federal courts in the name of the inanimate object about to be despoiled, defaced, or invaded by roads and bulldozers and where injury is the subject of public outrage. Contemporary public concern for protecting nature’s ecologi-

cal equilibrium should lead to the conferral of standing upon environmental objects to sue for their own preservation. . . The ordinary corporation is a ‘person’ for purposes of the adjudicatory processes, whether it represents proprietary, spiritual, aesthetic, or charitable causes. So it should be as respects valleys, alpine meadows, rivers, lakes, estuaries, beaches, ridges, groves of trees, swampland, or even air that feels the destructive pressures of modern technology and modern life. The river, for example, is the living symbol of all the life it sustains or nourishes – fish, aquatic insects, water ouzels, otter, fisher, deer, elk, bear, and all other animals, including man, who are dependent on it or who enjoy it for its sight, its sound, or its life. The river as plaintiff speaks for the ecological unit of life that is part of it.” The belief that “trees have standing” has become a common refrain in legislative battles to preserve wilderness. It has been invoked to defend the southern resident orcas of the Salish Sea and in Native American appeals to preserve traditional lands from despoilment. Time will tell if this legal concept will gain momentum or die under the gavel.

Lusty, Lurid, and Risqué Of course, no good deed goes unpunished. Despite his heroic efforts to preserve America’s wild places, William O. Douglas was relentlessly attacked for his progressive views. In 1970, House Minority Leader Gerald Ford moved to have Douglas impeached from the bench. His crime? Douglas was president of the Parvin Foundation, a privately held trust that offered fellowships to foreign university students. The foundation’s original founder, Albert Parvin, was involved in sketchy Las Vegas investments, including the famous Flamingo Hotel and Casino. So ipso facto, Douglas must be guilty of…something. The Nixon administration engaged Ford as their attack dog. His mission: to smear Douglas with everything he could find. This included Congressional inquiries into his marriages

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(Douglas married four times to successively younger women), his ‘radical’ environmentalism, his defense of controversial works like the erotic Swedish film I Am Curious (Yellow), and an article Douglas wrote about folk music for the magazine Avant-Garde, which prompted this from congressman Ford: “The article itself is not pornographic, although it praises the lusty, lurid, and risqué along with the social protest of left-wing folk singers.” Despite Ford’s best efforts to destroy Douglas, Congress found nothing in the hundreds of pages of documents that would make a cause for impeachment. As a result, no public vote was taken on the matter, and it was quickly dropped. In December 1974, Douglas suffered a massive stroke, leaving him debilitated. The 76-year-old justice insisted on keeping his seat, but at the urging of his good friend and fellow justice Abe Fortas, Douglas retired from the bench in November 1975. He was the last active appointee of FDR and the longestserving jurist in the court’s history. William O. Douglas died at age 81 on January 19, 1980. He left behind an impressive body of legal opinion as well as a lasting legacy of defending America’s wild places. Walk along the beach at Hole-in-the-Wall on the Olympic Coast or take a canoe ride down the Buffalo River in Arkansas, and you’ll experience a little bit of what William O. Douglas ANW did for his country.

Sources “Of Men and Mountains” (Harper Collins, 1950) by William O. Douglas “Vigorous Defender of Rights.” (The New York Times, January 20, 1980) by Alden Whitman “This Land is Your Land: The Story of Field Biology in America” (Univ. of Chicago Press 2018) by Michael J. Lannoo, Ph.D Louisville Courier-Journal (November 12, 2020) stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

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The Most Beautiful Story and photos by John D’Onofrio

he Olympic Coast is a sublime strip of wilderness beach that stretches for 60 miles, from the mouth of the Hoh River in the south to the legendary Shi-Shi Beach in the north. It is widely acknowledged to offer some of the best ocean-front hiking on Planet Earth, including three glorious point-to-point traverses that are, each in their own way, spectacular. Perhaps the best known of these is the traverse from Lake Ozette to Rialto Beach, a 23-mile trek. This hike was briefly world-famous in 1958 when Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas led a group of 72 people on a three-day excursion along the wild Pacific to raise widespread opposition to plans to build a highway there. His highly-publicized effort successfully drew attention to this threat, saving the wilderness (see page 14). I wanted to see this portion of the coast for myself, so along with a pair of old hiking comrades, we set out from Lake Ozette on a spring evening, backpacks crammed with provisions for five days beside the sea.

Kayostia Beach

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The meticulously-maintained trail where we pitch our tents on a sandy patch quickly carries us through forest shadabove the high-tide line. ows, past luxurious gardens of skunk cabbage (poetically known as bog lantern). The sound of the surf grows louder as we approach Cape Alava, the western-most point in the contiguous U.S. and our destination for the first evening on the trail. We make camp in the trees at the edge of the beach as a blue mist settles over the coast, muffling the roar of the waves. In the morning, light rain is falling. Richard dons a pair of rain pants he purchased at Big Lots for $5.00. They are many, many sizes too big for him, and he looks like a cartoon character as we start down the beach toward Sand Point. Progress is slow; the tide is high, and most of the beach is underwater. Chaotic jumbles of beach logs frequently challenge our passage. We climb over, crawl under, or when required, do a combination of the two. We pass Wedding Rocks (a collection of petroglyphs dating back some 500 years), the tide Patterns in the sand near the Norwegian Memorial ebbs, and the going gets easier. The rain stops as we round Sand Point, The clouds have blown away, and the climb over a headland and reach the sun is shining in an azure sky. We spread exposed clay cliffs of the Yellow Banks, our wet gear out on driftwood logs to dry

and then wander the beach, examining the flotsam and jetsam. Barb constructs an animist shrine on the beach consisting of bones, seaweed, and gnarled wood. As the day draws to a close, a few wispy clouds blush crimson to the west. An eagle dives like a missile to snatch a fish out of the sea. It carries it, wriggling in its talons, to a nearby rock where it dines with gusto. A burnished crescent moon hangs over the dark sea before dropping to the horizon and being swallowed by the ocean, as if by a magician’s handkerchief. The morning finds us enjoying our coffee in the warm sun on what we have dubbed Bunny Skull Beach. Raucous gulls flutter around us, their cries alternating between demanding (WHERE’S THE FOOD!) and celebratory (I fly on the wild ocean winds!). We break camp and head south on loose rocks, reaching a vast tidal shelf exposed by the tide where we pick our way through a labyrinth of tide pools. No sand to be seen. After a few miles, we round a point and commence boulderhopping on dark, sculpted stones. A sea arch graces the outthrust tip of the point. Finally, we step onto smooth sand, the

