Issue Eleven
2019
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TOO USEFUL TO BE IDLE.
LET’S GET YOUR GEAR BACK INTO PLAY. We put our best energy into designing our gear. We build it to last, to endure the wildest conditions, and even, possibly, to outlive your adventures. We also use more finite resources from an over-tapped planet than we would like. That’s a problem. Which is why we want you to think of this jacket not as a jacket, but as a circle. If you’re not wearing it, we’ll find someone who will. Today we launch the Arc’teryx RS Used Gear Program – an Arc’teryx gear recycling hub, designed to lighten our footprint by half, keep gear in play, in the wild, and out of storage, basements, or landfill.
65% of the environmental impact of one of our jackets is caused by its creation – production of the raw materials and the making of the garment. That’s a heavy footprint. At Arc’teryx, we are designers. Designers are more than tinkerers, artists, or makers. Designers are agents for change – leaning into hard problems, applying a process and ethos that creates possibility. We believe in the possibility of doing better for life on Earth. We are framing sustainability as a design problem. Focussing exclusively on solving for a better zipper, a superior harness, a slicker jacket, making a cruxy sequence, or attaining a physical objective, is a position of privilege none of us can afford to hold anymore.
Visit rocksolid.arcteryx.com
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We stand for the wild. We stand with the planet. And we’re proud to stand with outdoor and fashion industry innovators who have taken a stand against fast fashion. As designers, we look for inspiration to problem solvers in every field, to all those who are designing solutions to intractable problems, refusing to be idle, to give up, to hide out. Great gear should outlive you, not the planet. In a world full of problems, this is how we begin. Now is the time to think beyond the product, and make problem-solving contagious.
WE NEED YOUR HELP TO CLOSE THE LOOP.
P U B LI S H E R
RANGE
RANGE ISSUE SUMMER
11 E D I TO R I A L D I R E CTO R
2019
THISISRANGE.COM
Jeanine Pesce
@THISISRANGE
jeanine@thisisrange.com
#RANGEMAG
A R T D I R E CTO R / D E S I G N E R
Jonathan Cammisa jon@thisisrange.com
M A N AG I N G E D I TO R
Emily Hopcian emily@thisisrange.com
P R I N T + D I G I TA L E D I T O R
Johnie Gall johnie@thisisrange.com
S O C I A L M E D I A E D I TO R ON THE COVER:
Lisa Dougherty
AMA DABLAM
lisa@thisisrange.com
SAGARMATHA NATIONAL PARK, NEPAL BRIAN MERRIAM
AD SALE S
@BRIANHMERRIAM
Whitney Connolly whitney@thisisrange.com
C O N T R I B U TO R S
P H O T O G R A P H E R S / I L L U S T R AT O R S / A R T I S T S
Meg Callahan, Yvon Chouinard,
Dan Arbery, Greg Balkin,
Whitney Connolly, Marinel de Jesus,
Alexander Barreto, Jonathan Cammisa,
Michael A. Estrada, Johnie Gall,
Sabrina Canals, Joely Clarke,
Hailey Hirst, Emily Hopcian,
Ryder England, Jeremy Fenske,
Katherine Indermaur, Obi Kaufmann,
Tom Frost/Aurora, Rachel Hirst,
Sean Knight, Maria Manuela,
Sana Javeri Kadri, Easton Kawawaki,
Kristen Rieke Morabito, Hatie Parmeter,
Yudo Kurita, Ian Macurdy,
Gretchen Powers, Katie Rodriguez,
David Mucklow, Len Necefer,
Shawnté Salabert, Jill Sanford,
Sonya Pevzner, Royal Robbins,
Adam Wells, Travis Wild, Mason Yost
Jim Sanders, Silvestre Seré, Ada Smith, Brandon Soder, Jay Taylor
PR I NTE D I N CANADA O n 1 0 0 % po s t - con s u m er
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rec y c l ed paper
Jonathan Cammisa
Shapes On A Plain
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Oil on canvas, 2019
Foreword The Summer 2019 issue is dedicated to origin, culture and land.
M
other Nature has called out to us since the
On the weekends, when Tony wasn’t working at the Brooklyn
inception of time, singing her siren song to gen-
Navy Yard, he’d make the pilgrimage to the Catskills with un-
eration after generation. That primal draw to the
cles, aunts and cousins in tow. They’d fish in the morning and
outdoors can awaken in us a sense of purpose
hunt in the afternoon, always eating everything they caught. My
and meaningful connection to people, place and planet.
grandfather’s brothers were proficient craftsmen, each with a distinct notable skill. Uncle Rocco made wooden tackle boxes
The origin of my connection to the outdoors is intrinsically linked
to house the ties they used for fly fishing. Uncle Cono was the
with the paternal lineage of my family. My grandfather, Anthony
family chef, cooking on a beat-up Coleman stove from the back
Pesce, a first-generation American, was an urban naturalist and
of his station wagon.
avid outdoorsman. He was a hunter, a fly fisherman and, from his time serving in the U.S. military during World War II on the
Uncle Angelo would shoot blackbirds by the railroad tracks be-
Aleutian Islands, a survivalist. When he was 15 years old, Tony
cause they were the “best in the red sauce.” He lost an eye at
joined the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and left his home
some point, earning the nickname “Hawkeye,” and when my dad
in Brooklyn, New York, for the expansive west.
went pheasant hunting with Angelo, my grandfather would say, “Stay on the side with the good eye.”
Launched in the 1930s, the CCC was a major part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal. In an effort to bolster the
As a little girl, the brilliant black-bear rug that lay in the parlor of
economy after the Great Depression, the government developed
my family’s brownstone in Park Slope mesmerized me. I had no
the program to provide jobs related to the conservation of natural
idea it was once a living, breathing creature, and I would later
resources in rural areas to young, unmarried men. Projects in-
learn my grandfather killed it in a remote area of the Canadian
cluded planting trees, building flood barriers, fighting forest fires
wilderness only accessible by a small propeller plane.
and maintaining forest trails and roads. While he was raised Roman Catholic, my grandfather truly beThe CCC introduced these young men to the wild places that
lieved he didn’t need organized religion because he felt “closest
would come to be known as Yellowstone National Park and
to God and humanity when he was outdoors.” I've often felt a
Badlands National Park. Not only did they develop essential
similar spiritual relationship to Mother Nature but can never ar-
skills, they also learned about preserving tribal lands and pro-
ticulate exactly why. My dad, who was an Eagle Scout, would
moting sustainable ranching and farming directly from the Native
remind me often, “The Pesces are Earth people.” A commitment
Americans who worked in a parallel program called the Civilian
to conservation, a love of nature and respect for the land are
Conservation Corps Indian Division (CCCID). Although this ulti-
woven into our DNA.
mately followed suit with standard colonization practices that did not benefit the Native American people, these young men were
My family’s experiences in nature are part of my origin story, of
forever changed by their sacred connection to the land. When it
who I am. As we discover in Issue 11 and everyday conversa-
was time to return to the city, they came back with a deep-seated
tions, “origin” takes on a different meaning for all of us. When
love of nature and an unyielding passion for conservation.
it comes to the outdoors and our wilderness experiences, the lineage of the land we recreate on is the sum of the millions of
During his time out west with the CCC, my grandfather learned
people, traditions, ideas and mythologies that have protected
how to hunt. His parents had immigrated to the U.S. from Naples,
and honored this shared space. It’s our responsibility to unearth
Italy — where hunting was a large part of provincial European cul-
everyone’s story and give agency to the healers, the makers,
ture — in 1906. Small game like rabbits, pigeons and squab were
the explorers, the artists and the adventurers who’ve broken
seen as regional delicacies. An old Italian recipe called sufrite, a
trail before us.
rich stew made from organs including the heart, lungs and liver, was a common dish found in any immigrant household.
To uncovering, embracing and honoring our origins. -Jeanine Pesce, Editorial Director
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Brian Merriam Sagarmatha National Park, Nepal 6
B
rian Merriam is a photographer originally from upstate New York, currently based in Los Angeles, California. Brimming with mystery, his photographs seek to document the forgotten corners, empty roads and nowhere places of the United States and beyond.
To see more of Brian's work visit brianhmerriam.com / @brianhmerriam
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O R I G I N S U N K N O W N R EW RITING E N D I N G PLASTIC
P
O F
POLLUTION
THE
O U R
STORY
Words + Images by Johnie Gall ete Clarkson’s yard is full of trash. Laundry baskets, gas cans, discarded water bottles, forgotten flip flops, plastic pallets and fishing nets rest in towering piles. There’s a method to the madness. Each piece has been lovingly cleaned and arranged by color and type. It’s actually
quite … beautiful, if you can forget for a moment all of this was once marine debris washing up on the beaches of Vancouver Island’s outer coast, where Clarkson is a park warden. It’s summer — tourist season — when I visit Clarkson at his studio, where he uses these items to create large-scale art installations for aquariums, zoos and galleries aimed at educating the public about plastic pollution. If anything, I expect to leave my time with Clarkson even more frustrated about the way plastic waste clogs our river arteries and accumulates on our beaches. I’m surprised instead to meet a man with a deep appreciation for plastic. As we comb through Clarkson’s collection, we come across a plastic pallet with a time-worn label written in Japanese. “I found debris from the 2011 Japanese tsunami for years,” he says, running his hand over the smoothed plastic. In 2015, Clarkson and a group of fellow beachcombers came together as part of a project to collect, track and reunite tsunami debris with its rightful owners in Japan. A single plastic pallet could very well be the only remnant from a former life a survivor might have, a keepsake from a time before 15,000 lost their lives, multi-generational businesses were destroyed and landscapes were forever altered. It’s a beautiful story about our human connection to plastic — maybe one of the only ones. Humans have always told stories to grapple with things we don’t quite understand, which would explain how plastic has become the villain in our modern environmental narrative. The global plastic pollution epidemic has been propelled into mainstream consciousness like never before throughout the past year. And unlike climate change, there are very few deniers of the issue: lift up any beach log and you’ll see plastic fragments, microplastics and nurdles, tiny pellets used as the raw material for plastic products. It’s a bit like taking the temperature of an ailing planet.
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“If your bathtub is overflowing, do you start mopping the floor or do you turn off the tap?” says David Stover of Bureo, a company that designs and manufactures products from recycled fishing nets. What if you can’t find the tap? Many of the “facts” that exist right now about plastic waste are actually just estimates, partly why we hear so many conflicting stats on the “largest source of marine plastic.” Plastic debris is incredibly difficult to track. Once a piece enters the ocean, it’s nearly impossible to pinpoint its origin — and that’s if we see the debris at all. Fragmentation, predation, sinking and shore deposition all make plastic less visible to researchers. That lack of dependable data is a problem Carolyn Box is trying to solve. In partnership with the San Francisco Estuary Institute, Box and her team at 5 Gyres designed and executed a study to better understand the pathways and distribution of microplastics in the San Francisco Bay and its surrounding marine sanctuaries.
Humans have always told stories to grapple with things we don’t quite understand, which would explain how plastic has become the villain in our modern environmental narrative. Their findings are critical, offering up the cold, hard data needed to understand the effectiveness of recent policies, such as statewide plastic bag bans, and to push the public, politicians and corporations toward solutions to stop plastic emissions at their source. During a 2012 expedition, 5 Gyres discovered plastic microbeads in the Great Lakes. Their subsequent research on their origins influenced a grassroots movement that led to President Obama signing the Microbead Free Waters Act, a ban that went into effect last year. “I got involved with 5 Gyres when everyone was talking about a ‘plastic island,’ which was a misleading description of the plastic pollution problem,” Box says. “This points to the problem being off in a remote ocean. My research highlights that the issue starts here, in our homes and our favorite local beaches, but these stories have to be told in a way that inspires people to take action.” If stopping plastic emissions is the best chance we have at halting ocean pollution, then the stories we weave around its origins are critical. Plastic pollution can seem both anonymous and insurmountable, easily assigned to a faceless “other” or as the responsibility of a culture half a world away. But every one of us lives and thrives in a world created by plastic. The wave-worn artifacts of its place in our society can be a poignant reminder of our global social and environmental connectedness, as well as our collective power. “Every piece of plastic has a history, a purpose it served,” Clarkson says. Plastic is, above all else, a human story. How do we rewrite the ending? Stay up to date on 5 Gyres’ research and get involved in their citizen science projects at 5gyres.org/science.
