Written by Erika Bielke SCC Salida Fall Season 2018
We arrived in Texas to work at an office that didn’t exist. A team of 22 SCC members and 40 NCCC members had been sent to Beaumont, TX to do disaster relief in the wake of Hurricane Harvey. We’d all gone through two days of training in Austin—a crash course in the muck-and-gut process, mold suppression techniques, and how to identify asbestos—and were scheduled to work the remainder of our 30-day deployment in Beaumont, Orange, and Vidor, a cluster of cities just East of Houston. We were the first group sent to that location, which meant two things: the base of operations hadn’t been set up yet, and we were in charge of making that happen. It was an overwhelming task. Our team, with no prior disaster relief experience whatsoever, was expected to create a smoothly functioning base for 8 field teams to operate out of. That meant finding locals who needed help, distributing teams to do the work, keeping teams supplied with all the necessary tools and protective equipment, becoming a trusted part of the local community, communicating with the teams back in Austin, and much more. My first day in the field I still didn’t get to meet any locals. I was working on a house already in progress, so the homeowner had moved out days before and wasn’t around. Most of her belongings had already been removed from the house and were piled underneath her garage awning; all that remained were the rotting floorboards and moldy drywall. It was relatively easy to think of this house as an emotionless place, to separate it from the people who had so recently been living there. But as I stepped into the kitchen, I stopped short: on the trim around the doorway were a series of markings, in pencil. The heights of her children, marked carefully every few inches as they grew. This house was a home once. We had to remove the trim in order to get the fridge out of the doorway. This house was a home once. I never got to see the face of the woman who lived in that house. I never saw the faces of most of the people our field teams helped, and at times I feel guilty for that. But I know I helped make it possible for our field teams to do their job. They are the ones who saw the faces, forged the relationships, and did the work. Helping them to do that was a privilege and an honor. I never got to see the face of the woman who lived in that house. But I know how tall her kids are. And I know how fast they grow.
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY we were pulling into the little office parking lot in New Market, VA and timidly walking into a room full of unfamiliar faces to begin a new adventure. Several weeks later, those unfamiliar faces have turned into friends, memories of hard work, and laughter. We have really grown to know one another and have formed connections that will continue even after our season is over. The hours we spent on the trail, car rides, card games, and conversations shared over a warm meal will not soon be forgotten. This particular hitch was special
because of the opportunity we had to connect with the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club. The PATC is made up of seasoned trail workers who are 50+ in age. Together, we co-lead a volunteer day event. Working with the PATC was a unique opportunity because they shared their experiences and different methods of trail work with us. Most of our crew members have been doing trail work for roughly 6 weeks while some members of the PATC have been doing trail work for over 20 years. After the event, we went back to the Pinnacle Research Center where some of the PATC members cooked everyone a fantastic meal. One of the most meaningful moments was a reflection we did before departing. One of the PATC members explained how working with us was very special to her because we represented a younger generation who would continue this work when they no longer could. Caring for the wilderness is a common value we all share. The volunteer event was not just about physically maintaining trails, but connecting with like-minded people.
WE’D HEARD THE OWL for the past several nights. Maybe its squeaky voice was to blame for all its troubles. Our moods about the owl ranged from interested to frightened, and finally settled somewhere around begrudging acceptance of its nightly serenade. It wasn’t until the fifth night hat we decided to try to identify the owl. Luke pulled up his bird app and proceeded to play all the calls for owls in the area of Sierra Ancha. From the array of hoots and cheeps and squawks emerged a match: the Northern Saw-whet owl. Excitement spread as we realized that we had finally discovered the identity of our little firned, who had, when we played the call, grown quite silent. “Probably thinks there’s another owl blowing up his spot,” someone said. In answer, the owl redoubled its efforts. Pictures of Saw-whets showed a small brown and white owl in a variety of poses: cute, surprised, annoyed. One photo even featured an owl peeking out of its nest, obviously having just been jerked from sleep. The guide described a “pint-sized owl” that is “fairly common, but shy and difficult to see.” While we had been passing around the phone, the owl had continued calling to us. “It sounds closer.” “Oh, it definitely is.”
We held the phone up in the air and played the call again. The owl moved closer. “this is so cool! Guys, we’re calling in an owl!” We played the call again and again until the owl seemed to be right above us. A this point, our dish water was boiling and the general group concensus was that the owl had come as close as it was going to. However, Luke wasn’t ready to give up--plus, all the dish jobs were taken--so he played the call a few more times. From the tree above our stove, the owl emerged. It swooped down toward the call, passing about fifteen feet above us and alighting on a tree on the other side of camp. Everyone freaked out. The owl, however, was not concerned. It simply sat in the tree watching us, hopping from branch to branch and trying to figure out where the other owl was. “Sorry there are no other owls for you to be friends with. Hope we’re good enough,” Ty said. We weren’t. We played the call a few more times, at which the owl cocked its head and moved back and forth a little. Then it flew off, leaving us with only memories. Until it started calling again 15 minutes later.