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epically beautiful Kayostia Beach, a milelong stretch of unbroken white sand, and the home to the Norwegian Memorial, a monument that commemorates the wreck of the Norwegian bark Prince Arthur, lost here in 1903. In the distance, a congregation of seagulls reveals the presence of the mouth of a stream. Rounding the arc of sand, we establish camp near the freshwater among the gnarled trees at the edge of the beach. A tiny creek flows through an idyllic sun-dappled glade among the cedars. Somber eagles perch on the tallest trees like Rialto Beach jurists, feigning disinterest in us. We explore the offerings the most recent tide had scattered across the beach: polished wood, seaweed, twisted nets, dead crabs: an arrangement destined to last only until the next incoming tide shuffles the deck. Stranded pools of water reflect the sky, and the sinuous sand patterns formed by the creek ripple and undulate in the rose-colored evening light. A sea stack stands in silhouette, a single

tenacious tree clawing its pinnacle. We sit by a small driftwood campfire on the beach, relaxed and comfortable.

Barb and Rich head for their tent, and I roll out my bedroll beside the fire and count the stars. Awakened in the dim light of morning by the barking of vociferous sea lions,

we tarry over our morning coffee. It’s an absolutely brilliant morning—the sun gleams on the blue Pacific, and a gentle breeze escorts clouds, fluffy as an illustration in a children’s book, across the sky. After a respectful period of contemplation, we set about breaking camp and loading our backpacks. We’ve covered 14 miles and have only nine left until the end of our traverse at Rialto Beach. We intend to cover that distance over two days, with ample time along the way for further contemplation. We hike up the beach in the sparkling sunshine until confronted by an abrupt headland which we climb, using the fixed ropes provided. Shortly after descending the other side, we reach the mouth of Cedar Creek and a breathtakingly beautiful

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On the Beach The 23-mile traverse from Lake Ozette to Rialto Beach is the easiest of the major Olympic Beach Traverses. Still, it challenges hikers with sections of surfside boulder hopping, and several climbs over headlands that require the use of fixed ropes. In addition, knowledge of the tides is essential—numerous places can only be passed on a slack tide, and getting caught by an incoming tide could be disastrous. A tide table is mandatory. The entire way is hugely scenic: lonely wind-swept beaches, towering sea stacks, luminous tide pools, and coastal forests that redefine the color green. This is primeval wilderness. Hikers must be self-

beach. The creek cuts a curvaceous channel through the sand, and offshore rocks rise from the tumultuous sea like black chessmen. We are obliged to stop, drop our packs and savor the wild aesthetics for a half-hour, grateful for our unhurried itinerary. Continuing south, the walking is captivating: a small point we easily

The art of nature Trish Harding

Campsite, Olympic Beach Traverse

sufficient and practice strict no-trace ethics, including storing all food in ‘bear cans’ (the raccoons here are practically safe-crackers) and properly disposing of human waste. A wilderness permit (available through Olympic National Park) is required for all overnight stays.

round, another outrageously beautiful beach, and a fine assortment of sea stacks. Next comes a small headland that requires a short ‘up and over,’ again utilizing fixed ropes, dropping us down to a lonely-looking pocket beach with a diminutive creek issuing forth out of the cedars, splashing in a little Disney-esque waterfall. After looking south towards

Cape Johnson and calculating the incoming tide, we decide to make camp here beneath a cliff, protected from the tide’s reach by a massive beach log. We relax in this picturesque enclave as the tide rolls in, enjoying the wild scene. We haven’t seen another soul since we left camp this morning. Leaning back on a log in the sunshine keeps me occupied for a good long time. In my experience, there’s nothing like sitting on a Therm-aRest chair and watching the tide change on a lazy afternoon. As the tide recedes, we explore the general vicinity, walking south until a towering headland precludes forward progress. The tide pools here are plentiful, slowly revealed by the ebb tide, each one a lustrous basin of undulating ocean anime. My companions head back to camp, but I linger as the light turns rosy, reflecting on the wet sand. Offshore, dark gargoyles of rock form a quintessential Olympic Coast sculpture garden enlivened by dancing waves. By the time I head back to camp,

eARTh

One Foot in the Water, One Foot on Land The Pacific Northwest is known for its critical wetlands, home to wildlife and plants that are the lifeblood of our unique ecosystem. Raised on Lummi Island with one foot in the water and one foot on land, I gained an intimate knowledge of wetlands and learned to appreciate the dramatic shadows and dazzling reflections. As an artist, I have discovered that even though it is a dry medium, pastel is a perfect medium to render the drama and excitement of our local wetlands. Texture—it turns out—is pastel’s superpower and wetlands have a multitude of textures; everything from brambles and bark to grasses and water.

Top Row (L-R): Tall Trees Reflections, Pink Grasses. Squalicum Reflections Bottom Row (L-R): Orchard Street Wetlands, Bug Lake Bushes, Tangled Wetlands

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darkness has fallen, and the moon shimmers on the incoming breakers. After a few hours around a crackling campfire, Barb and Rich head into their tent, and I sit quietly, enjoying the evening, listening to the surf music, and watching the liquid moonlight on the sea. A dense layer of coastal fog settles over the beach at first

light, reducing our world to the little beach and adjoining headland. A pair of eagles sit side-by-side on a sea stack as if posing for a group picture. Tangled masses of seaweed left behind by the evening tide cover the beach and in the muted light, it is an unnaturally luminous green. We have some rough travel today—three large points to round, all requiring a low tide for passage—but our packs are noticeably lighter now, owing to our diminishing stores of food. We time our departure with the receding tide and set out around the point north of Cape Johnson, where we are obliged to engage in some serious boulder hopping across the seaweedslippery tidal shelf. Barb describes it as something like climbing

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on wet bubble wrap (but more slippery). Then, after a brief respite on a small halfmoon-shaped beach, it’s back onto the rocks and the rounding of Cape Johnson itself, a vast jumble of sea-splashed rocks, driftwood, and starfish, very popular with the local eagles.