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Words + Images by ShawntĂŠ Salabert
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I
t was my first visit to Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming,
Then European Americans arrived. Beginning in the early 19th cen-
and despite the early season quiet, the place was kinetic.
tury, hunters, trappers and prospectors traded with the Crow and
Its namesake river ripped throughout the Grand Canyon of
Shoshone people, while also decimating game populations and in-
the Yellowstone, the unrelenting power all you needed to know
troducing disease. Others documented the region under the guise
about how the jagged gorge came to be. Elsewhere in the park, the
of conservation.
ground strained to contain pools of boiling mud and steam hissed from gemstone pools and hidden fissures. Occasionally, bison lum-
These “explorers” included geologist Ferdinand Hayden, who led a
bered past, their swagger suggesting nothing short of majesty.
government-sponsored expedition in 1871 that resulted in a written report, photographs and paintings. Those materials convinced
It isn’t so difficult to imagine slipping back in time here. The land feels
President Ulysses S. Grant to sign an Act of Dedication on March 1,
prehistoric, primeval even, like a stegosaurus might saunter past just
1872, reserving over 2 million acres to create Yellowstone National
before the ground gurgled open to swallow you whole. That is, of
Park. The area’s Indigenous people, who’d already ceded lands to
course, only if you squint hard enough to block out the roads, walk-
earlier treaties and to European settlers, were pushed further from
ways, buildings and tourists daring one another to get closer and
their home, replaced by tourists who arrived on newly-built railways
closer to the bubbling pools and spurting geysers.
a decade later.
What was Yellowstone before it was “Yellowstone”?
This story repeats for many of our earliest parks. Like Yellowstone, every national park was once a home — for plants and animals now
It’s important to not just imagine but to know that the place we call
extinct, for people who’ve been treated as though they are, too. When
Yellowstone wasn’t always the source of bison selfies, nor was its
we visit these places, it’s important to not only understand their histo-
pre-park existence devoid of humans. Its indigenous inhabitants —
ry but also recognize that Native people are still connected to these
including, but certainly not limited to, the Crow and Shoshone people
lands today through an ancestral bond deeper than any canyon, more
— are still deeply connected to the land, despite having been pushed
powerful than any geyser.
from their homelands by the deceptive practices of the U.S. government and other opportunists who saw a false “wilderness” to be
Before your next park visit, consider reading Dispossessing the
claimed and money to be made.
Wilderness, which outlines the origins of several parklands, including Yellowstone. Learn about the tribes with ancestral connections to
Before Yellowstone was a park, it was a home — where, yes, the buffalo
these lands (Native-Land.ca offers a starting point). Patronize Native
roamed. But also where people moved with the seasons and subsisted
businesses near these parks. Use indigenous names for locations
on the earth’s gifts, not yet bothered by European trappers and camera
and landmarks. Support the work of organizations and activists, such
glares. Where skilled land managers used thoughtful fire management
as Indigenous Women Hike, NativesOutdoors, Native Women's
techniques to keep wild conflagration at bay and renew the ground for
Wilderness, Tara Houska, Dallas Goldtooth, Winona LaDuke, the
its next bounty. Where people sought not a bucket list experience but
Gwich’in Steering Committee and so many more.
divine connection and healing from the wondrous steam.
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California Surfing and Climbing in the Fifties
I MAG E BY J I M SAN DE R S
Words by Yvon Chouinard
“O
n either end of the social spec-
The fifties were the easy years in California. With
trum there lies a leisure class.”
full employment from the Korean War, we were en-
– Eric Beck
joying all the fruits of the fossil fuel culture. Gas was a quarter a gallon, used cars could be bought
The most exciting time in the life span of any sport
for twenty-five dollars, campgrounds were free, and
or social movement is the golden age, the first doz-
you could easily live off the excess fat of society.
en years or so when innovation in the equipment and
Those of us in the counter cultures of climbing and
technique comes fast and furious.
surfing were as climber Pete Sinclair said, “the last free Americans.”
It’s natural that the Golden State with its diverse immigrant culture, its vast natural resources, and
I’ve been lucky to have been part of that golden
laid-back attitude would give birth to so many
age of not only surfing and climbing but also fal-
sports and social revolutions.
conry, spearfishing, whitewater kayaking, and, later on, telemark skiing.
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In 1954, I went down to General Veneer in Los Angeles, bought some balsa planks, and made my very first surfboard. I later traded that board for a Model A Ford engine. Tooling down Malibu Canyon from my home in Burbank, if I saw another surfer coming back from Malibu they would give me a thumbs-up if there was surf. My first blacksmith shop was a chicken coop in my folks’ backyard in Burbank. There’s a photo of me hammering out my first pitons in 1957 and there’s a surfboard in the background. I’d often climb for half a day at Stoney Point in Chatsworth, then go up to Rincon for the evening glass after I’d freedive for lobsters and abalone on the coast between Zuma and the county line. I almost always got my limit of ten lobsters and five abalone. A good deal of my shop work was portable, so I’d cruise the coast from San Diego to Big Sur, working on the beach and riding waves when the tide and the wind were just right. During those years I figured I I MAG E BY TOM F ROST/AU RORA
slept on the ground 250 nights a year.
The most exciting time in the life span of any sport or social movement is the golden age, the first dozen years or so when innovation in the equipment and technique comes fast and furious. When I moved my shop to Ventura to be closer to the I MAG E BY ROYAL ROB B I N S
surf, the ultimate day was what we called a “McNab”: Skiing on Pine Mountain, climbing on the Sespe Wall, playing tennis, and surfing the glass-off at C Street or Rincon. Where else in the world except New Zealand could you pull off a day like that? Excerpted from Some Stories: Lessons from the Edge of Business and Sport © 2019 by Yvon Chouinard. This selection originally appeared in California Surfing and Climbing in the Fifties © 2013 by Tom Adler. Reprinted with permission by Patagonia.
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Farm & Fire Words + Images by Ada Smith
E
very spring, a collection of ceramic
For more than 30 years, my dad, David Smith, has
wares emerge from the ashes of the
developed his expertise in the art of wood firing
Kegonsa Anagama, our behemoth
— a pottery technique developed in ancient China
backyard kiln. We fire the drinking ves-
and used extensively in 16th and 17th century
sels, tea bowls, fermentation crocks and other ob-
Japan for the production of tea ceremony objects.
jects among dancing flames and flying wood ash. Today, we so often fail to know the story of the Each piece tells a story, originating as a smooth
objects that surround us. We fail to trace their
lump of clay in my dad’s hands and then trans-
origins, and in doing so, we disconnect ourselves
forming into a unique object. Every ware is
from nature. It can seem food comes from the
molded to the movement of jazz, dried beside a
store, not a seed or a root. Tablewares are simply
wood burning stove in the cool Wisconsin air and
found on shelves, not born from materials under-
unpredictably marked by fire and earth.
ground and time spent in an artist’s hands.
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Feeding Ourselves From the Ground Up The art of wood firing offers a counterpoint to
are an ode to the process of making wares and
our unsustainable, throwaway culture, providing
meals and the idea that, when paired together,
beautiful, functional wares that aspire to enhance
those handmade objects and homemade food
the relationship between people and their be-
give way to conversations and moments that
longings. My dad and I believe tablewares, like
bring us closer together.
food, should be nourishing. They should provide us with meaningful connections to people, plac-
For more on Farm & Fire, ceramic wares, com-
es and memories.
missioned art and a collection of food recipes that compliment the homemade wares, visit
On our website, Farm & Fire, the featured ceram-
farmandfire.com.
ic art and food celebrate the imperfections that come from the rich earth, the touch of human hands and the test of the natural elements. They
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NAT U R E Words + Images by Easton Kawawaki / Florist: Joely Clarke / Model: Katra Awad
C
olors found in nature can evoke unique emotional responses in all of us. The blue of a cool stream calms us; we are stable and grounded among earth tones; green brings feelings of wonder and growth. This art series honors the parallels between physical growth in nature and internal growth in the human heart.
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Stage 1: Pink illustrates a soft naivety and shyness in one’s early stages of maturity.
NURTURE 21
Stage 2: Green brings growth to mind. Feelings of awe and wonder arise, as a heart is open to learning and reaching for more.
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Stage 3: Blue calms us. A cool stream brings renewal. Rest is essential.
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Stage 4: Among earth tones, we feel stable, grounded and strong — a steadfast spirit.
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Stage 5: Multicolored, we are limitless. We live without inhibition.
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FUTURE
RE-FRAMING THE
I MAG E S C OU RTE SY OF S U N S K I
Words by Jill Sanford
B
In 2012, Stewart and Charley created Sunski, an inde-
efore Tom Stewart and Michael Charley knew what
pendent sunglasses brand launched through a Kick-
their business would make, they knew they wanted it to do more than generate profit. It
starter campaign. Sunski’s products are driven by
had to promote a life in balance with nature
innovation and clean design, as well as Stewart’s love for the outdoors and commitment to creat-
— and in turn help protect the planet.
ing a more sustainable approach to business. If
“Those early priorities are still core to who we are,” Stewart
he and Charley were going to build sunglasses,
says. “That was one of the first things we knew for sure
those designs would protect more than eyes —
before we even knew what we were ultimately going to make.”
they’d help protect the planet.
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Since day one, Stewart and Charley have been members of 1%
Good design makes a product stand out; it’s also a solution to a prob-
for the Planet, an international organization founded by Patagonia’s
lem. Stewart and Charley gravitated to entrepreneurship and product
Yvon Chouinard and Blue Ribbon Flies’ Craig Matthews that en-
design because they wanted to find a work-life balance that allowed
courages business owners and individuals to donate 1 percent
them to spend more time outside. They wound up creating a company
of annual sales or earnings to environmental causes. Members
that helps customers do exactly that, with passion and purpose built
can also give back through volunteer hours, in-kind donations and
into its products.
approved promotional support. Today, Sunski is one of 1,500 businesses signed up, and since its creation in 2002, 1% for the Planet
“We started with a commitment to quality design and a passion that
has raised more than $200 million for environmental nonprofits.
goes into the making of things. We tied that to sustainability and never cutting corners,” Stewart says. “From there, we’re just going for the
“Sunski has done a terrific job not only of stepping up as a 1%
absolute best we can with the products that we add to this world.”
for the Planet member, but also by engaging fully and telling a powerful story about what they are learning and where they are
For more info on Sunski’s 2020 Vision and their commitment to 1%
heading,” says Kate Williams, CEO of 1% for the Planet. “The im-
for the Planet, head to sunksi.com.
pact of Sunski and other engaged companies like them is not just the direct giving they do to their nonprofit partners but also their active sharing of the story of this giving — and of their broader journey to become a more environmentally sustainable brand — with their customers.” Sunski donates their 1 percent to organizations such as Save The Waves, Adventure Scientists and Leave No Trace, but its mission to create a better planet doesn’t stop there. It extends beyond charitable giving into the products Sunski creates. “We can’t really sleep at night unless we know we made the absolute best thing the organization was capable of making at that time,” Stewart says, referring to both the design of the sunglasses and the ethics that go into their products. “The sustainability component is an extension of that pure design ethos we’ve followed since day one. We’re now adding another demand of great sunglasses: sustainability.” For Sunski, defining great sunglasses means looking at the whole package — from the materials used to the style, fit and longevity of the product. Looking ahead, the brand is focusing on four sustainability initiatives that are wrapped into its 2020 Vision project.
1.
After three years of research, Sunski invented a process for turning post-industrial scrap plastic into “SuperLight,” the recycled material they now use for their frames. By 2020, Sunski will completely convert all of its frame production to recycled plastic.
2. 3. 4.
The brand will remove all single-use plastic and 95 percent of glue from its packaging, instead using origami folding techniques to protect sunglasses during shipping.
Sunski will keep frames out of landfills via replacement lens kits, available for $12 on its website, thus extending the life of each pair of sunglasses.
