l ecia Sp tion Edi
ADVENTURES NORTHWEST SUMMER 2020
BACK TO NATURE
The Healing Power of the Natural World
With Contributions by:
Susan Conrad William Dietrich Darrell Hillaire Henry Hughes Lawrence Millman Robert Michael Pyle Tom Robbins Craig Romano Ted Rosen Abby Sussman Saul Weisberg Leif Whittaker THIS SPECIAL EDITION BROUGHT TO YOU BY BRANDON NELSON PARTNERS • BRETT MCCANDLIS BROWN & CONNER • WHATCOM EDUCATIONAL CREDIT UNION
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INSPIRATIONS
IN THIS ISSUE
Back to Nature
Collected Essays
16
Thin Air & Rich Light
Jason Griffith
30
Reimagining Recreation
Jenni Minier
32
Sea Kayaking the West Coast of the West Coast Neil Schulman
36
From Tiny Acorns Huxley College Turns 50
Ted Rosen
44
Change from Within
William Dietrich
48
Liquid Gold
Lawrence Millman
50
An Introduction to Kitesurfing
Nick Belcaster
52
We’re Here for You 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.
Art, Adventure & the Splash of Wild Salmon Memories of Fishtown Tom Robbins 54 The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be… amidst the simple beauty of nature. - Anne Frank
DESTINATIONS Reconnecting Out & About 3 Great Hikes ... for Summer Mountain Haiku Bright Lines: Robert Michael Pyle eARTh: The Art of Nature Vital Signs Field Trip: Lofoten Islands Cascadia Gear Next Adventure: Nooksack Falls
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Photo by Neil Schulman
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RECONNECTING
T
he world changed for me on March 13.
I had been backpacking on the lonely, wind-swept coast of Olympic National Park, savoring a few beautiful days of ocean music. My two companions and I had seen only one other person since we arrived on the remote and beautiful Kayostia Beach. The days passed as days in the wilderness so often do, in a languid, unhurried flow of exploration, art appreciation, scintillating discourse and reverie. We hiked back to the car on Friday the 13th and a glance at my phone was a shock to the system. The COVID-19 virus had reframed reality. The Governor was closing the schools. Restaurants were being ordered to close. By the time we arrived at Coupeville aboard the M/V Salish, the beach bliss was utterly extinguished. Since that anxious ferry crossing, we have all had to adjust to a new version of reality, constantly changing and unpredictable. A paradigm shift unlike any that most of us have ever known. In the days of quarantine that followed, I sustained myself by taking daily walks on the slopes of the mountain that rises near my home. These excursions would sometimes last all day and cover many miles. I was not alone in seeking this solace. Our community began to re-engage with the natural world as never before, hiking the trails, watching the birds, pausing to—literally—stop and smell the flowers. During these strange and challenging days, we have an opportunity to re-prioritize our lives; to truly see what is important and what is merely ingenious distraction. Our signal-to-noise ratio has improved exponentially. The preciousness of life has never felt more palpable and connections have never seemed so important. Connections to each other. Connections to the land.
We’ve taken advantage of the long delay in publishing our summer issue to create a special edition focused on the healing power of nature. We’ve spent those extra days (when not out in the woods) soliciting contributions from some of the finest writers, photographers and artists that grace our green planet. The response has been unanimously positive and truly humbling. And our beloved community supported this ambitious undertaking like never before. Three local businesses stepped up to sponsor this special issue. Remember their names: Brandon Nelson Partners. Brett McCandlis Brown & Conner. Whatcom Educational Credit Union. These businesses all have a long history of cummunity philanthropy and civic engagement. Without their generous support, you’d be holding a blank piece of paper. Additionally, our readers have stepped up in an amazing way by subscribing to the magazine to have it delivered to their homes. Our subscriptions have more than tripled in the past two months. You can join them by subscribing at AdventuresNW.com/subscribe. So as we move forward into a future that is filled with uncertainty, let us join together in the spirit of hope. Let us envision a future that honors all life. Let us recognize that we don’t need to invent a world that works, we only have to embrace—and honor—the world that we’ve been given.
Editor’s Note: In light of the COVID-19 situation, we’ve suspending our Outdoor Events Calendar. Look for this to return soon!
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WE THROW POOL PARTIES FOR SALMON. Environmental Science Professor Jim Helfield is helping the migration of Chinook salmon by working with tribal governments to build river logjams that form deep, cold pools for the salmon to rest in. Our small class sizes allow undergraduate students to work closely with professors like Jim to help protect our environment.
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CONTRIBUTORS Nick Belcaster lives, writes and plays in Washington State and is typically found above tree-line, refining the art of scree skiing and warding off hungry alpine snafflehounds. Susan Conrad is an author, adventurer, and kayak evangelist. You can learn more about her pelagic wanderings at susanmarieconrad.com William Dietrich was a Pulitzer-winning journalist at the Seattle Times and is the author of more than 20 books, both nonfiction and fiction. He taught environmental journalism at Huxley College and with his students wrote Green Fire, a history of the college. Shannon Finch is a writer and aspiring photographer. She lives on a small farm in Stanwood, Wa. with her husband and many rescue animals. She enjoys photographing wildlife and landscapes. Peter Frazier feels fortunate to have lived on the shores of Chuckanut Bay his whole life, and to have watched a forest grow there for half a century. He prefers to be in a boat when possible.
University.
Henry Hughes is the author of Back Seat with Fish: A Man’s Adventures in Angling and Romance, and the deputy editor of The Flyfishing & Tying Journal. He teaches literature and writing at Western Oregon
David Inscho is a believer in coffee, beer, and the profound power of wilderness. When not at his day job, he can be found backpacking with his camera in the silence of our public lands. Sarah Laing is a nutritionist, author and co-founder of S&J Natural Products, which offers CBD-infused products for healthy lifestyles. She is currently writing her second book, The Cannabinoid Diet. David Mauro is the award winning author of The Altitude Journals and the 65th American to climb the seven summits. He lives in Bellingham, WA. Author-Arctic explorer-mycologist Lawrence Millman is the author of 18 books, including such titles as Last Places, Lost in the Arctic, At the End of the World, and Fungipedia. “Liquid Gold” is from his in-progress book The Last Speaker of Bear.
Jason Griffith is a fisheries biologist who would rather be hiking towards a summit than walking along the river. When he isn’t fiddling with his camera to slow his climbing partners, Jason lives in Mount Vernon with his wife and two boys. Visit him at jasongriffith.smugmug.com
Jenni Minier brings a blend of owner, guide, mom, and mystic to the Baker Mountain Guides family. She is currently exploring the boundaries of the human relationship with recreation and what that might bring to our experience in the backcountry and beyond.
Darrell Hillaire is a former Lummi Indian Business Council member and Chairman of the Lummi Nation, founder of the Lummi Youth Academy, and currently the Executive Director of Children of the Setting Sun Productions.
Chris Moench creates contemporary prayer wheels. His wheels are revolving in homes, schools, gardens, churches, hospitals and hospices in the USA and internationally and have been featured in the New York Times, presented to President Obama and to His Holiness the Dalai Lama. Learn more at axisofhope.net
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 editing the forthcoming fourth edition of the Olympic Mountains Trail Guide for Mountaineers Books. 10
Volume 15. Issue 2
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David Neubeck lives in Bellingham with his wife Hannah and his two orange tabbies, Macaroni and Cheese. David loves riding bikes and plays no favorites between mountain, gravel and the road. David is also a part-
SUMMER | 2020
ner at the Elder Law Offices of Meyers, Neubeck & Hulford. James Papp’s photography is inspired by mystery and awe. For him, the camera is a magic portal to connect more deeply with the world of nature. See more of his work at inquirewithin.com Robert Michael Pyle is a writer, naturalist, and denizen of the Lower Columbia. His 24 books include Wintergreen, Where Bigfoot Walks, Magdalena Mountain (a novel), and four collections of poems. A lifelong lepidopterist, he has trailed butterflies from the High Rockies to the peaks of Papua New Guinea. Tom Robbins is the author of numerous bestselling novels including Another Roadside Attraction, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Skinny Legs and All and Jitterbug Perfume. His unique and imaginative voice has established him as an American cultural hero. Award winning author Craig Romano grew up in rural New Hampshire surrounded by woods and wetlands. He has written more than 20 books and hiked more than 25,000 miles in Washington. Visit him at CraigRomano.com Ted Rosen is a retired member of the Greenways Advisory Committee and the Greenways IV Levy Committee. As a staunch advocate for public parks and open spaces, he can sometimes be seen on city trails complaining about litter or incomplete trail connectors. When he is not outside complaining, he is at home reading about public policy, anthropology, and Roman history. Neil Schulman is a writer, photographer, and conservationist. He lives in Oregon, where he runs a river conservation nonprofit and the paddling season is 12 months long. You can see more of his work at neilschulman.com Christine Smith grew up with the Pacific Northwest. Her favorite things include the earthy smells of a seaweed-encrusted beach on a hot day and the excitement of discovering something new in nature. A longtime contributor to Adventures Northwest, Abby Sussman has written about far-flung jour-
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CONTRIBUTORS For the past twenty years Jimmy Watts has been a firefighter in downtown Seattle, the craftsman behind Shuksan Rod Company split-cane fly rods, and a writer. He lives with his family outside Bellingham, WA.
neys, seasons as a wilderness ranger, and the ways in which the external terrain influences the internal landscape. Judy VanderMaten was smitten by photography as a child in her native Iowa. Careers as a teacher and exhibitor refined and defined her vision, and proximity to the Columbia River excited her passion. Judy documents her world travels in extraordinary photographs, and returns to her Columbia River home for affirmation and inspiration.
Saul Weisberg is a poet, naturalist and executive director of North Cascades Institute. His current passions include birds, bugs, canoeing and walking in the mountains in the rain.
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Out&About
Fighting Climate Change: AAI Leads the Way
Massive Clearcut Planned for North Fork of the Nooksack
Founded in 1975, the American Alpine Institute (AAI) has long been recognized as one of the best climbing schools on the planet. The New York Times famously described AAI as “the Harvard of mountaineering schools.” In addition Dunham Gooding Photo by Cheryl Crooks to its educational and training programs, which are focused on the sublime mountains of the North Cascades, the company is well-known for its guided ascents and expeditions around the globe.
A massive logging operation being planned for the North Fork Nooksack River Watershed has raised concerns among environmental groups throughout the United States. The proposed project would result in clearcutting up to 1,881 acres and “thinning” another 1798 acres near Glacier and Canyon Creeks in Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest east of Bellingham, Wa.