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We reach sand again at the Chilean there, illuminating us in a painterly light. Memorial, where a stone marker comI find myself singing. memorates the wreck of the Chilean We cross Ellen Creek on a conveship, W.J. Pirrie, lost in a horrendous nient log and stride into the trailhead storm in 1920. The schooner’s hull split parking lot, enjoying the delightful mixin two, and all 20 sailors were swept into ture of elation and well-earned weariness the storm-tossed sea. Two crew members that marks the end of a good hike. The made it to shore and were eventually res23 miles we’d covered from Lake Ozette cued by members of the Quileute Tribe. was filled with enough splendor to last a Eighteen crew members perished. lifetime. One can only say a silent ‘thank The cove, encircled by cliffs, is filled you’ to William O. Douglas for his part with shadows. in saving this amazing place. ANW We navigate around the rocks of the last unnamed point, through the Hole in the Wall, and step onto the fine sand of Rialto Beach. The final mile is pure joy, sailing across The Ozette – Rialto Traverse: the packed sand, A Guide to Superlatives backpack feeling as • Best Beaches: Kayostia, Cedar Creek light as a feather. The fog rolls around • Best Sea Stacks: Norwegian Memorial to Hole in the Wall the offshore rocks, • Spookiest Campsite: Chilean Memorial and the sun shines • Gnarliest Boulders: Cape Johnson through here and

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Variations on a Theme of Wonder By Bruce Barnbaum

’ve lived in the Pacific Northwest for 32 years, giving me time to study it, finding unparalleled variety and wonder everywhere I look. From glacier-clad mountains, to the forests growing on their flanks and down to the lowlands—where they’ve been allowed to survive without logging, to the details within those forests, to our magnificent coastline, and even to the geometric wonders found in our urban downtown areas, there is something for everyone. Somehow, I am drawn to each of these diverse elements, not in the same way, but drawn to all, nonetheless. See more of Bruce Barnbaum’s photography at www.barnbaum.com. Visit AdventuresNW.com to view an extended gallery of Bruce Barnbaum’s photography. Top Row (L-R): Ridge and Mt. Baker; Sunbeams, Rialto Beach Middle Row (L-R): What was…What is; Newt Inspecting Mushroom Bottom Row (L-R): Ruby Beach Driftwood and Sea Stacks: Skunk Cabbage, Flare; Dance of the Corn Lily; Lady Fern on May Lilies

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Reefnet Fishing Sustainabilty on the Salish Sea Story and Photos by Nick Belcaster

n the spring of 1984, a team of scuba divers and archeology students assembled on the rough cobble beach of Legoe Bay, located on the shores of Lummi Island in the Salish Sea. They were not there to search out the sunken remains of a ship but rather to investigate stories that had been told on this island long before any of them were born. A story about stones. Beneath the surface, they found what they were looking for: irregular stones, unlike those that usually covered the seafloor in this area, often angular, all of a similar size, and in a pattern readily recognizable as ancient anchor stones, traditionally used in reefnet fishing, proving that reefnetting at Watching and Waiting Legoe Bay had been going on for a long time. Exclusive to the Salish Sea, reefnetting, a subsistence style of salmon fishing invented by the Coast Salish tribes that call the region home, has existed for at least 1,800 years. Unlike tribes living at the mouths of great rivers where salmon consistently returned each fall, the people of the straits used reefnetting to intercept Fraser River salmon as they made their 34

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long end-run around Vancouver Island northward toward their natal rivers. Traditionally, their nets were woven from willow bark and secured to anchor stones by heavy lines made of cedar, then suspended between two canoes creating an artificial reef that would entice salmon to the surface. In this way, native fishermen were able to stockpile sufficient amounts of fish to last until the salmon returned.

Historically practiced throughout the San Juan archipelago, today reefnetting takes place in only a handful of bays. A passive fishing method, unique among the schemes humans have dreamt up for acquiring finfish, it requires no lures, hooks, or spears. Salmon are simply lofted from the sea in the upturned palm of a net, which is why reefnetting today is one of the most sustainable fishing methods in the world. Non-targeted species are plucked from the live wells and tossed

back, earning reefnetting a by-catch rate of less than one percent. Today, onboard winches are powered using solar energy, and barges are stationary, meaning no fossil fuels are burned chasing fish. It’s not a fishery that has rid itself of all the problematic trappings of modern fishing; it’s a technique that simply never had them. And, it may be our best hope to save our salmon. The call finally came on a Thursday. “Well, looks like they’re giving us a day to fish. We’ll see you on the beach, just wave and we’ll collect you.” The speaker was Ian Kirouac, president of the seafood collective Lummi Island Wild. I was to be given a closeup look at the art of reefnetting. Today, Legoe Bay is one of the only locations where a reefnet season still occurs en masse, albeit with modernized equipment, and on the late August day that I arrived by skiff, Kirouac was perched high on an elevated platform above Rosario Strait, knuckles wrapped around the rail. As the ‘spotter,’ his is a simple job: find the fish. His eyes scan the sea with the gleam of a hunter-gatherer. Down on the deck below, there’s a commotion, where some undercurrent of >>> Go to

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fish-sense has taken hold among the crew. Someone saw a jack jump far out, and now the crew is busy “reading tea leaves” in the currents and waves, attempting to divine some message from the broad wheeling of an eagle. Sometimes this forecast pans out, and the proof spills across the deck; other times, the signs are simply that: Signs. Just wind. Just wave. But now another jumper is spotted, and it’s real, and the excitement is spreading. The buzz leaps from barge to barge, spanning across the wide belly of the bay. Kirouac has already seen the signs, of course, and later will explain to me that it’s all in the shimmer. I imagine it’s akin to how in wanting to see more stars, one might turn to catch them in your peripheral vision, where light is better registered. Then the command comes from above— Take ‘em! Kirouac works a tangle of lines, and the ancient winches on deck howl as they hoist the net between the two barges. The fishermen below take their stances,

and as the net nears the surface, the sea boils with the backs of salmon. Armfuls of net are hauled in until the fish are packed into a corner below the rails, then in one unified heave are hoisted over the lip and into the live wells on deck. Some members of the crew are battered by the jackhammer-dynamo of salmon in full frenzy as they are flung past them, leaving them wiping scales from their faces. The process takes less than a minute. Bounty now secured, the fishermen begin the process of counting. Kirouac already has his eyes back on the water. As fishing methods go, the catch is relatively small. A commercial seiner hauls in as many fish in a single day as a reefnetter might catch in an entire season, but as Kirouac explains, it’s a question of quality over quantity. The term, artisanal is not a misnomer. Here’s how it works: The two floating platforms are anchored in line with the direction of the flowing tide. From these platforms, an artificial reef of lines