The company will continue to commit to 1% for the Planet and give back to nonprofits whose work Sunski supports.
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Words by Johnie Gall + Images by Greg Balkin + Len Necefer
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he Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and Bears
waters and ate the foods they have provided for our com-
Ears National Monument couldn’t look more
munities,” says Dr. Len Necefer, a member of the Navajo
dissimilar — one a brown tundra dotted by
Nation and founder of NativesOutdoors.
caribou and lemon-yellow bush planes, the other filled with sleepy mesas marbled by desert hues.
Together with filmmaker Greg Balkin and the Wilderness
Yet among their wilderness, a similar narrative continues
Society, Necefer traveled to Alaska to learn how the
to play out: Native communities across the U.S. are being
Gwich’in people's fight for the refuge parallels the way
confronted with threats to their sovereignty and the land
native communities have led the charge to protect land
they rely on for their culture and way of life.
across the U.S.
The Arctic Refuge is in danger of being developed for oil
“Our stories come from the land, and who we are as a
and gas drilling, threatening the Porcupine Caribou herd
people cannot be separated from these landscapes,”
on which the indigenous Gwich’in people, who live on
Necefer says. “The stories of elders remind us who we
the refuge’s coastal plain, depend. As they have been for
are and how we are connected to the places around us.
decades, the Gwich’in are on the frontlines of the fight
We have a duty to steward it for everyone coming after
to protect the refuge, which they refer to as “The Sacred
us. These stories and sacred histories of our people are
Place Where Life Begins.”
what tie these landscapes together.”
“For thousands of years, we have lived in these land-
Watch the short film about the fight for the Arctic
scapes, walked across them and raised families within
Refuge and show your support for the Gwich’in peo-
them. We have experienced loss and joy, drank their
ple at gwichyaazhee.us.
Michael Peter, Second Chief of Gwichyaa Zhee, heads home from a moose hunt with his son and cousin. Gwich’in families like theirs rely on harvesting food from the land, so they take advantage of clear weather to get on the river.
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After making our way home from an afternoon on the river, Michael Peter spotted a moose in the brush. As quietly and quickly as possible, we pulled over and hopped out. Not surprisingly, he dodged through the willows and was immediately out of sight. Michael explained to us that this is his son’s classroom. He jumps at any opportunity to come spend an afternoon on the boat with his dad, memorizing the twists of the river and the best spots to find moose. What he learns out here he will teach to his brothers and sisters.
Levi Ginnis Jr. guided us along the Yukon River in search of moose. It takes an incredible amount of skill to navigate the many channels and safest runs, all while keeping an eye in the distance for the slightest movement.
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“We are connected to the places around us. We have a duty to steward it for everyone coming after us.�
Getting a lay of the land from Michael Peter, Second Chief of Gwichyaa Zhee.
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Rising Flames An Evolving Energy
Words + Images by Obi Kaufmann
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I
t was probably Homo erectus, our ancestor species, who first learned the secret of the campfire 1.5 million years ago. Whether they learned how to create the spark themselves or control a small, natural blaze is debatable. Evidence of
fire scars on rocks in East Africa dates back that far, symbolizing what may be the very first anthropogenic carbon emission. Homo sapiens didn’t arrive on the scene for another million years. In the interim, I bet gathering around the campfire is what ultimately led us to where we are as a species today. That meditation on the campfire, the circling of a human community to prepare food and strengthen social bonds, led us to and through the socalled Cognitive Revolution, when art and fiction first appeared in our evolutionary history about 100,000 years ago. Fire is as important to human life, society and history as water. Its ability to transform food through cooking, light up our communities at night and be manipulated into more complicated versions of itself to meet our needs has made modern society possible. In the western U.S., specifically among the Indigenous people of California, fire has a history of being used for prescriptive burns to stoke the annual production of food. Those ways are largely lost behind a contemporary hubris of control: fire as an undeniable force does not abide.
Fire is as important to human life, society and history as water. In this age of climate crisis, itself spawned from our relationship with fire, wildland fire threateningly creeps toward our human sprawl from all vectors, now in all seasons. In the west, we have unwisely built our patterns of suburban growth into long trains of fuel for fire to consume. It is a double-edged sword that our knowledge of fire, as energy unleashed, has been alternatively mastered and foolishly managed, depending on your ecological perspective of history. Now, as we watch our homes burn because of our mismanagement of local wildscapes and firesheds, we wonder if it is too late to reset the clock — or how many decades of inferno do we have to endure until it resets itself? Fire can be a great ally and teacher, and it plays an important role in creating healthy, natural landscapes. It is by walking with fire through history that we became human at all. When we look into the ephemeral flames of a campfire, we see ourselves, dancing and reaching for the sky with what little fuel we are given. Obi Kaufmann, naturalist, poet and painter, is the author of the bestselling California Field Atlas (HEYDAY, 2017). His latest book, The State of Water, Understanding California’s Most Precious Resource (HEYDAY, 2019), continues his investigation into the confluence of art and science toward a more complete understanding of the natural world.
35
Angel On The Airwaves Don Sheldon & Denali
Words by Whitney Connolly + Images by Jeremy Fenske
36
37
O
n a blustery day in Alaska’s backcountry in 1960, Don
Landing and takeoff at 14,000 feet were something no one ex-
Sheldon found himself in double jeopardy as two par-
cept Sheldon would even consider. There were threats of oxygen
ties on Mount McKinley — originally dubbed Denali, or
starvation and dismal engine power due to thin air and sub-zero
“The Great One,” by the Alaskan Athabascans — were
temperatures. Sheldon would need to land his plane on a 2,000-
in need of his unique search-and-rescue skills.
foot shelf positioned on a steep tilt. Should he overshoot, he’d fall ass over tea kettle. Should he hesitate, he’d slide backward into a
Mountaineer John Day and his crew were descending the
jagged crevasse field. Then, assuming Sheldon landed successful-
mountain, the tallest in North America, following a historic push
ly, he would need to reposition the plane so the nose was facing
to the top of its South Summit. Somewhere around 17,000 feet,
down the mountain for takeoff — all without accidentally pushing it
negotiations with a 500-foot cliff went sour and the entire team
off the mountain.
fell the length of the wall. Everyone in Day’s party was alive, but they were badly injured with broken, frozen limbs.
Adding to the agony, a severe storm loomed for more than three days and nights, stalling any and all flight plans. When the skies
Over the next few days, Sheldon — a legendary bush pilot and
cleared, Sheldon jumped into his plane, ready to voluntarily serve
outdoorsman — flew above the mountain, dropping supplies to
above and beyond the call of duty — a trait that would become
Day’s team and depositing rescue climbers, who slowly made
synonymous with his name.
their way up the mountain to assist, at base camp. Army helicopter pilots attempted multiple rescues, but all failed due to
Upon reaching Bading’s site on Denali, the famed pilot dropped
their lack of knowledge of the mountain, electrical problems,
a line of spruce limbs to mark the runway and indicate his height.
wind conditions and terrain limitations.
Through a foggy windshield, Sheldon brought the 1,000-pound frame down like a feather. There was no time for celebration. Six
Within a few days, Day’s party became a secondary concern as
climbers assisted the pilot in carefully rotating the plane for takeoff,
Helga Bading, a climber from Anchorage, developed a bad case
loading Bading onto the plane and whisking her to safety.
of altitude sickness on Denali and was in dire need of evacuation. Sheldon and his skills were Bading’s only chance of survival.
Sheldon returned 18 more times, landing time and again on the continent’s highest airstrip to rescue the remaining climbers from Day’s party.
Sheldon Chalet in Don Sheldon Amphitheater, 2019
38
For Sheldon, this was simply another day on the job. He had the mind of a mad scientist, a heart of gold and the honor of a patriot who humbly served others. In his more than 30 years of flying, Sheldon never lost a passenger. Sheldon grew up on a small ranch in Wyoming. By 12 years old, he’d lost both of his parents and moved in with his aunt and uncle. Upon graduating high school in 1938, intrigued by talk and stories from the north, Sheldon traveled to Alaska. In Anchorage, he worked at a local dairy long enough to pay for a one-way train ticket to Talkeetna. He fell in love with Alaska, cultivating his comprehension of its rugged geography through trapping, mining, hunting, fishing and construction work. A job building an airfield and landing strip sparked
Don Sheldon with his Taylorcraft, early 1950s
his interest in bush planes, if only for the access they would grant him to the remote corners of Alaska. Sheldon studied engineering at the University of Alaska Fairbanks and then secured his private pilot’s license. He jumped at every opportunity to fly and served 26 missions in World War II. During his tour of duty, Sheldon was shot down and survived two crash landings, earning him a Distinguished Flying Cross and four other medals. He saved most of his pay and, once discharged, purchased two airplanes. By July 1948, he was back in Talkeetna and anxious to start his bush aviation business. Talkeetna was full of trappers, miners, sportsmen, homesteaders, geologists, surveyors and mountaineers, all in need of air service. Sheldon built an airplane hangar behind his house on Main Street and ran his business out of the entryway of his
Roberta Sheldon directing air traffic, 1960s
home. His wife, Roberta, assumed the role of business manager and booking agent. While Roberta rarely found a moment to herself due to a steady stream of clients, Sheldon was up in the sky with nothing but his own thoughts and the vast Alaskan
ARCH IVAL I MAG E S C OU RTE SY OF TH E S H E LD ON FAM I LY
wilderness — just the way he liked it. From a nose-dive and subsequent remote rescue in an alpine lake, to a seemingly impossible rescue mission surfing the rapids of Devil’s Canyon on the Susitna River backward, to aiding climbers on Denali, at times in harrowing conditions, Sheldon’s life was colored by thrilling stories of adventure, service and the experience and expertise he cultivated in his own backyard. In 1951, Bradford Washburn, director of Boston’s Museum of Science, came to Talkeetna in search of a glacier pilot to assist with mapping and photographing Mount McKinley. He immediately knew Sheldon flying over a group of climbers, 1972
39
Sheldon was his man. Until then, the Alaska Range had never been mapped; it was virtually unexplored. During the nine years Sheldon spent surveying with Washburn, Denali, which rises 20,300 feet above sea level, became a well-known freckle on the back of his hand.
1.
Once photos and maps were published, the mountain also became a hot topic within the climbing community. In those years, the Great Gorge of Ruth Glacier, the world’s deepest glacier, and the mountains surrounding it became Sheldon and Washburn’s home base, where Sheldon came to master glacial landings. When a unique opportunity arose to homestead land near the national park’s border, this land — nearly five acres roughly 60 miles from Talkeetna — became Sheldon’s second home. Under his ownership, the space evolved into a base camp for adventurers. Perched on a rock outcropping made of iron and titanium, Sheldon built a mountain house. He first made the hexagonal hut in his hangar in Talkeetna and disassembled it to fly it, piece by piece, to its current site at 5,850 feet on the Don Sheldon Amphi-
7.
theater, formerly known as Ruth Glacier. The house sits among a scale so grand the human eye has trouble discerning height and distance. A mountain that looks like a quick snowshoe jaunt across the amphitheater may actually be five miles away. The space is flanked by rock faces that make the world’s tallest buildings look like anthills. Truly a place that can only be experienced firsthand, Sheldon desired to share the mountain house and its setting with all. For Sheldon, a tremendous sense of responsibility accompanied this opportunity to host climbers and other visitors. The pilot wasn’t one to drop souls off and wish them the best. He was truly an angel of the sky, at times watching over more than 20 different teams on Denali, checking their progress and looking for SOS messages stomped in the snow. He was known for dropping paper bags filled with stones and tied with red ribbon to inform teams of incoming weather or approaching pred-
1. Sheldon conducts a high-altitude rescue in Cub at Denali Summit, 1960s / 2. Sheldon
ators. Occasionally, he’d also surprise and
with his signature unpainted Cessna, 1970 / 3. Bradford Washburn with Sheldon surveying
delight them with a gallon of ice cream.
the Alaska Range, mid-1950s / 4. Climbing party pick-up, 1971 / 5. Mountain House Grand
40
3.
2.
4.
6.
5.
8.
10.
ARCH IVAL I MAG E S C OU RTE SY OF TH E S H E LD ON FAM I LY
9.
