Patagonia September Journal 2018

You probably noticed already that this is a big, fat publication. We’re hoping that by sending deeper, richer journals like this one, we can produce fewer each season while still honoring all the great work our colleagues put into our products. Besides the clothing and gear we hope inspires you to get out there, we’ve included things that inspire us: trips we wish we’d been on, important movements in the sports we do, the activism we all need if we want more time to enjoy this amazing planet of ours. So please hang onto it, reread it sometime, or rip out a photo and stick it on your fridge. When you’re done with it, share it with a friend or recycle it. And if you come across a story you think we ought to share, let us know. Thanks, and enjoy this first edition of Patagonia Journal.

TRAIL RUNNING

ABOUT THIS ISSUE

ROCK CLIMBING

VOLUME ONE

H O M E R U N page 42

A V E R Y R E A L P O S S I B I L I T Y page 10

“Onward, Macduff!” Cody shouts, calling his children to attention … they shout the misquoted Shakespeare back, “Onward, Macduff!” careening down the trail.

I fear not forgiving myself. page 20 opening shot: COCHAMÓ VA L L E Y, C H I L E

A worked Robbie Phillips navigates a moment of doubt during his trip to Cochamó Valley, Chile, where he and Ian Cooper looked to establish a new big-wall route. Drew Smith

Read Robbie’s own account of the journey on page 10.

R AW P O T E N T I A L page 60

SPORTSWEAR

ACTIVISM

MOUNTAIN BIKING

SEPTEMBER 2018

T H E B R AV E W O M E N O F B O S N I A page 96

FA I R T R A D E F L E E C E page 86

For most trailbuilding groups, an endangered frog probably wouldn’t hit their radar. page 68

The women laugh, linking arms … They pull me along to the banks of the river … they’d fought to protect—the river they’d been attacked for defending.

Hiking … seemed so spectacularly uncool that now I can’t believe I almost missed it. page 90

W H AT M I D T E R M S ? page 6

ACTIVISM

Feel the Verm. Go vote. John Sherman

What Midterms? You have been misled and lied to. Your communities are at risk: Our lands and waters are being sold off to the highest bidder; pesticides are replacing topsoil; and toxic factories are poisoning our rivers, streams and the air we breathe. We don’t have two (more) years to lose. You’ve been in touch with government officials like they’re

It’s worse than we feared. Since the current administration took office, they’ve taken a rusted chainsaw to decades of hard-won environmental regulations that, if imperfect, helped millions of Americans lead healthier lives, protected millions of acres of public land and represented crucial first steps for addressing the climate crisis. Sucking up to failing industries, they’ve made it OK to dump toxic waste into local streams, for obsolete power plants to spew poisons, and they’re even considering letting uranium mines contaminate drinking water. They’ve rescinded bans on offshore oil and gas drilling in the Atlantic and Arctic, and proposed opening nearly all U.S. waters—and several national parks—to drilling, too. They’ve rolled back efforts to reduce methane leaks—methane being a shorter-lived, but far more potent greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. And let’s not forget the president’s unilateral withdrawal from the Paris climate agreement. We’re getting cooked.

However, there is a glimmer of hope in all of this—it’s you. Everywhere we look, we’ve been inspired by people like you who understand that if we don’t change course, we’ll be the next endangered species. You’ve turned out in record numbers at protests. From the 200,000 of you that jammed the streets of Washington, D.C., for the April 2017 People’s Climate March, to the 50,000 more who marched in sister city demonstrations, to the 6,000 of you who turned out to protest the president’s proposed reduction of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments.

family: 228,518 of you contacted your legislators, submitting 152,175 comments and making 5,802 phone calls in less than a week. You’ve volunteered more than $1 million worth of hours to environmental nonprofits (see page 105).

But you can’t let up now. You’ve got to vote in this November’s midterms elections. Midterms typically lag behind the presidential years, and in 2014, the turnout was more pathetic than it’s been since 1942 when many eligible voters were deployed overseas. Only 36 percent of eligible American voters cast a ballot. A little more than a third. For those who do give a damn, there’s an opportunity in this apathy—it means you can have an even bigger impact if you do show up. Between now and November 6, we’ll track several key Senate, congressional and gubernatorial races online, so you can get educated on the issues and public lands fights, and learn which candidates are committed to addressing global warming. “It is a very serious time in the story of this planet where we have the potential to destroy our natural world or to save this lovely blue planet—our home,” says Patagonia founder Yvon Chouinard. “We used to be called citizens, not consumers. We can still act like citizens by exercising our right and responsibility to vote.”

patagonia.com/actionworks 07

ROCK CLIMBING

“It looks like it’s a crack because it’s dark in the center,” says Robbie Phillips, “but it’s completely closed. Really annoying.” Drew Smith

ROCK CLIMBING

WORDS BY ROBBIE PHILLIPS AND PHOTOS BY DREW SMITH

A VERY REAL POSSIBILIT Y On establishing a route in Cochamó Valley that might be too hard—but might not. It often blows me away, the apparent randomness that sets the paths leading us through life. Just over a year ago, a friend of mine met Crispin Waddie while working on an oil rig in the North Sea. A member of the very first team of climbers to visit Cochamó Valley in the early 1990s, Waddie told my friend tales of towering granite tucked away in the jungles of northern Patagonia, Chile. What are the chances that my friend would not only meet Waddie on an oil rig but that they would discuss Cochamó, one of myriad expeditions Waddie had undertaken? Not only that, but also that Cochamó would turn out to be exactly what I’d been searching for—a beautifully wild landscape at the beginning of its climbing development.

It is now my second season in Cochamó; 11 months after the first and I am back trudging the long, winding trail that leads into the valley. Occasionally I stop to look back, hoping to catch a glimpse of all my climbing gear and fi ve weeks’ worth of food that’s being carried by horse. I’ve forgotten how long the walk is, but not how swampy. My feet are sucked into the deep muddy trail where the clay grips my boots, before finally giving out an almighty squelch, and allowing free passage of my leg into the next stride. It feels endless, but after nearly four hours of mud pools and trenches and wishing for wellies,

in the meadow and there in the Cochamó Valley, the enormous granite walls of Trinidad, Amfiteatro and La Junta erupt out of the jungle green like ancient, armored Titans. The physical landscape and climbing style are reminiscent of America’s Yosemite Valley. The lines are long, technical and flowing and favor bold climbers. There is seemingly infinite potential for new lines and a growing number of diehards eager to pioneer them. Cochamó’s climbing scene is alive with energy, much like I imagine Yosemite to have been in the ’60s. Natural gear whenever possible is the ethic in Cochamó, but when there

the trail eases. The jungle dissipates to allow glimpses of blue sky and sporadic granite outcrops. It’s not much farther before we arrive

is no gear, placing bolts is accepted. This allows for relatively safe yet ambitious climbing for everyone. Most of the safely protected

1998

300+

5.10 c /6 b+

year first route was established

number of existing big wall or cragging routes

easiest starting grade for most multipitch routes

Will it go? Ian Cooper (left) and Robbie Phillips scope the terrain above. When every pitch on a route requires something different than all the others, planning and creativity are crucial.

ROCK CLIMBING

lines still have runouts scary enough to get your Elvis leg on the go. Early in January 2017, my climbing partner Ian Cooper and I walked into the meadow and gaped up at the orange overhanging wall of La Junta. It was the first feature we noticed, so overhung it was untouched by rain or runoff. Like upper El Capitan in the late-afternoon light, it gleamed gold. It was one of the easiest decisions of our lives to start making our way up that wall, using a mix of aid and free-climbing techniques. The striking diagonal seam traversing the overhangs was the 12

obvious target; in our minds it was sure to go free. Nobody else shared our confidence. From a distance the seam looked thin, barely a crack if it wasn’t completely closed, but that didn’t worry us; if anything, it made us more motivated to get up there. By the end of our first trip we had established a line on La Junta. We knew it was hard, potentially too hard for us, but the climbing was second to none. Like new parents with an infant, so did we care for and love every inch of this climb. We would marvel at the perfection of every move, every sequence,

every feature. We knew that there was no better climb on earth; ours was the best, and that was that. A simple pronouncement, perhaps. But it’s a simple life in Cochamó: no electricity, no running hot water. I, like so many others, live in a world of emails, social media and too much time spent looking at a screen each day. Cochamó is a detox; I leave home wondering how life will possibly continue without 3G, and yet it does: The sun rises, the birds sing. When I wake, it’s not to a beep and a buzz from my phone. The compulsion to check

mostly meaningless notifications disappears, and instead I wake naturally to the growing light of the day or the sounds of my climbing partner struggling out of his sleeping bag to brew coffee. As I roll over, the dust unsettles from the earth I’ve been lying on all night, and a puff surrounds me. Life here is dirty in the cleanest kind of way. Two seasons later we were back, in deeper than we ever could have expected. We spent days swinging about, scraping off the vegetation and the crusty granite eggshell-like exfoliate. With a nut tool we cut the long, fleshy roots that grow incessantly and cling to the insides of cracks. I’ve done more days gardening up there than in my entire life, but there would be no climbing in Cochamó if there was no gardening, so we carried on. Now that the cracks were clear, we could start climbing for real. Once again, we were quickly overcome by the quality of the climbing on La Junta. So much of it felt truly unique, unlike anything we’d done anywhere else. Every pitch required something special so you had to really think and commit. The footwork was intricate and demanding—smears or tiny crystals or weirdly angled edges that forced bizarre movement. It was sustained, technical. Nothing was ever a given, you could fall anywhere. I loved it. After a series of technical arête pitches, each more intense than the last, we encountered a superhard 8a+ (5.13c) downclimb; and up high on the wall there is an exposed pitch we called The Skywalker Traverse— because the Force was pretty much the only thing keeping our feet on that granite lip. That gnarly diagonal seam that we’d seen from the ground turned out to be a perfect undercut rail with nothing but smears for feet, and also, the crux pitch. The climbing was so hard that for a long time we weren’t sure if it would go. Every sequence

Left: After finally unlocking the sequence on the 9a/5.14d crux pitch (a long traverse through undercuts to a blank wall with no feet), Robbie finds new hope that it’ll go.

Right: You can’t be too picky when you live in one of the wettest places on earth. Brits are game to climb in all conditions, even if it’s miserable. Like here, on the arête of pitch 12.

0 roads accessing the valley

1,050

feet (320 meters)

elevation of Cochamó Valley floor

0 rescue/medical services

ROCK CLIMBING

we managed to unlock felt like Christmas Day, and slowly we realized it just might be possible. There was one section linking both halves of the seam; a burly series of undercuts with poor feet, then a short blank section. We spent days on these few meters, trying every possible combination of the marginal hand and footholds. Slowly it pieced itself together, but there was still one move that we could not crack. It was my turn up and I took a stab at Ian’s beta, instead of the ludicrous sequence I’d been trying. In one magical moment, I managed to link the whole crux sequence and then

Previous: It's not hard to see why Cochamó Valley is often compared to Yosemite.

we were both yelling our heads off, “The crux pitch goes, boys! It’s bloody hard, but it goes!”