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extends out and down, which coaxes the and native fishers pivoted to purse seining salmon to rise up and over a small net in order to make a living. Today, he reas they travel northward. Once spotters see a school of salmon swim over the net they make the call, and the salmon are hauled up and into the live wells on deck. Fish are then allowed to settle and are bled, which decreases the lactic acid in their flesh. Then they are quickly whisked away by tender to be put on slush ice, creating the highly superior final product that fish-eaters have come to clamor for. Taking a stance with Kirouac up on the spotting tower, I observe the rhythms of the day on the water—the calls, the frenzied hauls, the lulls in between. Kirouac relays to me the near-history of reefnetting: how when whites came to this island in Hoisting the Net the 1880s, they brought with them first fish traps, then purse seining boats that brought exponentially greater ports, the tide is showing the promise of catches. Then, in the 1930s to 50s whites turning: the Kinley family of the Lummi slowly gained ownership of the fisheries, Nation has recently started using reefnet

gear in Legoe Bay, fishing cooperatively with Lummi Island Wild, a gesture that Kirouac called incredibly special to see. “The only reason that the tribes would get back into it in modern times is the economics of it. If reefnetting is to have a resurgence, it’ll be because native fisherman will bring it up with them,” Kirouac says. “For now, we’re placeholders for the tradition.” The same year scuba divers were plotting out anchor stones in Legoe Bay a very important tally began. The scorekeeper was the Pacific Salmon Commission: a bilateral group of stakeholders representing the interests of commercial and recreational fisheries of the U.S., Canadian and tribal governments, and what they were counting was fish. A lot of fish at first, although the longer they kept count, the less fish they seemed to be counting.

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ing dog food and commanding a lesser price, there is one thing absolutely true about them: there are many, many more of them than other Pacific salmon. “Pink salmon in Alaska have a negative reputation, where they’re left on the dock after being caught,” Kirouac says, which in turn leads to a negative spiral of bad quality when the fish finally hit the plate. But because of the way they are fished from Legoe Bay, pink salmon off the reefnet gears are SAN JUAN ISLANDS MUSEUM OF ART

Soon it became apparent that something was very wrong with the numbers of salmon returning to the Salish Sea. Populations of Chinook salmon, the kings of the Pacific, are down 60% since the Commission started tracking. Similar things can be said about silvers, sockeye, and chum salmon. A laundry list of compounding factors contribute to the decline: the impacts of dams, fertilizer leaching from stormwater runoff, a particularly bad landslide in British Columbia, but one stood out above the rest: overfishing. We were simply grocery bagging entire generations of fish. One of the fishermen hoists up a fish so that I might get a better look. It isn’t the mighty fat-bellied Chinook, or the hard-fighting silver, or the get-outthe-nice-flatware sockeye, but the salmon-cousin more often found in a can than anything else: the pink salmon. Although much-maligned in some parts as not worth much more than becom-

prized. Pink salmon isn’t just the catch of the day on the reefnet. It’s the future. Because of their two-year life cycles, pink salmon return to spawn much sooner than other species of salmon, and a 2018 study found that pink salmon quite possibly make up 70% of all salmon in North Pacific waters. The Fraser River pinks are still relatively plentiful. The season is decided by the Pacific Salmon Commission, and fishing doesn’t begin until enough

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salmon have made it upriver to sustain existing runs. “Everybody gets together and has a very messy conversation,” Kirouac says. “But the priority is always the escapement numbers upriver.” The reefnet fishery has caught the attention of large buyers, including Patagonia Provisions. They often purchase an entire season’s worth of catch to sell as sustainable alternatives to more in-demand salmon species, with an eye on preserving the fisheries. Their smoked pink salmon find their way to shelves across the country and are part of a burgeoning movement to push pink salmon into the spotlight. “Without people paying a higher price and placing a

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higher value on pinks, there won’t be an economic driver,” explains Kirouac. The light starts to fade, and the tide has turned; it’s time to fold up shop. The crew hauls the net out of the water, and the barges are drawn in close for the evening, ready to be deployed again tomorrow—if another day of fishing is allowed. We all pile into the skiff, maneuvering ourselves in between the full totes of salmon, and head for shore. As we motor in, a voice from near the bow of the boat asks what the price per pound looks like, asking for some barometer of how the day, but also the season, might pan out. Kirouac, at the outboard, turns with a small flash in his eyes as if he had been waiting to hear the question and reports a number that elicits cheers from the crew. Some here have been reefnetting for pink salmon for more than 20 years, and the number is the best they’ve ever heard. The best price in years; the best price it’s ever been. A record-breaker for pink salmon. The sun dips below the horizon. The reefnet story is still being told, the tide is still rising, the fish are still coming home, and the nets very well may save us yet. ANW

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A Choice Story by Matt Hainstock

here are moments in life that shine into that liminal space between who we were and who we may be. In those spaces are opportunities to sense the world in new ways.

rounding us had the kind of primal beauty Eric etched into his woodblock prints. As the waves crashed with their unending rhythmic booms beyond the breaks, Pam told me in a calm and decisive way she no

The choices we make are powerful. Camus said we might choose each day whether we want to step into the arena of life or remove ourselves from it. People suffering from chronic pain see the world differently. Pam Bealer had to live with the daily pain of multiple sclerosis, and she eventually decided to choose to end Letting Go by Eric Bealer (courtesy Sitka Conservation Society) that struggle rather longer feared death. “When it is my time, than prolong her Earth-Life. She told me I will go.” She meant it. she had made peace with that decision about three weeks before she and her husband Eric, “by their own free choice This conversation with Pam and and will,” committed suicide. Eric Bealer occurred when I traveled to We were in the homemade wooden Greentop Harbor on Yakobi Island with dory that Eric had made, traveling over my dad in August 2018. We had come cold water filled with kelp and the chop to visit a cabin that my great-great-uncle of waves in Greentop Harbor on the Joe Scott had carved into the Tongass western side of Yakobi Island, located in National Forest on land that had become the Alexander Archipelago not far from the West Chichagof-Yakobi Wilderness the mouth of Glacier Bay. Eric Bealer was in 1980. Like the Bealers, he had come an exceptional artist, his wood engravto Alaska to live an authentic life, a life ings—inspired by the elemental forces centered on his connection to the land. that surrounded him—were well-known He had been born in Iowa in 1902, and much sought-after in the galleries of and the family story goes that in the early southeast Alaska. The rocky cliffs sur40