But perhaps less well known, the company, following the lead of its founder Dunham Gooding, has also exemplified a visionary environmental ethos since day one. It begins with a strict ‘Leave No Trace’ ethic. In fact, Gooding was instrumental in establishing the Leave No Trace organization (now known as Leave No Trace Center for Outdoor Ethics) as an independent nonprofit, managed by a consortium of federal agencies and the outdoor industry. Gooding literally helped write the book on Leave No Trace. He has served on the organization’s National Leadership Council, testified before Congress, and advised Secretaries of the Interior and Agriculture of both parties on public lands administration and environmental policy. AAI has led the way in the outdoor industry ever since, moving beyond carbon neutrality to become carbon positive. “We have been working to set a good example of what companies and individuals can do to help with the climate crisis,” Gooding says. The company purchases carbon offsets (renewable energy certificates) to counterbalance the burning of carbon in all areas of their operations—from airline travel to the remote destinations that they visit to the fuel that burns in their backpacking stoves. To further reduce their carbon footprint, AAI has also made their buildings more fuel-efficient with extra insulation, converted all their lighting to LED and installed solar panels. ‘Walking the talk’ is clearly important to Gooding. And based on the remarkable places that they do some of their walking, the invitation to join them is very nearly irresistible.
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President Trump issued an executive order earlier this year invoking an emergency section of federal law that eliminated Endangered Species Act and National Environmental Policy Act requirements. The executive order, perhaps the boldest attack to date on our environment by the Trump North Fork, Nooksack River. Photo by Brett Baunton/Wild Nooksack administration, waives environmental laws—under the guise of COVID-19 economic concerns—in order to speed approval of federal projects and allows project applicants to write their own environmental reviews without the legally-required safeguards against conflicts of interest. “This is the Trump administration’s latest attack on sensible environmental laws that protect wildlife and public lands,” explains Dave Werntz, Science and Conservation Director at Seattle-based Conservation Northwest. “Now using the pandemic as a cloak to further sweep aside community voices and accountability, this is an imprudent decision and risk to our natural heritage.” This massive logging project threatens crucial habitat for Chinook salmon, a vital part of Pacific Northwest fisheries, and the main food source for endangered Southern Resident orcas. Learn more at conservationnw.org
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At Last ... Middle Fork Nooksack Dam Is Coming Down It’s been 59 years since the Middle Fork of the Nooksack River has flowed freely. Access to upstream spawning grounds for fish – most notably Chinook salmon, steelhead and bull trout – was abruptly terminated by the construction of the Middle Fork Dam in 1961. The dam, located approximately seven miles southeast of Deming, was part of a project that diverted river water into a 1.6 mile tunnel, eventually flowing into Lake Whatcom, source of drinking water for residents of Bellingham. At the time of construction, no fish passage accommodations were required. In the half-century since the dam was constructed, all three species Middle Fork Diversion Dam. of fish have seen their numbers Photo by Paul Conrad sharply decline and have been added to the federal Endangered Species list. The declining Chinook population has been linked to diminishing populations of Salish Sea Orcas, for whom they are a primary food source. Efforts to remove the dam and restore approximately 16 miles of river and tributary stream habitat have been ongoing for decades, led by the Nooksack Tribe and Lummi Nation in concert with American Rivers and numerous environmental organizations and assisted by funding from the Paul G. Allen Family Foundation. The City of Bellingham began installing a new fish-friendly diversion system this year and the dam will be demolished this month, a major victory for habitat restoration. The Middle Fork is one of three major forks of the Nooksack River, with headwaters located at the base of the Deming Glacier on the southern flanks of Mt. Baker.
Letter to the Editor Share your thoughts!
Write to editor@AdventuresNW.com
I read Jeff List’s “A Mt. Baker Circumnavigation” (ANW Spring issue) and noticed he mentions a 2007 HessShepard effort as the only previous circumnavigation of the mountain that he knew of. He may be interested in another circumnavigation that took place in 1909. Henry Engberg led a group around the mountain for the purpose of taking photos. Engberg played a dominant role in the Mt. Baker Marathon and I ran across this in my research for The Mountain Runners film that I made in 2012. Engberg commented at the time about his travails with Devil’s Club. Some things never change… Todd Warger Bellingham, WA stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
3 Great Hikes for Summer
High Divide/Excelsior Peak The glorious spine of the High Divide offers a classic ridge walk in the North Cascades. The Divide can be accessed via several trails but the Damfino Lakes route provides the easiest and most enjoyable High Divide. point of ingress, climbPhoto by John D’Onofrio ing 1500 feet in three miles to the summit of Excelsior Peak. From this sublime vantage point the wild world of the North Cascades will be spread before you: Baker, Shuksan, the Border Peaks and countless others rising against the sky, icy summits gleaming. From here, you can wander to your heart’s content through lush meadows with non-stop views all the way to Welcome Pass. Trailhead: Canyon Creek Road (FR-31), 15 miles from the Mt. Baker Highway (SR-542).
Enchanted Valley The Enchanted Valley is well named. This magical mountain enclave in the Olympics is reached via the 13 mile-long East Fork Quinault River trail and owing to its modest elevation (2,000 feet), allows for a long hiking season. The route has numerous ups and downs as it ascends beside the river through luxurious rain forest, reaching a bridged crossing of the river about two miles from the trailhead in a mossy green gorge that is classic Olympic Mountain hobbit habitat. The valley itself might remind you of the Alps, with precipitous walls laced with waterfalls and the historic Enchanted Valley Chalet (emergency use only) perched beside the river. Haul a backpack up here and enjoy an enchanted evening in the meadows or beside the river. Bear cans are required and with good reason: bears love this valley too. Trailhead: End of Graves Creek Rd. off South Shore Quinault Lake Rd.
Heliotrope Ridge For a close-up view of raw glacial ice, the Heliotrope Ridge Trail can’t be beat. This route takes you to the very edge of the Coleman Glacier on Mt. Baker, climbing 1400 feet and crossing several creeks along the way (you might get your feet wet) and reaches a sweeping moraine in 2.5 miles. The final creek crossing can be problematic when Heliotrope Creek is running high with snow melt. Remember that these sub-alpine creeks tend to rise over the course of the day and a fordable stream can become a raging torrent in a few hours on a warm day. A rocky pulpit at the end of the trail is a great place to stretch out and ponder the fantastic forms and colors of the ice. Definitely stay off the glacier unless you possess crampons, ice axe and ropes—and the wherewithal to use them. Trailhead: : Glacier Creek Rd. (FR-29), 8 miles from the Mt. Baker Highway (SR-542).
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Back to Nature
Photo by John D’Onofrio
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The Healing Power of Nature By John D’Onofrio
S
itting beside a small campfire on a Nooksack River gravel bar, the conversation turned to the big question raised by the worldwide pandemic that had changed nearly everything about the way we live our lives: what next?
say, we have very nearly lost our moorings as human beings. It has been, my companion on the other side of the fire agreed, a runaway train with no clear way to slow it down, let alone stop it. Until the pandemic. As spring unfolded, the machines began to grind to a halt and the veils
It’s a big question indeed. In many ways, our planet has been hurtling towards catastrophe for a long time. We humans have proven ourselves to be as pathologically shortsighted as we are ingenious. In the last 50 years, while our population has doubled, we’ve feverishly increased our consumption, stepped up our wholesale attack on the environment that sustains us, expanded the brute force with which we enforce the Photo by John D’Onofrio cancer of racial injustice, relentbegan to fall away, revealing much that lessly institutionalized economic inequalhad gone conveniently unseen. The ity, and surrendered our very souls to a cruelties and greed (and ever-growing never-ending stream of manipulation divide between the ‘haves’ and the and agenda-driven amplification that we ‘have nots’) were more readily apparterm, ‘the digital age’. In the growing ent, devoid of their protective façade clamor, we have very nearly lost our abiliof dancing pixels. Compassion has enty to respond to each other in meaningful joyed a renaissance, as our own vulnerhuman ways, to connect with our fellow ability has connected us directly to the travelers (human and otherwise) on this plight of the vulnerable—our fellow spinning planet, to evidence compassion, human beings, the other creatures with to be together in any real sense. That is to
Acts of Connection By Abby Sussman I have spent most of my adult life living and working in places defined by the human interface with nature—the rise of the North Cascades from the Salish Sea, the sculptures of wind on the West Antarctic ice sheet, the stark realities of predator and prey on the Alaskan tundra. The lens of wilderness travel reveals that the connections (and disconnections) between human and non-human communities are grand in scale and consequence. stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
whom we share the planet, the Earth itself. The big, obvious opportunity now before us is to embrace a re-connection with the natural world, to rediscover our rightful and natural place in the big scheme of things so we can turn away from our ego-driven, self-serving proclivities and embrace a more humble (and satisfying) role as part of something bigger than ourselves. And the sense of being part of something bigger than oneself emphatically puts the lie to the everyman-for-himself-ism that has come to define our society. In many ways, this is the healing power of nature: a chance to transcend the short-sighted demands of ego and re-discover our place in the world. We find ourselves facing no less than a reckoning. Meaningful change often comes from undesired stimuli, uninvited disruptions that make our usual comfort zones uninhabitable. Perhaps now we have an opportunity to stop the train, to reframe our priorities and to be more fully present. To be kind. To be wise. To be still. To be a part of something bigger than ourselves. ANW
It is not difficult to feel joy at the top of a mountain, seek solace from an overwhelming emptiness, or sense interconnectedness while watching a bear uproot ground squirrels. The offering of the current complex landscape is the focus on daily acts of connection—walks through the same local woods observing fiddlehead turn to fern, flower to salmonberry, new buds to shady trails. For me, this unplanned, uncharted attention on home is wonderfully synchronous with newfound parenthood. Seeing the surprise in my son’s eyes as he listens to bird song in our backyard, or watching him become transfixed by the movement of leaves in the wind is a reminder that
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we discover what we need where we seek it. I have spent decades finding relief in mountain ranges, comfort in wide vistas, consolation in hefting a Photo by John D’Onofrio heavy backpack at a trailhead. The gift of this time, in all its uneasiness, is unearthing relationships I may have taken for granted for far too long: A wave from a neighbor; a towhee at the feeder; another walk in familiar woods; seeking, and by some great miracle finding, calm, joy, and connectedness, not from the viewpoint, ANW but from the point of view.
Aqua Therapy By Susan Conrad “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.” - Isak Dinesen The inlet was long and narrow. In the early morning light, my kayak glided into a dream-like mirror image of saltwater, rainforest, and mountains. A pair of loons floated nearby, low in the water, like I did, their quintessential tremolo piercing the silence. Simultaneously knifing their bills underwater, their broad bodies following, they disappeared out of my sight. I was alone again in the potent tranquility; breathing in deep lungfuls of air, feeling inextricably connected to the
Photo by Ben Wells
ocean, the earth, the Divine, and myself. In the simple joy of floating on that glassy surface, in the company of the loons, it occurred to me that nature, even in the midst of chaos, is always seeking equilibrium—as was I. The tides ebb and flow. The seasons come and go. Rains pour from the sky; then the sun appears and dries the earth. I push and I pull on my paddle. My kayak glides forward as 18
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my muscles contract and elongate, and balance a narrow boat beneath me. I paddle through the yang and yin of mystery and magic. Water is poetry and I am in the flow. Like many of my pelagic journeys, this feeling of euphoria and connection to everything around me, of time taking on a new dimension, has repeated itself countless times. From my very first experience in a kayak on a large lake in Montana, I felt blessed to experience nature’s beauty from this perspective. I radiated a child-like sense of joy and wonder with my first sea kayak experience. I’ve floated in a magical world among whales and icebergs in Southeast Alaska. I have felt a veil of protection surround me after out-paddling a storm in southern British Columbia. After my father’s death, I turned to the ocean for solace, its aqua therapy enveloping me, transporting me into a restorative world, a healing world. Fluid by nature, water takes the path of least resistance, gracefully moving around obstacles rather than directly opposing them. Water is always changing, ebbing and flowing—like our lives and our bodies. Water is a beautiful teacher so long as we are open to its lessons. When life places obstacles in our path, be the water. ANW
We Are All Connected By Darrell Hillaire COVID-19 has disconnected the Coast Salish people from the seasonal ceremonies giving thanks to all living things—especially the salmon. The Photo courtesy of Darrell Hillaire Coast Salish lifeway includes winter ceremonies and spring/summer activities such as fishing, crabbing, war canoe racing and canoe journey. Each season feeds our spirit and keeps our culture aligned with the natural world. Each person in the numerous Salish communities has a responsibility towards this alignment. The responsibilities are often expressed via song, dance, and ceremony, and keep us connected and respectful to Mother Earth. Our communities face a huge dilemma right now. We must change values to save our grandchildren from a warming planet. Natures’ warnings are upon us right now. The warning instructs us to seek unity, seek equity, and want peace with all living things. This, my friend, is a journey of the spirit. Will you join me?