Back at home, in front of a blinding screen, I’m typing away. Back to the sounds of modern life, a cacophony of tips and taps and beeps and bleeps alerting me to what’s happening in my virtual life. But my mind is elsewhere … still drifting through the features of a rock face several thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean. Part of me can’t wait to be back battling it out on the wall. Another part is terrified of failing. The saying “Nothing great ever came

Below: Robbie “padding it out on smeary, scrittly granite” on The Skywalker Traverse (we had to look up “scrittly,” too—crunchy, loose, ballbearing-ish). This airy, difficult pitch features pendulum falls “that make for interesting bruises on your ass when you fall off and scrape it along the wall below.”

easy” gives me some comfort, but it doesn’t answer the lingering question, “What if I can’t do it?” I have come to the conclusion that the possibility of failure is very real. Also, that this is worth pursuing.

Patagonia climbing ambassador R O B B I E P H I L L I P S says, “I love three things in life. Family. Tea. Climbing. Without family I’d have no support. Without tea I’d have no addiction. Without climbing I’d have no life.” He hails from Edinburgh but now lives wherever he drives his van.

Like new parents with an infant, so did we care for and love every inch of this climb. We knew that there was no better climb on earth; ours was the best, and that was that. Right: Sorting out gear is best done in Hawaiian shirts. Below: Ledge life for Brits consists mostly of brews, biscuits and books (plus a bit of harmonica). Drewâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Porch (discovered and tidied up by photographer Drew Smith) was home base, over 900 feet up the wall.

ROCK CLIMBING

Ain’t no river wide enough. The Cochamó Valley is hardly easy to get to, but that hasn’t stopped a massive increase in determined visitors over the last several years. Mikey Schaefer

C O N S E R VAT I O N R E P O R T BY C H R I S K A L M A N

GETTING IT RIGHT Let’s take what we’ve learned from Yosemite National Park and refuse to love Cochamó Valley to death. Drew and I are shouldering heavy bags of sawdust for the dry composting toilets as we hike the muddy trail into Cochamó Valley. Drew stops suddenly. “Shoot,” he says to me. “I almost forgot—there’s a message for you in the Refugio.” An hour later, I’m back at Refugio Cochamó, a rustic guesthouse deep in the forest, squinting over a dusty computer screen, hopped up on maté, tapping impatiently as my email loads at dial-up speed. Finally, the satellite and modem connect long enough to confirm what I’d suspected: I’ve been invited to write about the threats facing Cochamó for a Patagonia catalog. On the one hand, I’m elated. Cochamó needs defenders. On the other, the idea of saying anything at all about Cochamó scares me. It’s a paradox that plagues all environmental movements at their hearts: How do you protect a place without blowing it up and ultimately ruining it? For the moment, Cochamó is OK—after several battles, sanity seems to prevail. In 2009, the Cochamó River watershed was protected through presidential decree as a Zona de Interes Turistico by thenpresident Michelle Bachelet, effectively canceling no less than 25 solicitations for nonconsumptive water rights (read, dams) in the region, including at least three that were slated for the Cochamó River itself. In recent years, clandestine and illegal efforts to build a road into the valley have been shut down, restarted, and shut down again by a mix of local grassroots activism and the ineptitude of the threatening entities who fail to comply with development requirements. Mediterráneo’s hydro project on the next river south, Manso River, was also blocked in 2017. But as I write this, Mediterráneo is forging ahead with appeals for their project on the Manso. Meanwhile, Roberto Hagemann (a primary Mediterráneo stakeholder) and his associates are buying up mining rights across the region. This is the same Hagemann who spent the past decade procuring development rights to a 100,000-hectare parcel of land called Fundo Puchegüin, which stretches from the Reloncaví fjord to the Argentine border and encompasses climbing and trekking destinations in the Trinidad, El Anfiteatro and El Monstruo valleys. And with Hagemann’s old chum Sebastián Piñera coming back into Chile’s presidential office, the outlook for Cochamó’s future is murky at best. Thus far, the accepted model for conservation seems to be to put the imperiled area in the public eye, encourage visitation and move people to protect it. But the result of this approach tends to be what Edward Abbey described as “industrial tourism.” It’s better than a dam, but it’s not as good as just leaving the place alone.

All of the media about Cochamó (to which I’ve contributed probably more than anyone) is changing it irrevocably. It’s becoming crowded, full of litter, and there are too many climbers vying for the same routes and bivy sites. More ominous still, what to do with the growing amounts of human excrement that each season become a greater threat to the rivers and streams that are so clean you can drink from them without purification. What’s the solution, then? Not to talk about it? “Keep it secret, keep it safe” didn’t work in The Lord of the Rings, and it doesn’t in conservation, either. Big business will exploit your secret. The answer must be to share, to seek support from individuals and companies who want to conserve the remaining wild places of this world. But to do so carefully, pragmatically. Cochamó is not, as many like to say, the Yosemite of the South. It’s not a national park, a wildlife reserve or a UNESCO World Heritage site; it has no official protections or infrastructure. It’s a patchwork of private parcels, each with unique owners, visitation rules and regulations. It has no trail crews, rangers, or search and rescue teams (though these jobs are bravely carried out each season, unpaid, by campground hosts, arrieros, and visiting climbers and hikers). Cochamó works because a small cadre of people love this place enough to protect it. So, come. Please. Experience this place. But don’t simply visit, hike, climb, take pictures and leave. Figure out how to give back. Plan to spend some of your trip helping out: clean up campsites (not just yours), haul out the trash, ask locals how you can be useful. And if the time comes when Cochamó falls under attack from extractive industries— when the time comes—come back ready to fight.

G E T I N V O LV E D A small group of concerned people is forming a nonprofit to help rally money and muscle for the stewardship and protection of Chile’s Cochamó Valley. Visit their website at friendsofcochamo.org. Then visit Cochamó and set aside some time to help.

K A L M A N is a climber, writer and conservationist. He has made six expeditions (and counting) to Cochamó.

ROCK CLIMBING

QUINN BRETT A climber describes her lifelong passion for the wildness of the world. My brother’s cheeks smooshed against the blue velour seat and his mouth hung slightly ajar. His gangly legs stretched from door to door, covering the back bench of our family Buick. On the fl oor, parallel, I fi dgeted over the hump dividing passenger and driver sides, trying to tuck into my little sleeping nook behind the driver. Dad had packed our car to a wobble and steered the Brett clan westward from our small suburban home near Minneapolis to the Badlands of South Dakota, a prairie landscape spattered with spires and buttes, once home to crocodiles, rhinoceros and sabertoothed cats. It was unlike anything my 4-year-old self had ever seen.

For the next 12 years, every summer my parents

and a milestone for public land preservation. I was

used their two weeks’ vacation to take us farther

unaware of the history, but to me El Capitan’s sheer

and far ther west. We explored national parks,

impossibility represented infinite opportunity, not

monuments and historic sites. We scrambled over

only in climbing but also in all of life. Even at age 4,

Rocky Mountain boulders and held competitions

I’d sprint up hills as fast as I could, practice piano

to see who could stand the longest in frigid alpine

pieces to perfection, beat my P.R. on my bicycle route

lakes. As the sun settled behind expansive skylines,

around the neighborhood. But El Cap blew open

we talked about the wild animals we had seen and

my imagination.

gazed at the stars. Our tent ballooned with laughter

Ten years after that first family trip to Yosemite,

during take-turn ghost stories, while the cool air

with my legs dangling in the icy Merced River, I

soothed my tired body. One summer when I was a

excitedly called my dad to tell him of my successful El

teenager, we traveled to Yosemite. My eyes bulged

Capitan climb, the first of more than a dozen to follow.

at the ginormous granite cliffs. Craning my neck to

Those childhood road trips had metamorphosed into

gaze up at El Capitan, I told myself, “I am going to

a passion for climbing. I fell in love with my backyard

climb that one day.”

cliffs of Colorado, the towering granite of Yosemite,

In 1864, President Abraham Lincoln first protected the place we now call Yosemite National Park, which

the magical red rock desert of Indian Creek, and the unfathomable gorges and walls of Zion.

had come under increasing threat of commercial

My climbing adventures took me to Greenland,

exploitation from miners and settlers. Lincoln’s deed

India and Patagonia. I celebrated summits, scenery

acted as an antecedent to the national park system

and even glum days with a handstand—a simple

BY QUINN BRET T

Quinn on January 14, 2018. Estes Park, Colorado. Tim Davis

ROCK CLIMBING

When we left the ground, it didn’t feel right. I was climbing well and the pitches flew by, and still— I wasn’t there.

Top: An autumn portrait of El Capitan, the stone that twice changed the course of her life. Nate Ptacek Bottom: After seven or so years of road-tripping in the family Buick, the Bretts rolled into Yosemite for the first time. Quinn, 13, suddenly knew where she needed to be. Courtesy Quinn Brett Right: Quinn on the south face of Yosemite’s Mount Watkins. She recalls it as a healing climb for herself and her friends Jens and Josh, as they’d all recently lost a loved one. Courtesy Quinn Brett

inversion for focus, health and joy. To feel

moment of inat tention, I fell 120 feet and

so liberated and not share its advantages

struck a ledge. I don’t remember the fall. I do

felt useless, so I also hosted climbing/yoga

remember the morning before my accident,

retreats, volunteered for Paradox Sports (a

though. I’d driven to Yosemite low on psych,

climbing organization for people with physical

exhausted at the end of the climbing ranger

disabilities) and tried to become a louder

season. My relationship was on the rocks, and I

advocate for public lands. In spring 2017, I

had come to even question my love for climbing.

joined 12 other climbers in Washington, D.C.,

I wanted to be a homebody, train for some

to meet with members of Congress. I spoke to

upcoming trail running endeavors. But I felt

them individually. I tried to crack their cover

obligated. I’d made plans, I had campground

and see the true person beneath. I offered to

reservations, and Josie McKee, my climbing

take them hiking or even climbing. I followed

partner, and I felt like we should climb because

up with emails, letting them know that the offer

we said we would. We’d planned for a speed

still stood. I believed if I could just share a little

lap on The Nose—it should have taken us less

time with them in the outdoors, they would

than six hours.

understand. They’d be moved to protect wild

I wish I would have listened to myself.

places. I spoke and acted as an avid user as

When we left the ground, it didn’t feel right. I

well as a public servant: I worked as a climbing

was climbing well and the pitches flew by, and

ranger for the National Park Service, interacting

still—I wasn’t there, wasn’t present. I’m usually

with thousands of visitors each year and

extremely diligent with placing gear, but eager

providing technical search, rescue and medical

to finish my block, I ran it out to the top of the

assistance. At least, I did.

Boot Flake because I was lazy or dumb or just

On October 11, 2017, while climbing the Boot Flake on The Nose on El Capitan, in a

fucking stupid. My last memory was of a hand jam and the terrain steepening slightly.

ROCK CLIMBING

I awoke in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down.