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1930s, Joe and his father had a falling out, leading to Joe not returning to Iowa until his father passed away in the 1960s. Joe was known for holding a grudge for a lifetime. Though he seemed a hard man on the exterior, Joe was soft-hearted and social with those he trusted. Monthly, when he went to the nearby village of Pelican to get his mail, including his hometown newspaper, The Maquoketa Sentinel Press, he dropped off flowers he grew for people in town. Greentop Harbor is still home to three cabins; Joe’s and two others. One is managed by the National Forest, you can rent it for $40 a night. According to the logbook, about six to ten people rent it per year, mostly kayakers and the occasional wandering Joe Scott relative. There is a third cabin between Joe’s cabin and the Greentop Forest Service Cabin, last owned by Pam and Eric Bealer. When Joe built his cabin in the 1940s Alaska was the frontier of America, not yet a state, though it has been home to the Tlingit and other indigenous people since time immemorial. Tlingit history is the root human history of Yakobi Island, of Sitka on Baranof Island, and Southeastern Alaska. >>> Go to

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Unfortunately, those human roots and indigenous names were left off the maps, when the Tlingit were left out of the negotiations between the Russians and Americans as they discussed who would own the lands that make up southeastern Alaska. Joe Scott wrote a letter to the US Federal Government asking them to grant Alaska statehood. Finally, when statehood came in 1959, Joe, and other Alaskans, got their wish. Seemingly, the salmon were still plentiful, the land still empty. There was little thought about regulations, conservation, or respect for the indigenous people who called this northern Eden home. Though by and large, the collective Alaskan mind did not choose to change. The continued damming of rivers, overfishing, and nutrient depletion of those rivers and the ocean inevitably led to the end of an era. In a local news interview with Joe in 1987, he talks softly, with a sense of regret and acknowledgment, about how the salmon weren’t coming like they used to, about how the dams had changed these places forever. He talks of aging and reflects with a palpable longing that he can’t go into the mountains and hunt a buck like he used to. Time has caught up with him and with Alaska. Joe passed away in March 1988. There are people in this world who will show you paths and ways of being that you didn’t even know existed. In our world of increased specialization, technological and social isolation, and the continued separation from the physical environment, it is easy to forget that life can be pretty simple, in a hard and laborious kind of way. Pam and Eric Bealer had forged a homestead near Pelican, Alaska; a one-hour boat ride down the Lisianski Strait from Greentop on neighboring Chichagof Island. Both were artists. Their farm ran on muscle power and determination. Pam told me that when electricity gets piped in, they tend to head for the door. Eric added that people’s brains seem to go out when the lights go on. The Bealers were in thoughtful moods the day I met them. Eric was his gregarious, non-stop chattering self, and Pam was reflective and humorous. His chatter resembled a red squirrel, which he explained by saying, “My totem is a red squirrel, and Pam’s is a brown bear, and I keep repeating that imagery in my art, just like life.” The pairing made sense. Eric gave me a tour of their small plot in the forest; the shed with the chickens, his woodworking tools, the fence that he’d crafted from twisted logs to frame the garden and their walkway up to the house. To me, it seemed like Eric was a magician with wood. A true master. He built practical objects such as boats, fences, and bridges, and of course, also created his exquisite woodblock prints by using the old ways—slow, hand-carved, inked, and then run through an old heavy printing press, with a story of its own. Eric stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.

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captured the Alaskan landscape in an fishermen used extensively before plastic ethereal way, a way that comforted you in floats became the standard. She’d been black and white. looking for one her whole life, she said. Eric showed my dad and me some of Maybe today would be her day. the prints he had in the cabin. While he We walked through the flotsam, the explained his creation technique, he pointed out the hearts, the shadows in between worlds, a bear’s reflection, a dragon that looked like a raven, and laughed about the appeal that his work had for the tourists in Sitka, who purchased his prints at the Sitka Rose Gallery. “They love glaciers and hearts. I’ve sold more prints of hearts and glaciers than anything else I ever made.” He laughed again. The cosmic joke is that what calls to us seems so obvious. Love and beauty. A Room with a View. Photo by Matt Hainstock People are fools for it. It was a beautiful September day: half clouds and half sun. We explored the beach where Joe Scott had found a whale with a harpoon still stuck in its side, Whale Beach. The harpoon is in the Sitka museum, and two of the whale’s rib bones adorn the shed next to Joe’s cabin. Pam was hopeful. She’d been looking for a glass float, the kind Japanese

beach gathering kelp and shells and the cold water foam that lapped up on the small shoreline. We talked about the land and how people have made their living in

these spaces, both in the past and in the present. I asked questions, and Eric was more than willing to share his answers gleaned from years of calling this part of Alaska home. Pam walked slowly and explored the edges of the beach, poking among the driftwood, hoping to find a float, clearly lost in thought. After a while on the beach, Eric suggested that we visit Power Island with its flat rock, from which one can view the spectacle of the Pacific crashing against the black lichen cloaked cliffs. He said, “You might see an orca or sea otters going about their business if you’re lucky,” then added with a zen-Buddhist kind of chuckle, “It’s a spot one might go to meditate on world peace.” He had the kind of laugh that creates joy and goofiness out of all that seriousness that people carry around. On the way to Power Island, Pam and I talked in the front of the boat.

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She let me know that she wasn’t scared of death, that she had made her peace with the world and death and her condition. That when it was her time, she’d know and wouldn’t hesitate. Eric chimed in emphatically that he would go with her, that she wouldn’t have to go alone. That this world wasn’t worth living in without her. I nodded, not really understanding the depth of the moment in real-time. No one had ever told me they would commit suicide together rather than travel this world alone. I could see on Eric’s face that he didn’t want either of them to go alone. I imagine he didn’t want to worry about getting lost in the unknown if they went at different times. Pam didn’t find her glass float that day. I could tell she’d expected that the narrative might work out perfectly, a

belief that she might have manifested something into being.