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The Importance of Feeling Small By Leif Whittaker Have you ever felt small and insignificant? Perhaps when gazing across a vast wilderness from a mountaintop or peering through a clear night sky at the infinite universe. Maybe you’ve felt it kneeling beneath the cross or bowing in prostration toward Mecca. It’s the same emotion in every case, an awareness of something much larger than yourself. For a growing number of people, that larger thing is Mother Nature, yet we do not always treat her with the sacred regard she deserves. Far too often in the outdoor community, the value of nature is tied to our interactions with it. Whether they be stories of survival, accomplishment, or self-discovery, out- Photo by John D’Onofrio door narratives are usually told from an anthropocentric perspective. That is, we speak of nature only in terms of how it serves humanity. We fight to protect land with the caveat that we will still be allowed to access our favorite locales and we promote outdoor adventure without considering the impacts increased visitation will cause. Without a doubt, experiences in nature are good for our physical, psychological and spiritual well-being. Studies of the brain are demonstrating that nature has positive effects on mental health. Contact with greenspace has been shown to have far-reaching physiological benefits. And as more is learned about the human microbiome, some scientists suggest interactions with wild plants, animals, fungi, and other organisms contribute to our overall health in previously unimagined ways. In an increasingly data-driven and materialistic world, studies like these elevate our collective understanding of the value of nature. But we would be wise to keep in mind that nature has deeper and more important functions, some of which may be beyond our current capabilities to observe, quantify, or explain. As science advances, we may someday comprehend the profound interconnectedness of every particle and organism, but for now we might have to rely on a little faith. Where do you sense a stronger connection to the divine? Standing beneath the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, built stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
and painted by human hands? Or standing on the summit of Mount Baker, formed by the astounding complexities of natural creation? Both experiences make one feel, as my father put it, “like a frail human being.” Our relationship with nature could use an infusion of this humble and awestruck sentiment. So, rather than only viewing nature as our playground, doctor, therapist, resource, or dominion, I challenge us to harken back to the perspective of our ancestors; let us think of nature as a sacred thing. ANW
Familiar Terrain By Saul Weisberg In this time of protest and pandemic, I am struck by the loneliness of being a social animal in a world that tells us not to touch. A friend told me that this is a lonely time to have a baby. I hear of weddings postponed and funerals officiated over Zoom. My uncle’s ashes wait in a New York mortuary for a future time when my cousin, brother and I can spread them on my grandparents’ graves. Where do we go to grieve, alone or together, all that has been lost? Where do we go to heal? Two weeks ago, I paddled my solo canoe around the familiar shore of Lake Padden and heard the first spring song of Swainson’s thrush—a liquid gurgle spiraling up like a ribbon from the dark woods. I pad- Photo by Saul Weisberg dle these waters nearly every week of the year. My companions vary. Sometimes I share conversations with a good friend. Other times, I let kingfisher lead me around the lake, past solitary herons and sunbathing turtles. I watch the buds of big leaf maple swell, burst and flower, turning into samaras even as the leaves unfold to shade the edges of the lake. Close to home, familiar terrain. Ten minutes after leaving my house I feel the feather-weight of the paddle in my hand. Wind, waves, sun and rain transport me to a world that makes sense again, an accessible landscape of seasons and species that don’t read the news, listen to the radio, watch TV or scan the net. When the circle of work closes around me like a cocoon, here’s the news I share with friends: a Cooper’s hawk feeding on a spotted towhee in our garden; the heron rookery I walk past in the evening after work; a flock of 500+ Bonaparte’s gulls
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feeding on tiny fish a short stone’s throw from Post Point; and the hundreds of warblers—Yellow-rumped, Black-throated gray, Townsend’s, Orange-crowned, Yellow, Wilson’s—darting across the broad canopy of maples and cedars along the Samish Crest Preserve trail. I am grateful and find solace in the small benefits of nature ANW close to home.
en away from nature. But it is my hope that the real learning which comes from all of this is how easily things can go the other way. Reckless government actions, poor stewardship, and a perennial lack of funding for the care of our wild places are all things we control, just like the pieces on child’s chess board. I hope we have learned to think more deeply about ANW these things and choose our moves carefully.
The Learning Part
Tonight’s Headline News
By Dave Mauro I coached the Chess Club at Larrabee Elementary for the years 2001 -2006, and one of the valuable things I learned was how players learned so much more from the games they lost. Losing is uncomfortable and it is precisely that discomfort which fuels improvement. Properly coached, losing can yield substantial learning. I think about that sometimes when reflecting on the experience we are having during this Corona Virus quarantine. I’ll speak for all of us in saying “we are uncomfortable.” The separation from people and places we love can hardly be soothed through the occasional Zoom call, especially when one of those places is nature. Trails and parks have been closed, campgrounds gated and locked. Just walking Taylor street dock feels risky. For true nature lovers this has been akin to losing a limb. So for all this discomfort, what learning might come from it? Certainly a greater appreciation for the remarkable beauty of Whatcom County will visit each of us. That much seems clear. We will drink in the verdant hues of spring ferns cascading down forested swales, and pause to admire a massive trailside cedar. A sweeping vista from the Chanterelle Trail will remind us of a hunger to look out across open spaces. The peace. The freshness. The abundant wildlife. We will be so, so thankful. Nature was not taken away from us. Rather we were tak-
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By Peter Frazier Governors Point, Wa. Two otters slid through the water noiselessly. They appeared to be at home and satisfied in their environment. They could not be reached for comment and did not return voice calls by deadline. A great blue heron squawked and awkwardly landed on a branch too small to hold her. This reporter found the interaction embarrassing and looked the other way to be polite. Starfish are clinging in significant Photo by Peter Frazier numbers to the barnacled sandstone of Governors Point. This, after a significant die-off five years ago. They seemed in good spirits, consumer confidence appeared high. It was a robust low tide, but not a “major sell-off”. Clams
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spouted occasionally. One reporter momentarily considered digging for them but then thought better of it, preferring to drink Aslan Batch 15 instead. Not a single engine could be heard for two hours, nor boat seen. Waves lapped the beach gently. Two bald eagles carefully surveyed from high in fir trees. With extreme social distancing in effect, an interview was not conducted to discover their opinions on the marked decline in traffic around them. The moon came out and shone down on the scene below. This reporter observed that the denizens of Salish Sea appeared to be holding up remarkably well under the circumstances. There seemed to be no hew and cry for a return to “normal”.
Mountain Haiku By Bill Hoke
ANW
What has been Lost and What has been Found By David Inscho
You have no idea how many mountain steps I took thinking of you
“Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.” - Ed Abbey It has been strange to awaken each morning and look at a closet full of clothes that have nowhere to go anymore. There
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Photo by John D’Onofrio
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POETRY FROM THE WILD
Photo by Judy VanderMaten, from The Tidewater Reach with Robert Michael Pyle, CRRPress 2020.
is no dinner date, no brewpub meet-up with the crew, or perhaps not even work. The disorientation becomes even more pronounced when juxtaposed with the dissipating dreams of the night, where there were daring encounters with others, audacious mingling in crowds, or simply walking arm-in-arm with a friend. At a time when we are faced with a starvation diet of social contact, it becomes vital to refine our awareness of our surroundings. To attend to the banquet of “otherness” brought by all these changes. There is a certain irony to the virus-imposed changes we have seen in our communities. As Photo by David Inscho the streets and highways drained of cars, we edged a little closer to the forgotten original values of our wild lands. We noticed it in the fresh air, and the quiet that allowed birdsong to wander our streets like prodigal children. It was a small portal that opened to wildness right where we live. Many of us in the Pacific Northwest know that freedom. We deliberately and vigorously pursue those original values whenever we can. We know the clarifying nature of movement, and the ability of nature to move the soul. We know the nourishing and inspirational
A Moon I Didn’t See By Robert Michael Pyle Was it low and red, that moon you saw above the river mouth? The color of a dull ache long after a fall, when it rose? I didn’t see it, so I don’t know; but I’ve seen moons that ached like that before. Last night another moon cruised the ceiling of the fog, glanced off the tin-roofed bridge like a discus thrown the old way, skidding to a stop in the river’s moonglade.
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I’d like to think of every moon as mine despite my absent eyes. Maybe it’s the moons you never see that burn the deepest.
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value of silence, of air that tingles with freshness and life, of an autumn breeze laden with the scent of ripe mountain blueberry, or the mineral taste of water scooped from a meltwater stream above tree line. We know what it feels like to sleep just beyond high tide next to the wild Pacific under the roaring influence of the moon. Some lucky ones even know the electric encounter of a cougar, loon calls on a dusky lake, or the prickly joy of howling wolves. The hunger for approximating those sustaining experiences is evident in our local parks and trails. Never before have I seen so many of my fellow citizens shrug off a non-fatal dose of boredom and savor the wealth of natural spaces. It is a personal civic joy to see how the value of this priority is being affirmed in foot-power. Now that we know what we have lost, and what we have found, let’s try to remember the value of each other, and the nature that ties us together. Let’s stay steady and deliberate in our long-term commitment to a healthy community… ANW and a healthy planet.
Our Place of Refuge By Jimmy Watts Our evening migration commences around sundown this time of year. The movement is initiated by our dog, an impatient but polite retriever by the name of Wilson. He waits at the porch door, which opens to a small, railed and covered deck off the kitchen. He mumbles under his breath to anyone who’ll listen, that he’s ready to lie down and call it a day if someone would kindly open the door. Shortly after his exit the rest of us will follow. On the porch are two big futons and layers of blankets, goose down and stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
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pillows. Beyond the railing are endless acres of wild woods, the trickle of a small creek, and a chorus of bird song and frogs. Sometimes the incense of hemlock drifts by, carrying prayers from a smoldering fire pit out back. Before dark all five of us will be out here, and with the exception of a driving wind, the weather makes no difference. We’ll laugh and tell stories, answer questions and ask them. Someone may read. Someone may just lie quietly. And once the lingering light is gone from the sky, leaving us to contemplate the stars, and our voices have trailed off and no more satellites are called out, we’ll fall asleep breathing clean night air. For the past few years this has been our year-round, and near nightly, routine. It’s our area of refuge and retreat, solace and comfort, it’s the place at the end of the day we retire as a family. Our kids started this when Wilson was a puppy, and my wife and I soon followed. They were onto something. They ventured out one summer, and we never really went back in. It’s our normal. It isn’t every night, but it’s a lot of them… maybe most. Photo by Jimmy Watts
And right now, it’s everything. Out here we’re free. Out here is all we need. And as good as it is to fall asleep like this, it’s even better ANW waking up.
