out there

out there

out there

“Out There” is not just a magazine; it’s a sanctuary for nature enthusiasts, a guide to living in harmony with nature and the beauty of the great outdoors is celebrated in every page. With its enchanting blend of illustrated articles, breathtaking photography, and captivating narratives, “Out There” invites readers on an unforgettable journey into the heart of nature —because out there, adventure awaits.

Published Spring 2024

Layout Design by Megan Raimondo

A WHY YEAR I SPENT EXPLORING Neighborhood My Boring

By Alastair Humphreys

One motivation for exploring a square each week, come rain or shine, was to make being out in nature part of my routine. I hoped that becoming connected with where I live, with its weather and seasons, would keep me attuned to the seedlings pushing through pavements, the migrating birds passing overhead, the provenance of the food I eat, and reveal some interesting new running routes too.

Taking just a few minutes every month to climb a tree, which I’d done for the past three years, had certainly made me happier. Each time I returned to the tree I was surprised by how much nature had changed in the past few weeks. Fun, too, had been my year of full-moon forays, getting outdoors for a run, ride, walk or swim on every full moon, and also a year of enjoying coffee outside at least monthly. If hospital gardens help people to heal, if doctors now prescribe exercise in nature, then committing to fifty-two outdoor missions sounded like a sensible undertaking. By now the habit of heading out once a week with my camera and notebook felt comfortably established.

It was a flat, grey day beneath a flat, grey December sky. The river flowing through today’s square was flat and grey, rippling as the tide nurdled ever lower. My mood, however, was neither flat nor grey. I was looking forward to this one.

A few off-limit jetties jutted out into the current, infrastructure for pipelines and industry. A conveyor belt rumbled along one, filling a barge with gravel, but all else was quiet. This was, perhaps, a grid square that only a map nerd like me could derive pleasure from. More than half of it was blue on my map, but that was an incongruous representation of the muddy,

intimidating industrial estuary spreading out before me. I didn’t dare swim out to explore it.

Behind me, the rest of the square was fenced off by a shooting range, an electricity substation filled with fizzing power lines, a cement factory, a slime-covered canal (featuring a sofa tipped into the water, whose lurid colour perfectly matched the algae), and a police firearms training centre complete with replica streets and life-size sections of planes and trains. This brought back fond memories of getting a day’s pay back when I was in the Territorial Army at university to don ‘civvy’ clothes and cheerfully lob half-bricks and milk bottles at massed ranks of policemen in riot gear. It was all fun and larks until they mounted their response charge at us…

And so, in terms of my exploration, the square was effectively reduced to little more than the footpath along the embankment’s flood defences, plus whatever muddy ‘beach’ was revealed as the tide fell. That was fine by me as I’d studied the tide timetable and arrived a couple of hours before low tide, past a yard filled with ships’ anchors, ten-feet tall and tonnes galore. I was here to go mudlarking among the slimy green rocks, brown seaweed and thick grey mud of the foreshore.

A mudlark is someone who scavenges in river mud at low tide, looking for valuable items. It was a way of life in London during the 18th and 19th centuries, when mudlarks searched the Thames’ shore for anything of value. They earned little but enjoyed an unusual amount of independence for the period, plus they got to keep whatever they found or earned.

Lara Maiklem explores the ancient, murky, tidal foreshore of the Thames, whose ebbs and flows still churn objects to the surface that have been hidden

Photos by Alastair Humphreys

and preserved in the mud for centuries. I had recently devoured her fabulous book Mudlarking (and enticing Instagram posts), and was fascinated by the greedy prospect of finding treasure, Roman roofing, Tudor shoes, and messages in bottles.

I donned wellies and waterproof trousers, climbed up and over the graffiti-covered embankment wall, and dropped onto the foreshore to begin my search. Its lowest reaches were a lethal gloop of deep, sloppy, stinking mud. I settled for making my way along the line where rock and mud meet, slipping over mounds of bladderwrack, a brown seaweed studded with air bladders that help it to float upright and absorb nutrients when submerged. At low tides, the exposed seaweed forms dense beds, which theoretically should provide shelter for all sorts of creatures. But I’m afraid I saw not a single living thing among it all. A few gulls bobbed on the river, and

semi-feral ponies grazed on the embankment behind me. But the water was pretty grim.