The photograph of Joe Scott that had been hanging in “the wrong cabin.”

On the day my dad and I left Greentop on a floatplane, we said goodbye to Eric and Pam.

They gave my dad a black and white photo of Joe Scott with a backpack and rifle; chest puffed out. His gaze is strong in the photo as he searches the distance with his eyes. The photo had been hanging in the wrong cabin for many years, and the Bealers felt it should go home with us. When the floatplane pulled up, Eric and Pam grabbed the rope and pulled it in, wading into the tide in their brown Xtratuf boots. The pilot and the Bealers had an Alaskan conversation that felt more like an ideological knife fight than one of pleasantries. Where you are froms and who do you knows were exchanged. The pilot and the Bealers had lived in similar spots but in different periods of development. The pilot was a big fan of roads, electricity, logging, and basically “progress” in its

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The Tongass At a staggering 16.7 million acres, Alaska’s Tongass National Forest is the largest intact coastal temperate rainforest in the world—and by far the largest of our National Forests, more than three times larger than any other unit in the system. It is home to ancient stands of Sitka spruce, Alaska cedar, western red Photo by John D’Onofrio cedar, and western hemlock. Old-growth trees are vital for supporting salmon habitat as they provide shade that keeps streams cool as temperatures rise due to climate change. In late November of last year the U.S. Department of Agriculture proposed restoring longstanding protections (the Roadless Rule) for the Tongass, after the Trump administration abruptly opened nine million acres for road-building, logging and development in 2020, despite widespread opposition from residents, southeast Alaska tribes, the commercial fishing community, and tourism-centered businesses. According to the Forest Service, among public comments received, 96 percent supported keeping the Roadless Rule (originally created in 2001) in place.

The Bealers had shared their sacred spaces. Shared their art, food, what they loved in life and their connection with two strangers. I feel lucky that I was able to meet them, to share that moment in time with them, and I still think of them often. Sometimes I wonder if Pam found a glass float before she passed into another world. I hope so. I’d like to think that even random human lives have movie script endings, sometimes. That life is filled with moments that come together like a dream.

Fishing and tourism account for 26 percent of southeast Alaska’s economy, while the timber industry accounts for only 1 percent. And according to Taxpayers for Common Sense, the U.S. Forest Service lost $16.1 million on timber sales in the Tongass in 2019 and more than $1.7 billion since 1980.

many forms, while the Bealers were for slowing down, going back to the earth, taking care of what was, and trying to stop the tide of destruction that has come over Alaska. When we had our belongings on the plane, we said goodbye to Eric and Pam and thanked them for their hospitality. They had taken us into their home— their carefully chosen place of refuge— and had been generous guides to a place that meant so much to them and now meant so much to us. There was a depth to what the Bealers shared with us that somehow connected

the legacy of Joe Scott to the present moment. An expression by people from different, overlapping time periods, with different ways of showing a deep love and connection to a place. When the news that Eric and Pam had committed suicide reached me at my home in Colorado, it hurt and felt surreal. The moments and conversations we’d shared were deep and meaningful. They were moments steeped in depth and the culmination of lives lived and choices made.

Eric and Pam Bealer on Yakobi Island. Photo by Matt Hainstock

Post Script: The passing down of someone’s life and core beliefs is not an easy thing to internalize. To be a bit metaphysical (which Pam and Eric certainly were), I have felt their presence in spaces beyond the normal context of my daily existence. They’ve inhabited my dreams, and I’ve felt them riding the wind when I’ve been in deep, wild, and transitory places. I’ve

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felt them when I am in the glaciated mountains of the Pacific Northwest, in the deep, old-growth forests. I’ve felt them while finding the tracks of a bear, listening to the chatter of a red squirrel on its midden of pine cones in a cedar forest. I think about the Bealers in those moments. I think about life and death and powerful choices. Pam and Eric Bealer passed all of their material possessions to the Sitka Conservation Society’s Living Wilderness

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Fund. Their cabin and garden will go back to the land over time, reintegrating into the trees, water, and soil that they came from. The Bealers will be the last people to inhabit that cabin. The deepest thing you can do in life is to make a choice to live your life fully. To wake up each day and engage in the natural, deep, earth-world that is outside your door. To push beyond the pains of human life and keep trying to make the world a more beautiful place. Sometimes

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that choice means acknowledging that you must let go, you must slow down. To love a place and people, and for them to love you, you must be there. You must be present. ANW

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In ‘Just Spring’ An Ode to Multi-Sport Season Story by Gregory Scruggs

“A

“The Waste Land, it is often claimed, is a poem about sterility of all kinds— bodily, spiritual, geographical—and how post-war Europe had become a kind of wasteland after the horror and destruction of the First World War,” writes literary critic Oliver Tearle. Thus does Eliot decry the transition from winter to spring, as he fears fecundity amidst such decayed surroundings.

pril is the cruelest month,” wrote T.S. Eliot exactly one hundred years ago in the opening stanza of The Waste Land. The famous first line reads like an indictment of the fourth month as Eliot yearns to stave off vernal rebirth and remain in the stillness that precedes spring:

the Pacific Northwest’s many natural blessings are micro-climates across elevation bands that offer our region a better alternative moniker au printemps: multi-sport season. While Mother Nature does not always cooperate with our arbitrary division of the calendar, it seems that April is often the sweet spot when snowpack and sunshine align. On April 1, water managers take their annual measurement to gauge the fullest depth of the winter snowpack. As the month progresses, daily high temperatures can invite t-shirts, and daylight illuminates the sky past 8 pm. The end result is a mountains-to-sound smorgasbord, a month where just about every outdoor activity is potentially in play, depending on the day’s weather. Still craving powder turns? Freak April snowstorms in the high country are by no means guaranteed, but also not unheard of. My first time down the Slot Couloir on Mt. Snoqualmie was an April venture where the sheltered upper mountain chute held a foot of fresh snow. Last season, I turned around on a ski tour

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. I can imagine that spring conjured a bleak landscape for Eliot, looking out across Harvard Yard in his undergraduate days. I, too, spent my collegiate years in New England, where spring has another name: mud season. As Eliot’s classmate and contemporary e. e. cummings described the season: “in Just- / spring when the world is mud- / luscious.”