Belonging By Craig Romano When asked why they climb, the classic mountaineers’ retort is “because it’s there.” The reason that I venture into the wild is a little more complicated. I head to the wilderness for comfort, solace, validation, enlightenment and redemption. Through periods of personal challenges and during times of a global pandemic, social unrest, economic turmoil, and so much suffering, inequality, and anxiety—I retreat to the natural world And while nature, like humankind, can be beautiful and inspiring, it can also be cruel and unforgiving. But in nature, I see the purpose, design, and order. It’s perfect —exactly the way it’s supposed to be. Not so in the human world. And while often I question my place, purpose, and direction in the “real world;” in nature I can readily accept the world as it is. I don’t go to the woods to escape. I go there to live. I go there to feel alive—to feel whole. To feel a sense of belonging. To feel that there are things much bigger and more important
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than me. In nature I am a part of a beautiful world where Man doesn’t make the rules. I go to the woods not because they are there—but to do as Henry David Thoreau described in Walden. “…because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” In this time of Covid-19, social unrest, societal reckoning, and failed leadership, the allure of the backcountry has become even stronger to me. Upon entering the natural world I immediPhoto by John D’Onofrio ately feel at ease, feel purpose, see beauty and meaning. Though I was raised with religion and continue to seek truth and purpose through my faith, I never fully felt it in a pew. I feel it in the natural cathedrals of the world. John Muir put it thus: “In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world—the great fresh unblighted, unredeemed wilderness. The galling harness of civilization drops off, and wounds heal ere we are aware.” Amen. ANW
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The art of nature
eARTh
The Prayer Wheels of Chris Moench Raised in the Rockies by a field-geologist father and poet mother, I grew up exploring river canyons and climbing peaks. Adventures in wild country inspired my desire to express my love of nature through the elemental transformative process of clay working. After moving to the Pacific Northwest in 1977, the landscape and animal life of the Salish Sea became a recurring theme in my work and I began making prayer wheels in response to the June 10, 1999 gas pipeline disaster on Whatcom Creek in Bellingham. My work and life are driven by a desire to give something back and are extensions of my belief that all things are intimately linked.
Clockwise from top right: All the Earth & All the Air Prayer Wheel; Two Nations, One Salish Sea Prayer Wheel; World Water Prayer Wheel; Nooksack River Prayer Wheel; Circling Home Prayer Wheel
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Casting to a Brighter Future By Henry Hughes When our department meeting at Western Oregon University was canceled on March 12 over concerns of COVID-19, I figured it was a good excuse to go fishing. There were few known cases of the virus in Oregon at that point. We thought the cancellation was just a precaution. I emailed my colleague, Jackson Stalley: “Fishing?” I asked. “Yes, indeed!” he replied. We met that afternoon with a hug before heading to a Willamette Valley pond to catch stocked rainbow trout waking up after a winter slumber. Jackson caught a 25-inch, 8-pound rainbow, and we shared a flask of bourbon to celebrate. It was the last time fishing would feel normal. I began Oregon’s spring fishing season when COVID-19 was just a whisper. A few weeks later, fishing had become a completely different experience, one in which social distancing was required for a pastime that Photo by Mark Van Steeter could be outlawed at any moment—as it was in Washington State. As most of Oregon’s parks and public lands closed down to recreation, fishing remained open and viable except on parts of the Columbia River. But it has required getting used to—the rules changing by the day. The Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife has stressed fishing in small groups, or solo, keeping at least six feet from each other and staying close to home. Two weeks after our department meeting was cancelled, Jackson emailed and suggested we return to the same trout pond. This time we took separate cars and boats. We didn’t hug, and any toasting over big fish would be done remotely. With Jackson paddling on the other side of the pond, I drifted quietly, casting a streamer. Although I enjoy fishing with others, there’s also something meditative and soothing about angling alone. A muskrat swam within inches of my boat, and I paid closer attention to the redwing blackbirds singing in the cattails, and the osprey diving to seize a hapless trout. Back in the “real world,” things got worse. My friend, Mark Van Steeter, texted me: “Steelhead tomorrow? Water looks right.” Mark, a geography professor, knows a lot about world health issues. He’s also a great steelhead angler, and when he says the conditions
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are right, I pay attention. This winter run was also a short distance from our homes. We drove separately and met on a pullout above a Coast Range river. There was no greeting hug or exchange of gear. Mark’s daughter baked a cupcake for me, and he set it down in a plastic cup on the gravel between us. “Please thank her,” I said, picking up my treat. The river was low, but recent showers had imparted a slight green cloudiness that makes these fish less wary and more aggressive. I flipped a copper spoon into a deep cut and instantly got a strike. “They’re in here,” I smiled. A few casts later, I was hooked to a bright steelhead that blasted downriver. After some astonishing leaps and runs, it was ready to land. Fishing has always helped me connect with the life and death realities of nature. In some ways, so has this pandemic. Nature humbles us, reminding humans that we are also fragile creatures. With deep sadness for the loss of human life, and with high hopes in the science and social practices that will halt this disease, I keep fishing—alone, now, wading, walking the bank, or drifting in my float tube, watching for rises and casting to a brighter future. ANW
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An Invitation from the Birds By Shannon Finch The word “riot” is on my mind. Riots in the streets. A riot of emotions as I witness suffering and pain. But also, there is the riot of nature, an unwavering march of life that steadies me. Plants bloom,
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insects pollinate, and animals make a living, as they always have. The birds are especially busy. A Red-breasted Sapsucker tends his sap wells on the birch tree. Tiny, fierce Rufous Hummingbirds duel with bees at the feeder. That sound like coins jingling in a pocket? An Anna’s Hummingbird. A pair of Barn Swallows collect mud for not one, but two nests. Screech Owls call to each other, a bouncing song that revs up and tumbles over itself. Four Canada goose goslings have survived. Photo by Shannon Finch Six male goldfinches are spaced out on a utility line, socially distancing I guess. White-crowned sparrows ahead of us swoop between fence posts, like they are hanging garlands, or maybe inviting us to follow. Swainson’s Thrushes sing their twirling, burbling melody at dusk. Fledgling tree swallows take their first flight, launching into a brilliant blue sky. One turns her head and looks me directly in the eye with ANW an intensity that stops me in my tracks.
The Waiting Tree By Christine Smith The old tree had died long ago, and although there were hundreds of other trees on my grandparents’ property, it was the only one my grandfather ever took us to. He drove an aging purple farm tractor with an equally ancient wooden trailer. My sister, cousins, and I would sit with our legs dangling off the back, but holding on tightly with our fingers curled around the edge. The tree was silver, barkless, and riddled with woodpecker holes. He called it the Woody Woodpecker High Rise Apartment. As a child I often played near that old dead tree. It’s where I learned to explore nature. I caught garter snakes and frogs, peered under rotting logs, got spooked by spiders, searched for bird’s nests, and learned what bear and coyote scat looked like. I discovered stinging nettles and grew to love the smell of skunk cabbage. I learned the desire to be in nature. A year ago, I stood under another tree, an ancient Sitka spruce on an island in Alaska. Sitka spruce are known for growing straight and tall, but this one enormous tree is unique with big sprawling lower branches that dominate the forest. These two huge branches, as large as the main trunk, run horizontally before turning upwards to the sky, and those upward branch-trunks have somewhat smaller identical off-shoots of their own that give the tree the look of a candelabra. A trail runs through the underbrush
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next to the tree. As I ran my fingers across the rough bark, a small moth flew by and down the trail. It’s a trail not made Photo by Christine Smith by humans, but by centuries of brown bears, each step of the path imprinted with the memory of carefully placed paws. As I stood there, I wondered what lessons I was learning in this tree’s forest. Now, as I learn the new ways of a new world, I often stare out at a tree in my front yard. I call it The Waiting Tree. It’s where Steller’s jays and crows wait while coaxing me outside for peanuts. It’s where squirrels give chase to one another, and racoons sometimes sleep. In this new world where my explorations
are temporarily limited, I’m learning that although I still desire the nature of distant wild places, the Waiting Tree is teaching me that wild nature exists even in my own front yard. ANW
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Thin Air and Rich Light
The Mountain Photography of Jason Griffith A lthough I grew up on the west side of the Cascade Range, I didn’t really start getting serious about the mountains until I was at the University of Washington in the mid-90’s. As I started hiking, then scrambling, then climbing, I was (and still am) drawn north. The North Cascades have probably the best mountaineering in the lower 48, but they are just the head of a grand parade of aesthetic peaks, massive glaciers, and trackless brush extending all the way to Alaska. No matter my age, fitness, or risk tolerance, there remains the mystery of what is beyond that next ridge, luring me on. See more of Jason’s photography at jasongriffith.smugmug.com Visit AdventuresNW.com to view an extended gallery of Jason Griffith’s mountain photography. Top row starting at right (L to R): Ulalach Peak; Himmelhorn, Southern Pickets. Middle row (L to R): Towards Triumph from Terror Basin; Baker to Ross Lake; Fall at White Pass; South Face, Inspiration Peak; Royal Basin. Bottom row (L to R): Ridge Running at Rogers Pass; Sunrise on Inspiration Icecap; Milky Way above Mt. Chaval; Sunrise from East Fury
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Reimagining Recreation Story by Jenni Minier
“If we approached rivers, mountains, dragonflies, redwoods and reptiles as if all are alive, intelligent and suffused with soul, imagination and purpose, what might the world become? Who would WE become if we participated intentionally with such an animate earth?” - Geneen Marie Haugen
T
he deer sees me before I see it.