The slightest memories reduce me to tears. When I went

Josie and fellow climbing rangers had saved my life. My hips,

home to my parents, I bawled the minute we turned toward their

feet and butt tingle with nerve pain, as if I have not moved for

house. Every time I see a person who knew me as I used to be, I

years. Some of the best neurosurgeons in the country have said

break down. I sit in bed and push, I will the signals from my brain

it was among the worst spinal injuries they’ve seen. They say I

to force their way through my spinal cord and into my legs, and

will never walk again.

stare in agony as my legs sit, dumbly. The doctors tell me to stop,

Why didn’t I stay in Estes? Why didn’t I listen to myself and

that it only wastes energy and courts frustration, but I don’t listen.

just slow down? Take two minutes and put in some gear? Two

My accident rerouted my life, but I’m still alive. I can still act.

minutes slower and I would still be walking, laughing, confident,

The therapists have a machine that supports my legs so I can

not dwelling on my now disintegrated relationship, not dwelling

stand, and although I can’t feel my legs, standing tall feels good

on my freedom in the mountains being taken away by my selfish,

in ways that I cannot describe. When my friends help wheel me

stubborn drive to prove something. To prove everything. Glutton.

onto gravel and gentle dirt trails, my heart sings. I still love wild

I am scared. I fear not walking again, the doctors being right,

places so much. So I will go again to D.C., to press the issue of

never again having the joy of standing, strolling, wandering, of

protecting our public lands. I’ll go as many times as I can, as many

feeling sand beneath my toes, warm water on my legs and the

times as it takes. I wish I could still take one of our lawmakers

sensation of a hand touching my thigh. I fear not finding love. I

climbing, but if any of them are willing to join me for a simple

fear not forgiving myself.

outing on a beautiful trail somewhere, my offer still stands.

Left: Following Quinn’s accident, she and Yosemite National Park Ranger Brandon Latham were short-hauled via helicopter to the valley floor. Tom Evans

Above: Climbers Libby Sauter, Sasha DiGiulian, Katie Boué, Caroline Gleich, Maricela Rosales and Quinn Brett hit Capitol Hill on May 10, 2018, to advocate for public lands. Stephen Gosling

B R E T T is a climber and activist who lives in Estes Park, Colorado.

ROCK CLIMBING

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Previous: Nico Favresse and Alix Morris sort gear under the watchful Eye of Sauron. Ribbon Falls, Yosemite National Park. Drew Smith

ROCK CLIMBING

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Women’s R2® TechFace Jacket $169.00 I 83630 XS-XL I Slim fit I 312 g (11 oz) men’s available online

ROCK CLIMBING

Hard Rock Life Men’s Gritstone Rock Pants The Brits have always inspired us with their tenacious, bold climbing style, perfectly illustrated on classic gritstone crags like Stanage, Froggatt, Burbage and so many others. Stack one highball boulder problem onto another, find one or two gear placements to at least slow the potential ground fall, finagle a complicated rope system and call it a route. Like most things associated with gritstone, we knew the Gritstone Rock Pants had to be just a bit bolder than the rest. A climber’s riff on work pants, they’re constructed of a sturdy 8-ounce organic cotton/polyester blend with a touch of stretch (just right for high-stepping or balance manteling), articulated patterning for ease of movement, and a waist that lies flat and comfortable under a harness. Double fabric at the knees accommodates pads to aid climbing or scumming up blunt arêtes (please see cover of Hard Grit). Drop-in pockets with breathable mesh pocket bags lie flat, while a discreet side pocket secures valuables. Two back pockets add another layer of defense against chimneys, butt-scooching downclimbs or cracking a brew at the end of the day while seated on a splintering picnic table. A DWR (durable water repellent) finish keeps spills from soaking in. Cool, durable and comfortable, these are the pants you’ll wear from laundry day to laundry day, all road trip long. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S

Pants with superpowers: They stretch, fight odors and resist moisture, thanks to stretch fabric with antimicrobial and DWR (durable water repellent) finishes Low-bulk OppoSet™ adjustable waist—simply hold the button and pull the webbing tail to tighten Smart pocket design includes drop-in pockets with breathable mesh pocket bags that lie flat for comfort under harness; lowprofile side pocket has elastic Soft-Catch mesh envelope for securing valuables; top-entry back pockets are extra-durable Articulated pattern and gusseted crotch enhance movement and comfort under a harness Reinforced knees add durability and accommodate kneepads for aid sessions

Men’s Gritstone Rock Pants $119.00 I 82905 28-40/even + 31, 33, 35 I Regular fit I 539 g (19 oz)

ROCK CLIMBING

What I Packed: J-Tree

Here’s what a typical weekend in Joshua Tree National Park might look like from inside of the Cragsmith pack.

The real deal: The Cragsmith shown belongs to Kyle and is regularly deployed to J-Tree.

As reported by Patagonia photo editor and J-Tree addict Kyle Sparks.

Photo: Ken Etzel

Cragsmith 45L Our largest workhorse for the crag, the Cragsmith 45L has a back panel that swings wide for easy access and holds an entire collection of gear, including rope, rack, shoes and extra clothes—with room to spare. Made of burly nylon (50% recycled) to withstand rough handling, the Cragsmith has foam padding throughout that protects your gear and provides structure to make packing and unpacking even easier. The highly breathable mesh shoulder straps and back panel, along with a padded waist strap, make for a comfortable carry on long approaches. Exterior stretch stash pockets hold water bottles and a guidebook, and an internal stash pocket keeps small items secure. The pack’s structure

lets it stand upright on its own so you can also reach your gear through the U-shaped lid; lay it down at the base of a route, open up the back panel and you’ll never have to expose your gear to grit and dirt. Two internal racking loops keep things organized: Clip them together with a draw and you can easily move the pack from route to route one-handed. With a reinforced haul handle, adjustable sternum strap and load lifters on the shoulder straps. Built from 630-denier 100% nylon (50% recycled/50% high-tenacity) plain weave with a 200-denier 100% polyester liner. Both fabrics are treated with a polyurethane coating and a DWR (durable water repellent) finish. Imported.

Chapstick, sunscreen and an extra headlamp are in

Cragsmith 45L $199.00 I 48065 I S/M, L /XL I 1,559 g (3 lbs 7 oz)

the small med kit that lives

32L available online

in my pack full-time.

Most of the routes in the park require you to build your own anchor, so you’re going to want to bring the gear to do that.

I always bring a standard rack, .3-#4, a full set of stoppers, four quickdraws, and a combo of six alpine draws in single and double lengths. A set of small cams is a good idea, too.

Also in here would be an extra

Doubles would be overkill for most of

midlayer and a windbreaker, and a

A 60-meter rope fits easily inside

the routes as crack sizes vary a lot, but

pair of sandals for short relocations

and should do the trick. Only a few

it’s not out of the question.

between routes.

routes require anything longer.

Guidebook, for sure, if I’m heading out to a new zone; some climbing tape; a handful of bars (mint chip); and a big water bottle (I usually keep the beer on ice in the car).

W H O I S B E R G H E I L? WORDS AND PHOTOS BY ANDREW BURR

We planned to ride bicycles through Saxony in eastern Germany, along the Elbe River, to reach and climb 50 different rock towers, some hidden in the forest, others standing in bold isolation. Blessed with fine weather, we quickly notched a number of Gipfelbuch (summit register) signings. But a mystery soon developed. Nearly every register had multiple entries from some guy named Berg Heil. So many, in fact, he seemed to be lapping us. With each Heil signature we found, our intrigue grew. Who was this prodigious climber? He must be a legend to have done all these routes multiple times, year after year. Rock climbing in Saxony began in the early 1860s, well before the invention of carabiners. Routes on the sof t sandstone—easily marred by metal camming devices and chocks—were protected only with knotted slings and an occasional oversized ring pin. Rings were to be placed only on unprotectable faces, never closer than 33 feet (10 meters) apart, and were to be large enough so a climber could thread an arm through it, untie and pass the rope through. The ethics there are as strict today as they were 150 years ago: Knotted

slings only. Chalk is verboten, and barefoot the preferred style. One af ternoon, we’d been climbing on a formation called the Falkenstein and met a team of German climbers wearing matching tracksuits from a bygone era. We struck up a conversation about the States and Utah’s Indian Creek (one of them had been there). After chatting for a while, we decided to pair off in American-German teams of two for the next route. My partner had a large white mustache, thinning hair and a round belly. He stemmed and chimneyed 50 feet to the summit with ease, and without placing a single piece of protection. Very happy not to be leading this leg-breaker, I followed—then watched as he scrawled his signature across the page of the Gipfelbuch. My eyes widened. I hollered excitedly across the chasm to where our friends had just summited. “You’re never going to believe who this is! It’s Berg Heil!” My partner looked at me quizzically. A grin grew under his moustache as he processed the words I was shouting. Then, in English, he said his name was Jörg Brutscher. Berg Heil is what you write in the register when you are the first party to summit that year. It loosely means, Have a good climb! We did.

Above: In Germany, even the Gipfelbuch (summit register) has rules. Only when you’ve recorded your name, date and route, in that order, may you add Berg Heil.

Right: High fashion: Jörg Brutscher runs it out in his army-issue tracksuit. Saxony region, Germany.

PATAG O N I A B O O K S

GOOD READS Ten years and over 30 books ago, we published our first title, Yosemite in the Sixties, which preserved the images and talesÂ of the golden era in big wall climbing. Each year since then weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve published a select list of books that we feel encourage environmental activism through great storytelling. From tales of adventure and transformation in nature, to guides to sustainable business and effective grassroots activism, these books are a testament of the power of a great yarn to inspire. For a list of all our books, visit patagonia.com/books.

Let My People Go Sur fing: The Education of a Reluc tant Businessman (Including 10 More Years of Business Unusual) Yvon’s Chouinard’s memoir and philosophies, on everything from supply chain to environmental action. Revised and updated in 2016. BK067 (paperback) $20.00 l BK825 (Spanish edition) $20.00 Also available as an audio book $17.50

Climbing Fitz Roy, 1968 This book features rare, once-thought-lost photos of the 1968 first ascent of the California Route on Cerro Fitz Roy, the trek captured in the film Mountain of Storms. With accompanying retrospective essays, it presents the event in the social and climbing context of the times, and reflects how this momentous trip influenced the lives of those involved, and in a greater context, the lives of so many others. BK670 (hardcover) $35.00 l Also available as an ebook $14.95

Fred Beckey’s 100 Favorite North American Climbs The magnum opus of the greatest American climber of the past century. Fred’s detailed knowledge of the mountains creates an unparalleled guidebook and must-have for every climber’s bookshelf, as well as a great read for any armchair adventurer. BK570 (hardcover) $79.95 l BK571 (signed and slipcased edition) $129.95 l Also available as an ebook $14.95

A Mountaineer’s Life These are stories from the days when climbing was discovery, when men like Allen Steck forged new routes, both literal or literary. With dry humor and detailed recall, he captures the excitement and intrigue of a time when there were few rules and no guidelines. BK790 (hardcover) $35.00

The Calling: A Life Rocked by Mountains Barry Blanchard’s portrait of the power of the mountains to lift us physically, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. BK710 (hardcover) $27.95 l Also available as an ebook $14.95

Tracking Gobi Grizzlies: Surviving Beyond the Back of Beyond An adventure memoir and an environmental parable emerges from within this portrait of a mysterious but critical species living in a seemingly desolate but actually widely diverse and threatened ecosystem. BK770 (hardcover) $24.95 l Also available as an ebook $14.95

Path of the Puma: The Remarkable Resilience of the Mountain Lion While so many animals are experiencing decline, the intrepid mountain lion has experienced reinvigoration and expansion of territory. What makes this cat so resilient and resourceful? And what can we learn from them about the web of biodiversity that is in desperate need of protection? BK795 (hardcover) $24.95 l Also available as an ebook $14.95

TRAIL RUNNING

Cody Braford and Ivy Lefebvre race each other above Silverton. As Ivy puts it, Cody always crams all of his miles into the end of the week. Steven Gnam

TRAIL RUNNING

WORDS BY MEAGHEN BROWN AND PHOTOS BY STEVEN GNAM

HOME RUN Some families share religion, camping, lavish vacations, opera. Other families go running. On an unnaturally warm February morning, one of many in a winter that never made up its mind south of the 40th latitude, the Braford family went for a run. Through town on Shrine Road, up toward the local water supply, to the Boulder Gulch trailhead where the dirt and slush turned to snow. The oldest son, Blaze, bounded ahead, his long blonde hair bouncing with each gangly stride, while the younger two children, Raja and Soren, lagged behind, lobbing snowballs at each other. Raja’s pink top and blue tights stood out brightly against the snow. Their father, Cody, called back, “Come on, runts!” as he charged ahead toward a bend in the trail overlooking town.