Only a few pearly-white oyster shells gave any suggestion of life in the grey mud. Over the past 200 years, habitat loss, pollution and overfishing slashed the oyster population around the UK by 95 percent, though it is now on the increase again. Across the country, things are improving from the low point of 1957, when the Thames was declared biologically dead and the river was a foul-smelling drain. It is a travesty, however, that even today, not a single river in Britain is free from pollution.

I had fully intended to find priceless loot within minutes of beginning my mudlarking. Instead, I found a rusty chair frame and heaps of plastic, including a label saying ‘BAG IT AND BIN IT, DON’T FLUSH IT’.

I picked up a 1980s milk bottle with ‘PLEASE RETURN BOTTLE’ embossed on the glass. All

interesting enough, but where was that jewel-encrusted sword when you needed it?

Truth be told, my patience began to wane within about twenty minutes, as I had known it would. This was actually one reason I’d decided to try mudlarking in the first place, to remind myself to slow down, to savour the process of searching, and not to be so hung up on productivity or getting things done.

So I persevered, picking my way among rusty pieces of metal, crisp packets and drinking straws. We used to throw away 4.7 billion plastic straws, 316 million plastic stirrers and 1.8 billion plasticstemmed cotton buds each year. Those numbers plummeted once they were banned: proof of the immediate impact that quick, simple law changes can have.

I stood up straight to stretch my back and to watch a ship pass down the river, filled with the romanticism of imagining all

“This was actually one reason I’d decided to try mud larking in the first place, to remind myself to slow down, to savour the process of searching, and not to be so hung up on productivity or getting things done.”

the places for which it might be bound. Nineveh, perhaps? But my maritime musings have become more accurate, if less exotic, since I downloaded the Marine Radar app, which tells you about any ships you see.

So this was the Maltese cargo ship Celestine sliding down the estuary with a salt-caked smoke stack and a cargo of cars. Heading in the other direction, a Dutch trailing suction hopper dredger slurped up the same gloop I was searching through. Dredgers work like monstrous vacuum cleaners, sucking up sand, mud and gravel from the channel to store onboard and discharge later. I wondered what gems had unknowingly been dumped through its pipes.

I bent down again and kept looking. Now I found a metal fork, a white comb and the compulsory shopping trolley. How did they end up in the river?

A discarded condom, unopened, told its tale of a disappointed date lobbing it off a bridge on his unplanned lonely trudge home to an empty bed. A golf putter, green with slime, had me imagining a pitch and putt rage, a nice day out soured by a tantrum and the golf club arcing through the summer sky into the water.

What else did I find? A pair of red pebbles caught my eye. A smooth, tactile fragment of green bottle marked ‘A.A. & Co’. Two symmetrical shards of tile. A

fragment of porcelain decorated with blue and white lines, dots and circles.

That was about it.

This was actually one reason I’d decided to try mudlarking in the first place, to remind myself to slow down, to savour the process of searching, and not to be so hung up on productivity or getting things done.

But still, I was 99 percent certain that Christopher Columbus had dined off that very plate, munching corn on the cob as he set sail to discover Australia. One can always dream…

Even though I found no verifiable bullion or antiques, I had enjoyed trying to imagine stories for all the mundane objects I collected and brought home that morning. All these banal discoveries were grist to the mill as I learnt how to be an enthusiastic amateur.

I was like the young boy Calvin in the comic strip, digging up the garden with Hobbes, his pet tiger. Hobbes asks Calvin what he has found.

‘A few dirty rocks, a weird root, and some disgusting grubs,’ answers Calvin from deep in his hole.

‘On your first try?’ asks Hobbes in delight.

‘There’s treasure everywhere,’ exclaims Calvin.

10 Easy Ways to Spend

3. 4. 5. 1.

Walk or Ride your Bike to Work

Walk or ride your bike to work – One easy way to spend more time outdoors is to incorporate daily activities like your commute into nature. So rather than hopping in the car and driving to work, why not trade four wheels for two and cycle to the office? Or if you work close enough, try walking. Even just a couple of days a week will let you reap the benefits of being outside.

2.