reimagining recreation. Why am I reimagining recreation? Imagination feels like a lost art to me, abducted around the time I learned the scientific method. Imagination is the conversation between me and the mountain; the conversation between me, the ice worms, and the spider in the
This is usually how it goes. Sometimes they bolt, sometimes they stare at me, frozen, waiting for anything to move. I’ve made an art out of courting these deer, trying to see how much of their trust I can earn. Oftentimes, I’ll kneel down, attempting to be as unassuming as possible, but today I need to walk by. I can feel the deer’s eyes and ears on me. A normal walk would not suffice, no no—this required the fox walk. It has nothing to do with how a fox walks, but it’s a certain way of moving across the land. It’s best done barefoot and perhaps with your eyes closed. Basically, you put your heel down first and then slowly feel each step with all of your senses. It can’t be done quickly, which is why it’s perfect for walking past a tentative deer. I don’t have my daughter Josie with me today, but she loves the fox walk. She hasn’t quite mastered the slow and quiet part yet, but she is only three. This is how I spend my days now. This is my recreation. Jenni and Josie. Recreation didn’t always look Photo by Rachael Mallon like this for me. In our modern snow; the conversation between me and culture, recreation typically implies “rethe wind and the conversation between freshing oneself by some amusement.” me and the wolverine. Now before you The root of recreation, recreare, means all think I’ve gone mad, think back to “to refresh, restore, make anew, revive, when you were a kid playing outside. or invigorate.” Like many of you, I’ve Try to remember a time when you spent the last twelve weeks of this panwere in your own world: making mud demic wandering and exercising near pies, building stick houses, or tending my home. I wander, with longing and to wounded animals. A time when, if deep grief for a more meaningful consomeone called your name, you likely nection with the land. I spend these days 32
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wouldn’t have heard them because you were so deep in your world. That feeling you had with the mud, the stories you told about the stick house, and the conversation you had with the wounded animals—those are conversations guided by your imagination. And by imagination, I don’t presume to mean those conversations are made up, quite the opposite in fact. Those conversations are the most real conversations you might ever have had. Moments when we were truly listening and being listened to. Now that I’ve got you imagining again, I’m sure you’re wondering what this might have to do with recreation? My relationship with recreation was not always so reflective. Before COVID, before my injuries, before having a baby, recreation was my entire life. And not the kind of recreation I describe above, but rather recreation as a means of exercise, distraction, and amusement. I used to work as a consultant in an office and I would literally spend my days planning for my weekend adventures, trying to optimize weather and routes, calculating how tired John was going to be coming off Rainier and how much I was going to have to bribe him to go back into the mountains with me. I would come back to work exhausted from the weekend, looking at pictures from the last adventure to survive the next work week. I climbed a great many mountains. I burned hundreds of thousands of calories, ran hundreds of miles. To say this was all recreation meant to me would >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com
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not be the complete truth. Each adventure, each mile, and each trail rooted me in something beyond my own Self, I just didn’t know it at the time. I was just trying to survive my life.
Perfectly Imperfect The mountains saved me: they showed me myself, showed me my bones, showed me my roots. They reminded me of what I had forgotten along the way. They also broke me. Well… let’s be honest, I broke myself. I had zero capacity to listen to my body. I could hear it loud and clear but refused to listen because the allure of the mountains was too tempting. I’m now blessed (and forced by means of injury, kids, and age), to offer my attention to my relationship with recreation and the mountains. In offering my attention, I’m imagining a different way of climbing mountains. I’m imagining being in a relationship with the wild places we wander through to reach the summits. I’m asking myself what that looks like, sounds like, smells like, and feels like. I’m asking myself what speed at which I travel will allow me to cultivate that relationship with these wild places. I’m asking myself why reaching the summit matters. And I’m asking these wild places and beings what I can offer in return. Perhaps Martin Shaw is correct in offering… “What the world truly seeks is to be admired by us.” I’m not perfect. There are plenty of days that I am rushing through a hike or bike ride to get home to pick Josie up and miss all those moments to be in relationship with that particular place—and that’s OK. What I’m imagining is that if each of us, at different times, offered our attention to the places we wander through and each offered something in return—a prayer, a song of gratitude, a smile of acknowledgment, a story, tears of laughter or grief—that the wild places would be tended to, all the time. That’s what I’m imagining. Now, I own a mountain guiding service. I sell recreation. I sell fun, even if it is Type II fun. We encourage people to get outside, to move across the lands, to explore, and to achieve their goals. We practice Leave No Trace and we pack out our poop. That’s not enough anymore. We can all feel the pressure of all the humans in the backcountry. The desire to push our bodies farther and farther out on the land. I like to remind myself that our playground is someone else’s home. I’ve danced with calling it recreational consumerism. I’m just as guilty as the next. We all are. We all consume recreation to some extent. We’re human, perfectly imperfect. Whether we miss the ice worms while checking our watch to see how many calories we’ve burned or glance over the particular color of blue the ice reflects in the morning sun while we’re contemplating how angry our boss made us. Perhaps you’re stealing a rushed run or bike ride after work and you miss the delicately blooming foxglove swaying in the breeze across the recent clearcut teeming with life after death. Or perhaps you’re thinking about what your partner said or did and thus miss the owl sleeping in stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
the tree. Or even worse, perhaps you’re so determined to run your daily five or 10 miles, that you ignore just how much your body hurts or how tired you really are. I reckon it’s not only an inability to listen but also an inability to hear.
The Art of Listening Hearing first requires that you are listening and listening requires that you aren’t talking, out loud or in your head. Listening as a form of offering your attention to someone or something is a practiced skill—perfect for long slogs up a trail or skin track. Listening is only one of our senses. We humans rely heavily on seeing, but we have others—tasting, smelling, feeling, and sensing. The particular taste of the water from the melting glacier, the smell of the sun warming up the forest. A feeling of awe and perhaps grief for the melting glacier, peeled back to its underskin, exposed to the sun for the very first time. The feeling of ancient ice moving beneath your feet. The joyous sound gear makes clanging on your harness. We can feel the particular way our axe sinks into the ice. That feeling can activate your sense of intuition. Was it a good stick or a bad stick? Your body knows. All of these moments are never to happen again in the particular way you are witnessing and participating with them. All of these moments have secrets to share with you. Truth be told, I initially found it exhausting to participate
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in the world and recreation this way— to understand my relationship to nature engaging all of my senses. It requires me was reciprocal and that nature had a reto slow down. These are skills that need lationship with me. We called to one anexercise and practice, just like crevasse other. We called one another into being.” rescue. I’m also not suggesting that you I’d like to create a space where don’t go for the summit and that you people can dream and imagine their don’t push your body. Those moments own relationship with wild places and when you are completely in tune with recreation and help them tend those your body and the climb are equally imaginings. Offering safe access to as important. Wild feats coming to life can surely feed the soul. This art of sensing is a tool to bring your body back into relationship with the land. When you’re on a ridge and the wind is blowing snow in your face, you can’t see a damn thing, and your heart is beating in your head rather than your chest, you are in a critical moment when the Koma Kulshan. earth is likely speaking to Photo by John D’Onofrio you. I’ve pushed through these moments to the summit and I’ve also turned around. recreation feels even more important as You might make a different decision the younger generations have less of a in that same moment. My point is, the relationship with wild places and more conversation is with you and the moof a relationship with their screens. ment, if you’ll offer your attention. And this is where I always pause and This is the relationship with recreask myself what are we offering? Are ation I’d like to cultivate. Terry Tempest we selling summit attempts? Or are we Williams says it well: “As a child, I came creating a space where people can per-
Calling Us Home Not everyone stayed at home during the quarantine, but many did. In the times I did wander beyond the backyard trails, I could hear and feel the sigh of the Earth from somewhere in the deepest caverns of her belly. A sigh of pause and stillness, perhaps of relief even, as the humans (hopefully) sat in reflection, or sheer boredom—but sitting nonetheless, even if just for a few moments. It was so damn quiet. The silence was deafening. Tears of grief and joy were all I could offer in that moment and even that didn’t feel like enough. It won’t always feel like this. I crafted my first adventure back into the mountains with an ambitious dance up Mt. Baker. I hadn’t summitted since I was pregnant (Josie is three now), I hadn’t tasted mountain air in twelve
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haps catch a glimpse of their own soul in conversation with the soul of the Earth while also climbing a mountain? Or is it both or perhaps somewhere in between?
The heartbeat of Cascadia
SMART
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weeks, I hadn’t felt the glide of my skis on the frozen skin of the earth. I was hungry for mountain time. Admittedly, that hunger overrode my ability to be in deep conversation with the earth on that climb. And again, that’s OK. What did happen was deep conversation with my partners about why and how we were there doing what we were doing. Conversations I couldn’t imagine happening a year ago. As we all begin to wander back into the backcountry, we might find the desire to run up summits to make up for lost time, we might find the desire to walk slowly up a trail and find a soft place to sit. I’m hoping it’s both. The earth dreams of our feet dancing along her ridges, sitting in the lakes of her belly, and painting the clouds of her skies. Hear the sound of your feet on her skin. Feel the warmth of the sun on your face. Taste the ice turned to water a second ago. Offer your attention to the earth. Dream with her and she will dream with you. Our playground is ANW our home.
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Sea Kayaking
the West Coast of the
West Coast Story and Photos by Neil Schulman
T
he bow of my kayak digs a groove into the sand, and I get out and stretch. Maria sheds her dry suit and takes off running down the perfect, uninhabited two-mile crescent of warm sand. Bruce pokes around in tide pools. I wander up the beach, following wolf tracks. An eagle whistles from the trees. Somewhere in the bay I hear, but can’t see, the spout of a gray whale.
Bruce Billo crossing Rusell Channel, Clayoquot Sound
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Then the reverie is over. I wake up. I’m at home. As I write these words, the coronavirus is burning through the world. Fully half the world’s population is on lockdown. I have no idea when the pandemic will come under control, what the world will be like afterwards, and when we’ll be able to venture out in kayaks again. But when we can, I know exactly where I’ll head: the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island, where steep mountains descend to swell-battered
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sandy beaches and rocky offshore reefs, where whales, sea otters, wolves, and bear frolic. It’s my favorite place on earth to paddle. Much of British Columbia’s coast is comprised of deep glacially-carved inlets protected from the open sea. Longdistance paddlers use this network of fjords as a pathway for the epic journey between Alaska and Washington. By contrast, the west coast of Vancouver Island—the westernmost margin of
the west coast, part of a more looselydefined “Outside Passage”—is best suited to exploring nooks and crannies, where getting anywhere is secondary to finding secret coves, rock gardens and surf beaches. If the west coast of the West Coast is a passage at all, the direction of travel is inward. I made my first sea kayak journey to Vancouver Island’s west coast in the early 2000s. I launched into a series
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of fog-wreathed islands, and learned quickly to stay on top of my navigation far more than on the straight-line Oregon Coast or even the San Juan Islands. By the end of the first day I’d been seduced by mist and sunsets, tide pools bursting with life, cavorting sea lions, and the sound of water surging through rocks. By the time we reached the crux of our first trip—a rugged exposed island with big sea arches—the scenery was second to the bigger feeling of an endless coast where our island group was part of an unbroken chain stretching hundreds of miles. I’ve returned nearly every year since to different parts of the West Coast.
you’ll notice a series of island-filled sounds: Barkley, Clayoquot, Nootka, Nuchatlitz, Kyuquot, Quatsino. Between
Sounds and Points The Outside Coast stretches from the north side of the Straight of Juan de Fuca west of Port Renfrew up the entire west coast of Vancouver Island to Cape Sutil. Measuring the coastline is futile: the decision Giant green anemones, Clayoquot Sound to measure in a straight line or around the edges of bays says more about the person doing these sounds are capes and headlands the measuring than any real distance. that form crux moves: Cape Beale, As your eye skips over charts and maps, Pachena, Amphitrite, Rafael, Maquinna,
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Tatchu, Rugged, and Lawn Point all present challenges for kayakers. Three big points—Estevan Point, the Brooks Pennsinula, and Cape Scott at Vancouver Island’s northwest corner—have fearsome reputations that that even big ships take seriously. Inside the sounds, there are often routes protected from ocean swells that can offer alternative paddling if the weather turns bad—if you can get to them from wherever you are when the weather hits you. But even on the outer coast, skilled planners can use the coast’s complexity to plan a less demanding route. Offshore rocks, reefs, tiny islands and kelp beds can break up the swell. Headlands with big curving coves offer places to land with some protection from the swell. The result is something that doesn’t exist on the outer coasts of Washington, Oregon, or northern California: intermediatelevel outer coast kayaking.