Cody Braford and Ivy Lefebvre moved to Silverton, Colorado, eight years ago after a slow courtship with this tiny former mining town, the population of which shrinks to around 420 in the winter and expands only slightly when the snow melts. Cody’s car broke down here when he was 17, back when he was aimlessly following the metal band Ministry around the country, and he always planned to come back. These mountains tend to do that. Cody is a contractor, and Ivy is the janitor and electrician at the public school, which has so few students—65 this year—that their oldest son, Blaze, is the only kid in his math and science classes. He and his father share the same laugh, an animated and frequent explosion. Both parents plow snow for the city

420

people

population of Silverton

9,318

during normal winters. Raja, the middle child and only daughter, skillfully fills in the gaps of her siblings’ stories. The youngest, Soren, was born in the living room of the family’s green prefab house which they call, “The Aid Station.” It nearly killed both him and his mother. In addition to the kids, who range in age from 11 to 17, the house is also occupied by a cat, a dog, at least five tarantulas and a 160-pound pig named Simba. Running is a to ol t ha t t he Br afords have given their children. It’s economical and configures their time together—from weekends to vacations. It’s a replacement for one alcohol addiction and distracts from the possibility of another. It’s time together and an outlet, a way the family has learned to artfully

feet (2,840 meters)

elevation of Silverton

Blaze navigates a stretch of high-altitude terrain with dad.

-39º

lowest temperature recorded in Silverton

TRAIL RUNNING

Running is a tool the Brafords have given their children.

Above: Time just below tree line is the familyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s unifying force. Raja plays with puffballs during a pause to regroup.

navigate their respective interests and use small-town loneliness to foster intimacy and independence. Intentionally or not, it’s nurtured a precocious curiosity. Blaze wants to be an engineer. He wants to go to college in a place where he can still run in the mountains. And he says this, not as if it’s a line he’s been fed by overindulgent parents, but as a genuine requirement he’s arrived at on his own. Just like he decided to become a vegetarian after learning about Hinduism in school and when Raja decided she wanted a pig. “It can be lonely here,” says Ivy, glancing down at the slant-roof houses below. She’s struggled for the past few years with diabetes, trying to manage it while continuing to run. She’d like to open a health food store in town someday. The kids agree about the loneliness, but they shrug it off like it’s an inevitable compromise for the mountains. Which in many ways it is. The Brafords fold running into their family as habitually as brushing teeth. Their lives aren’t easy, but they’ve never known anything different. “Onward, Macduff!” Cody shouts, calling his children to attention from where they’ve stopped to scramble on the rock formations at the base of the trail. They shout the misquoted Shakespeare back, “Onward, Macduff!” then sprint in formation, careening down the trail, Ivy sweeping from behind. They jostle for position and race, agile and without hesitation, over the rocks and patches of slushy snow, hollering at each other as they go.

Simba (with the curly tail) gives Ivy a kiss for good luck before a run. Even the pig has his own Strava account.

160

pounds

weight of the pig

miles

Cody’s weekly base mileage

1,560

miles

Cody’s yearly mileage count 45

TRAIL RUNNING

Do You Run Cold? Peak Mission Jacket It was fall a week ago, but that was a week ago. Your loop sure looks wintery today: snowy, slushy, muddy. Your toes are cold, your eyes are streaming, and your nose is red and running as you stride through little white clouds of your own breath—and the temps are only dropping. It’s the first taste of the winter months ahead when you’ll need to resort to the essentials: windproof gloves, microspikes, a perfected farmer’s blow and the Peak Mission Jacket. Ultralight, highly breathable, 100% recycled polyester stretch ripstop shell fabric resists cold wind and light rain or snow; strategic zones of toasty microfleece line the interior. With a longer hem in back for better mud-flap-like coverage and low-profile cuffs to seal the wind out. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S

Strategically placed microfleece is bonded to an ultralightweight soft shell to provide not only warmth but also great breathability when you’re working hard in the cold Taped seams won’t chafe Jacket stuffs into its own chest pocket Half-elastic cuffs are soft on wrists and hoard warmth Two drop-in handwarmer pockets have soft microfleece lining Hood adjusts in one pull and won’t block peripheral vision

Men’s Peak Mission Jacket $199.00 I 24450 XS-XXL I Slim fit I 244 g (8.6 oz) women’s available online

Previous: Well above tree line and cooling quickly, Clare Gallagher picks her way down the windscoured trail from Chasm Lake. Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. Fredrik Marmsater

TRAIL RUNNING

The Shell That’s Tiny but Mighty Airshed Pullover Our endurance testers love the mildmannered Airshed Pullover. And by “love,” we’re referring to a sort of cultlike obsession for this whisper-light, breathable, wind-buffering, drizzle-shedding pullover that beautifully inhabits the sweet spot between a shirt and an ultralight shell. The Airshed has its pedigree—it’s made of the same type of shell fabric we used in our revolutionary Nano-Air—a soft, stretchy,

100% nylon mechanical stretch ripstop fabric that allows just the right amount of airflow and dries almost instantly. Work as hard as you want—it won’t swamp out and you won’t overheat, whether you wear it over a thin tee or more insulative underlayers. The whole magical package stuffs down tiny into its own chest pocketbag so you can stash it in a pocket or pack, or clip it to a harness. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S

Ultralightweight 100% nylon ripstop stretches with you; a DWR (durable water repellent) finish sheds light precip Wind protection is perfectly balanced with airflow to keep you at the right temperature Soft jersey fabric along the cuffs and hem wicks moisture Deep, venting quarter-zip opens wide to fit easily over a helmet (even one with a visor) How tiny is tiny? 94 g (3.3 oz)

Women’s Airshed Pullover $119.00 I 24195 XXS-XL I Slim fit I 94 g (3.3 oz) men’s available online

TRAIL RUNNING

Men’s

Cold Run Kit

AIRSHED PULLOVER

WIND SHIELD GLOVES

$119. 0 0 I 2 419 0

$ 49. 0 0 I 3 3 3 3 6

Breathable, whisper-light protection from wind and light precip

Avoid the icy hand(s) of death with windproof, stretchy recycled polyester soft-shell fabric

CAPILENE® AIR CREW $12 9. 0 0 I 3 6 515

CAPILENE®

Avoid the freeze-thaw with airblasted, blended merino wool and recycled polyester in a seamless, chafeless construction

LIGHTWEIGHT ZIP-NECK $ 59. 0 0 I 4 5 570

A soft recycled polyester grid fabric that’s light on skin and makes speedwork out of wicking and drying

PEAK MISSION TIGHTS $119. 0 0 I 2 3 9 8 5

Warm, soft, wicking and breathable fabric in a full-mobility design

S E E PATAG O N I A .C O M / T R A I L R U N N I N G F O R M O R E Bronco Billy, aka Jeff Browning, finishes a cold one. Fredrik Marmsater

all styles imported 53

TRAIL RUNNING

Women’s

SWITCHBACK

PEAK MISSION

SPORTS BRA

JACKET

$ 49. 0 0 I 3 2 0 9 5

$19 9. 0 0 I 24 4 5 5

Cross-back design offers high-impact support in a breathable, quickdrying fabric

Toasty zones of microfleece wrapped in an ultralight, breathable, weather-shedding shell keep your thermostat steady on cold runs

Cold Run Kit PEAK MISSION TIGHTS $119. 0 0 I 2 3 9 9 0

Warm, soft, wicking and breathable fabric in a full-mobility design

AIRDINI CAP $35.00 I 22281

Breathable Airshed side panels + weather-shedding Houdini brim and body = five panels of magic

HOUDINI® JACKET $9 9. 0 0 I 2414 6

Weather-resistant and featherweight, plus it packs into its own integrated stuffsack

LONG-SLEEVED NINE TRAILS SHIRT $55.00 I 23460

Wicking, breathable polyester performance, but with the soft feel of cotton

S E E PATAG O N I A .C O M / T R A I L R U N N I N G F O R M O R E 54

all styles imported

Sometimes you feel like a Chuckanut. Krissy Moehl and pooch Piedra Dura find a spring in their step in Bellingham, Washington. Andrew Burr

GOOD EATS The tradition and culture of food have always been important to us at Patagonia. On our many travels, the meals—from cedarplanked salmon in British Columbia to tsampa in Tibet—become a vital part of the experience. So it only makes sense that we’d want to share some of our favorite food with our customers. We also believe there is great opportunity— and an urgent need—for positive change in the food industry. With Patagonia Provisions, our goals are the same as with everything we do: Make the best product, cause no unnecessary harm and inspire (delicious) solutions to the environmental crisis. We’ve got loads of recipes. Here’s one to try. Find more at patagoniaprovisions.com.

Fresh Tomato Pasta with Lemon Herb Mussels The fresh tomato and basil give it bright colors and flavors, while our Lemon Herb Mussels add dimension and protein. Skill level: easy Makes 4-6 servings

INGREDIENTS •

•

• • • • • •

• •

2 cans Patagonia Provisions® Lemon Herb Mussels 1 basket cherry tomatoes, stems removed 1 clove garlic, finely minced ¹⁄ 8 red onion, sliced very thin 1 lemon, juiced Salt to taste Pinch of cayenne pepper ½ bunch basil (about 12 medium leaves) ¼ cup extra virgin olive oil ½ pound pasta, such as fusilli or penne

P U T T I N G I T A L L TO G E T H E R To make the sauce, cut cherry tomatoes in half. Place in a large bowl with garlic, red onion and lemon juice. Season to taste with salt and cayenne. Stack and roll basil leaves, slice thinly, then add to tomatoes. Add olive oil. Let sit for an hour. Cook the pasta. Add mussels to sauce, including liquid from can. Taste and adjust seasonings accordingly. Drain pasta, then add to tomato sauce. Toss gently and serve immediately while hot.