Nature has become the new gym for a lot of people. So why not join them and skip the hot, overcrowded fitness club? There are plenty of exercises you can do outside, including running, walking, cycling, and stair climbing. Even if you still go to the gym a few days a week, substituting part of your fitness routine with outdoor cardio will make all the difference. From basketball to soccer, tennis to pickleball, the ways to exercise outdoors are endless.

Another simple way to get outside every day is to park farther away than you normally do. Instead of wasting time (and fuel) as you circle for the best spot, park a few blocks away and enjoy a nice stroll to your destination. You can do this anywhere you park, whether it’s at work, school, the grocery store, or a friend’s house. Practice this wherever you go and over time it will add up.

Replace the Gym Park Further Away Shop at Farmers Markets

The next time you need some fresh fruit or produce, skip the grocery store and buy as much of your food as you can at local farmers markets. Check your area’s schedule to see where they are and hit several a week if you can. Not only will this help you get outside more, you’ll eat better too.

Get a Dog

A four-legged friend is always great motivation to get outside. Even if it’s just for a short walk or game of fetch, having a pooch will ensure that you get outside at least once or twice a day. And things like hiking, running, or exercising outdoors are always more enjoyable with a pup at your side—not to mention the heartwarming companionship.

More Time Outdoors

7. 8. 9. 10. 6.

By DaviD young

Redecorate your Porch

Creating a space that you love outside is a wonderful way to motivate yourself to spend more time out there. Whether it’s a plush chair, a fire pit, relaxing fountain, hammock, or umbrella, adding a comfortable spot to your outdoor environment will encourage you to get outside to enjoy it.

Plant a Garden

Ever wonder if you have a green thumb? Starting a garden is an excellent way to find out. Whether it’s veggies or flowers, tending to a garden forces you to spend more time outdoors by having to care for it regularly. Plus, at the end of the day you’ll have something to show for all of your hard work.

Learn an Outdoor Hobby Walk After Work

Hiking, fishing, trail running, and skiing are only a handful of the many outdoor hobbies to choose from. The list is endless, so create your own outdoor adventures. Once you’ve gained the skills and invested the right gear for your chosen sport, the outdoors will become your second home.

Reduced stress is one of the many health benefits of being outside, so get into the habit of walking every day after work. Or, if you’re a morning person, you can opt to walk before you hit the office. Either way, a short stroll will help you clear your head and keep you centered. It’s healthier than going to happy hour, and a lot cheaper too.

Commit to 15 Minutes Everyday

Whatever you do, try committing to spending at least 15 minutes a day outside. Over time, these small increments add up. You can even make a game out of it by tracking your outside streaks. Create a reminder on your watch or phone and treat yourself to a reward after 30 consecutive days. Your well-being is well worth the investment.

HOW THRU-HIKING

THE

APPALACHIAN TRAIL

AFFIRMED, CHALLENGED, AND CHANGED US

Photos and Article by Kevin and Kathy

THE HIKE Stats from

This year, we became thru-hikers. From June – November 2022, we hiked all 2,194.3 miles of the Appalachian Trail (AT). It took us 4 months and 3 weeks. To say that this experience was life-changing is an understatement. But, thru-hiking the AT was much more than the numbers. It was one of the most profoundly impactful experiences of our lives. We hiked every step together from Maine to Georgia. Along the way, we felt increasingly more connected to our minds, bodies, nature, and each other than ever before. Between the elevation, rough terrain, and varied weather conditions, thru-hiking the AT was really hard—mentally, physically, and emotionally. But, would the rewards, growth, and joy feel as sweet or even be possible without the difficulty? We don’t think so. For our year in review, we are sharing some of our big reflections from this experience and how we hope our growth and lessons learned on trail will carry into our lives off-trail.

Slowing down, cultivating mindfulness, and being more present

The simplicity of trail life allowed us to be more present, notice what was around us, and live from our deepest intentions. Each day on trail, our primary concerns consisted of keeping ourselves fed, hydrated, and rested. Everything felt simpler. We learned how to slow down, be more flexible, and set our egos and pride aside. It felt much less important to “get somewhere” when we had all the time we needed to get there. So, we practiced daily walking and seated meditation. We did not set alarms or rush in the morning. Almost always the last to leave camp each day, we made hot beverages, stretched, and enjoyed precious moments of solitude together. As we hiked, we took note of the small things: ferns, flowers, rocks, bugs. Trail life lent itself to mindfulness, reflection, and introspection. Perhaps it was being in nature all day, often (not fully) away from external expectations. Perhaps it was because