Wilderness Another aspect of Vancouver Island’s west coast is blatantly obvious from a look at maps, charts, or
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Google Earth: it’s utterly wild. Paved whales abound. Sea lions gather where roads reach a few spots on the west they have haul-outs, like Batley and coast—Point Renfrew, Uclulet, Tofino and Dave Dalbey and Fred Harsman on the Tahsis. A boat takes outer coast south of Estevan Point you to Bamfield. Small mostly First Nations villages like Zeballos, Fair Harbour, and Winter Harbour are reached by long drives over rough logging roads. Between these towns are many miles of wilderness with few, if any, settlements between them. There are wolves and black bears on many islands: the wolves are an endemic subspecies, canis lupus crassadons, the Vancouver Island Gray Wolf. They’re fairly secretive Howell Islands in Barkley Sound and so you may not see them, but you’ll Rafael and Dagger Points in Clayoquot likely see their tracks. In summer, Gray Sound.
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Sea otters, once hunted to near-extinction, were re-released in Chechleset Bay on the South Brooks in the 1970s. They’re now thriving, extending their range down the coast to Kuyuqout Sound, Nuchatlitz Inlet, and points south in big adorable furry rafts. Salmon run up the rivers, and rockfish and cod loiter near undersea rocks. On one trip, another group caught enough fish in a few hours to feed their entire group—and ours—several times over. You’ll see some signs of logging on the hillsides, but outside of the occasional building, fish farm, or fishing boat, you will be magnificently alone.
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Where to Go? The sea kayak was designed for places like the west coast. It’s the perfect craft in which to disappear into a wilderness seascape with everything you’ll need for a week or two. It facilitates everything from long stretches of flat water to the rough stuff.
Finding a fantastic surf beach three days paddle from the nearest road, covered only with wolf tracks, is one of the purest pleasures I know.
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Your first decision will be what part of the coast to explore. In such a huge area, it’s very easy to bite off more than you can paddle—and there’s nothing wrong with an exploratory pace. The most crowded areas—Barkley and Clayoquot Sound—are heavily visited because they’re the best known and have the easiest access, but they’re far from the only great spots. Most of the land on the west coast is Crown or First Nations land. On crown land, remote camping is generally allowed; camping on First Nations land (look for the letters “IR” on the chart) requires permission from the band.
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the afternoon it will reverse and blow up the inlets from the coast. Pay close attention to the size, period, and direction of the swell, tides, and tidal currents. There are not tidal current tables, so you’ll need figure these out from the tides, the chart, and the shape of the landscape.
The Paddler By now, you’ve probably realized that you should know something about navigation and route-planning for sea
kayaking if you’re going to paddle the West Coast. You’re exactly right. I spend a lot of my time listening to the VHF marine forecast, watching the weather, and looking at the chart. One of the most important skills for the west coast of Vancouver Island is seamanship—using the information on tides, currents, swell and weather to craft a safe course for a 22-inch wide craft in a very large sea. Seamanship involves thinking several days ahead to
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The Broken Group section of Barkley Sound is part of Pacific Rim National Park, where camping is at designated spots on certain islands. On the outer coast, vast beaches typically provide lots of camping options for groups. If you venture up the inlets away from the pounding surf, camp spots will become smaller and less luxurious.
Weather May through July and September are typically the best months on the West Coast. It can always rain: the area is the world’s largest temperate rainforest, after all. Locals call August “Fogust”. On fair-weather days, expect a strong Northwesterly wind to pick up in the early to mid-afternoon. Storms typically come from the Southwest and Southeast, so if the wind starts to shift toward this direction, batten down the hatches. In the inlets, expect morning outflow winds as cool air drops out of the mountains and flows toward the coast. In stories & the race|play|experience calendar online.
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when you might need a weather window to make a crossing or round a headland. That chess game is a big part of the fun and adventure.
The Trip
Vancouver Island has an endemic wolf species, Canis lupus crassadons, the Vancouver Island Gray Wolf. Tracks, Flores Island
Over my many years paddling the West Coast, my trips seem to have gotten longer, but my paddling mileage has gotten shorter. That’s because I’ve shifted from needing to reach that next island up the chain to wanting time to surf and play in rock gardens. That said, a week or two is typically the sweet spot for me. You’ll want to plan for some badweather days as well as day paddles, surf play, or rock gardens, maybe fishing, or just beach lounging. Kayaking exposed coasts like the West Coast of Vancouver Island is a lot like classic, old-school alpinism, where climbers—instead of sport climbing on the nearby crag or the rock gym—backpack into the wilderness to try a route on a distant peak. It’s equal parts technical skill, planning and judgment, and endurance. There will be long periods of simple paddling mixed with challenging moves around headlands, constant assessment and re-assessment of the sea conditions, all the skills that go into wilderness journeys. Windswept beach camps, jutting headlands, and surf landings are our alpine cols and knife-edge traverses. Finding a fantastic surf beach three days paddle from the nearest road, covered only with wolf tracks, is one of the purest pleasures I know. The feeling of a vast wilderness, teeming with life, is every bit ANW as rich.
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From Tiny Acorns Huxley College of the Environment Turns 50 Story by Ted Rosen
I
t shouldn’t be a surprise that the first American college dedicated solely to environmental education is Huxley College of the Environment at Western Washington University (WWU). After all: the Pacific Northwest is one of the most beautiful and pristine landscapes in the world and its beauty attracts those who love the outdoors and feel compelled to protect and restore our planet.
another leap in the early 20th century when the conservation movement started gaining traction. A coalition of hunters, fishermen, mountaineers, ramblers, and explorers expressed their concerns about our wild places. President Theodore Roosevelt was among them. Along with top advisor Gifford Pinchot, Roosevelt set aside more land for federal protection than all of the previous presidents combined.
Huxley celebrates its 50th anniversary this year, having served over 7500 students since 1970. That’s a lot of young people going out into the big world with a new appreciation for Mother Nature, the mechanisms that make her tick, and the challenges she faces. These students all share one thing in common: a passionate belief that a healthy environment is paramount to our survival and happiness. Gene Miller dedicating the Environmental Studies Building, 1974 One might imagine that the environmental movement As America flexed its industrial began in the 1960s, but its roots in the might, exploiting our natural resources American Experience go deeper. Henry and polluting the air, land, and sea, David Thoreau published his famous conservationists became increasingly meditation Walden; or, A Life in the vocal. Newspaper headlines catalogued Woods in 1854. In the 1870s and 1880s, a litany of polluted waterways, devasbotanist John Muir ranged across the tated forests, and poisoned habitats. western U.S., writing about the wild While most Americans ignored the places and their irreplaceable beauty, elephant in the room, the cultural joining other voices collectively known revolutionaries of the 1960s promoted as “preservationists”. a new front of activists known as Environmental awareness took 44
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environmentalists. In 1969, a massive oil spill near Santa Barbara, Ca. provoked a group of journalists and scientists to highlight the costs of industrial exceptionalism. Washingtonian Denis Hayes and Senator Gaylord Nelson (D - WI) founded Earth Day in 1970, a global celebration of our natural world. The concept was derived from the Santa Barbara Declaration of Environmental Rights (1970), which concluded: “WE PROPOSE A REVOLUTION in conduct toward an environment which is rising in revolt against us. Granted that ideas and institutions long established are not easily changed; yet today is the first day of the rest of our life on this planet. WE WILL BEGIN ANEW.” In 1967, Charles “Jerry” Flora became president of WWU. His many years studying and teaching biology had led him to an inescapable conclusion: humanity was damaging its habitat and the problem was becoming critical. So in the second year of his presidency, he argued for the creation of a new college dedicated to environmental studies and in 1970 the Huxley College of Environmental Studies was born. When staff mused about what name to give the new school, the university’s director of research Herb Taylor hit on “Huxley”, an homage to the English biologist Thomas Henry Huxley. Known as “Darwin’s bulldog”, Huxley was a fierce defender of >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com
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Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. In 1860, Huxley famously dressed down Bishop Samuel Wilberforce during a debate about evolution in Oxford, England. Naming the new college after Darwin seemed appropriate, but by selecting “Huxley”, staff had leap-frogged the obvious in favor of the pugnacious. The new college would not apologize for being ardently defensive of environmental science. Its first dean was a respected biologist named Gene Miller. Now, being a dean conjures up images of luxurious Ivy League staterooms with walnut desks and English wainscoting, but what Miller walked into was a couple of bedraggled farmhouses in a leafless corner of the campus. It wasn’t what he dreamed it would be, but it was a starting point. Miller rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He formed an interdisciplinary group with fellow science instructors and hashed out a game plan. It
was decided that Huxley would offer a robust curriculum stressing biology, ge-
Huxley Student, 1975
ology, chemistry, and physics as applied to environmental stewardship.
There were just 63 students in that first year. As the students and faculty labored away in the tired old farmhouses, ground was broken for the new Environmental Studies building on the adjoining hill. While WWU attendance was somewhat flat in the early-mid 1970s, the Huxley student body continued to grow. Environmental awareness had become mainstream and idealistic students wanted to leverage their university education to make the world a better place. The college bloomed and began bursting at the seams. In 1974, the adjacent Arntzen Hall was opened and accepted some of the Huxley spillover. The college was growing. Now occupying space in both buildings, Huxley College of the Environment has become a renowned center for environmental education and scientific research. Not only does the college serve students and help them
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build careers, it also funds and performs real-world research to make the region (and by extension the rest of the world) a little bit better. Back in 1971, when the college was still quite young, students started a small recycling program. The program grew, expanded, and moved house sev-
eral times. Huxley’s program proved that recycling was not only environmentally necessary, but also economically viable. By the mid-1970s, recycling had become commonplace and a comprehensive city-wide recycling program was created in Bellingham. Nowadays, recycling has become stan-
dard nationwide. From tiny acorns, indeed. Huxley has also spawned numerous labs and regional research efforts. Leveraging the science studied in the classroom, students and faculty began designing studies and implementing real-world investigations for a host of
Making a Difference: Huxley Alumni Are Changing the World Linda Versage Linda Versage graduated Huxley in 1985. With her husband Walter Brodie, she runs the eco-friendly organic Blanchard Mountain Farm in Bow, WA. She recalls her Huxley experience: “Studying hard, learning lots, lifelong friendships, collaboration with fellow students, inspiring professors, potlucks, a deep feeling of being part of a community with like-minded others, riding my bike up that hill in downpours and walking into class soaking wet from sweat and rain. So much growth…and the development of a spiritual connection to nature. “The college meant everything to my long career as an environmental educator and my current career as an organic farmer. Huxley taught me resilience. I had to have resilience to imagine that someday I would actually create a career out of my passion for teaching others how we could live in harmony with the environment.” Wendy Scherrer Among her many grass-roots efforts to capitalize on her love of our natural world, some of Wendy Scherrer’s success stories include development of the North Cascade Institute’s Mountain School, the Environmental Education Association of Washington, and the Nooksack Salmon Enhancement Association. “My interest in coming to Huxley in 1973 was to gain knowledge and tools to address environmental problems through education and promoting action on behalf of the environment. I have benefited from my Environmental Planning degree at Huxley College as it gave me a good interdisciplinary background for many jobs in the public, private, and nonprofit sectors. Now retired, Scherrer volunteers to coordinate the ‘Salmon in the Classroom’ program in 14 local schools. Jennifer Hahn Alumnus Jennifer Hahn of the North Cascades Institute teaches Wild Food courses at Fairhaven College. An avid kayaker, she guides natural and cultural history trips in the Inside Passage.