Photo by Tim Gibson

While hardly as ponderous as the pretensions of high modernist poets, the northwestern adventurer knows that the forgetful snow looms nearby even as dull roots stir with spring rain. Among

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in the Snoqualmie Pass backcountry due to storm slab avalanche problems a full week after the final buzzer had sounded on March Madness. Ready for the corn harvest? When the sun shines on April’s longer days, an overnight freeze turns soft under solar glare and leads to corn snow. Some skiers and snowboarders will even go so far as to argue that corn is superior to powder—I myself wouldn’t agree to such heresy—but the reliability of a springtime corn harvest is like a second ski season where fat powder skis give way to their narrower siblings. And an ice axe and ski crampons become more essential than an avalanche beacon, shovel, and probe. Heading downhill from the alpine, the foothills become more inviting once springtime has banished incessantly cold dampness from the mossy forest. Plenty of mountain bikers rip our local trails twelve months a year, but for the fair-weather riders among us, April yields those first summerlike days where the winter rainwater has drained from the dirt and the sunshine dapples through the tree canopy. Spring snowmelt engorges our local rivers and sends whitewater kayakers paddling down torrents searching for rapids and eddies. Hikers might find summits below 5,000 feet in elevation no longer guarded by snow and ice. With the first taste of the year’s longer days, the Pacific Northwest spring turns vehicles into joyous carriers of a jumble of racks and straps. Skis on the roof and bikes on the trailer hitch? Or kayak on the roof and snowboard in the trunk? These are the best kind of first-world problems when decision-making involves the logistics of how to slide on snow in the morning and paddle or pedal in the afternoon with enough time remaining to catch a sunset over the Salish Sea. Down at sea level, afternoon sun rays caress beaches on the shores of Puget Sound. When April temperatures creep into the 60s, I’m game to squeeze into my wetsuit for open water swimming off Seattle’s Lincoln Park or Golden Gardens. While the

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Northwest’s truly hardcore swimmers plunge into the saltwater 365 days a year, I confess that I wait until I can warm my sodden bones on the shore after swimming while watching sea kayakers, paddle boarders, and sailboats dart across the waters. To each their own when it comes to springtime outdoor pursuits, but I make the case that the multi-sport season’s true perfection lies in ski mountaineering. Only a handful of Cascade passes are maintained through winter. Once snowstorms cease their winter assault on the Cascades and snow on forest roads begins to melt, entrée to the mountains multiplies for northwest skiers previously constrained by limited access. As dirt begins to reveal itself on the countless miles of forest roads that snake through this rugged range, distant peaks become attainable. Last year, I competed in a challenge hosted by the Arc’teryx Seattle store and open to Washington-based athletes. The prompt was simple: Who could gain the most human-powered vertical feet during the month of April? My plan of attack involved a fast and light approach for long days in the mountains going after spring summits in a single push. Over ten days, my ski partner Tim Gibson and I ticked off North Sister, Middle Sister, Mt. Jefferson, Mt. Hood, and Mt.

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Stuart. We traveled from Oregon’s high desert, where the Sisters beckon from the gaps between spindly trees, over Santiam Pass to the veritable jungle at the base of Mt. Jefferson. After descending the South

Milk Gully, we went from a lifeless world of glaciers and rock to a riot of vegetation that resembled The Lost World. With a seemingly endless window of high pressure, we gazed out from the summit of

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Wy’east, marveling at the volcanic spine of the Cascades before picking our way down a technical route on the Newton Clark Headwall, one of the 50 Classic Ski Descents of North America. Although non-volcanic, linking a route down Ulrich’s Couloir on Mt. Stuart without a snowmobile was the most grueling of the bunch: a 15.5-hour day with 11,000 vertical feet over 25 miles. After each romp through the alpine, we retreated to a world below the snow line coming back to life—from flowers blooming after winter hibernation to outdoor patios newly abuzz at local breweries. The ability to travel through the seasons in the span of a day is a surreal hallmark of the Cascadian spring. In the end, in April 2021, a Seattle trail runner who worked his own strategy of hill repeats closer to home bested my 57,618 vertical feet. For him, the snow line was a ceiling. For me, it was a floor. But therein lies the magic of multi-sport season, where two athletes can tackle the same competition with entirely different modes of travel. As any Subaru laden with too many toys can attest, spring is a season of possibility. ANW

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Recreation Northwest Charts a New Path Story by Todd Elsworth

advocacy. We created a pilot program, Parkscriptions, to promote spending time in nature. Our geographic and demographic scopes have changed along with the people we’ve worked with and served. Through our pandemic pivot, we chose to focus on further developing and merging our Fairhaven Park Stewardship and Parkscriptions programs to create opportunities for the public to get outside. Working together with the Bellingham Parks and Recreation Department, Recreation Northwest became Park Stewards for Fairhaven Park in 2014. We chose this particular park due to the impacts of the Bellingham Traverse This evolution is our reWork Party at the Fairhaven Park Native Plant Garden in Fairhaven Park. Trail Run leg – our signature sponse to the impact we felt as the Photo by Caleb Savage event at the time. Building on pandemic wave swept away our Historically, Recreation Northwest our years of stewardship, we were busy events and related activities. So we went has served a variety of communities. last year removing wildlife barriers and back to the drawing board. With funding We began with multi-sport races, added with our partners from Wild Whatcom secured in 2021 to explore opportunities park stewardship and expanded into outand Phillips 66 Refinery, removing for new programs, we focused on movdoor recreation economic development additional invasive species and creating forward as a nimble organization and

ecreation Northwest, known over the years for producing community events like the Recreation Northwest Expo and the Bellingham Traverse, now plans to leverage our Fairhaven Park Stewardship and Parkscriptions programs to expand and evolve into new programming and efforts to benefit our community. In addition, we are evolving to add Outdoor Recreation & Nature Education programs for the public as the path forward to meet the needs of our community.

have added capacity to fulfill these goals. Our primary partners are Bellingham Parks and Recreation, Bellingham Tourism, and the WWU Recreation & Management Leadership Department.

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ing new opportunities for the public to enjoy this beautiful park. We also began working with the Whatcom Coalition for Environmental Education (WCEE) to collaboratively develop “Outdoor Classroom” spaces for active and passive public education and use. Our recent WCEE Focus Group included representatives from Bellingham Parks, North Cascades Institute, and Wild Whatcom.