146 Days Total

Zeros

2194.3 Miles Total

14 States Traversed

464,500 of elevation gain and loss “equivalent to hiking Mt. Everest from sea level and back 16 times

Photo by Stutterstock

we were constantly physically challenged. Perhaps it was because we were mostly alone with our thoughts. Perhaps it was the simplicity of channeling all our efforts towards a singular goal. Perhaps it was the reduction of choices in daily life. It was likely a combination of all these elements that allowed us to be more attuned to our thoughts and feelings.

There was something remarkable about embarking on an intensive experience for which the ultimate goal was so far away. Before the AT, when we went out for shorter hikes or backpacking trips, it was difficult not to focus on what we needed to do when we got home. Most often, those worries and anxieties were about inconsequential things, but they lingered in our minds when we knew they would be upon us soon. But on the AT, those worries became more distant and receded naturally. With the noise turned down, we could more appropriately assess what was important, what was extraneous, and what we could let go of. Thru-hiking the AT helped set the conditions for us to disconnect from distractions and more easefully dwell in the present.

Building confidence and realizing our capacity to handle uncertainty and challenge

When we planned this AT thru-hike, we didn’t know what we were capable of. There were a lot of big question marks. Could we actually do this? Would we like sleeping outside each day? Could our bodies hold up for so long? Now, we know what we can do and we know who we are as thru-hikers. It took time to develop this level of confidence and understanding of ourselves and each other. Each day, we faced conditions, terrain, and situations that challenged us and made us change our plans: drastic changes in weather (e.g. hurricanes, wind, rain, storms, snow), COVID, illness, interpersonal relationships on and off trail, and injury. Despite being thorough planners, many things were simply out of our control. Being flexible and responsive instead of stubbornly following a predetermined plan was challenging, but we learned that just because we could do something didn’t mean we should do it. We kept figuring things out and kept listening to our bodies. People would say things like “you have no idea how hard the next climb is” or “you are going to get your ass kicked by the next section.” It could have been easy to let these comments scare us. But we realized with experience that we were more capable than we or others realized. Nobody knew our minds, bodies, and capabilities like we did and with more experience, we knew we could handle whatever was thrown at us.

Seeing the impermanence of everything

Throughout the thru-hike, we reminded ourselves of Zen Buddhist Thich Nhat Hanh’s words: “Because of impermanence, everything is possible.” When thruhiking, we experienced incredibly high highs and low lows, all of which could occur within minutes, hours, or days of each other. Sometimes, the climb up to a peak felt never-ending and exhausting, but as soon as we got to the top and felt the cool breeze and accomplishment, we were on top of the world. Experiencing these fluctuations in our emotions reminded us that everything—pain, joy, excitement, beauty, relief—were all fleeting. And, staying present with those feelings, noticing them, and not trying to fight them, were big lessons we learned. Even the thru-hike as a whole was impermanent. We couldn’t hold onto that experience any more than we could to those highs on mountaintops. If the thru-hike went on forever, it could not have been so transformative. We could not have grown in static conditions. After months of pouring every ounce of our bodies and minds into completing this goal, it ended, as all things do. And we were left both to bask in the accomplishment and grieve the finality of such a massive undertaking.

Appreciating our physical bodies and all that they can do and

endure

Physically, thru-hiking the AT was tough. With the immense amount of elevation gain and loss, rocks, roots, and uneven terrain, our bodies really felt the effects of hiking all day every day. But, our bodies grew stronger,

transforming with every step. They bounced back from illness, fatigue, injury, and discomfort. Over time, our bodies became conditioned to moving and it began to feel natural. Our legs became akin to our breath—moving voluntarily and involuntarily, up and down mountains. We trusted and listened to our bodies when we needed to slow down or when we could push our physical limits to a new level. We hiked our longest mileage day (28.5 miles) in the second to last day of our entire thru-hike.