12.
11.
14. 13. Opening party guests, 1966 / 6. Angel on the airwaves, 1960s / 7. Sheldon in his Super Cub, late 1960s / 8. Sheldon dropping off mountaineers, late 1960s / 9. Sheldon with his Cessna, 1965 / 10. Sheldon picking up a client in Cessna, 1960s / 11. Mountain House guests, 1970s / 12. Sheldon with friend Ray Genet, 1971 / 13. Pilot-style fishing, 1958 / 14. Sheldon, classic aviation pilot, late 1960s
41
1.
3.
4.
1. Ridgeline overlooking Don Sheldon Amphitheater, 2019 / 2. Vintage climbing gear under Cessna 185, 2019 / 3. Mountain House advertisement
42
Sheldon delivered a baby in the back of a single-engine plane, one hand on his controls while the other did as a doctor instructed through the radio. There was the time he waited out an 11-day storm in the northern tundra, tying his plane to frozen whale ribs so it wouldn’t blow away. He once narrowly escaped an avalanche by using its power to lift his plane’s tail as he took off. Sheldon often took it upon himself to help recover dead bodies from the mountain and scattered cremated remains in honor of those he knew and flew. Sheldon was a luminary and a maverick, and Denali was his mountain. He loved people as much as he loved Alaska, ushering them through the air in his silver planes, so they could experience the grandest untouched terrain known to man. He built his reputation on good, old-fashioned service and gained recognition for understanding the intricacies of Denali better than anyone. For a man who accomplished and witnessed countless “firsts” throughout his life, the impact Sheldon leaves behind is in the way he cared for and protected his community and made it possible for climbers to summit Denali, a legacy that continues to live on with every step taken toward its summit. Special thanks to the Sheldon family, Talkeetna Air Taxi, Roger Robinson and Joe McAneney for helping bring this story to life. 2.
5. featuring Japanese skier Ueki, 1970 / 4. Vintage camping supplies next to Cessna 185, 2019 / 5. Glacier airfield in Don Sheldon Amphitheater, 2019
43
Sheldon was a luminary and a maverick, and Denali was his mountain.
Blushing Denali, 2019
44
45
Facing Tracing Glacial Water Alaska Through the Wild Words + Images by Gretchen Powers
46
A
laska is a mysterious, stunning, strong and brave womxn. She’s a reflection of Mother Nature, with her jagged edges, swooping curves and eyes that sparkle even in the dead of night. If you were to go looking
for where she came from, you would simply follow the water. Alaska’s origin story begins high on ancient, dying glaciers and flows through cerulean alpine lakes, down to the streams and rivers that have carved valleys out of hillsides. Water has left its mark everywhere here, tracing lines and creases in Alaska’s beautiful face. When I arrived on Alaska’s shores, I was afraid to be alone with her. Now I sip the world’s oldest water from the streams that flow off her glaciers, chase her water down rivers and into alpine lakes, trace it along streams and into the wild Bering Sea. Mile after mile, I grow more impressed by the strength, creativity and force the water needed to cut through the mountainous earth. I’m amazed by how even the smallest lines on her face make her beautiful and unique, giving me a new respect for the lines I’ve found across my forehead and the way they carry memories. Alaska is steadfast against the ripping winds, earthquakes, massive snow and rainfall that constantly torment her skin. When the clouds lift and the earth settles, she emerges from the fog even more radiant than before. The way the sun sparkles across the ocean blinds
Mile after mile, I am more impressed by the strength, creativity and force the water needed to cut through the jagged mountainous earth.
your eyes, and the mountain peaks appear taller. The other day, I leaned over a dock looking at my reflection in the glassy ocean, the same water I’d traced from the mountains to the sea. What I saw startled me. I felt as though I was seeing myself for the first time. Layers of strength and wisdom I hadn’t yet noticed appeared beneath the once smooth surface of my skin. Alaska carries her scars as if they are her most beautiful parts. Among her wilderness, I’ve begun to do the same.
47
From her ancient, dying glaciers, to her cerulean alpine lakes, to the streams and rivers that have carved valleys out of hillsides, water has left its mark everywhere here, tracing lines and creases in Alaska’s beautiful face. 48
START YOUR JOURNEY BUY NOW, PAY LATER.
49
Behind the Landscape The Kawésqar and Tourism in Southern Chile
F
Words by Emily Hopcian + Image by Silvestre Seré
rom travel bucket lists, to world-renowned photos, to sto-
In truth, today there are more than 540 Kawésqar among 14 commu-
ries on climbing destinations that spark fire in alpinists’
nities in the region registered with CONADI, the National Corporation
eyes, you’re likely familiar with Parque Nacional Torres del
for Indigenous Development. They are the descendants of nomadic
Paine’s mountains, valleys, glaciers and lakes. And while
canoeists, fishermen, divers and hunter-gatherers who, according to
celebrating Torres del Paine for its natural beauty and larger-than-
archaeological records, arrived to the Región de Magallanes y de la
life adventures makes sense, this Chilean gem is more than what
Antártica Chilena roughly 6,500 years ago.
most people read about or even experience. Among Chileans and foreigners alike, there’s a lesser-known story folded within this
While the world is largely unfamiliar with the Kawésqar, should you
Patagonian park’s landscape: the cultural and human story of the
find yourself on a tour with González, 35 — a warm, welcoming soul
Kawésqar, the people who first inhabited, and continue to inhabit,
who dons jeans, a polo shirt and a cardigan when I meet up with him
the territory near Torres del Paine.
on a Saturday morning in March — you’ll likely learn about them. Of the 500 guides in Torres del Paine, only 10-15 are local to the region.
Of the roughly 250,000 visitors Torres del Paine welcomes annu-
Of that subset, González is the only Kawésqar guide.
ally, very few know who the Kawésqar are. Often, the narratives of the gauchos and European settlers are the only historical and
He says, “One of my goals as a guide is leave people feeling they
cultural context visitors receive. Francisco “Pancho” González says,
were here with a local and had a very local experience — to share
“Starting in the early 2000s, every so often the news will say, ‘The
local stories, teach them local ways, introduce them to local people.
last Kawésqar died.’ Some will say, ‘The last of what?’ Others will
At the end, I want them to return home feeling that in their time
accept it as fact, and that’s why many people think the Kawésqar
passing through Patagonia that it was Patagonia that was passing
no longer exist.”
through them.” Throughout our day together, González chats with the man working the counter in the shop where we meet, greets seemingly everyone we encounter around town and gracefully dives into a conversation,
50
“At the end, I want them to return home feeling that in their time passing through Patagonia that it was Patagonia that was passing through them.” in German, with a hitchhiker we pick up along Ruta 9. It’s easy to see
As a member of the Kawésqar communities and a guide in Torres del
why González is not only a good guide but also so capable of bring-
Paine, González stands in a unique position to help bridge the gap
ing communities together. He’s a true people person with a twinkle in
between his community and the tourism industry. He and Marcelo
his eye. He’s also a man with a vision — a vision to include and involve
Muñoz are leading a project called Pueblo Kawésqar to help foster
the Kawésqar communities in the local tourism industry.
those relationships, while also bringing the Kawésqar communities together to share and value their history and culture.
González, who has worked as a guide since 2011, says the relationship between the Kawésqar people and the region’s tourism industry
“We want to give them the knowledge and experience to integrate
is vague and relatively unexplored. “Many Kawésqar see tourism as
into the tourism chain,” González says.
something distant, and almost nobody speaks English,” he says. Pueblo Kawésqar aims to support the Kawésqar communities in On visits to local schools, González asks the children if they have
revitalizing their culture and developing their own tourism products
been to Torres del Paine. Many have not. “They live next door to the
— such as guiding services in Kawésqar National Park and Kawésqar
park but think it is a place only for gringos,” he says. “They see limita-
gastronomy and artisanal goods.
tions, not opportunities.” Pueblo Kawésqar makes the Kawésqar more visible. Through the Throughout the last 30 years, tourism to Torres del Paine has grown
project, tourists can arrive in Puerto Natales and have the know-how
rapidly, and unlike the other local industries, González says it is not
and opportunity to connect with the Kawésqar.
stalling or declining but only becoming more powerful. According to CONAF, Chile’s national forest & parks administrator, the park had
“With this project, we want to give the landscape a cultural context,”
128,396 visitors in 2007 and 252,447 in 2016 — a growth of 96.6
González says. “Patagonia is more than the landscape; it’s what’s
percent in just nine years.
behind the landscape.” To go on a guided tour with González in Torres del Paine or nearby, contact him at francisco@kawesqar.org. To get involved with the Pueblo Kawésqar project, visit kawesqar.org.
51
Where Are You From?
Words by Marinel de Jesus
52
I MAG E BY IAN MACU R DY
A New Sense Of Self in the Peruvian Andes
A
t the mercado in Urubamba, Peru, a Quechua
tory is important to the Quechua, I am also learning there is
woman approaches me with a smile. The mar-
nothing more fundamental to their identities than their con-
ket’s dynamic display of produce and harvests
nection to the Andes Mountains.
compliments her colorful dress. She looks at me
unapologetically with a childlike curiosity. She knows full well
The Andes serve as a reference for their work rituals — be it
I’m not Quechua or Peruvian.
farming, herding, mountain guiding or portering. With a culture dating back to pre-Spanish times, the core of their beliefs
“¿De donde eres?” she says.
and spiritual practices lies in the Pachamama, to whom they show utmost respect. I see this enduring love and connection
“Soy Filipina,” I blurt out, eager to practice the little Spanish I
to the energy of the land in every Quechua woman and man.
know after living in Peru for more than a month.
As an avid mountain trekker, I fully relate to the significance of such ties.
I want to also tell this woman I’d lived in the U.S. most of my life, but my level of Spanish doesn’t allow me to share a
In the Philippines, I have made attempts to connect with the
deeper account of where I come from. We exchange a few
land that is my origin to no avail. I struggle to understand
words, most of which are about my purchases. I pay for my goods and bid her my standard goodbye, “Hasta luego!” Dismayed at my inability to fully engage with her, I walk away, obsessively pondering how to define who I am in my new home. ¿De donde eres? Where are you from? It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this simple question and struggled to answer it in a way that
Living in Peru’s Sacred Valley has afforded me the ability to rediscover my origin and explore the lost aspects of my identity, one that has escaped me over time.
feels authentic to who I am. More
which indigenous group my own family was a part of. I continue to wrestle with which region within the Philippines is mine. Where am I from? Where were my ancestors from? I envy the persistence of Quechua culture and the strong sense of identity the women possess. In contrast, I can hardly trace my own family’s roots, a common thread among Filipinos who migrate to the U.S. If only I could define my origin by way of my mission. I wish people would ask why I am in Peru, not where do I come from. To that, I can
often than not, the question leaves me scratching my head,
easily say, “I’m here to change the trekking tourism industry
confused as to how I define myself. My identity isn’t a simple
and make it more inclusive of women and indigenous com-
answer: it’s a story.
munities.” But a mission is hardly the same as one’s origin. Must our identity be tied to a place? Is it possible to define
I was born in the Philippines and immigrated to the U.S. as
ourselves by our purpose in life, the heart and soul of who
a child. I’m Filipina, yet I’ve felt that part of my identify chal-
we are?
lenged by all the years I’ve spent living in the States. Now, living in Peru’s Sacred Valley has afforded me the ability to
Tomorrow, my morning ritual continues in Urubamba. I’ll go
rediscover my origin and explore the lost aspects of my iden-
back to the mercado and trade words once more with the
tity, the ones that have escaped me over time.
Quechua women and men. I’ll continue to untangle my identity in broken Spanish, fueled by my blind optimism that one day
In Peru, the Quechua women strongly hold onto their culture
I’ll satisfy this curious questioning with an authentic explana-
and remind me of the influence of history and tradition, an
tion of where I’m from, of who I am. For now, I am cultivating
aspect that seems to no longer exist in my home country.
a new sense of origin — one that is uniquely my own — taking into account the complexities that come with being grounded
I trek alongside female porters and guides in Peru. They share
in more than one place.
their origin stories, and I learn that much of the Quechua culture remains grounded in this part of Peru. These women have
To learn more about Marinel de Jesus, her work and
a firm grasp of their familial roots and the legacies passed
treks with women and indigenous communities globally,
down from one generation to the next. While this family his-
visit peakexplorations.com.