FOLLOWING COLORADO FIRECAMP, hardened but untested Veterans Fire Corps Crew 120 made their foray into the field for the first time. it was August 7th, 2018. Spirits were high and uniforms were correctly donned as rig-up was accomplished in what must have been record time. Brave leader Jacob Bergman eased the brand new behemoth 2018 Ford Expedition out onto the mean streets of Tucson after diligent crewmembers had
triple-checked the vehicle’s audio entertainment systems. Groceries were meticulously shopped for with looks of grizzled determination the shoppers at Fry’s had never seen before. With coolers full they barreled off, dreaming of fresh forests to be saved. They rendezvoused with their gracious hosts (and stern taskmasters) at the Clifton Ranger District fire office of Apache National Forest. To the distress of the crew, no
trees could be seen, even on the distant hills, and nervous murmuring betrayed their anxiety about the work that lay ahead. Remember, these were dedicated and eager sawyers with at LEAST 6-9 hours of saw time under their belts. After an initial briefing and a spirited Q&A with the district Fire Management Office and Fuels Technician, the crew headed out to set up camp. Right away, the road climbed steeply, revealing a paradise of ponderosa and juniper forests. With anxieties quelled and hearts full, the crew checked out the campground. Its newly-built lavatory was tested and its quality was assured. Soon enough, their first project was disclosed. Perched atop a scenic overlook, the crew beheld a 90-acre mesa choked with juniper and pinyon that
needed drastic thinning before preventative prescribed burning could be performed. After a serious hazard analysis, work began. The bright, hard sun glinted off the teeth of the grinning rookie sawyers at home in their element. Day after day, they pressed on at a steady pace like a well-oiled machine. All PPE was worn with pride, and all communications were handled professionally and promptly. Before they knew it, after 6 days, 20 acres of the mesa’s junipers had been thinned to 40% and the crew was happy but exhausted. Despite their fatigue, they tackled de-rig with gusto. They awaited the next hitch with sawdust lining every crease of their faces, and souls satiated with the knowledge that they had lived the dream.
By David Crotherson SCC Durango 2016
NOT TOO LONG AGO, my morning commute consisted of sitting in traffic for up to 2 hours surrounded by impatient drivers attempting to get to their tech jobs in Silicon Valley. Now, my commute involves rolling up my pants, clipping my boots to my pack, slinging a chainsaw over my shoulder, and crossing where the San Miguel River meets hardhats, slip on our packs, and sling our saws onto our shoulders. Carefully, we make our way down to the river’s bank to prepare for battle. This particular battle is with a tree called Tamarisk. It is gnarled, dirty hardwood full of sand. It is relentless and resilient—a puzzle of long branches and limbs. You must be precise with your cuts, or it will slap you down like a flapjack on a hot griddle. We bring these invasive trees down to give the native species the chance to come back. It’s hard work battling this tree, but it’s worth it. After a long day, I look to the river and my heart is filled with gratitude. the Dolores River. As I cross, I aim for our This is where I belong. On this river work area, which lies on an island covered in Tamarisk and grass taller than myself with a with my family, making a difference. crew member on my shoulders. Looking up, I admire the towering orange and red walls of the canyon that the river cuts through. I think about my family and friends back home. I miss them, but I’ve made a new family. We cook and eat together, we do yoga, we listen to music and sing together, we cross rivers together, we watch out for each other, we talk, listen, smile, laugh, and we work hard together. We take pride in our work, our crew, and our corps. As we step out of the rig, we hear the Dolores River flowing below us. Our breath floats in the crisp morning air. We don our
MY WHOLE LIFE, I’ve been very quiet. In kindergarten, I was a Native kid going to a bilingual public school. Everyone else spoke Spanish. The teacher would say “you can’t speak that language” when I’d speak Yaqui. I got self-conscious and developed a stutter. I started doubting myself. In high school, I became an early father. I lost focus of what I wanted to do with my life. I’m 24. I used to have passion, but I can’t find who I am anymore because all of my focus goes to supporting my son. I found this position on craigslist, actually. When I was accepted I was excited, but nervous too. It’s funny, after we finished our season, the crew said I was sort of a
father figure for them. I never thought I’d be that to someone my age. I’m proud that people saw that inside of me. I told them from the first week, “No matter how late or how early, I’m always going to be there.” I tell my friends to join the Ancestral Lands Program. I tell them that they’ll get the opportunity to get out of the ‘hood and see more than just the street. Now, having finished my term, I know I don’t have a limit. When I started, I didn’t think I was even capable of learning how to do CPR during the Wilderness First Aid class. It’s basic, but for me learning that was like: “wow! I can actually accomplish something.” My name is Ile-oso. Ile means little in Yaqui, and oso means bear in Spanish, so my name means little bear. Being here was…a lot. I have a lot to say, but it’s hard to say it.