Strengthening our minds and bodies and feeling the connection between them

So much of our ability to hike 15-20 miles per day relied on not only our physical strength, but our mental and emotional fortitude. Our tolerance for many forms of discomfort grew exponentially. Most often, it was our mindset that either prevented us from reaching our potential or allowed us to embrace difficult experiences. A big part of long distance hiking involves figuring out how to mentally and emotionally cope with physical discomfort. Over time, the connections between our minds, bodies, and nature strengthened. Meditation and mindfulness practices helped us through physically and emotionally challenging moments and days. Noticing how we felt, but not judging ourselves for those feelings, allowed us to accept where we were and what we needed. We felt in our bodies when we had hiked a certain number of miles. We sensed when a climb was about to end or begin based on the terrain. We knew if our bodies needed salt, sugar, or electrolytes when we felt fatigued. And we lived with the rhythms of the natural world. When we tripped, our bodies knew instinctively how to catch themselves or fall “gracefully” to keep us safe. We were continuously reminded of how much more connected our minds and bodies are as a result of this thru-hike and it’s truly remarkable to experience and feel that.

Deepening our partnership

There are some huge benefits to thru-hiking with your partner. We know each other so well and showed each other care and love every day, which was so important on a journey of such immense highs and lows. We were each self-sufficient, but having a known support system on tough days was invaluable. We didn’t feel homesick because, as cliché as it sounds, home (our moving tent) was wherever we were together. Many people asked if we got sick of each other and actually, it was the opposite. Even though we walked within

eyesight of each other the entire way, we learned how to give each other space when the other person needed it. We developed tacit understandings of when to talk, when to walk in silence, and when and how to do camp chores. We’ve truly never been closer.

Being grateful for what we have

Being able to take 5 months to thru-hike the AT is immense privilege. When we got on trail with just a backpack on our shoulders, we quickly learned how little we needed to live fully. Each day, we felt grateful for what we had and what people were willing to provide us. Specifically, any food, water, words of encouragement, quick hitchhikes, or showers offered to us were incredible gifts. We could not be more appreciative for the hospitality we received from friends and strangers. It is incredible what a nutritious meal and a hot shower can do for your overall physical health and mental well-being. For example, one motel owner let us camp on the lawn for free and brought us Indian food from a retreat center he volunteered at. One person who gave us a ride also gave us hand sanitizer and plastic bags – things that may seem inconsequential, but are actually invaluable to thruhikers. A pair of trail angels opened their home to us and took us in like family. Other hikers who passed gave us enthusiastic fist bumps when they learned about what we were doing. We didn’t need much more than the necessities, a sense of adventure, and the kindness of others.

“We didn’t need much more than the necessities, a sense of adventure, and the kindness of others.”

Building community and contributing to its improvement

The trail created so many opportunities to connect with hikers at unexpected times and places. We met hikers from different places and in different stages of life who we probably would never have engaged with if we didn’t do this hike. We befriended whole families, retirees, recent college graduates, and just other people figuring out life. Sharing this experience with others inherently made us closer to people with vastly different life experiences from our own. People were willing to go deeper and be

more authentically themselves knowing that we all share this beautiful, challenging, and complex experience. Simultaneously, however, the hiking community is not always as welcoming and inclusive as we want it to be. Thru-hiking is not an escape from reality––we all bring our experiences and identities with us wherever we go. Lotus dealt with more incidents of stereotyping and unconscious bias while hiking the trail than she has experienced in dayto-day life. She had to figure out how to cope with these interactions while maintaining her joy and love for thru-hiking.

Stretch had to figure out how best to be an ally and supporter while of course making some mistakes along the way. By immersing ourselves within this community, we grew in our own identity development and solidified our resolve to make the outdoor community more accessible and inclusive for all.

Connecting deeply with nature

By living outside, we connected deeply with the rhythms of nature. Feeling the seasons changing and walking for hours surrounded by the sights and sounds of the woods was truly healing. We began hiking in the heat of the summer, with long hours of daylight and lush greenery, and ended hiking in the late fall, starting and ending in the

fading sun and walking on fallen leaves under bare trees. We hiked through snow, drought, changing fall foliage, extreme heat, and extreme cold. We picked blueberries off of bushes in Maine, cleaned ourselves by swimming in ponds, and fell asleep listening to the sounds of calling loons, chirping cicadas, and rummaging red squirrels. Also, our creativity exploded while spending extended time in nature. Each day, it felt like we were overflowing with ideas and urges to tell stories, write, take pictures, draw, and paint.