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She has penned two books: Spirited Waters: Soloing South through the Inside Passage and Pacific Feast: A Cook’s Guide to West Coast Foraging and Cuisine. She had this to say about her experience at Huxley: “I arrived in Bellingham on a Greyhound bus from Hales Corners, Wisconsin having seen Huxley advertised on a bulletin board at my old college. When I met my Huxley classmates at a three-day camping and hiking orientation in the North Cascades, I felt like I had fallen into ten feet of cushy moss. I’d found my tribe of kindred spirits. Coursework and community were equally important. “Most of us biked everywhere and lived in co-op houses. We were activists and potluck partiers who threw impromptu, sweatdrenched dance parties. We hiked, skied and snowshoed in the North Cascades, attended the campus Earth Day fair and busted our brain cells studying Systems Philosophy, Human Ecology, Environmental Pollution, Environmental Law and more. I don’t know where I’d be today without Huxley’s influence.” Dan Pike Huxley graduate Dan Pike went from Huxley to civil project management to Bellingham Mayor to public planner, and finally full-circle as an adjunct professor at Huxley. A familiar face in the Fourth Corner, Pike’s experience at Huxley made him the genial go-to solutions man he is today. “Huxley was instrumental in giving me the tools to perform well in a variety of jobs and situations. In particular, its emphasis on systems thinking is foundational to how I approach understanding and problem-solving ever since. “I was able to see a solution where others could not because I could see the connecting threads better than most, because that’s what Huxley trained me to do. I used those same skills to great effect when I served as Mayor of Bellingham. My entire term was served under the cloud of the Great Recession. Despite that, we flourished as a community because we worked on strengthening the foundations of all we did, identifying how seemingly disparate efforts were connected and complementary, consistent with our values centered on triple bottom line sustainability.”
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environmental challenges. The Institute for Watershed Studies took a deep look at Lake Whatcom, water supply for the City of Bellingham. In conjunction with the City, monitoring systems were installed that provide timely snapshots of the lake’s condition. The end result has been positive changes to the city’s Public Works Department and years of difficult policy decisions with the lake’s residents. In 2006, Huxley’s Seth Vidaña envisioned a campuswide plan to reduce waste. His Office of Sustainability has grown from a nascent program to minimize the ecological footprint of Western’s campus into a comprehensive effort to educate and train organizations about sustainable practices throughout the Pacific Northwest. From Zero Waste plans to environmental assessments to sustainable civic design, the program now encompasses a heady array of services well beyond its initial goals. Huxley professor Dr. Andy Bunn leads the Huxley Tree Ring Laboratory, which studies tree ring data and carbon cycling from samples as close at hand as Whatcom County and as remote as the harsh tundra of Siberia. The facility employs advanced tools and software to reconstruct historical environmental events like forest fires and insect outbreaks. They can even map salmon proliferation in the past by studying the isotopes of nutrients within centuries-old riparian
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Change from Within By William Dietrich
H
uxley College helped make outsiders the insiders.
Early environmentalism was driven by iconoclasts critiquing the establishment from society’s sidelines, from Henry David Thoreau at Walden Pond to oceanographer Rachel Carson taking on DDT. But Huxley, founded at nearly the same time as the Environmental Protection Agency and Department of Ecology, helped make the discipline an institution. While protestors and gadflies still have their role, Huxley’s graduates permeated government and industry and brought environmental science to the table as respected equals. They became lawyers, consultants, small businesspeople, teachers, bureaucrats, farmers, administrators, and politicians. Roberta Riley got a law degree and helped reform health care. Curt Creager became a leader in sustainable housing and Eric Dinerstein at the World Wildlife Fund. Jane Howard created student outreach for Puget Sound Energy. Sam Cushman protected Siberian tigers. Mark Reis ran SeaTac Airport and Dan Pike became mayor of Bellingham. Heather Merchant brought environmental programs to Plano, Texas. Huxley has been equally important in pioneering environmental science and education as an academic discipline, a concept copied around the world. Just in our state, Huxley and Fairhaven were an early template for The Evergreen State College. The University of Washington recently mirrored Huxley’s approach by combining departments into a Program on the Environment. Finally, Huxley’s faculty research has earned respect and accolades. From pioneering work on the Siberian tundra to the study of forest fires, food security, and atrophying lakes, it is leading on the key issue of the 21st Century: environmental sustainability. William Dietrich taught environmental science at Huxley and co-wrote Green Fire, a history of the college.
trees. Understanding trees is critical to understanding forests, and the Huxley Tree Ring Laboratory is another data source to help us understand when, and why, our forests prosper or fail. Balancing the integrity of our ecosphere with our human needs is a tightrope that must be walked. And Huxley College of the Environment has led the way for 50 years, inspiring people from all walks of life to look closer at environmental issues and dedicate their lives to doing something about it. I asked current Dean of Huxley College Steve Hollenhorst about the challenges faced by today’s Huxley students. “Imagine what it must be like to go to class every day and learn about the myriad environmental problems facing society. Then imagine learning every day about how disproportionately and inequitably the impact of these problems falls on the most marginalized people. And to top it all off is the growing concern with the existential threat posed by climate change. “For some students, this can result in a sort of environmental depression and hopelessness. But our faculty is acutely aware of this—having experienced it in their own education and careers. The antidote is to provide students with the action and solution sets they will need to effectively work on these problems and make a difference. This gives them agency, confidence, and hope. And seeing this in them gives all of us hope in ANW the future.”
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Liquid Gold Story by Lawrence Millman
Photo by John D’Onofrio
S
everal years ago, I found myself on Vancouver Island’s Grease Trail. Contrary to what you might think, this phrase doesn’t refer to an itinerary that connects local Burger King, McDonald’s, and KFC franchises. Rather, it’s the route that Namgis First Nations people used to transport grease across the northern part of the island. A while back, the grease in question—rendered from a smelt-like fish called the eulachon (or oolichan)—was a valuable trade item. When it was fresh, it was a highly regarded condiment, and when it was dried, it would be stuck on a wick and burned like a candle. Those First Nations people who didn’t have access to it eagerly traded items like copper and muskets with those who did, like the Namgis. Eulachon grease often ended up as far afield as the Arctic, where the Inuit would smear it on their bodies as an anti-freeze. 50
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The grease is still esteemed by the Namgis, who refer to it as “liquid gold.” At the instigation of my Namgis host in Alert Bay, Randy Bell, I smeared some on smoked salmon and instantly regretted it, for the grease replaced the flavor of the salmon with a flavor not unlike somewhat rancid lard. I continued to eat the smoked salmon, but without, definitely without, the grease. Undeterred by my negative reaction, Randy offered to show me the highlights of the so-called Grease Trail, including some remarkable petroglyphs carved onto rocks on the opposite side of Woss Lake. So we climbed into his pickup, took the ferry to the town of Port McNeill, and then struck out for Vancouver Island’s interior. Our first stop was a less dramatic petroglyph site on the shore of the Nimpkish River. Several frowning faces were carved onto a series of boulders, an indication, Randy said, that enemy heads had once been lopped off at this site.
“Did the enemies make disparaging remarks about eulachon grease?” I asked uneasily. “Not at all,” Randy smiled. “The enemies were people from Gilford Island, and we were always fighting with them. We cut off their heads and hung them in that cedar tree above us.” Half expecting to see a collection of weather-worn human heads, I peered up at the tree. There was indeed a head, but it belonged to a bald eagle peering down on me. “You know why bald eagles’ heads are white?” Randy grinned, then answered the question himself: “Because they’re always nesting under ravens. Raven shit is, of course, white.” I later learned that this “joke” is in fact a traditional one, told by Native groups as far north as Alaska. A few miles south of Nimpkish Lake, we started hiking along a trail that grease-laden Namgis also would have hiked. Within minutes, the sky opened >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com
to read ANW
up, and what cascaded down would have made an Asiatic monsoon seem like a polite drizzle. We hiked on, increasingly water-logged. When we returned to the truck, the rain, as if on cue, stopped. We followed a road that meandered along the shore of Woss Lake. A few years ago, Randy said, his truck had broken down not far from here, and he’d had to trek 25 miles in the middle of the night. At one point he stopped and studied the lake. A strong wind was whipping it into a frenzy. “I’m afraid we can’t cross the lake to see the petroglyphs,” Randy observed. “Too dangerous.” “Well, I’ve already seen some very nice petroglyphs,” I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. As the rain started up again, we continued to drive along the lake. The road grew increasingly muddy. Toward the end of the lake, we came to a halt: a recent avalanche blocked our way. We had no choice but to turn around and, in doing so, miss out on exploring the western section of the Grease Trail. The rain was now coming down even more heavily than before. Suddenly I heard the telltale sound of a flat tire. Randy now began rummaging under the seat. “Someone seems to have taken my jack,” he observed. Recalling the story of his 25 mile hike, I had visions of hiking back to Port McNeill while being pummeled to a jelly-like consistency by the rain. Randy noticed the troubled look on my face and
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said, “Trust in serendipity.” “Where the blazes are you going?” I shouted. For he’d begun walking briskly away from the truck. “To get help, kemosabe,” he shouted back, using Tonto’s word for the Lone Ranger with a certain jocularity. Meanwhile the rain was beating a vigorous tattoo on the truck, sounding now like buckshot, now like machine-gun fire. I felt like I was being attacked by a hitherto undocumented army of Vancouver Island guerillas. You can imagine my surprise when another pickup truck splattered up to the one in which I was sitting. Randy himself climbed out and flashed me the victory sign. Another man also got out and approached our vehicle with a jack. It wasn’t long before the stricken tire had been replaced by a new one. As we were driving back to Port McNeil, I said, “So how did you know you were going to find help?” “I trusted in serendipity,” Randy replied. “Also, I’d seen my cousin’s truck parked at the store in Woss, and since he’s got a cabin down here, I figured he’d be coming this way.” Back in Alert Bay, I smeared eulachon grease on some smoked salmon again. This time the grease had a much better flavor, as if it were imbued with the primal elements which I’d recently experienced and which were such a common presence ANW in this part of the world.