I’LL BE HONEST, MY LIFE WAS HELL before I started working here. In the previous five years alone, I’ve had to deal with the murder of one of my family members, all of my grandparents passing away, developing an incurable disease that has severely impacted my quality of life, and financial instability due to being unable to find work in my field. I was working graveyard shifts in a machine shop after graduating with my degree in Geography; that wasn’t really what I had in mind for myself when I enrolled in school.
I started applying to jobs elsewhere. First outside of my local area, then outside of my state, then completely outside of my region. I began applying to AZCC positions in 2016, mainly out of desperation. I can’t say how important it was for me to get this position, especially looking back after having served a full term. Living on the other side of the country from my family was tough, but I’ve come to realize that I don’t have much of a connection to my hometown anymore. I come from a town of 3,000 in rural Idaho; BLM
was a dirty word where I grew up. I’m not really in any hurry to go back. I think it goes without saying: this internship has been a life changing experience for me. Helping to manage the GIS program for the district has probably done more for my professional development than obtaining my four year degree. Working in GIS gave me the opportunity to touch nearly every program in the BLM, which gave me insight into recreation, range management, minerals, lands and realty, fisheries, wildlife, and archaeology. I was also able to contribute to state-wide projects and participate in calls at the national level. I never could have dreamed of being able to contribute work that would impact BLM Arizona as a whole. During my term, I was able to witness people utilize the map products that I’ve produced, and see firsthand how happy they were to have a tool to help them access their public lands. That experience alone fills me with so much pride and shows me that my time here has been a success. I’ve already signed on for another term with AZCC, so I’ll be maintaining this momentum going into the new year. If my new term is anything like this one, I think I’ll be well on my way towards my goal of working permanently for the BLM.
Meet the three alumni who are helping to develop Conservation Legacy’s new Alumni Ambassador Program IN JANUARY, three outstanding alumni representing three different Conservation Legacy programs converged at Outdoor Retailer (OR). Their mission: help finalize the new Alumni Ambassador position with the guidance of two Conservation Legacy staff, and help to develop and bolster the organization’s presence at the tradeshow and conference. The outdoor industry has surpassed the oil and agriculture industries in terms of size, contributing over $800 billion to the U.S. economy. Outdoor Retailer is where buyers, suppliers, retailers, market experts and nonprofits share new ideas, explore best practices and unite as powerful advocates for environmental issues and the protection of public lands. This is the perfect environment to network for Conservation Legacy and our programs, develop new partnerships, and strategize about communications tactics. Throughout the three day show, our alumni and staff attended a variety of conferences and panel discussions focusing on diversity, equity, and inclusion in the outdoor industry, conservation, and physical and mental health in nature. Our alumni enjoyed networking and professional development opportunities; advantages which will be built into the Ambassador program, making it a mutually beneficial opportunity for both our alumni and our organization. The group was able to connect with current board member Loretta Pineda at OR and attended two panels with her--one of which she was speaking on. Our staff and alumni were able to share their stories and experiences with a variety of audiences from face-to-face interactions, but in the future our goal is to have some of our alumni speak on panels. We were thrilled to bring some exceptional alumni along with us to the 2019 OR show. It was a unique opportunity to receive valuable feedback from individuals who have been through our programs as well as insight into how we can both increase our representation in the Outdoor Industry and create a beneficial Ambassador program.
Former Community Volunteer Ambassador, Stewards Program Starr Woods (and her hedgehog, Darwin)
Former Arizona Conservaton Corps Member & Leader, Ancestral Lands Staff Shonto Greyeyes
Former Southwest Conservation Corps Los Valles Crew Leader Sam Ritter
By Dylan Lang SCC Durango Crew Lead 2016
SITTING AROUND THE CAMPFIRE a few weeks ago, the crew leaders were discussing what draws us to this work. We don’t like being inside. We get paid to live in the woods and swing tools, and build great big things. We get to spend our evenings sitting around a campfire with like-minded people. And all of these are perks indeed, but for me, it’s about something bigger. For me, this work is about creating and inspiring the next generation of land stewards. Boots-on-the-ground conservation work leads to the formation of a land ethic, plain and simple. The opportunity to give members the experience of working in nature and to facilitate conversations about public lands, conservation, and the future of
land access in America is invaluable. When members put their hard work into creating a new trail, building a structure, or restoring habitat, they develop an appreciation for it. They create informed opinions about how land should be managed. They begin to understand their inalienable right to nature. This work is something about which I care deeply; I’ve given too much of my own sweat and blood not to. And the moments when it clicks for members: when the spirit of conservation moves them, when they experience their first religious sunrise, when they realize why this work matters— those are the moments that keep bringing me back.