Infusing joy and celebration

Celebrating accomplishments, small and large, is critical when facing a massive undertaking like thru-hiking a long trail. Along the way, we intentionally acknowledged when we reached certain milestones (like the halfway point), when we met smaller goals (like walking a full marathon distance), and when we simply handled difficult situations well. Doing so made the daunting task of hiking 2,200 miles in less than 5 months feel possible on a daily basis. We also took lots of pictures and made silly videos to make us laugh, particularly in moments of difficulty.

Final Reflections

Each day on the Appalachian Trail we relished the time we had to deeply consider our priorities and figure out how we could craft a fulfilling life for ourselves. Now that we are off trail, we are not planning to make drastic

changes in our jobs, home life, or relationships. But we are making small daily changes including: spending time outside each day; incorporating daily forms of movement including running, hiking, yoga, and walking; prioritizing a space in our home for art and creativity; and expanding our blog. On a larger scale, we are integrating hiking, traveling, and adventuring into our lives while maintaining meaningful careers that keep us grounded. Following this experience, we have become more confident in who we are, who we want to grow to be, and how we want to live our lives, despite our choices seeming unconventional to others. We are looking forward to what 2023 and beyond holds for us.

We signed every trail journal with two phrases that we continue to live by:

The journey continues. and No mud, no lotus. “

alchemy good

Simple Ingredients Derived from Nature

50 Years of Endangered Protecting Species

Illustrations by Teagan White

Text by Catherine Zuckerman

Amid a biodiversity crisis, the landmark protection hits a major milestone.

In 1963, one year after Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring was published, bald eagle populations in the lower 48 U.S. states hit an all-time low. Officials counted just 417 nesting pairs—a shocking fraction of the estimated 100,000 birds that once soared the skies in the 18th century, and a grim reinforcement of Carson’s warning against agriculture’s indiscriminate use of chemicals like the pesticide DDT. Other species’ numbers were plummeting as well. A postwar boom in construction, logging and agriculture was polluting the nation’s air and water and degrading habitats for many animals, including grizzly bears, whooping cranes and shortnose sturgeon.

Amid a groundswell of public concern for the imperiled wildlife and the broader environment, the federal government began implementing a series of conservation measures. In 1970, Congress established the Environmental Protection Agency, which in 1972 outlawed most uses of DDT. Then, in 1973, President Nixon signed the Endangered Species Act, which mandated steps to protect and restore plants or animals identified as “threatened” or “endangered.” In doing so, it provided a framework for protecting species and their ecosystems from further decline, and it signaled to the world that direct action could make a difference.

In the 50 years since the act was adopted, more than 1,000 fish, mammals, insects, birds, flowers and other species have been listed under the act, and more than 50 have rebounded because of its protections, including some that The Nature Conservancy has helped restore. One of them is the bald eagle, which was “delisted” in 2007 after the bird’s numbers recovered. Now the eagle can be spotted in nearly every state.

Who’s to say what the Endangered Species Act’s next 50 years will hold? The act will no doubt be tested more than ever before as the effects of climate change, coupled with a global biodiversity crisis, pose unprecedented threats to the creatures it was designed to protect.

In the birding world, a Kirtland’s warbler sighting is a big deal, and for good reason. The sparrow-size songbird has a very specific range and habitat: In the summer it nests on the ground only in young, dense jack pine forests in or adjacent to the state of Michigan. As the weather turns cold, the bird migrates to the Bahamas and nearby islands and nests in coastal scrub habitat. By the time the Endangered Species Act was signed in the 1970s, “there were less than 200 singing males,” says Patrick Doran, TNC’s associate state director in Michigan. The species faced two threats: the suppression of natural wildfires needed to maintain young tree growth, and predation by the brown-headed cowbird, which deposits its eggs

Kirtland’s Warbler

Setophaga kirtlandii

in Kirtland’s warbler nests, creating a competitive environment in which the warbler chicks often lose. “They were getting hammered,” says Doran.

Through habitat management in the form of controlled burns and tree replanting, and through reducing the prevalence of brown-headed cowbirds, Kirtland’s warbler populations have risen dramatically. Delisted in 2019, current estimates suggest some 2,300 breeding pairs are alive today. Still, Doran says, the Kirtland’s warbler is reliant on continued conservation, and its fragility is perhaps what makes sightings so memorable.