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An Introduction to Kitesurfing Story by Nick Belcaster
A
t first blush, kitesurfing is one of those oddball sports that you know that people do, just not anyone you know.
unintelligible and unapproachable. I decided that I would have to experience it for myself. • • •
Bellingham Bay, Washington State. Take a perfectly fine body of water. Any random spring day. Mud season in Introduce the raw power of the wind, yoked by the frenetic flutter of nylon and control lines, saddle a board (don’t crash the kite), lift out of the water and pull onto an edge (are you watching the kite?), and pitch off across the surface like a skipped stone. You cannot tell me a sane individual dreamed this up. Consider the lineage; a knotted, branching family tree punctuated by many a scraped elbow and weeping knee (the Aaron Knapp rides the waves. surfers did beget the Photo by Aaron Knapp/Courtesy Bellingham Kite Paddle Surf skateboarders…) with a pedigree that mixes the Pacific Northwest. The bay is colored the bloodlines of wakeboarding and kite by hues of grey; a dusky pan of wave caps buggying, kitesurfing is one of the lucky sluicing free around the fringes like meroffshoots to survive being spun out of the cury in an outstretched palm, the light hurricane of extreme activities of the 90s and clouds a bruised and oiled metal. The to become a legitimate sport. It may even smell of salt is heavy on the wind. be included in the next Olympics. Patrick Harber of Bellingham Kite But even so, kitesurfing had always Paddle Surf is teaching his first lesson of seemed to me like the bull that had the season despite the weather, but when jumped the fence. An activity with the you find someone that has leaned into same allure that had drawn me to snowkitesurfing fully, they are bent to it. We boarding and sailing, but draped in the 52
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rendezvous on the hillside overlooking the bay and descend to its edge. Although his kitesurfing instruction has taken him to Hawaii and the Bahamas, Patrick pointed up the bay toward his parents’ house. Bellingham is his home turf. My first task is in learning the finer points of ground school. How one avoids pitching down the beach like a marionette strung beneath his kite. The manipulation of cold neoprene. An untangling of wind knots. We unfurl the kite and inflate the supported leading edge, drape the control lines across the cobble beach and attach the control bar, a handle that is used to manipulate the flight of the kite and connected by the gleefully named ‘chicken loop,’ a safety measure the ancients deemed for suckers. You’d have to be chicken to use that thing…I’d be using it today. We slosh into the bay; my neoprene booties immediately fill. Patrick walks the kite out deftly without watching it. He makes use of the flagging wind and demonstrates lifting the kite off the surface of the water and stepping onto the board, splitting the water under it in a wide arc. It looks every bit as challenging as wakeboarding, never mind >>> Go to AdventuresNW.com
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the need to pilot your own personal aircraft. Now it’s my turn to feel the power. Patrick sets me up with the kite and offers instructions on pulling myself through the water with it, the subtle movements of the wrist that translate into the kite diving into the power zone, availing more wing area to the wind and rocketing my body into a full plane across the water. Whoa. Before I even have the opportunity to step onto the board the wind drops, apparently having somewhere else to be. Alas, I’ll have to wait a bit longer to taste the fruits of my labor. We walk back into shore. A flock of shorebirds unravels. Over the selfwrestling match of wet suit extraction
Patrick regales me with tales of windblown azure in tropical climes, winds pure and water warm. I could go for a bit of that. Kitesurfing brings to mind a quote that has changed hands many times, though its origin lies not with the commonly-credited Ernest Hemingway, but rather the automotive writer and editor Ken Purdy: “Auto racing, bullfighting, and mountain climbing are the only real sports—all others are games.” Actually, while you all argue over who said it, I’ll be down at the bay. Working on keeping this kite in the air and the board down. As far as I’m concerned, kitesurfing hits the mark. I like games well enough. ANW
VITAL SIGNS Reflecting and Connecting - Cultivating Positivity in Difficult Times By Sarah Laing, B.Sc. Nutrition
Navigating the new normal in all of its forms is a challenge we are all facing right now, and trying to cultivate the ‘glass is half full’ perspective can be hard for even the most joyous of us. I’ve been trying to take the hint from this global pause to reflect and connect with the parts of my life that inspire and motivate me. At first, it seemed almost selfish to take time for myself when there is so much other, seemingly more important work to do, but then I realized something. Taking the time—even just for a few moments a day—to reconnect with my intentions and positively reaffirm my ‘wins’ towards realizing them, has left me with a greater, more fulfilling sense of self-awareness of my personal contributions to the world, however small. Giving myself permission to be introspective has also been profoundly liberating and refueled my creative spark. The power to change lies within, and establishing a daily ritual of reflecting and connecting creates an inner environment of compassion, equanimity and love that infuses positivity into our interactions and contributes to a healthy path forward for the world around us.
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Art, Adventure and the Splash of Wild Salmon Memories of Fishtown By Tom Robbins
I
f during the last half of the 1960s, you were a young painter pr poet striving to make it between Bellingham and Seattle, you didn’t apply for a grant or establish an Internet Go-Fund-Me page; no, you packed up what passed for your belongings and moved to Fishtown, a cluster of abandoned fishing shacks at the heavily wooded mouth of the Skagit River. Sure, no electricity, no running water, but also no rent, no taxes, utility bills or philistinic neighbors; and while a predilection for Zen philosophy was not strictly required in order to consciously live this way, it helped if you knew which side your bread was Buddha-ed on. Did the meditation, chopping wood and hauling water stimulate any great advances in
Photo by John D’Onofrio
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poetry or art? That may yet be determined. However, despite the physical labor, the isolation and the pot, some genuinely admirable work did manage to be produced, and a few survivors of the Northwest version of Walden Pond are still in the art arena, expertly brandishing brush and pen. Whatever its ultimate effect on their oeuvre, I’d wager that the splash of wild salmon, rustle of blackberry vines, and occasional cough of a cougar add a Fishtown soundtrack to their dreams at night. Are art and adventure compatible? On a strictly philosophical level at least, the two have probably always been inseparable. In Fishtown, the two got quite physical with one another— while green tea steamed in a hand-thrown bowl and the next day’s aesthetic challenges steamed in the brain. ANW
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Knobby Tires in Norway Story and photo by David Neubeck
A
t its core, mountain biking is about exploration. In this spirit, a group of friends from British Columbia and Whatcom County, Washington headed to northern Norway to ride trails rarely traversed by knobby tires. This image was taken near Narvik, Norway, gateway to the Lofoten Islands. Although the Islands are mostly famous
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Field Trip Adventures beyond the PNW
for the abundance of spawning cod that arrive each spring, the landscape and scenery is straight out of an adventure fairy tale. One of our days was spent riding a mountain of smooth, exposed granite. Near the top, we stopped for a snack beside this infinity pool of rainwater and marveled at our sublime surroundings—glaciers, fjords and an endless supply of aweinspiring slickrock riding. ANW
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Cascadia Gear:
Gear Spotlight:
Essentials for your next Adventure Edge of the Map
Johanna Garton’s newly published book, Edge of the Map (Mountaineer Books) tells the story of an amazing mountaineer, Christine Boskoff, who distinguished herself in the male-dominated world of expedition climbing. Boskoff’s accomplishments—and laid-back, understated persona—make for fascinating reading. Edge of the Map follows her audacious ascents in some of the planet’s most remote places, details her personal triumphs and tragedies and eventual leadership of Seattle-based Mountain Madness, an elite guiding company, where she took the reins after previous owner Scott Fisher was lost on Everest, a mountaineering disaster made famous by Jon Krakauer in Into Thin Air. Garton weaves a compelling narrative and paints vivid pictures of Boskoff’s devotion to a life well lived. Edge of the Map is a noteworthy addition to the canon of mountaineering literature. More info: mountaineers.org/books
Stegmann EcoWool Clogs When it comes to comfort, the artisans at Stegmann have been delivering since 1888. The EcoWool Clogs are no exception. Slip your feet into these anatomically-shaped clogs after a day on the trail and experience tootsie nirvana. They’re made from all natural wools, minimally processed, and are dye and chemical free. They last forever. And your conscience will feel good too: Stegmann, based in Tirol, Austria is carbon-neutral and supports small European farms practicing sustainable and cruelty free farming. More info: stegmannusa.com
Radical Pan Cooking in the woods is a unique joy. When car-camping, preparing and eating a fine meal can elevate the spirit. As the old saying goes, everything tastes better when you’re camping. The Radical Pan is ideal in two ways. It makes meal preparation ultra-easy with its high-rise lip and non-stick surface and it makes clean-up a snap. And guess what? It’s toxin-free. No PFOA, PFO, lead or cadmium. Bon Appétit! More info: radusa.co
Kokopelli XPD Packraft by Chris Gerston
Kokopelli Packrafts are packable inflatable kayaks built for adventure and strong enough for nearly anything. They come in various materials: Ultralights for lakes, or burlier materials for whitewater (I’ve heard that Class IV rivers are doable if the rest of your river skills are up for it). With one of these, your biking, hiking and car camping adventures can be expanded to include an aquatic component. The most versatile packraft, the XPD, packs down small enough to fit into a backpack. Weighing only 13 pounds (5.9 kilograms), but utilizing the same material used in commercial rafts, the rugged XPD is ideal for entry-level paddlers, multi-sport adventurers, car campers, hunters and weekend warriors. Using the Rogue-lite shape combined with the extra-large 12-inch (30-centimeter) diameter pontoons and higher floor-to-sidewall attachment point, the XPD is perfect for multi-day trips. This open or “bucket” style packraft helps paddlers minimize weight and reduces setup time while making jumping in and out of the packraft easy. I’m looking forward to taking the XPD boat out with the kids both in the local lakes and also on floats like the Yakima this summer. Backcountry Essentials will also have demos of the XPD ($749) and the Recon ($899) starting at $40 per day so you can take one out for a spin. Chris Gerston owns Backcountry Essentials, an outdoor specialty shop located at 214 W. Holly in Bellingham, WA. Check out more of Chris’ gear reviews at AdventuresNW.com
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Guest Review: Nikki Schormann
Arc’teryx Palisade Woman’s Hiking Pants Whether summer or winter, I wear pants (not shorts) when hiking, to keep the sun, dirt, bugs, and brush off my legs. After my last pair finally wore out, I was on the lookout for breezy but durable pants that would keep me from overheating as I trek up hills this summer. I found the right fit in the Arc’teryx Palisade. I noticed the luxuriously soft waistband right away (why can’t all pants have this!?). With just enough stretch and a gusseted crotch built into these pants, I can climb over downed trees, and stretch my legs hopping from rock to rock at stream crossings. Four zippered pockets keep my phone handy for photos, and a snack close by when I need just a little more motivation to power up to the summit. Three lengths to choose from ensure that my pants reach my boots, but don’t drag on the ground. They’re lightweight, but sturdy, and the adjustable belt will accommodate an extra pair of long underwear when staying up late on chilly mountain nights. More info: arcteryx.com
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the
Next
Adventure
Nooksack Falls photo by JAMES PAPP Nooksack Falls is a Whatcom County icon along the North Fork of the Nooksack River about 40 miles east of Bellingham, Washington. The rushing whitewater, sculpted rock, and dark evergreens combine to create powerful drama and a compelling sense of place. Mist rising from the bottom of the falls in the deep canyon below enhances the ambiance that is emblematic of the evocative power of Cascadia.
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