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

Carston Oliver flanks a steaming hot-spring river. Mary McIntyre

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

WORDS AND PHOTOS BY MARY MCINT YRE

R AW POTENTIAL Mud, sheep, fish and a single trail in Iceland’s Westfjords. Mud and rain speckled my lenses. I squinted at the mucky, rock-strewn road in fading light and gripped my handlebars tighter. Focus. Exhale. Let go. At the next corner, Carston and Eric are stopped. Odd, I don’t usually see them until the bottom. Brakes shrieked in damp protest as I pulled up to a gooey red mess spilling across Eric’s nose, mouth and chin. “Are my teeth still there?” he asked through swollen lips, shivering under the evening drizzle.

We’d just spent the day biking in a remote farm valley in Iceland’s Westfjords, piecing together sections of sheep trail. Sprawled across the springy, memor y-foam moss, Eric had happily stuf fed his cheeks with blueberries, dribbling juice while extending brimming handfuls toward Carston and me. We were minutes from the car when a mud hole swallowed his front wheel axle-deep. After futile attempts to seal the triangular gash cutting through his upper lip with Steri-Strips—the glue dissolved instantly in the rain—we piled into the car and headed for the hospital to get stitches. For an hour and a half, we wound along coastal roads, hugging the edges of the dark fjords. The road dove into the mountains, passing through a 4-mile-long, single-lane tunnel before the lights of Ísafjörður glimmered ahead. It was the Westfjords’ biggest town and only community with medical facilities. The on-call doctor arrived in three minutes. He sewed the wound up slowly, with frequent

164

feet (50 meters)

suggested amount to extend Óliver’s Trail if you ride it

audible, inhaling exclamations, a common Icelandic ar ticulation that was especially unnerving in this situation. He sent us home, calling out, “No biking, of course!” as our three muddy figures disappeared down the fluorescent-lit hallway. Yeah, right. “The mountain biking scene in Westfjords is at an early stage,” friend and Ísafjörður local Vidar Kristinsson wrote several months earlier, “I promise you it will be a suffer-fest and rocky.” I assumed, since he’s new to biking, that the riding might be smoother than his ringing endorsement suggested, and we packed our bags to explore the new trails. The Westfjords comprise nearly 9,000 square miles of jagged coastline; a spur of volcanic mountains rising 3,000 feet above glacially carved fjords jutting into the North Atlantic. Despite being inhabited for over a millennium, it remains an isolated, wild place, with a population of 6,870 people spread

9,000

square miles

of jagged coastline in the Westfjords

6,870

population of the Westfjords

Carston Oliver and Eric Porter wonder if skis might’ve been the better choice. The pair, plus photographer Mary McIntyre, had come to discover what Iceland’s Westfjords had to offer the fat-tire set, only to have it snow for a week straight.

people

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

There were so many sheep tracks and forgotten routes crossing these mountains from its millennium of human inhabitation that the potential for resurrecting old trails was as huge as for building new ones. 62

Sunshine, like mountain bike trails, is rare in the Westfjords but worth the chase. Eric and Carston make good use of the rays and a loop of hiking paths—rudimentary yet rideable—during their continued search.

between tiny communities and single-family farmsteads. Traditional fishing villages have been in decline since the 1980s, when seafood industry giants bought out individuals to create fewer, larger companies in the country’s urban hubs. But recently, a growing interest in outdoor recreation has city dwellers moving back. Similarly intrigued, we took to explore the biking potential in the region’s windy, wet weather. I soon realized that Vidar’s trail descriptions were terribly accurate, and I worried I’d invited my friends here under false pretenses, as we struck out on finding more than 50 feet of continuous trail day after day. Spirits were low and the rain

incessant. That is, before we met Óliver Hilmarsson. A recent Ísafjörður transplant, he came to work as an avalanche forecaster in town. Our host introduced us to the Vikingly tall, salt-and-pepper-haired biker. “When I moved here, I wanted to go biking—I searched for trails but didn’t find any,” Óliver explained. “But I saw these wooden ramps that someone put on the hill above town years ago to make a bike track. So I started there, and the trail got longer and longer.” The following day was the first (and the oneand-only) good weather in the forecast, and we used it to ride the one-and-only bike trail in town: Óliver’s Trail. This brand-new, builtthis-summer track is my salvation. We met Óliver just after sunrise. It was 10:30 a.m. Low clouds burned away, revealing blue sky and a bright sun we hadn’t seen in days. “In North Iceland, we had actual bike trails,” he joked as we started off. Pedaling up a gravel road that connected Ísafjörður to the nearby town of Bolungarvík before the tunnel was built, Óliver explained the trail’s inception, “I’d come after work, a few hours every night. We had a rule: If you bike the trail, you have to extend it 50 meters (164 feet).” A steady climb brought us to the vast highlands where roads spider-web out to towns along the remote west coast. “We felt like we should get permits, so we wrote a letter to the town,” he continued, “and they thought it was pretty cool. Mountain runners have been using the trail also. This valley is already a recreational area so it fits into the town’s plan.” Patches of snow from the first winter storm dotted the plateau, but it was solid enough to ride across and Óliver led us down his summer project. Weaving down the singletrack below, Carston and Eric played on jumps and rock drops as the trail meandered through barren, tundra-like landscape. Fin-shaped mountains rose above Above: After a finger-numbing ride through the highlands, Carston can’t quite believe his luck as he warms up under one of Iceland’s most luxurious natural amenities—unlimited hot water from underground geothermal fields. Below: After sinking his front wheel hub-deep into a muddy pit on an old farm road, Eric was “whisked” (one and a half hours) to the nearest hospital so the doctor could stitch the gaping flap in his lip. He was then instructed to take a few days off, which he most certainly did not.

bike shops

in Reykjavík

95%

singletrack

on the Laugavegur Route through the highlands

people

per square mile

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

us, zebra-striped with snow against black rock. It was late October, and the sun was low in the sky, barely rising above the mountains. Thick, golden light cast long shadows across lakes and fluoresced against soft green moss. Stopping at a shoulder-high cairn—an ancient, lichen-coated waymarker from the time of foot and horse travel through these mountains—Óliver pointed out plans for future trails. “The community is behind it, 10 full-suspension bikes were bought this summer. I know two young kids working to save money for bikes. Everyone is helping build. The ski resort is good in the winter, but we need summer activities, too.” Steep rock walls lined the deep blue fjord, which bobbed with small fishing boats. The lights of town glowed in early dusk. Óliver took off to pick up his kids from a birthday party while we enjoyed the rainless evening, hiking up to re-ride and fine-tune sections as darkness fell. We were the only ones out there. This region has a 1,000-year history of fishing and subsistence farming. It’s only recently a place of towns and jobs and leisure activities. It’s experiencing a huge transition, and the groundwork for outdoor recreation is being laid now. People taking initiative have the opportunity to shape their community’s future. “In Iceland, everyone is an entrepreneur,” a friend told us. He had just started an adventure mountain biking company. Back in town, I excitedly told a friend that we rode Óliver’s Trail, having the best day of biking yet. He surprised me, countering, “Oh, it’s Óliver’s Trail, is it? I put hours of work

into it this summer.” He cracked a smile, joking, to my relief, but I realized the entire community was invested in this and in the trail network as a whole. On our way home, we pedaled to the fish shop where Caury the fishmonger wrapped up fresh arctic char and recommended lightly cooking it in butter, herbs and garlic. When we explained that we were here to mountain bike, we were greeted with the Icelandic inhaling exclamation, “It is October …” We nodded gravely; it wasn’t the first time we’d been reminded that winter’s coming. Ísafjörður was about to lose the sun until February. There was a nip in the air and the town was settling in for “cozy time”— darkness, tea and candles. Before we left, Óliver showed us an old horseback mail trail that his friend recently found on Google Earth. He had yet to ride its 8-mile descent from the upper plateau to a nearby fishing village, but it was enough to get him fired up for next summer’s exploration. We were a few years early for a true bike scene here, but there was something raw and exciting about seeing a place’s earliest stages of development and discovery. There were so many sheep tracks and forgotten routes crossing these mountains from its millennium of human inhabitation that the potential for resurrecting old trails was as huge as for building new ones. Fresh-caught fish, a network of Viking-worn paths and the friendliest community I’d stumbled into while traveling were all worthy of a return visit. Besides, by the time we returned, there would definitely be more than one bike trail in town.

Combining her love of long days in the mountains and extreme snacking, photographer, writer, skier and mountain biker M C I N T Y R E documents the diversity of human experience while she explores bizarre and beautiful places around the world.

Previous: After a foot of snow fell overnight, Carston stubbornly sticks to biking, following an old, windbattered road up the oceanside plateau. Below left: Scratching an itch is easy when your buddies are in on it. Icelandic horses, first brought to Iceland by Viking settlers in the late 800s, echo the windswept landscape of the Troll Peninsula. Below: Midday at the 66th parallel.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;In Iceland, everyone is an entrepreneur,â&#x20AC;? a friend told us. He had just started an adventure mountain biking company.

Right: Carston and Eric, heedless of the wind and weather, ford an icy stream while riding an old postal route linking the fjords in the Troll Peninsula.

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

A highly sociable, capable and forward-thinking creature, the Yellow-Framed Pedaler has been known to build, ride and share trails in Californiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Downieville area. Scott Markewitz

C O N S E R VAT I O N R E P O R T BY S AC H A H A L E N DA

E V E RY T H I N G, E V E RY B O DY A single user group on its own is powerless in the larger fight for public lands. So why go it alone? The mottled splotches of dark brown and grey that dot the back of the Sierra Nevada yellow-legged frog let it transform into a lichen-covered rock, a shadow on a stream bed or a leaf on the forest floor. Not being noticed is a handy trait when you are the food-chain equivalent of an energy bar—and you’re endangered. Fortunately for this frog, it was noticed by the Sierra Buttes Trail Stewardship. Working with fish and wildlife biologists and the local Forest Service, the Stewardship has worked to elevate, armor and reroute trails in the Lakes Basin Recreation Area in order to protect the frogs and their fragile habitat. Scores of trail groups across the county make twisty mountain bike trails that are fun to get out on. But for most trail-building groups, an endangered frog probably wouldn’t hit their radar. Wildlife habitat is not always within the purview of local trail builders. Neither is maintaining wilderness trails (no bikes), building outdoor classrooms, building pathways accessible to people with disabilities, leadership training or backcountry first-aid certification. The Stewardship is headlong into all of these—they’re even working to add affordable housing to the list. With a staggering 30 to 50 percent unemployment in Sierra and Plumas counties, due largely to waning mining and forestry industries, the Stewardship regards economic development as fundamental to its mission. It sees trails, events and tourism as crucial economic drivers that could revive the area. Affordable housing, a cornerstone of any community, would attract more people to relocate to these dwindling communities. That’s not how it started. The tiny Stewardship began as a way to resuscitate Downieville trail maintenance flatlined by federal budget cuts. “At first it was all about the trails, how do we take care of the trails? I had a bike shop in town—we relied on recreational tourism,” recalls Greg Williams, the Stewardship’s executive director. “The trails are still the heart and soul of the Stewardship—but what’s made it work is people.” That includes people involved in the Stewardship and their bike-minded compatriots, but also those that aren’t cyclists—hikers,

dirt bikers, equestrians and four-wheelers. Traditionally, these groups don’t play well together, but, “Get them all together on a common project that benefits their community,” says Williams, “and those barriers break down.” The Stewardship’s insistence on inclusion was born from equal parts altruism and pragmatism. They wanted to bring people into their tribe, but also—“Land managers aren’t going to turn over control to any one user group. We’re neutral, we work on everything with everybody. In hindsight, we were smart enough not to call ourselves the Downieville Mountain Bike Association.” A bottomless appetite for long days and grueling work takes the credit for the Stewardship’s growth and success. From max-capacity mountain bike events, to a wildly successful “fi ve bucks a foot” raffl e that nets the winner a new ride, to member fees and donations all bolstered by grants, the Stewardship is a relentless fundraiser that channels those funds directly back into the community. There are seven full-time staff and upward of 40 seasonally, and with an army of volunteers logging thousands of hours, they’ve built miles of new trail and maintained hundreds of miles of existing trail. Those volunteers might be pinner downhillers, avid birders or local students, but they’re all working together to build trails that help preserve and sustain the Sierra Buttes region and everyone in it—including the yellowlegged frog.