53
From Art to Life
Words by Maria Manuela + Image by Brandon Soder
I
n Summer 2017, Emelie Richardson
change. In the late 1500s, Spanish colo-
“I'm inspired by devotion to long-stand-
packed only the belongings that
nists introduced the horizontal European
ing family tradition and feel such a strong
would fit in her Volvo and left her
treadle loom to the area. The two-harness
connection to the Ortega family,” she
home of four years in Seattle for
loom is now referred to as the Rio Grande
says. “Being so readily accepted into
the desert. In the midst of a life-altering
Walking Loom and remains the loom of
their family and community was surpris-
breakup, she was seeking a fresh start.
choice for most Chimayo weavers, includ-
ing to me at first. I feel invested in telling
She found it in Chimayo, New Mexico.
ing the Ortegas and now Richardson.
their stories to keep their traditions alive.”
Richardson — a weaver with a BFA in
Families like the Ortegas have been mas-
Both within and beyond Ortega’s Weaving
painting and fiber from the University of
ters of their craft since the 1700s. They
Shop, Richardson has found her home
Kentucky — encountered Ortega’s Weaving
hand their knowledge and skills down
and creative space in Chimayo. She
Shop not long after her cross-country
from one generation to the next, passing
draws inspiration for her art from the
move. There, she met seventh-generation
the tradition of weaving along like a trea-
landscape in and around Chimayo, from
weaver Chris Ortega. The two chatted
sured folk tale or origin story.
both the town’s old plaza and nature.
and Richardson soon began an appren-
Through her apprenticeship with Ortega,
“I feel a sense of freedom in Chimayo
ticeship with Ortega.
Richardson was threaded into this treasured
I’ve not felt in any other place I’ve
tradition. She became part of Chimayo’s
called home,” she says. “Here there are
Time has been kind to Chimayo, where
story. For nearly two years, she worked in
fewer constraints and more space and
weaving traditions have persisted for
the Ortegas’ production studio and formed
time to be playful, both in and out of
hundreds of years, largely untouched by
a tight bond with the family.
the studio.”
about their mutual dedication to textiles,
54
Weaving A New Story in Chimayo Today, Richardson’s art honors the desert
it justice, the way it makes me feel, with
Woven with wool from farms in northern
— her muse and constant companion. She
words, which is why I hope it translates
New Mexico, the pieces in Richardson’s
hikes daily on trails around her home, wan-
through my work.”
newest series, Lonesome Love, truly em-
dering along the sandy beds of cream and beige-hued arroyos that snake through the hills. “Walking in the evening helps to refresh and restart my thoughts after the workday — and nothing quite compares to New Mexico’s golden hour glow,” she says. Nature
is
essential
for
“I feel a sense of freedom in Chimayo I’ve not felt in any other place I’ve called home.”
body the desert’s essence. One features a dark background with a bright, white moon. Another captures the gradient colors of sand, blending from apricot to milky blush. The shapes in Richardson’s pieces feel natural, like stones in a riverbed or the stacked dunes that rise from the desert. Visit Richardson’s website: emelierichardson.com. Keep up with her on Insta-
Richardson’s
creativity. It soaks into her being, and
On her walks, Richardson takes in the
gram: @emelie_anne. Learn more about
she communicates her love for it on her
details of the high desert: tiny, spiny cacti;
traditional Rio Grande weaving on your
loom — a 60-year-old Rio Grande Walking
the textures of the sunbaked arroyo walls;
next trip to New Mexico and visit Ortega’s
Loom, a gift from the Ortega family.
and the snow-capped mountains in the
Weaving Shop at 57 Plaza del Cerro,
distance. She recreates the natural fea-
Chimayo, NM 87522. Until then, head to
“Nothing can restore my sense of self, my
tures when they’re fresh in her memory,
ortegasweaving.com, which includes a
feeling of being present, like time alone in
sometimes painting her ideas before step-
beautiful, detailed family history beginning
the outdoors,” she says. “It’s difficult to do
ping onto her loom.
in the early 1700s.
55
The Cycle of Ancestry
Bikepacking the Yucatán
M
Words by Katie Rodriguez + Images by Ryder England ario Jesus Ordoñez-Calderon set out with a pur-
“I used to spend afternoons at my grandpa’s bike shop,”
pose: to trace 1,500 kilometers along the Yucatán
Ordoñez-Calderon recalls. “I would sit out front just to listen to him
Peninsula and explore the land and culture that
talk with the other old-timers and watch him work. I was most in-
shaped his ancestors. At the start of 2019, Or-
terested in their stories. I remember feeling proud that my grandpa
doñez-Calderon, a first generation Mayan-American, decided to
had such a passion for his job — and he was good at it. There was
bikepack through the land his parents left in search of creating a
such a flow to his work and, at the same time, good conversation.”
better life for their children. In Muña, whether tending to the crops and animals, doing laundry, The 11 members of Ordoñez-Calderon’s family, like many others,
biking or taking trips to the well, being outside wasn’t just recre-
came to the U.S. in search of opportunity and a better life. Though
ational — it was a way of life. The people didn’t have much, but they
geographically removed from his ancestral roots, his upbringing
were bound to each other and the land by a rich history and strong
embraced the notion that strengthening familial bonds was of the
sense of community.
utmost priority and he spent many summers visiting his grandparents in the small village of Muña, nestled in the jungles of the
Now an adult and avid biker, when Ordoñez-Calderon began to
Yucatán Peninsula.
think about making plans for a biking trip, he knew he wanted it to be different from anything he’d done prior. He wanted to integrate
Those visits instilled in him the values and taught him the cus-
purpose and intention into this challenge, to examine his relation-
toms his people had observed for generations. Most importantly,
ship to the earth and to his origins.
Ordoñez-Calderon learned how community and time spent outdoors sustained their businesses. His grandfather, the local bike
“I wanted to challenge myself physically and learn about myself via
mechanic, offered his porch not only as the village bike shop but
cultural immersion,” he says. “I wanted to slow down my travels via
as a gathering place for people to come and socialize.
bike to digest those little towns you’d miss traveling by car.”
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In Muña, whether tending to the crops and animals, doing laundry, biking or taking trips to the well, being outside was not just recreational, it was a way of life. Forty days of cycling brought him 1,500 kilometers along the Yucatán Peninsula — from the country’s most densely populated city to Pico de Orizaba, its highest peak — and down to Muña. The days were long and monotonous, victorious and fulfilling. The terrain was beautifully erratic, sometimes unforgiving and leading to dead ends but more often to areas untouched and raw, with their own rugged allure. This land that had shaped his ancestors for multiple generations made him feel alive. The
communities
Ordoñez-Calderon
traveled
through were inquisitive, supportive and welcoming. They reflected the warmth of his parents and what he remembered from his childhood trips to Muña. Many families welcomed him in for dinner, offered him a place to stay and helped guide him along his route. “The sense of community felt so different,” Ordoñez-Calderon says. “All meals were shared, and everyone would sit down and eat together. That was a big deal. I saw this loving quality mirrored in each community we biked through. It was common for people to want to care for each other — stranger or not.” Upon his arrival in Muña, Ordoñez-Calderon’s grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles and several members of the community greeted him. His grandfather anxiously walked up the road to give the first welcome: “You have to keep moving to stay living.” By moving through the Yucatán, Ordoñez-Calderon was symbolically keeping his family’s cultural values and traditions alive while shaping his own identity. He felt empowered affirming that his love for adventure, community and wide-open spaces is something that is inherently part of his heritage, something he will pass onto future generations. What we choose to preserve from our history is how we define ourselves.
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Д А Ч А Where and How We Find Our Roots Words + Images by Sonya Pevzner
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G
rowing up between two countries, I was a post-Soviet kid who stuck bony feet into the warm
summer soil and climbed every tree I could. From September to May, I lived in a quiet Pittsburgh neighborhood. The summers brought a different world: busy Moscow streets, noisy рынки, бабушки selling briny pickles and the reverberation of trains rocking the house, and me, to sleep at night. My grandparents are train engineers, so it’s fitting that their dacha, a 0.1-acre plot of government-assigned land, is flanked by train tracks on both sides. They’ve owned it since the ’80s when it was nothing more than poorly drained soil and a grid of dirt roads. By the time I was born in 1992, it boasted two handmade homes and a garden that fed the family. Railroad ties formed the sides of the vegetable beds; currant and gooseberry bushes hung heavy with fruit; and overgrown raspberry bushes blocked the dusty road from sight. For a scrappy kid who loved to explore, it was paradise
When people ask me how I knew who I wanted to be, I think about the way my feet smell when they’ve been in soil all day. In June, we looked for the North Star in the cold night air. By early September, braided garlic hung crinkling from the rafters; canned tomatoes bursting with summer sun lined the shelves; and heavy bags of potatoes waited for winter on the balcony of my grandparents’ Moscow apartment. As my grandparents grow older, the garden beds give way to lawns that my grandma doesn’t have to weed, stubbornly bent over the rows. Instead, she grows pink roses and bright-yellow
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lilies. My grandfather jokes, calling them cactuses. He’s also stubborn. Every summer morning, before the heat sets in, you’ll find him in his greenhouses, rustling the tomato leaves as he shuffles by, releasing that sweet, sharp smell. I am not a train engineer. My love for animals and soil led me to an education in ecology, jobs on farms and dreams of a homestead. When people ask me how I knew who I wanted to be, I think about the way my feet smell when they’ve been in soil all day. The way my skin turns dark in the sun, just like my grandma’s. The way hard-worked leather feels. The way I can lean against the house walls, a lattice of hand-hammered wood boards, and rub my thumb over the nailheads pounded in by my father’s hands 30 years ago. He’s been gone 25 years, but the house remembers. Our childhood landscapes make us who we are, and we can choose where to wander from there. I was raised on a tiny plot of hard-won earth but now live in a house with wheels. One day, I will have a child, and I will put chubby baby feet into the warm spring soil and say, “Go. This land is your birthright. How you choose to root is up to you.”
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Against the Current
Saving the Sockeye Salmon Words by Hailey Hirst + Art by Rachel Hirst
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R
edfish Lake lies cradled in the wrinkled palms of
hill from the Salmon River. They made a home here, and this
the Sawtooth Mountains in a glacier-carved val-
valley is important in my origin story, too. Generation after
ley in central Idaho. I spent my childhood swim-
generation, my family returns to the cold water of Redfish
ming in its clear shallows, like my mother before
Lake each summer like the crimson-clad salmon once did in
me, and her father before her, and his before him. This lake
numbers so great that the water itself ran red.
is, more importantly, the birthplace of the furthest-migrating salmon in North America, the Sawtooth Valley sockeye.
It wasn’t until I moved to British Columbia that I saw the sockeye spawn without the intervention of metal gates and
Sockeye born in Redfish Creek travel some 900 river miles
hatchery ladders. Last fall, beneath flickering yellow birch
to the Pacific by way of the Columbia River. After a few
leaves, I witnessed the Adams River salmon run. Seeing
years, those that survive the ocean begin the return journey
those battle-scarred and ragged fish who’d made it home to
upstream. Navigating by scent and generational memory, they return to the tributary of their birth to spawn. Although they die soon after, their spent bodies live on in the trees that drink at the riverbanks and in the velvety, orange eggs tucked inside the river’s rubble. Or at least they used to. At the time of my birth, the species was teetering on the brink of extinction. One year in the early 1990s, only one fish made it home. They called him “Lonesome Larry.” Despite hatchery programs and the work of the Nez Perce, Shoshone-Bannock and
spawn felt like a miracle to me.