Fender’s Blue Butterfly #2

By 1937, biologists believed that this one-inch butterfly had gone extinct after losing much of its habitat in Oregon’s Willamette River Valley. “Nearly all native prairie [there] has been converted to agriculture, urban development and other land-cover types,” says TNC Willamette Basin Steward Jeff Rosier. In particular, the insect depends on Kincaid’s lupine, a wildflower upon which it lays its eggs. But in 1989, small populations of the butterfly were discovered, and in 2000 it was listed as endangered. Since then, numerous conservation efforts have allowed this tiny pollinator to rebound. Its range has doubled and known population sites have quadrupled, leading to its recent “downlisting” from endangered to threatened.

Icaricia icarioides fenderi

American

Alligator #3 The

Alligator mississippiensis

50 Years of Protecting Endangered Species

There are only two species of alligator in the world: American and Chinese. The former was listed as endangered under earlier legislation— the Endangered Species Preservation Act of 1966—after hunting pushed it near extinction. Once protected by the Endangered Species Act’s limitations on alligator products and hunting—as well as increased conservation of its habitat—populations recovered.

American alligators mostly live in coastal parts of the southeastern United States. They rely on fresh water to live but can tolerate salt water for brief periods of time for foraging, says Eric Krueger, TNC’s director of science and stewardship in South Carolina. “They tend to be on the outer coast, where tides promote growth of grassy wetlands where they can build nests and get in the sun.”

With only limited hunting allowed, the American alligator’s primary threat now is habitat loss caused by development and the pressure that climate change is putting on tidal freshwater areas. The Nature Conservancy has been involved in protecting the species by conserving wetlands throughout the Southeast. In South Carolina’s Ashepoo, Combahee and Edisto Basin, TNC has protected more than 83,000 acres, contributing to a combined 310,000 acres privately and publicly protected in the region. Delisted in 1987 and with an estimated population of 5 million today, the American alligator is still monitored because it closely resembles the American crocodile, which overlaps with its range in southern Florida and is listed as endangered.

American alligators help balance ecosystems by keeping populations of species lower on the food chain in check. Today they face a growing new threat: clashes with humans. Though they don’t typically attack people, alligators are attracted to stormwater ponds in developed areas. Do not leave food there, says Krueger. “Feeding them breaks down their natural fear.”

#4

Eggert’s Sunflower

This member of the Asteraceae family, known for its gold-hued blossoms and distinctive blue-green stems, can grow up to 7 feet tall. Eggert’s sunflower is native to Alabama, Kentucky and Tennessee. It was listed as threatened in 1997, when it could only be found in 14 counties scattered across those states. Preferring open, grassy areas and thickets, the plant was primarily threatened by habitat degradation in the form of commercial and residential development as well as land conversion for agriculture. But conservation efforts—including reduced use of herbicides and delayed mowing along roadsides where Eggert’s sunflower grows—have been so successful that, just eight years after being listed, it was delisted.

Topeka Shiner

Notropis topeka

This three-inch minnow “really speaks to the heartland of the U.S.,” says Steve Herrington, a TNC freshwater restoration strategy manager. Found in streams and creeks of the Great Plains, the shiner was listed in 1998 as endangered after centuries of agriculture-related development destroyed its habitat. Though the fish is still listed, ongoing land and water restoration projects have helped. One experimental program breeds shiners in a creek on Dunn Ranch Prairie—a TNC-owned preserve—and reintroduces them in nearby waterways. The collaboration with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Missouri Department of Conservation has been so effective that the state is now testing new stream-restoration techniques.

#5

Helianthus eggertii

Peregrine Falcon

Falco peregrinus

By the 1960s, peregrine falcons had vanished from the eastern part of the U.S. and had begun disappearing in the West. Their numbers dropped as a direct result of DDT, ingested through prey already carrying the pesticide. Like bald eagles, peregrine populations were devastated by a specific side effect of DDT that weakened eggshells, causing them to break prematurely under even normal amounts of pressure—like the weight of a parent’s body trying to keep them warm. Listed as endangered in 1973 under the Endangered Species Act, peregrines benefited first from the banning of DDT, and then from captive breeding programs led largely by The Peregrine Fund, a nonprofit founded in 1970 to protect its namesake from extinction. Now dedicated to conserving birds of prey worldwide, the organization

50 Years of Protecting Endangered Species #6

no longer actively manages peregrines, says Chris McClure, Peregrine Fund’s executive vice president of science and conservation.