Experiences & Education Over the past two years, we have witnessed resounding recognition for the value that the outdoors holds and the healing powers that nature provides. We also recognized a need to educate people as stewards of our public lands and demonstrate how to recreate responsibly, leave no trace, and show respect for others. We are committed to filling that gap for our guests, community, and the recreation industry. Our programs will also reflect our Parkscriptions philosophy highlighting the mental, emotional, and community health benefits of nature. People will have opportunities to learn essential outdoor skills, trail etiquette, and about the benefits of nature. We’ll also bring attention to Woodstock Farm, an under-used jewel in our Parks. As a community, we also have gaps to fill in diversity, equity, and inclusion in the outdoors. Our Outdoor Recreation and Nature Education programs offer a variety of beginning and intermediate level educational activities outside with small

Mountain Haiku By Bill Hoke

false summit of Olympus mountains in a purple haze jigsaw puzzle of summits Photo by John D’Onofrio

groups of people in Bellingham’s parks. We’re exploring partnerships with organizations that care for underserved populations in Whatcom County to create a new program to connect people with nature. Custom experiences and scholarships are available. We are a mission-driven organization that is willing and able to recognize and respond to needs in our community. Reflecting on the evolution of our organization, we have an updated mission and vision statement for 2022 to move us forward. Our new mission: We teach the health benefits of nature, promote outdoor recreation, and steward the places where we play. Our new vision: Community Connected to Nature. ANW

Get Outside To learn more about Recreation Northwest’s outdoor recreation and nature education classes and experiences, visit RecreationNorthwest.org. Stewardship work parties, hikes, outdoor activities, and naturalist classes are suitable for the whole family. Check their calendar for regularly- scheduled guided daily walks and hikes in local Bellingham Parks. More robust hikes are also available in the Chuckanut Mountains replete with Adventure Shuttle transportation from their downtown headquarters.

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Field Trip Adventures beyond the PNW

Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument Story and photo by Ken Harrison

aving hiked many places over the last 20 years, the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, outside of Escalante, Utah, probably features the most unusual terrain I have ever experienced. There were no thick forests or glacier-touched mountains, no maintained trails or signs pointing us in any particular direction—just a vastness of otherworldly beauty, with miles and miles of Navajo Sandstone covering the landscape in all kinds of shapes, textures, and colors. A husband/wife team guided our 12 hiking club members to places not published in any hiking book or documented on the web. We hiked 11 miles our first day, looking out over thousands of acres of beauty, and didn’t encounter one other person along the route! ANW

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Cascadia Gear:

Gear Spotlight:

Essentials for your next Adventure Now here’s a seriously warm fleece jacket. The Doublebrushed sherpa fleece is super soft and plush, and extraordinarily comfortable. At just shy of 30 oz., it’s definitely not lightweight, but on a chilly evening away from the campfire, it’s just what the doctor ordered. OR describes it as “ultra-cozy,” and I can’t argue with that. More info: www.outdoorresearch.com

MSR Hubba Hubba NX-2 Backpacking Tent I’ve been a fan of MSR tents for many years and have spent more nights in them than I can count. And the newly revamped Hubba Hubba™ 2-person backpacking tent has made an already good thing even better. While not the lightest 3-season backpacking tent out there at 3 lbs. 4 oz. (4 oz. lighter than the old version), the two-door Hubba Hubba is a tent you can depend on when the weather gods do their thing. It’s solid. The rainfly offers reliable protection from the elements (after seam sealing), and the interior space (29 sq. ft. plus vestibules) is generous by backpacking tent standards. I slept in a Hubba Hubba for 29 nights in a row in Iceland last year with no worries about the Icelandic weather. And it’s quick and easy to set up. The zippers just work. I love this tent. More info: www.msrgear.com

Guest Review by Gary Malick

Arc’teryx Alpha AR GORE-TEX PRO Jacket I live in what is already considered a rainy part of the world, so when we had the wettest November ever recorded in our area, my timing was perfect when I got a new waterproof jacket. The Arc’teryx Alpha AR was my choice, and I am extremely pleased with the results. For some reason, I signed up for “The Ride in the Rain Challenge” with the personal goal of bicycle commuting 100 miles in the month (not so good timing on that choice). I accomplished my goal, and thanks to the Alpha AR’s 3-layer GORE-TEX PRO, I was not soaked on either the inside or the outside when I got to my destination. The jacket’s fit is excellent, with plenty of room for layering. The easy-to-access pit zips help when you are huffing up those hills. It packs up to a manageable size to stuff in the panniers or backpack. The construction is tough. The material will hold up well to the rigors of alpine and rock climbing environments. This is not my first Arc’teryx product—this company knows how to make bomb-proof zippers. The price point does feel a bit prohibitive, but if you spend a lot of time in the mountains or wet environments, it is an investment worth making. More info: www.arcteryx.com

The heartbeat of Cascadia

by Chris Gerston

I’ve been thinking of how many people found new things to do during the pandemic. Whether hiking, paddling, biking, skiing, or baking Kamut bread, many people sought new challenges new activities, maybe as a distraction, but also as a choice to do something new, to make the most of this time. And even if you haven’t, and it feels like you are just holding on, I think you deserve some accolades as well, since, right now, if you’re living, you’re learning new skills. So I think we will look back on these times as another challenge met, a lesson to help us know how to live in the moment. It seems our parents/teachers/society try to teach us to strive for security, but I wonder if this long-sought self-confidence comes at a cost. Perhaps we’re not supposed to reach a place devoid of insecurity. Maybe joy comes not in predictability but rather in working towards and meeting the various and plentiful random weird moments of life. The joy of learning from challenges is essentially where we build the connection from present-day events to happy memories. We learn to recognize the dynamic internal dialogue between our best and worst selves that shapes our life. I want to take this moment to thank Bellingham. Thanks to all the people who came in asking how Backcountry Essentials was faring. To all the people who made the point to spend locally because they wanted to make sure we and other local businesses survived. Ours is a special community. Let’s keep looking out for each other. Backcountry Essentials, owned by Chris Gerston, is an outdoor specialty shop located at 214 W. Holly in Bellingham, WA.

Adventures Northwest Magazine Spring 2022

Articles inside

Field Trip: Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

Recreation Northwest Charts a New Path

In 'Just Spring'

A Choice

Reefnet Fishing

The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

Hiking for Change