Hanging just below the surface, the shapes of the salmon are like a memory you can’t quite recall — still there, but only just.
other Tribes to restore habitat, Idaho’s sock-
It is a miracle. With eight dams between Redfish Lake and the Pacific — and more than 150 years of overfishing, habitat loss, pollution, encroaching populations, industrial runoff, drought and a changing climate — it is a miracle any fish return at all. But they do. They are still here, fighting their way upstream. The sockeye of Idaho rebounded from near extinction but only with drastic scientific intervention. Their life cycle is now carefully orchestrated by gloved hands and metallic tools in the beginning and the end. I’ve seen them in the river approaching the weir at the Sawtooth Hatchery. Viewed through the current, the red
eye have been on “biological life support” for the past two
fish are only spots of color. Hanging just below the surface, the
decades — dwindling from 35,000 fish returning each year
shapes of them are like a memory you can’t quite recall — still
in the 1880s to somewhere between a few hundred and a
there, but only just.
thousand now. Today, there still is no sustainable plan for saving salmon, Salmon were once prolific in watersheds that pour into the
and the changing climate will put even more stress on re-
Pacific. Prior to European colonization, shimmering hordes
maining fish stocks.
of salmon thrashed their way upstream to spawn in almost every coastal river and creek from California to Alaska. There
I wonder if there will be a post-colonial, post-industrial future
was abundance and balance and connectivity in this cycle.
where we no longer exist in a dominant system that uses
Lakes hundreds of miles from the coast were united with the
up and destroys things we can never get back. I hope so.
ocean by the snaking veins of rivers and the blood-red fish
Because I believe in the one salmon who makes it upstream
who flowed between them.
to lay her thousand tender eggs. I believe small actions do have power.
But then came industry: logging, gold mining, fisheries and canneries. Business boomed and salmon declined, from the
Support the protection of salmon in Idaho by taking action
greed and heedlessness of steady “progress.”
at idahorivers.org. Idaho Rivers United is a conservation association that runs petitions, hosts events and volunteer
The glint of gold is what first brought my ancestors to the
opportunities, accepts donations and posts news updates
Sawtooth Basin of Idaho. My great-great-grandfather raised
on local efforts to save Idaho's endangered fish.
his children in a gravel-bottomed valley at a mining camp up-
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Sole Searching
Tracing the Roots of Heirloom Shoe Design in India Words by Kristen Rieke Morabito + Images by Sana Javeri Kadri
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W
here do you get them made? We’re often asked
Sana, who spends a month in India each winter for her company’s
this seemingly simple question at Mohinders, and
turmeric harvest, proposed an enticing idea: retrace her child-
in answering it, we find ourselves delving into
hood road trips from Mumbai to Northern Karnataka, making a
bigger concepts: how are things made? Who
photo journal to illustrate our shoes’ place of origin.
gets the credit for their designs? Are we honoring the origins of the garments we wear?
So, in February, I hopped on a plane (then into a car and many rickshaws) to roam the dusty roads, sandstone cliffs and surpris-
In 2018, a conversation with friend and photographer Sana
ing nooks of Northern Karnataka.
Javeri Kadri prompted us to ask whether most people who wear Mohinders really know the geographic, and cultural, origins of our
At dusk on the first day, we approached Badami, about 400 miles
handwoven shoes.
southwest of Mumbai. The view turned from arid and flat to vibrant and jagged; coppery-red outcroppings jutted upward with
Each pair of Mohinders is made by a cooperative of master shoe-
strands of ochre in mesmerizing wavy shapes.
makers in Athani, India. For generations, families in Athani have made these regional shoe designs, which are unique to Athani
We woke up early for dosas, sambar and coconut chutney. Gane-
and the surrounding region of Northern Karnataka. So, while a
sha, a rock climbing guide, rolled up to meet us by motorcycle, his
pair of our shoes comes with key updates to reinstate the shoes’
backpack full of gear and ropes. When we arrived at the climbing
original quality — and we release new, collaborative shoe con-
spot, perched above town, he set up a warmup route and then
cepts — these designs existed long before our company did.
a more challenging climb before showing us his favorite route, named after him.
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With every shoemaker, small actions demonstrate years of experience — done by a master, complex moves take on ease and precision.
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We jumped across town to our next stop: cave temples. Badami was the regal capital of the Chalukya dynasty, and intricate structures from that period remain, carved into the hillside around Agasthya Lake. We wandered for the afternoon, admiring images carved into sandstone and welcoming cool air in the caves. From there, we drove to Kolhapur, passing sunflower fields and the Krishna River. Kolhapur is a hub known for deep-red spice blends, a wrestling school and streets lined with Kolhapuri chappals, elaborate leather sandals made here since the 13th century. We quickly found ourselves in the back room of a chappal stand, passing around a pair of my own Mohinders. A few merchants discussed its woven, closed-toe design. They said it began as an offshoot of Kolhapuri shoe culture in the last couple centuries and soon became synonymous with Athani, where we’d end the trip. Tractors loaded with sugarcane rolled past as we bounced in a rickshaw toward Shell Colony, the shoemaking part of town in Athani. Workshops here house foot-pedal sewing machines and stacks of water buffalo hides, tanned in a neighboring town. We heard the metallic swish of hand tools meeting big, smooth sharpening stones as we met with Asha, Prakash and dozens of other master shoemakers. Generations of craftsmanship here are apparent. Prakash and his son work side by side, differing in their willingness to experiment with the process. With every shoemaker, small actions demonstrate years of experience — done by a master, complex moves take on ease and precision. Athani-made footwear is growing in recognition and being worn by people around the world. Already Mohinders has fans in the U.S., Japan and Australia. We hope these shoes are accompanied by a vivid sense of place as they head into the future — a region of redrock landscapes, ancient stone temples and centuries of shoemaking. Learn more about Mohinders and the designs in their collection at mohinders.com. See more of Sana's work by following @sanajaverikadri on Instagram.
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I MAG E S C OU RTE SY OF OBAK K I FOU N DATION
Drawings in the Sand
Small Acts Yield Unforeseen Impact
Words by Hatie Parmeter
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I
n February 2019, Treana Peake stared out across the arid
in impoverished areas of the world. The organization has since
Ugandan landscape from the back of an SUV bound for
partnered with individuals and communities to aid more than 2.5
Bidi Bidi, the second largest refugee camp in the world.
million people — providing access to clean water, education and
The Vancouver-based philanthropist and her team from the
healthcare; launching seed programs; and supporting agricultural
Obakki Foundation were on a mission to find 14 women among the
growth in South Sudan, Uganda and Cameroon.
280,000 people seeking refuge there, displaced by a violent civil war just across the border in South Sudan.
In Peake’s experience, nonprofits with massive budgets often have less tangible impact, as a large chunk of their funds goes to admin-
Peake had met the women two years prior in one of the camp’s
istrative fees. The Obakki Foundation’s initiatives are made possible
tents. Sitting in a circle, the women shared stories of the trauma
by Peake’s fashion brand, Obakki, which sends 100 percent of
and violence they’d experienced while fleeing their homes. Yet, they
its profits to the foundation’s partners. Peake runs the foundation
maintained hope that their lives were changing for the better at Bidi
without pay and employs a local man in Uganda to orchestrate and
Bidi. As they spoke, the women drew in the sand.
oversee in-country projects.
Bidi Bidi, once a temporary camp, is transitioning into a permanent
Peake never set out to join the fashion industry — she wears jeans
settlement. Its residents require long-standing services: safe, local
and T-shirts most days — but upon her return to Vancouver from Bidi
water sources, for example, can help families start busi-
Bidi in 2017, she saw a way to merge her philanthropic
nesses and allow children to attend school.
and fashion interests through Obakki.
In 2017, when Peake first met the
She took the images drawn in the sand
women, other nonprofits in Bidi Bidi
by the women and printed them on
were handing out rations, such
navy blue scarves and bandanas.
as bags of rice. The camp’s
The illustrations included cattle
residents were appreciative to
and scorpions; marks from
have their basic needs met
ritualistic scarring practices;
but dreamt of building more
and tiny crops, symbolic of
sustainable lives in their
the refugees’ desire to grow
adoptive home country.
food and resettle.
Peake
herself
dreamt
of
The idea behind the scarves
doing something to support
was simple: for every 500
them. She returned home with
scarves Obakki sold, Bidi
images of the women’s draw-
Bidi would receive a new water
ings in the sand and an idea for
well, which is where Peake’s col-
how she could stir change.
league on-the-ground in Uganda comes into play. Today, the Obakki
Peake’s desire to make a difference start-
Foundation has successfully contributed
ed early in life. When she was 8 years old, she
10 water wells to Bidi Bidi that provide ac-
and her single mother were struggling to make ends
cess to clean water for more than 15,561 people.
meet. One day, someone slid an envelope with money under their door with no explanation. It forever changed the way Peake saw
Life is full of chain reactions. The stranger who slid an envelope full
herself and her role in the world.
of money under the door for Peake and her mother may not know the impact of their actions, but Peake wanted the women of Bidi
“As a young child, that influenced my whole path in philanthropy,”
Bidi to be aware of theirs.
she says. “I thought, ‘That person is a benchmark for who I want to be as a person. I want to do these things in people's lives without
In February 2019, upon arriving at Bidi Bidi, Peake and the Obakki
expecting anything in return.’”
team located the women. They took out the scarves and showed them how their drawings in the sand had been woven into beau-
Peake tried to volunteer at a young age but was repeatedly turned
tiful textiles. Warm hugs and happy tears were exchanged among
away because of her youth. At 17, she took a mission trip to Africa
Peake, the team and the women.
and fell in love with the people there. She went back again shortly thereafter and began to build relationships that have lasted over the
Peake says, “When the ladies heard women around the world
years. Peake felt the areas where others wouldn’t go were where
were wearing their designs, they cried. After false starts and bro-
help was most needed. She’s returned to Africa more than 50 times.
ken promises, the women of Bidi Bidi were seeing that their work had meaning.”
In 2005, she created the Obakki Foundation, a nonprofit that works For more on the Obakki Foundation and to shop their collections,
in collaboration with beneficiaries to fund positive social change
visit obakkifoundation.org.
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been
Magic Incarnate
Words by Michael A. Estrada
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That we are not gone or new but Been and Being. That both our struggles and excellences are then and now. That we will continue to fight, thrive and live. That we’ve done it first and shall persevere still. However you interpret it, there is an infinite beauty and self-power in recognizing that we as folks of color, Brown folks, Black folks, Indigenous folks have been and will continue to be. We are reflected in the creases of our grandparents’ eyes and lettered dreams, in our melanin sheen that matches from iridescent hardened beetles’ backs to the brightness of crushed spices in bagged stacks. Colors, existence, purpose; a congruent mix of past and perfect future bursting into the present like fire on this earth that renews and creates as it destroys. Recognizing death and re/birth as one in the same, cause for celebration, cause for pain. Because we’ve BEEN — color of the earth been — the thickness of roots and the endurance of trees been — raising our fists in protest, our kids with that “you will not outwork, defeat or outlast us” mentality been — on these lands before y’all were been — making the most out of nothing like crumbs into bread been — angry. sad. and tired. been — knowing been — thriving on magnificence, the “been joyous” been — yes persisting nevertheless, been — a continuation: we’ve been had it we’ve been magic we’ve been resisting we’ve been weathered and worn we’ve been recreated we’ve been reborn There is nothing that you see as accident or coincidence — I am here because I’ve been From my great-grandmama to hers From the soil of her plants to the soil of my own Connected and intertwined like tangled, generational-spanning roots Mined for our beauty and hella extravagance and yet: Never ever depleted. The have-never-died. BEEN and still BEING. BEING and still GROWING > BEEN: so when them folx ask you: ‘oh you do this and that?’ You can be like yes: i —> BEEN. How wonderful it is to know that your existence alone is magic incarnate.
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oorism
ntal Outd
Experime
I MAG E BY JAY TAYLOR
Words by Mason Yost
it Vanishe
s
T
he ease with which Rob Darmour shares what he loves is
A lot of my friends didn’t identify with the term “hiker” or see themselves
enchanting. He’s a connector who is knowledgeable, wildly
as “outdoorsy.” So we formed a group of misfits that identify with not
endearing and incredibly humble. Strike up a conversation
being an “outdoorsy hiker.”
with the entrepreneur, and you’ll feel the gravitational pull of
the positivity, curiosity and intention he brings to adventure and design.