H A L E N DA lives, rides and digs trail in Salida, Colorado.

F I N D O U T M O R E at sierratrails.org

YELLOW-LEGGED FROG Once the most abundant amphibian in the Sierra Nevada, the endangered yellowlegged frog is swiftly losing ground. Read more at biologicaldiversity.org. 69

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

JUAN ALBERTO DEL AROC A A bike lover breathes new life back into a boom-and-bust coal town. It’s hard to imagine a better region than Colorado’s Front Range for any cyclist to cut his or her teeth. The cycling communities there are deeper than anywhere in the country, maybe the world. So after 11 years in Denver and 8 years in Boulder, cyclist/ entrepreneur Juan Alberto DelaRoca had a good idea about what he wanted in a place to live, “All those years taught me that I would have to be somewhere pretty cyclist-friendly, just as a lifestyle requirement for myself.”

D e l a R o c a ’s p a r e n t s m o v e d f r o m Guatemala to the States in the ’60s, and he grew up outside of Washington, D.C., before moving west. In the time since, he’s witnessed the evolution of cycling, mountain biking in particular, and how it can transform a community. “In the early 2000s, skateboarding was the real DIY scene. Skaters pushed the limits with what they had, like at Burnside Skatepark in Portland, Oregon. That’s a bit what it feels like right now in mountain biking. People are realizing they have the chance to shape their own place.” He cites a list of towns—Traverse City, Michigan; Cable City, Wisconsin; Red Cloud, Minnesota; Black Hills, South Dakota— that are recreating themselves, often in the economic wake of their industrial histories. “The trail networks we see in these places now grew out of the fact that people just went and figured out how to do it.” Undeniably beautiful, Trinidad, Colorado, was founded in 1862 on the Purgatoire River at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, 13 miles from the border of New

Mexico. It served as a camp for traders along the Santa Fe Trail that connected Missouri and Santa Fe. The arrival of railways then helped spur Trinidad’s development as a coal center until 1900, but then the mines closed, and people drained steadily out of the town. There were brief periods of fame in the 1960s as Sex Change Capital of the World and as home to Drop City, America’s first recognized hippie commune, but the town of Trinidad was in serious decline. Then came Colorado’s legalization of cannabis in 2014, and tax revenues created a windfall for Trinidad, which had been struggling to address basic infrastructure problems. Pulled back from the brink, the town today is changing. Things are happening (slowly) and entrepreneurial spirits like DelaRoca are helping seed the idea that investment in other economic opportunities, like outdoor recreation, is an essential move. “ When I firs t considered coming to Trinidad, I thought, well, it’s not exactly known for its singletrack,” he laughs. “But I did some research, and I knew the state

BY DIANE FRENCH

“Little wins” keep Berto fine-tuning his vision for Trinidad’s fledgling mountain bike community. Tim Davis

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

government was interested in restoring the health of some of the founding towns of Colorado.” He read in the town paper that a local trail group had secured 140 acres on the north side of town for multiuse trails for hiking, biking and running—and he knew he’d found a kernel to work with. “Mountain biking is something this place can offer, not only to locals but to people who are coming through. I can totally see it, I can totally see a network of trails all around town. It’ll be a lot of work, but this place has got all the attributes to do it.” DelaRoca worked with the city to figure out how a trail system might come together. He spent a year talking to private land owners, learning what the city had in terms of property and how that land might all be tied together. DelaRoca then applied, on behalf of the city of Trinidad, for a grant called the Colorado Blueprint 2.0 initiative (for developing outdoor recreation in rural communities) and got it.

DelaRoca is warm, enthusiastic and quick to laugh. He splits his time between Trinidad and Antigua, Guatemala, where he also runs a mountain bike tour operation called Backshop Bikes. He describes it as a mash-up of cycling club and adventure travel agency—a cultural hub of Central American riding. (“Guatemala is going to be to mountain biking what Costa Rica is to surfing.”) His resume is literally all over the map: He worked for years at Boulder’s Universit y Bicycles, earned a master’s degree in sports administration, started a marketing firm focused on reaching Latino athletes, became the manager of the Mexican Olympic Snowboard Team, and traveled 1,678 miles down the Indian subcontinent in a tuk-tuk to raise $20,000 for cancer research. (“Easily the dumbest and coolest thing I’ve done in my life.”) DelaRoca’s years in Boulder gave him a unique perspective on how a town learns to truly incorporate bicycles into people’s

lives, and he thinks Trinidad and Antigua are places that can do this, too. “In the current political landscape, we now know there’s this huge rural-urban divide in America,” DelaRoca says. “Outdoor recreation has the ability to help bridge that gap. People want to figure out how to live in rural places where they can hike or ski or ride. So now you’ve got different types of people connected by different things to the same lands. Figuring out how to share it will only improve the quality of a community. Maybe shared trails are the little wins,” he admits, then adds, “and little wins have the biggest impact on the overall trajectory of where we find ourselves going as a society.” Let’s be honest: If you journey to Trinidad this weekend expecting a day of epic riding, you’ll be tempted to keep driving and head for more established riding towns like Salida or Durango. But if you’re excited for the potential you see in Trinidad, look up DelaRoca. Bring your shovel.

“I can totally see it, I can totally see a network of trails all around town.” Left: DelaRoca’s second home is a far cry from the dry dirt of Colorado. Volcán de Agua in Guatemala offers Brittany Greer and Wes Butler a tunnel of lush trail. From the top of the volcano, a 6,500-foot descent winds through thick, wild canopy jungle. Ian Fohrman Right: There is life after coal. Trinidad, Colorado, could strike gold if mountain biking gets rolling. Kevin Boyer explores some trail possibilities in the early morning light. Carl Zoch

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

The Long and Short of It Dirt Roamer Bike Shorts and Endless Ride Liner Long rides are hard enough without having to struggle with gear that’s overbuilt or underengineered. Simple, smart and rugged, our new Dirt Roamer Bike Shorts and Endless Ride Liner Shorts create a modular system for extra-long days in the saddle. The Dirt Roamers are light and quick to dry, but tough enough to manage scratchy branches, rock scrape and mud. Their ultrasonic-

welded seams combined with four-way stretch fabric allow total range of motion. The nylon/spandex Endless Rides have superbreathable mesh panels to keep you cool and a low-bulk, high-density 3-D Italian chamois to keep your critical part collected. The Dirt Roamer/Endless Ride combo is subtle and clean, durable, repairable and Ironclad Guaranteed. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S SHORTS

LINER

Welded seams eliminate stitching for chafefree comfort and universal stretch

Three-dimensional, premolded Italian chamois pad is contoured, dense and focused around the sit bones for longer “locked-in” hours in the saddle

Superbreathable fabric is ideal for hot weather or lots of climbing, or both OppoSet™ adjustable system fine-tunes the waist without digging into your hip bones on sustained hills

Large mesh panels for extra breathability Soft silicon leg grips keep the liner and pad in place Connects to Dirt Roamer overshorts

Men’s Dirt Roamer Bike Shorts - 11½" $99.00 I 24721

Men’s Endless Ride Liner Shorts - 8¾" $79.00 I 24675

28-40/even + 31, 33 I Regular fit I 153 g (5.4 oz)

XS-XXL I Formfitting I 125 g (4.4 oz)

women’s available online

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

Have a Blast Nano-Air ® Light Hybrid Jacket Colorado’s Arkansas River Valley lies at 7,000 feet, hemmed in by 14,000-foot peaks on three sides. Such topography generates many things—intense thunderstorms, the world’s lightest powder, incredible scenery and wind. Lots and lots of wind. When gusts barrel down from the Sangre de Cristos—sometimes carrying graupel or driving handfuls of rain—they can deliver a cold, wet, mean-ass headwind to your already hypoxic ride. At least the Nano-Air ® Light Hybrid can offer a bit of comfort. Staving off wind and wet up front and offloading builtup heat everywhere else, it’s made specifically for high-aerobic output in lower temperatures. On the chest and shoulders, a stretchy layer of

breathable FullRange® insulation (40 grams) is wrapped in a lightweight 100% nylon ripstop shell with a DWR (durable water repellent) finish. The back and side panels feature stretchy, airy waffle knit to wick moisture, control odor and dissipate heat. The minimal center-front zipper has a zipper garage that’s easy on the chin, and low-bulk zip pockets carry small quick-grab items. Stretch-knit cuffs with thumb holes bridge the gap between sleeve and glove, while a simple binding hem seals out sneaky Rocky Mountain updrafts. Comfortable, soft and stuffable, the jacket is a wind-resistant trifecta of warmth, breathability and stretch that’s most at home when you’re hard at work. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S

Revolutionary 40-g FullRange® insulation warms, stretches and offers unprecedented air permeability (40CFM on front; 130CFM on back)

Airy, wicking waffle knit on the backs of arms and side and back panels manages excess heat and moisture; stretch binding at hem seals in warmth

Light, durable 100% nylon ripstop shell and plain-weave lining offer generous mechanical stretch; a DWR (durable water repellent) finish resists light moisture

Sleek, low-bulk, snag-resistant Variable Conditions Cuffs use stretch knit for easy push-up and have discreet thumb holes to provide versatile coverage and comfort

Zippered, low-bulk handwarmer pockets wear comfortably with a harness or pack

Women’s Nano-Air® Light Hybrid Jacket $199.00 I 84351 XXS-XL I Slim fit I 261 g (9.2 oz) men’s available online

Next: In the early Moab light, Nicole Rohan sails away with Captain Ahab. Utah. Colin Meagher

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

Menâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s

N I N E T R A I L S PAC K 14 L

DIRT CR AFT JACKET

NINE TRAILS JERSEY

$13 9. 0 0 I 4 8 411

$12 9. 0 0 I 24 0 2 0

$ 59. 0 0 I 24 4 2 0

A breathable, body-hugging pack that handles fluids, snacks, layers and tools for long rides

Light, stretchy and breathable for rides in cooler temps

Soft, wicking, breathable fabric in a clean design with a single zippered pocket at hip

Mountain Bike Kit Customize your mountain biking kit for minimum fuss, maximum smileage

DIRT CRAFT BIKE SHORTS $149. 0 0 I 24 57 7

Simple, smart, lightweight trail-to-townies S E E PATAG O N I A .C O M / M O U N TA I N B I K I N G F O R M O R E After 10 days in the saddle, Ryan Stuart cleans the yak dung from his undercarriage. Tibet region, China. Ryan Creary

all styles imported 81

M O U N TA I N B I K I N G

What I Packed: Trans-Cascadia

The Trans-Cascadia is a blind four-day mountain bike stage race on some of the most pristine backcountry trails in Oregon. All I knew going into it was that the days were going to be big and we needed to be self-sufficient on course throughout. As reported by Patagonia marketer Jimmy Hopper.