“Peregrines are such a success story, we can take a step back and just watch from afar,” he says. The species was delisted in 1999 and now lives in almost every corner of the globe. One of the best places to spot one?

Manhattan. “Peregrines need two things,” says McClure. “A cliff to breed on, and a bunch of prey.” With its abundant skyscrapers and pigeon populations, he says, “New York has both.”

Editor's Editor's Book club Book club

The only thing better than reading, is reading outside. The readers get it! Here are our favorite nature book recommendations. Each book has it’s own unique take on appreciating our beautiful earth.

Summary

Yuki Hirano has just finished high school, and his parents enroll him in a Forestry program in rural Japan against his wishes. He struggles adjusting to his new life and feels like an outcast in the community. This is a beautiful, imaginative, coming-of-age story. Recommended if you’re in need of a slow, easy and calming read.

Editors Review

This book had me the moment it referenced one of my favorite Studio Ghibli movies; Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. The “slice of life” feeling of this book was comforting and very engaging. Despite not having a large overarching conflict, I couldn’t wait until the next time I could pick up the book. The main character, Yuki, grows so much within just a year. You follow his journey of learning hard work and finding a sense of belonging, and you feel like you are right there with him, learning with him. I did not go into this book thinking much about forestry. In fact I knew next to nothing, and had no interest. But the way this book is narrated, it made me so interested in forestry. I really felt like I was learning so much right alongside Yuki. This book has beautiful description. My imagination could run wild with the way Yuki described his experiences. The way the pollen filled the air on the mountain after an earthquake hit, the way fog descended from the mountain, his mentor Yoki pretending he was injured to help build his dogs confidence up, Yoki jumping from tree to tree, the giant cedar racing down the mountain, swims in the river, fireflies in the fields, Yuki trying to escape on the back of Nao’s motorcycle, Yuki dropping branches on Yoki. Yuki shares with us memorable, beautiful, and funny moments that are just small bits and pieces of his life, and yet this is where he finds his happiness. These small moments of living life within nature are where a lot of people, including myself, find meaning to life. This book describes these moments and appreciates them so well. The essence of this book is about finding happiness and appreciation within nature.

Summary Summary

At twenty-two, Cheryl Strayed thought she had lost everything after the loss of her mother and the end of her marriage. With nothing more to lose, she made the most impulsive decision of her life. With no experience or training, driven only by blind will, she would hike more than a thousand miles of the Pacific Crest Trail from the Mojave Desert through California and Oregon to Washington State— and she would do it alone. Told with suspense and style, sparkling with warmth and humor, Wild powerfully captures the terrors and pleasures of one young woman forging ahead against all odds on a journey that maddened, strengthened, and ultimately healed her.

Editors Review

Strayed’s writing is raw and unflinchingly honest, drawing readers into her world with vivid descriptions and candid reflections. Through encounters with fellow hikers, moments of solitude, and encounters with the natural world, she gradually finds solace and redemption in the wilderness. This is a story that has stayed with me long after I finished reading the book. Cheryl’s story is beautiful and inspiring. I highly recommend this book if you’re interested in thru-hiking.

As a child, Nezhukumatathil called many places home: the grounds of a Kansas mental institution, where her Filipina mother was a doctor; the open skies and tall mountains of Arizona, where she hiked with her Indian father; and the chillier climes of western New York and Ohio. But no matter where she was transplanted—no matter how awkward the fit or forbidding the landscape—she was able to turn to our world’s fierce and funny creatures for guidance. Even in the strange and the unlovely, Nezhukumatathil finds beauty and kinship. For it is this way with wonder: it requires that we are curious enough to look past the distractions in order to fully appreciate the world’s gifts.

Editors Review

“World of Wonders” is more than just a collection of essays; it’s a testament to the power of nature to inspire, heal, and connect us to something greater than ourselves.

Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s exquisite prose and profound insights make this book a true joy to read, leaving readers with a renewed sense of wonder and gratitude for the world around us.