We bring things we love with us out on the trail. We start hikes with a pop-up café serving pour-over coffee while a custom playlist of ‘70s Japanese funk plays from a portable speaker. By the time we hit the
engages folks with tangible musings on art, nature, creative expression,
trail, people are living in the moment and chatting with each other, not
culture and reclaiming what we lose in the trappings of our modern hustle.
just thinking about the summit. Come as you are, and have a good time.
Darmour started it Vanishes in Summer 2018 in Portland, Oregon, as an
What inspired the new apparel collection?
open invitation to “people who don’t hike” to create new connections
I wanted to reexamine the meaning of “outdoor style.” Nature is one
with the outdoors and among themselves. In its first year, the club draws
of the deepest sources of my creative inspiration. It’s wild and always
in about 20-30 like-minded folks per hike and has also formed a partner-
changing. It’s elusive. I wanted to reflect that dynamic energy with a
ship with Snow Peak Portland.
wabi-sabi ethos — imperfect, impermanent and incomplete beauty — and
I MAG E C OU RTE SY OF IT VAN I S H E S
As the founder of it Vanishes, an experimental outdoor brand, Darmour
an innovative foundation. In 2019, it Vanishes will launch an apparel collection — born from Darmour’s experience designing for adidas and Nike and his outdoor
How does that show up in the pieces?
experimentation with it Vanishes — in partnership with Tanner Goods, a
I mixed vintage and modern elements to create pieces rooted in the nos-
lifestyle brand and retailer. We sat down with Darmour to chat about the
talgia of the outdoors but fused with something new. The mix of these
hike club and upcoming clothing line.
elements invites a wider audience to see this lifestyle through a new lens. Our clothing encourages the “non-hiker” to blend the outdoors
What’s the significance of the name it Vanishes?
into their life. The line between the two vanishes.
The name acknowledges all of our belongings and experiences will eventually only exist as memories. For instance, a hike during the peak
In our pants, for instance, we use a deadstock military fabric and the
wildflower bloom will pass — or vanish, if you will — but the memory of
pattern is designed around the body’s natural movement. Storage el-
the experience will last.
ements are exaggerated; “outdoorsy” zipper pulls are long; the fabric repels water; and the whole shape is ready to scramble up a rocky
In terms of clothing, I want to create pieces and collections that stand in
incline. Or if you just want to go kick it at the bar, you won’t look like
a moment of time. Choosing deadstock fabric, for instance, means the
you’re searching for a summit.
opportunity to purchase a piece from it Vanishes ends when the fabric What’s next?
vanishes. It fosters the idea of being in the present moment.
We have an amazing summer planned. The it Vanishes Outdoor Club Why form a hike club for “people who don’t hike”?
will play host to a series of events, from a summit café to a “pool party”
it Vanishes is about creating a community around the outdoors that
at a hidden lake on Mt. Hood. We have plans, but we’re also just excited
invites people in — people who may have never even tried to go for a
to see where things go.
hike or explore the outdoors before and largely don’t see their culture or For more on it Vanishes, visit itvanishes.com. For more on Tanner
interests reflected in the current outdoor industry.
Goods and to shop the collection, visit tannergoods.com.
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I LLUSTRATION BY STU DIO N U M B E R ON E
Power to the Parks
Turning Love For Our National Parks Into Action
Words by Sean Knight
O
ur U.S. national parks — our, as they belong to
Tommie Smith and John Carlos each raised a black-gloved
us after all — are in somewhat of an enigmatic
fist during a medal ceremony as a “human rights salute.”
moment. These lands are loved, to be sure.
The icon also has become popularized in the feminist
Wildflower blooms are seeing near-apoca-
movement to represent sisterhood and has been featured
lyptic crowds; bills for public lands are being passed with
on the cover of feminist books as well as protest signs
aggressively bipartisan support; and 2018 saw well over
during the Women’s March in recent years.
300 million visits to U.S national parks. Because the raised fist has become a universal symbol Despite that love, our wild lands hang in the balance. The
of solidarity and support and a salute to express unity,
backlog of vital maintenance projects has surpassed $11
strength, defiance or resistance for various political issues,
billion. The government shutdown in early 2019 forced em-
or oppressed groups, SNO wanted to incorporate the fist
ployees into submission and parks into disarray. The effects of climate change continue to mount and threaten these lands we love. During the government shutdown, many outdoor enthusiasts were left wanting to help but had no direct avenue to do so. From this dichotomy of love and ignorance, the Power to the Parks campaign was born. The campaign is an effort to reach all of these “helpers,” guide them and ultimately turn passive love into direct action.
The campaign is an effort to reach all of these “helpers,” guide them and ultimately turn passive love into direct action.
Power to the Parks is the brainchild of
in our collective efforts to stand up for our national parks. The Power to the Parks poster invokes the spirited energy associated with classic protest posters from the '60s, which remain relatable for today’s audience. “Our team is passionate about preserving our beautiful Earth for future generations, so we jumped at the chance to work with Parks Project,” says Annie Pham, account director at SNO. “We know many supporters of the national parks, ourselves included, felt helpless during the government shutdown, so we created a powerful
Parks Project and Shepard Fairey's creative agency, Stu-
story for people to use as a badge.”
dio Number One (SNO). SNO seized the opportunity to create something powerful for nature and park lovers to
Parks Project Co-founder Keith Eshelman says, “The
show off as a badge of enthusiasm and support for the
parks are all about stories. We want to create a move-
national parks, especially on the heels of the dangerous
ment to defend our parks and raise awareness on how
government shutdown. The agency teamed up with Parks
you can help. With Power to the Parks, we want to create
Project and created a poster featuring the raised fist, an
a story that is shared by everyone it touches to spark a
evocative graphic representing power and solidarity for all
grassroots movement.”
of the park supporters who felt helpless during this time. You can download and print the Power to the Parks The raised fist has a long history as a symbol of defiance
poster for free at parksproject.us. Visit parksproject.us/
and resistance. During the 1960s, it was a sign of solidar-
pages/get-involved-parks-project for 10 ways to support
ity for the black civil rights movement. During the 1968
our parklands. And if you’re ready to get your hands dirty,
Olympic Games in Mexico City, American sprinters
check out volunteer.gov to find opportunities near you.
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Blossoming Down
The Beginnings & Future of Down Insulation
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D
Over time, down began to blossom into a necessity in colder regions of the world and a status symbol in others, always highly coveted for the warmth and comfort it could provide.
own has been utilized for centuries as insulation or padding for bedding—a commodity on the historic trade routes as far back as 1600. Over time, it became a
necessity in colder regions of the world and a status symbol in others, always highly coveted for the warmth and comfort it could provide. In modern times, the bedding industry was the main consumer of down, available as a by-product of the meat industry coming primarily from Eastern Europe and China. Yet even as the need and demand increased globally, down still remained a hidden resource, cloaked behind beautiful fabrics, its source a mystery to most. At best, it was marketed as a generic ingredient, hidden inside your jacket or sleeping bag and known only by a “fill power” perhaps printed somewhere on the product, hangtag or packaging. But down is actually one of the most misunderstood and sustainable insulations in use today. The supply chain is notoriously complex, difficult to track and, as with any animal byproduct, incredibly important to understand the source and ensure traceability throughout the entire chain. Seeing as down is often collected in remote, rural regions, in order to facilitate and improve documented ethical farming practices, ALLIED Feather & Down went so far as to teach those who collected the material how to read and write. Now they can fill out the proper paperwork, and we can confidently know where all material is coming from and audit for animal welfare accordingly. Following years of work done within the industry by brands like The North Face and ALLIED Feather & Down, global certifications and processes have been developed to ensure the responsible sourcing and collection of the raw material. With these new certifications, it becomes possible to rethink how we engage with down. The overall quality can also be drastically altered in how the material is processed and handled. When handled responsibly, it provides apparel, home and hospitality industries perhaps the most environmentally friendly insulation solution. As down emerges from within and consumers can learn more about the complexities of the insulation they rely on, we can make more informed decisions from both a sustainability and performance perspective. Apparel designers, brands and the media can also rethink how we all talk about down and how it has been used, taking what is effectively the world’s oldest insulation and bringing it to the next iteration of what is possible in sustainability, comfort, fashion and warmth.
For a list of brands using ALLIED traceable down, visit trackmydown.com/partners.html. Together, we can create synergy and affect greater environmental, social and political change.
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Yet even as the need and demand for down increased globally, down still remained a hidden resource, cloaked behind beautiful fabrics, its source a mystery to most.
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Text + Photography Courtesy of ALLIED Feather & Down / Photography by Yudo Kurita /
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Art Direction by Andrew Steiger / Styling by Misti Huskey + Chris Allison / Model: Ted Velasquez (Photogenics)
The Big Hollow Words by Katherine Indermaur + Image by David Mucklow
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This is wide land, receded sea under a sky that longs to low its weight in snow, a white seafoam echo dragged down from arctic climes by the throat, scratching all the way like prey to den’s warmer center
valley kiva crater center
Circle of seasons surrounds here, centuries of hunt’s wide scrape to gather and back Ocean waves left these claw marks along the prairie, the grasses still bent by the sea’s heft and long ago leaving, where land sips hiss of skyward water, where this sun -bleached paper spits open, splays Dry land whispers sibilance of mist whispers salt whispers sun-shorn crust, steam through sagebrush, the long long air Snow’s pockmarked sastrugi unlift, almost stay whispers ice shivers whispers here
valley kiva crater center
like a claw belonging the throat.
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Help Wanted
Words by Travis Wild
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I MAG E C OU RTE SY OF TH E I NTE R N ET
Leaning Into Human Connection
O
n a Tuesday in June, I sit on a bench along 16th
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It’s the most peaceful song I
Street in Denver, Colorado. As the sun falls clos-
know. The woman looks at me, perplexed. She sticks her face into
er to the mountains beyond the city, I fiddle with
her hands and breathes heavy.
Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” on my ukulele. For seven
weeks, I chose to leave my job, people, places and a life familiar to
“I’m going to stay here,” I say to her. “I won’t leave. It’ll be okay,
me behind to live on the streets of Denver.
ma’am. Or maybe just better.”
I made the choice after working with kids who’ve experienced
I cycle through the same chords for 15 minutes, maybe more. With
homelessness. I wanted to understand what life is like for those
each pass, my soul settles a little. Her rocking slows, her sobs
who are homeless. I wanted people to know someone cares for
subside. “I’m here. I’m with you,” I reassure her every once in a
them, to understand them, to connect with them. I’ve come to ex-
while. Her face remains buried in her hands.
perience, in some way, what life is like for those who are homeless. I’ve also come to know mental health from a different perspective.
We sit together in this, not alone. Even though people continue to
But mostly, I want to learn how to be there for people who might
pass both of us by, they do seem to look a little kinder at us now
benefit from love. It breaks my heart to live in a world where people
than they did before. Perhaps caring and compassion observed
are ignored and uncared for.
spreads kindness from soul to soul. Sitting, standing, being to-
As I toy with my ukulele, a bus stops in front of me. A lady jumps off. She lands like a child, both feet hitting the ground at the same time. She runs to the other end of the bench and dramatically plops her bag and body down. She rocks back and forth violently, silently, sadly. She’s a sturdy woman with a soiled face and greasy, grey hair. Her hands move rapidly across her body. One moment, she rubs her face; the next, her hands are clenched into fists, pounding her legs. In this moment, I have a choice, the same one I’ve had my whole life: I can do nothing, or I can do something. How often do we pass people like this wom-
To care is to be vulnerable. It is to avail yourself to someone, to acknowledge they exist and create space for them, especially when they are hurting. People are worth the “risks” we fear.
an by, diverting our gaze, when they are
gether is one of the more beautiful things we witness on Earth. It is seemingly impossible to ignore, especially in the face of loneliness. Ding ding. A bus bell rings a block away. The woman looks up and out and resumes her rocking. She tugs at her hair. She jumps up, runs her hands through her hair and looks everywhere but at me. Even with her turned away, I can see the tears on her face, leaving streaks of clean skin, collecting into muddy droplets at the corners of her mouth and then falling beyond her chin. The bus rolls up. It stops. This woman grabs her bag and runs to its doors. She pauses, comes back to the bench.
within an arm’s length of us? How often do we ignore those who
She’s crying heavily now. Her face is one of confused sadness.
are seemingly far different from us? How often do we judge them,
The bus bell sounds its departing ring. She reaches for my shoul-
label them, explain them away? We often observe hardship right
der with her hand, but before she can touch me, she closes it and
in front of us and fail to act. It seems understandable when we
pulls back.
don’t know exactly how to handle a situation outside our perceived norm. But this is the norm.