Photo: Dylan VanWeelden

Nine Trails Pack 14L The Nine Trails Pack 14L works with you, not against you, on long backcountry rides. The full-access, panel-loading design provides instant entry to the interior, where there’s room for the 2-liter HydraPak® reservoir (included), spare tubes, food for a full day of riding and extra layers for the descent. A separate front pocket opens with a clamshell zipper and holds small items. It has a huge stretch pocket on the front (perfect for stuffing rain gear) and two quick-stash pockets to secure extra items. We built the back panel from mono-mesh to prevent moisture buildup and provide great airflow; it’s the most breathable back panel we’ve ever made. The padded shoulder harness (made with perforated foam) and waistbelt keep your load comfortably centered and secure, even on white-knuckle descents. Made of lightweight yet highly durable 4.2-oz 210-denier Cordura® 100% nylon ripstop with a 3.3-oz 200-denier 100% polyester lining. Both fabrics are treated with a polyurethane coating and a DWR (durable water repellent) finish. Imported. Nine Trails Pack 14L $139.00 I 48411 S/M, L/XL I 610 g (1 lb 5.5 oz)

A standard tool kit goes without saying, but given the length and remoteness of the race, I brought a few other things—spare derailleur hanger, chain tool and extra link, additional luck. Also a tube, just in case a tubeless tire was shredded beyond repair.

The real deal: The Nine Trails Pack shown belongs to Jimmy, a punisher of gear if ever there was one.

Without any guarantee for water refill opportunities, I switched to a 3-liter water bladder versus the 2-liter that comes standard with the pack.

With some rain in the forecast every day and colder temps guaranteed in the alpine, I brought a Storm Racer Jacket and an extra baselayer. Both were deployed regularly throughout the event as the weather and elevation changed.

I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to deal with a pack cover, so anything that needed to stay 100 percent dry went into zipper bags.

I opted to carry a small medical kit even though medical staff was strategically posted along the way. I figured it could take awhile before help arrived for me or a fellow racer.

Last and least (when it comes to real necessities), I brought snacks to eat along the way.

SPORTSWEAR

Potter Kim Hall behind the wheel in her studio, located at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. Sandy, Utah. Jeremiah Watt

SPORTSWEAR

Fair Trade Fleece Supporting the people behind the product

Fair Trade is built around the concept that everyone deserves economic empowerment and the opportunity to improve their lives and their community. We’re partners with Fair Trade USA (FTUSA), a global organization based in Oakland, California. FTUSA enforces rigorous standards to protect workers, their communities and their local environment. To create a sense of agency and empowerment, once a factory is Fair Trade Certified, a Community Development Team is democratically elected within each factory.

For every Fair Trade product sold, an additional amount of money, or “dividend,” goes into a workers’ fund. The team decides how the money will be spent, based on their unique needs. It could be a day care center for working parents, bicycles that make it easier to commute to work or rain jackets for the monsoon season. The people who make your clothes are directly impacted by your purchase. Fair Trade makes a positive impact: one garment, one dividend, one person at a time.

Retro Pile and Lightweight Synchilla® Fleece Soft and cozy yet tough as nails, our Retro Pile and Lightweight Synchilla Snap-T styles hold up beautifully to years of wear. Imported. Boys’ Retro Pile Jacket

Girls’ Lightweight Synchilla® Snap-T® Pullover

$99.00 I 65410 I XS-XXL I Regular fit

$79.00 I 65546 I XS-XXL I Regular fit

Women’s Retro Pile Vest

Women’s Lightweight Synchilla® Snap-T® Pullover

$119.00 I 22825 I XXS-XL I Slim fit

$119.00 I 25455 I XXS-XL I Regular fit

Men’s Retro Pile Pullover

Men’s Lightweight Synchilla® Snap-T® Pullover

$129.00 I 22810 I XXS-XXL I Regular fit

$119.00 I 25580 I XXS-XXL I Regular fit

We promote fair labor practices, safe working conditions and environmental responsibility throughout the Patagonia supply chain.

SPORTSWEAR

Woolyester Recycled wool for the next generation of warmth This jacket is made from an innovative 46% recycled wool/46% polyester/4% nylon/4% “other fiber” fabric blend. (The “other fiber” is a result of recycling the wool.) Soft, water-resistant and breathable, it will keep you toasty warm—just like traditional

fleece made from polyester, but with less petroleum-based fabric. Blending recycled wool with polyester is one more way we can move closer to our vision of creating a zero-waste apparel industry in a post-oil age. Imported.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S

Warm fleece with heritage design lines, a modern blend of recycled wool, polyester and nylon fabric that’s Fair Trade Certified™ sewn Full-length Vislon® zipper with a twill tape pull for easy handling Side-entry handwarmer pockets trimmed with twill Rib-knit trim on cuffs and hem Hip length

Men’s Woolyester Fleece Jacket $159.00 I 26935 XXS-XXL I Regular fit I 482 g (17 oz) women’s available online

SPORTSWEAR

Reconnected Crestview Pants Hiking, for so many years of my younger life, seemed so spectacularly uncool that now I can’t believe I almost missed it. As a professional alpinist, I only found my way back to hiking as I transitioned to motherhood. Hiking had always been a means to an end, access to a climb, not an adventure in itself. As my belly grew, however, my vision of risk versus reward changed, and I realized I may have missed something beautiful. At seven months pregnant, I started slowly along easy trails, exploring parts of the valley I had lived in for 10 years yet never noticed. Hiking is more than a walk in the hills. In Europe where I live, it’s a culture passed from generation to generation, simple and pure, practiced slow or fast, young or old, for an hour or a week or a month, with minimal gear. It’s a connected activity, grounded in nature in all forms of beauty, from rugged to lush. When we walk, we explore and discover like children, falling in love one sweet wild clover at a time, melting in our mouths; the kiss of a butterfly or the persistence of a tiny flower. We notice all that we move too fast to see in the other parts of our lives. The kids are fast asleep in their car seats, faces crusted with dirt, scrapes on their knees, their cheeks rosy, corners of their mouths stained blue from wild berries. Today was a big one, and they pushed hard for 3 and 5 years old. We were talking about “the wild” just before they fell asleep. “Does that place exist, Mama? Can we go there? Where there are no houses or roads or toys, just nature?” There is nothing rad about hiking, and that in itself is what is so rad. Climbing ambassador ZO E H A R T lives, guides and hikes (sometimes very slowly) with her two young kids and her husband, Maxime. They live in Chamonix, France.

P R O D U C T D E TA I L S Highly flexible four-way stretch performance fabric (91% recycled polyester/ 9% spandex) resists scratchy branches and rock abrasion; a DWR (durable water repellent) finish sheds water and dries in a flash Clean, slim-straight silhouette has articulated knees and gusseted crotch for unrestricted movement through legs and hips; cut straight from knee to ankle for a trim finish Plenty of pockets where you need them: two front pockets, two rear, one side-leg zippered pocket Ankle construction has reinforced ankle scuff guard and zippered cuffs with an expandable gusset for easy on/off over boots

Men’s Crestview Pants $129.00 I 55700 28-40/even + 31, 33, 35 I Slim fit I 462 g (16.3 oz)

Women’s Crestview Pants $129.00 I 55705 0-14/even I Slim fit I 400 g (14.1 oz)

Zippered bottom hem with expandable gusset fi ts over a variety of boot profiles.

all styles imported 91

SPORTSWEAR

What I Packed: Cochamó

Robbie’s trip to Cochamó Valley, Chile, required seven Black Hole Duffels of varying sizes to carry weeks’ worth of climbing gear, food and clothing. Here’s how it went down. As reported by Patagonia ambassador Robbie Phillips.

Photo: Drew Smith

Black Hole® Duffel 90L Our Black Hole® Duffel 90L—a highly weatherresistant, stubbornly tough workhorse for serious play—protects your gear from the inevitable abuse of travel. The main compartment opens via a zippered U-shaped lid, which has a pair of zip-closing mesh pockets on the underside for smaller, easy-to-lose items. A zippered exterior pocket holds quick-access items. The padded bottom panel adds structure and helps cushion the load when your duffel gets the baggage-handler treatment. Carrying options include padded, removable shoulder straps; webbing handles with a snap closure; and haul loops at either end that facilitate strapping the duffel onto large animals or linking multiple bags. Four daisy chains let you lash additional gear to the outside. Made from 15-oz 900-denier 100% polyester ripstop (50% solution-dyed) with a TPU-film laminate and a DWR (durable water repellent) finish. Fabric is certified as bluesign® approved. Imported. Black Hole® Duffel 90L $149.00 I 49346 I 1,417 g (3 lb 2 oz) more sizes available online

Padded shoulder straps are key when it’s time to trade places with the pack animal.

Anything we couldn’t chuck into the bag, we lashed to the outside.

The real deal: The Black

Black Hole bags seem to

We also had six weeks’

Hole Duffel shown was

swallow more gear than they

worth of wall food (bars

dragged, hucked and

should be able to. We brought

and freeze-dried meals)

chucked through Chile

a full rack of gear, 1 kilometer

and basecamp food

by Robbie (and sat upon

of rope (lead and static lines),

that we’d picked up in

by a horse).

and all our clothing for the trip.

Puerto Montt.

The shoulder straps do come off so you can convert the pack totally to a duffel if you’re feeling particularly burly. We weren’t.

One word of warning—a Black Hole will keep your gear protected from the elements, but if a horse sits on your bag, all bets are off for anything fragile. My climbing helmet was smashed to bits by the very beast that carried my gear into the valley.

ACTIVISM

The Ĺ˝eljeznica River is one of the last wild rivers on the European continent and risks being completely drained if plans for two hydropower diversion dams are successful. Andrew Burr

ACTIVISM

W O R D S B Y M O L LY B A K E R A N D P H O T O S B Y A N D R E W B U R R

T H E B R AV E W O M E N O F B O S N I A Activism and the feminine spirit unite to save Europe’s last wild rivers. Mornings in Fojnica, Bosnia-Herzegovina, bring a harmony of Franciscan monastery bells and the broadcast of Fajr prayer, the valley draped in fog and wood smoke. As the fog lifts, hills speckled with the first yellows of fall appear, sloping gently to the creeks and rivers sneaking through the inflowing valleys.