“Thank you,” she says in a raspy, weathered voice. She turns and runs onto the bus, the doors closing behind her. From her seat,
I do not wish to be part of the problem, part of a majority that justi-
she turns to look at me through the window, revealing a gummy
fies reasons for looking away instead of leaning in. To care is to be
smile framed by those muddy tears. Today, for a moment, this
vulnerable. It is to avail yourself to someone, to acknowledge they
woman and I share a smile in the darkness. Then she is gone, and
exist and create space for them, especially when they are hurting.
I am alone again, as people continue to come and go.
People are worth the “risks” we fear. What role can the outdoor industry — and all of us — play in being I slide closer to this woman. I don’t know what to say or do; I don’t
there for others? In overcoming homelessness, in supporting each
know how to say it or how to do it. She mumbles to herself. She
other’s causes directly and indirectly, our industry is in a position
bends over, sticks her head between her legs and coughs. She
to provide people with access to the outdoors, opening up the
sits up again and wipes spit from her chin. We lock eyes. Hers
positive impacts nature has on mental health. From gear to or-
are green like olives, glazed with tears and a hopeless exhaustion.
ganized activities and more, Travis Wild is formulating a plan. He wants to know who’s already taking action and doing this work.
“If you don’t mind, I’m just going to sit here with you and play
Who has ideas? Where is there want and need? If you’re already
some music,” I say gently. I start into Israel Kamakawiwo'ole’s
doing something or should you wish to get involved, email Travis at travis@wild-writes.com.
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Magic Mushroom The Future is Fungus
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I MAG E BY DAN AR B E RY
Words by Meg Callahan
hat if your ski boot liners were made from the same
Trofe’s designs, ranging from large installations to individual DIY kits,
material as your lunch? Your light fixture, a byprod-
aim to remove the lab coat of science and reinstate awe in the natural
uct of sustainable agriculture? The packaging in
world. When creating your own DIY mycelium grow lamp, you’re in-
your delivery box, all plastic-free and compostable?
volved in every step of the fabrication process, linking you directly to
The connecting thread and origin of these products? Mushrooms.
the life cycle of your product and invoking a question: where does all this stuff go when you’re done with it?
Mycelium, the root structure of mushrooms, is quickly being unearthed as a top biomaterial and change-maker in a revolution of circular life
In the U.S. specifically, just 9 percent of plastic waste is recycled.
cycles. In an era of convenience, single-use plastics and linear “take,
Forty percent of that plastic is packaging and is only used once. So,
make and use” economic models, scientists and designers are pio-
it’s not just the product itself whose life cycle matters; the packaging
neering another option: grow materials compatible with Earth. These
it comes in has to be considered, too.
materials replace plastics, naturally biodegrade and can be tailored for endless applications, all depending on what they eat. To grow
Ecovative, a New York-based biotech company, develops mycelium
mushroom mycelium, you have to feed it.
to solve this problem. Its MycoComposite combines mycelium with hemp to create commercial, custom-molded mushroom packaging.
Danielle Trofe, a Brooklyn-based biodesigner, feeds her mush-
It’s biodegradable, hydrophobic, heat resistant and grows in just nine
room mycelium hemp. Through the combination of two organic
days. When composted, it breaks down within months. You can order
materials, she creates biofabricated lighting that’s not only beau-
a GIY, or Grow-It-Yourself, kit and create your own custom molds. The
tiful but sustainable.
twist? If you feed mycelium a different meal, its properties change.
“It’s really about creating this connection — a deeper understand-
Grace Knight, an Ecovative industrial designer, feeds mushrooms for
ing of how things are made, what they’re made from and where
a living. She also innovates one-of-a-kind materials that are helping
they are going to end up — that really changes and shifts our value
change the fashion, beauty and food marketplaces.
system,” she says.
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I MAG E BY EC OVATIVE
In an era of convenience, single-use plastic and the linear “take, make and use” economic model, scientists and designers are pioneering another option, an option to grow materials compatible with Earth. “People are hungry for it,” she says, when discussing the commercial opportunities of mycelium. MycroFlex, a mycelium foam, can replace everything from disposable makeup applicators to midsoles of tennis shoes. Atlast™, a cell- or plant-based meat alternative, creates a structure for whole cuts of meat. It’s not science fiction. It’s simply science, and Ecovative’s mission is to get this technology into the
I MAG E BY ALE X AN DE R BAR R ETO
hands of everyone. “We are giving agency to people. That’s where change happens, at the grassroots level, independently in people’s homes. It’s not a top-down approach,” Knight says. While Ecovative has patents on their mycelium knowledge, they also operate GROW.bio, an open forum for mycelium artists and anyone interested in mycelium fabrication. It sounds simple, right? Grow your own answers — answers to plastic pollution, industrial agriculture and linear life cycles. “You can't build economic models of infinite growth with finite resources,” Trofe says. “The more that we can communicate how finite nature is and how delicate the planet systems are the more we can create awareness. Then we can actually change how we participate.” Out of the lab and in your backyard, mycelium creates a superhighway of connectivity between plants, I MAG E BY SAB R I NA CANALS
much like an underground internet. This open forum of information is vital to the development of its ecosystem. Although innovations in mycelium are making great strides to combat environmental issues, its inherent property to communicate may be its most profound. Nature is talking, we just have to listen.
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Losing Touch
Analog in a Digital World 90
H
eralded as one of the West Coast’s last great old-fashioned
hardware stores, Hardwick & Sons has called the heart of Seattle’s University District home since Charles Dean Hardwick first opened the doors of his secondhand general store during the Great Depression in 1932. Eighty-seven years and four generations later, the Hardwick storefront has evolved into a specialty tool shop and hardware emporium that’s as much a one-stop shop for home improvement as it is a living museum. From screwdrivers to scythes, mason jars to Japanese hand saws, there are more than 1.2 million items on the shelves — a couple you need, a few you want and many you never knew existed. Almost all of them are priced
Words + Images by Adam Wells
by hand. The first time I stopped into Hardwick’s, I was on the hunt for a couple of screws to fix a broken light switch. As I walked through the shop, inevitably my eyes were pulled upward. The place is packed with clever objects. You’ll find ice axes, kerosene lamps and kitchen stools hanging from the walls and rafters alongside model airplanes, oil paintings and old family photos. I was in the middle of moving apartments at the time, so when I discovered a whole section of reused boxes arbitrarily priced between $0.79 and $3.29 — way cheaper than I could buy them new — I snagged a few of those along with my screws and made a mental note to return. Over the next two years, I became a regular customer. In the era of big box retailers such as Home Depot and Lowe’s, Hardwick’s has
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earned its place as a local favorite. Even through the dwindling of retail storefronts and the rise of online shopping — in Amazon's hometown, no less — Hardwick’s has persisted. Its walls are filled with photos from throughout the years, its employees full of stories and useful knowledge. It’s a place of community, history and character. Those traits have real value, one you can’t replace with two-day delivery or Costco-style warehouses. But, after nearly nine decades in business, Hardwick’s is ready to shut its doors. Property taxes for the family business have jumped from $9,000 to more than $40,000 in just the last five years. Seattle’s rapid growth is pricing out the lower and middle class and making it increasingly difficult for small businesses to compete with the city’s new tech giants.
In an age of increasingly digitized experiences, are we conscious of what we’re losing in the name of convenience? Should we be so eager to buy into a world that’s run on a screen? The tech boom is not unique to Seattle. Around the world, we’re experiencing a cultural upheaval in the way we communicate, navigate our lives and do business. In an age of increasingly digitized experiences, are we conscious of what we’re losing in the name of convenience? Should we be so eager to buy into a world that’s run on a screen? On a more recent visit, I heard a couple bantering in the aisles about how places like Hardwick’s need to exist. How we need to experience certain things in person. Sometimes you need to touch it, you need to hold it in the palm of our hand to know if it’s right. There was a tone of disdain for our new societal norms and an air of pride in having rediscovered the satisfaction of an all-too-recently-antiquated way of life, a life of analog interaction. Hardwick’s may have dust on its shelves, but something tells me they’re not the ones losing touch. Our everyday decisions matter. With our choices, we have the power to save places like Hardwick’s. Shop and support local businesses, in all their forms.
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I MAG E S C OU RTE SY OF OUTD O OR VOICE S
RAD Retailers: Words by Johnie Gall
T
here’s a famous photo of Dolly Parton on an exercise bike. Her beauty queen curls are tucked under a sweatband, blue eyeshadow generously applied, famous figure clad in a hot pink leotard. She may or may not actually be working out, but she definitely looks the part.
For the team at Outdoor Voices, that photo launched a thousand Craigslist searches. The performance apparel brand was designing the interior of a soon-to-be-open Nashville retail location and knew the bike was the embodiment of what they wanted the space to represent. Vintage, but not cliché. Nostalgic, but new. An ode to the larger-than-life legends of Music City, but colored by the brand’s fun and inclusive approach to fitness. In a retail landscape of sleek merchandising and standardized spaces, Outdoor Voices’ brickand-mortar stores reflect the same “come as you are” mentality that set the company apart from competitors and led to its meteoric growth in the first place.
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Founder and CEO Ty Haney has created the rare performance brand that isn’t concerned with its customers’ actual performance. Instead, Outdoor Voices champions a broader umbrella of recreational activities like dog walking, jogging, swimming and yoga. Outdoor Voices’ Instagram mimics our own: gym mirror selfies, sherbet-colored memes, dog photos, personal victories. It’s a friendlier approach to fitness that eschews the “go hard or go home” mentality in favor of #DoingThings. This ethos is built into each of the brand’s nine retail locations. “We like to go by what we call a ‘recreational index’ — how active people are in each city — when choosing new retail locations,” Haney says. “Our community drives the conversation, and we show up for them.” Starting with their first location in 2014 in Austin, Texas, the brand’s HQ and homebase, Outdoor Voices has branched out to markets in New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Atlanta, Chicago, Boston, Washington, D.C., Dallas and Nashville. Next up is a Flatiron District location in New York City.
Outdoor Voices URL Goes IRL
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“After deciding on the location, our insanely talented retail design team, led by Will Fox, starts ideating on concepts for the space,” Haney explains. “Each shop is different and becomes a fun destination for our community to visit and see how personalized each of our nine shops are to the cities they're in.”
“Our shops are community hubs for activity,” Haney says. “That IRL connection is super important to us. It's more than a fitting room. Customers don’t just want a place to shop, they want to be a part of something bigger.” The Boston shop winks at the city’s marathon culture via a race-bibbed mannequin. San Francisco hosts a water feature and zen sand garden. The interior architecture of the Washington, D.C., store mimics the city’s monuments. And, of course, in Nashville you’ve got the vintage exercise bike, a gold-plated boombox and a pink refrigerator stocked with Topo Chico, meant to honor Elvis’ favorite snack. (On opening day, the fridge was filled with peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches.)
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Outdoor Voices’ welcoming vibe means each shop functions more like a clubhouse where you can hang out with friends, sign up for a “Dog Jog” and try on leggings and crop tops, even if you buy them from your phone later that night. It’s an example of a slew of new retail spaces aiming to bridge the gap between URL and IRL, inviting customers out from behind their screens and back through the door. It’s not all talk, either. Outdoor Voices wants to make sure its customers are #DoingThings. The brand hosts free events such as group hikes in Los Angeles, live music in Nashville, kayaking on the Charles River in Boston and “Endorphins Make You Happy Hour” events in all nine markets. In Austin, Haney and company are bringing back the popular Summer Sunset Series, which regularly sees more than 400 attendees. “Our shops are community hubs for activity,” Haney says. “That IRL connection is super important to us. It's more than a fitting room. Customers don’t just want a place to shop, they want to be a part of something bigger.” Find an event or retail location near you at events.outdoorvoices.com.
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