Sumbulka Milićević, known as Sumbe, has lived in her house on the Željeznica River near Fojnica for 33 years. An hour nor thwest of Sarajevo, Fojnica is a couple miles from the village where Sumbe grew up. She moved for love. “In Bosnia we say that good women marry within their village,” says Viktor Bjelic, a founder of Center for the Environment, a Bosnian NGO working to protect the local waterways. Sumbe shakes her head laughing, “Maybe some think we should marry in our villages. Many women marry downstream. I married upstream, like a good, strong fish.” We’re in Sumbe’s backyard on the banks of the Željeznica. Her matronly hair, penciled-in lipstick and floral scarf make her look like the grandmother that she is. In high-heeled sandals with white tube socks, she sashays around the kitchen preparing chicken, rice and cabbage salad before running around the yard serving each of us. Viktor chain-smokes, his dark beard hiding a stern face. He’s mostly quiet as Sumbe happily narrates her life in Fojnica.

“Most of what we need comes from our backyards,” Sumbe says. “As children especially, we never bought fruits or vegetables.” The apple tree in the front of the house is healthy, yielding crisp red fruit. A friend of Sumbe’s enjoys a fallen apple between puffs of a hand-rolled cigarette and a Turkish coffee. “If we don’t have water in the river,” Sumbe says, “we don’t have any water for the fruit trees.” On the drive from Sarajevo to Fojnica, nearly every home—most separated by tidy, abundant green gardens and proud haystacks—remains pockmarked by mortar rounds and bullet holes from the Bosnian war. Though an agreement endorsed by a local Roman Catholic priest and Muslim imam initially kept the peace locally, once the Bosnian Army invaded in 1993, most of Fojnica erupted in fighting. I’d even read a horrific account of about 200 physically and mentally handicapped children who were abandoned for three days in a hospital there. (Canadian troops, on behalf of the United Nations, rescued those who remained.)

The women fighting to preserve the Kruščica River and drinking water for their children, grandchildren, local lynx and bears span multiple generations; many survived the atrocities of the Bosnian war.

ACTIVISM

Now another conflict is quietly mounting. Bosnia-Herzegovina’s rich freshwater resources are under attack. More than 3,000 hydropower dams are either proposed or in the process of being built in the Balkans—on the last wild rivers in Europe. These dams will cause irreversible damage to rivers, wildlife and local communities. Throughout the Balkans, many of these hydropower projects are indirectly funded by large international institutions, such as the World Bank and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development. In BosniaHerzegovina, most are small-scale hydropower projects—often illegal or concessions given to private companies by local governments—with less then 10MW installed capacity. No environmental impact assessment is required for projects of this size. Three hundred new hydropower dams are plotted in Bosnia-Herzegovina, which will impede nearly all of the country’s 244 rivers, with some waterways destroyed by dozens of destructive dams. If any dam were built upstream, the Željeznica behind Sumbe’s home would run dry, diverting water to larger nearby municipalities, and every house in the village would lose its source of fresh water for agriculture and drinking. From August 2012 to June 2013, Sumbe and other Fojnica locals held a 325-day protest to stop two planned dams on the Željeznica. For 24 hours every day, 1,200 men and women took shifts near the river, blocking the road so hydropower construction crews sneaking into the Željeznica River canyon couldn’t build. They won. “Really, the only thing that truly belongs to us, that we feel is ours, is the river, the surrounding landscape,” Sumbe says. “And there have always been people trying to take what is ours.”

Bosnia-Herzegovina has always been ethnically diverse; a region where the East and West met. Where rivers and their cultures flowed together. It’s also seen more than its share of bloodshed. In March 1991, Croatia, to the north of what is now Bosnia-Herzegovina, declared independence from Yugoslavia, and Serbia formed a new separate Federal Republic of Yugoslavia,

opening the Bosnian war. Within a year, Bosnian Serbs called for the “ethnic cleansing” of the Bosnian Muslim majority, and on April 6, 1992, Serb troops began shelling Sarajevo and crossing the Drina River to attack Muslim majority villages on the border. At one point, I ask Viktor about the Serb invasion of Sarajevo. “This is only one part of the story,” he says. Viktor was born in Banja Luka, the capital of the Republika Srpska—the Serb Republic—which remains as one of the two constitutional and legal entities of BosniaHerzegovina. “The details of who did what to whom in the war are not important,” he insists. In August 1995, a NATO intervention led to a cease-fire, peace talks and, finally, the Dayton Peace Agreement, signed in Paris on December 14, 1995. By then, as many as 200,000 people were estimated to have been killed or to have gone missing. Today, 80,000 land mines remain in the country and have killed nearly 2,000 civilians in the years since Dayton. The rivers of Bosnia-Herzegovina don’t recognize religion, politics or borders. They provide sustenance to all—a common heritage. And having lived through the war, Sumbe says, the people of Fojnica do not scare easily. On a visit to where they held their 2012–13 protest, she points out a woman in a brown leather jacket. “They beat her up,” Sumbe says, referring to security guards hired by the dam investors to disrupt the blockade. “And her,” Sumbe adds, gesturing to a woman in a long magenta coat and knee-high boots. “They broke her arm.” “We decided to have the men guard the site during the day, and the women at night,” Sumbe says. “We thought it’d be safer to have the women there at night because the guards would surely not become violent with us.” They were wrong. One woman was strangled until she lost consciousness. Despite the constant physical risk, the women I meet have fond memories of that time, too—of playing cards and eating cookies they’d baked for each other. The Christmas holidays at the site. One woman lived most of her pregnancy camped out at night in the lean-to hut the community built for the 24/7 surveillance (she was rushed to the hospital to give birth to her son near the end of their protest).

“There have always been people trying to take what is ours.”

Below: “The Bridge of the Brave Women of Kruščica” at their outpost where they have been protesting since August 3, 2017.

Right: Nelina Ahmic, inviting us to take a drink from the KruĹĄÄ?ica River, the freshwater resource she and other locals will lose if Higracon, an energy company from Sarajevo, wins the fight to build a diversion dam.

ACTIVISM

More than 3,000 hydropower dams are either proposed or in the process of being built in the Balkans—on the last wild rivers in Europe.

They laugh, linking arms as they tell their stories. They pull me along to the banks of the river to show me what they’d fought to protect—the river they’d been attacked for defending.

Nelina Ahmic has a piercing blue sadness in her eyes when she speaks about the small dam projects planned for the Kruščica River. Like the women of Fojnica, Nelina and other locals are guarding a small bridge that allows access to the upper Kruščica. About 31 miles northwest of Fojnica, they’d heard of protests on other rivers in Bosnia-Herzegovina—the Željeznica, Una, Neretva, Sana—and decided they could defend their water, too. They keep watch 24/7. Walking along the Kruščica, one can see similar fruit, poplar and willow trees, and small gardens that feed the local villages. Already, nearly 80 percent of the Kruščica is diverted to the nearby municipalities of Zenica and Vitez for their water supply. If any additional dams are built, they’d lose the last of their water. We sit near the bridge where the villagers have been protesting since August 3, 2017, the day that Higracon, an energy company in Sarajevo, was granted permission by regional authorities to build a dam. Nervously shaking, a twitch in her cheek as she fights back tears, Nelina describes summers along the Kruščica before the war: tourism, children swimming, and lamb roasting on open fires for feasts in the evening. Her facial expression almost never changes, except when I see her walk to the river, cup her hands and drink from it. She smiles when she shows us that they—the locals, lynx and bears—can still savor water straight from the source here.

“We are strong because first they attacked health. “The Sana could be symbolic of Bosnia us, bombing and shooting our villages,” says as a whole—it connects all the regions and ethNelina. “Now they are trying to take our water nic groups in Bosnia-Herzegovina,” she says. and the places in nature where our children “And it is pristine and full of life.” will play.” Nataša helped run a campaign against On August 24, 2017, at 4:30 a.m., special a dam on the Sana. It included nine lawsuits, police forces arrived to find 54 local women dozens of appeals and other legal proceat the bridge. The police began threatening dures, media statements, local round-table the women to leave, then beating them, so discussion, a petition and protests with sevHigracon’s trucks and excavators could cross eral hundred people at the construction site. the bridge. Some women were arrested, fined “The fight against hydropower in Bosnia has upward of 200 euros and later summoned to moved from offices to the rivers,” says Nataša. the municipal court. Since then, the bridge “The protestors are stronger than police bruwas given the name, “The Bridge of the Brave tality and small government games.” Women of Kruščica.” Despite the beatings, We walk down a slight embankment to the court summons and fines, the women are still trickle of water coming through a human-sized guarding the bridge. hole in the dam. Luka Tomac, a Croatian phoNelina talks of her sister killed in the war; tographer, and several of his friends put up ladanother woman, of her husband—Croat sol- ders at the bottom of the dam. Some prepare diers forced her to watch him murdered in to repel from the midsection. They are there to the massacre in Ahmići. The impacts of these make some repairs on a 49-foot mural on the atrocities are visible everywhere: in their eyes, dam’s wall. The mural makes it appear as if a on the buildings, in their ferocity to protect woman is swinging a sledgehammer to expand what gives them life. The name of every river the hole in the dam. Next to the hole reads, in this country ends with an “a,” assigning them Sloboda Rijekama! (Freedom to the Rivers!). a feminine gender in today’s Bosnian language. Built in 1959 in the valley below Prenj At a time when most of Bosnia-Herzegovina’s Mountain near Konjic, Bosnia-Herzegovina, rivers are under threat, it’s appropriate that the Idbar Dam cracked soon af ter its conthese women, these survivors of war, have struction. Investors and construction crews emerged as their greatest advocates. had ignored multiple warnings from the locals not to underestimate the force of the Bašćica. Decommissioned soon after it was completed, it’s been slowly disintegrating ever since. A few days later, we meet with Nataša Crnkovic, “Women are connected to the communities, president of Center for the Environment, on to the nature around their villages,” Nataša the Bašćica River, where the inoperable Idbar says, as we wait. “They are thinking in the long Dam is slowly disintegrating. Nataša’s wild pile term about their country and local resources.” of dark curls frames her cherubic face, as she Hydropower is short-term thinking. It’s too puffs on a cigarette. Nataša proclaims that the only “renewable” energy source that if she ever has a daughter, she will name her sends species to extinction, while displacing after her favorite river, the Sana, which means, people and contributing to climate change.

The Una River, a name given by the Romans meaning “the one,” is among Bosnia’s 244 rivers under threat.

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Eighty percent of rivers in the Balkans are very healthy—the opposite of most waterways in central Europe—and 91 percent of the planned Balkan hydropower dams will produce little energy. Is it worth the energy gained to destroy a perennial source of life? On the Željeznica, the community gathered 1,200 signatures in 2012 opposing the dams and filed a case against the environmental permit the investors had acquired. The company managing the dam project began having problems with taxes, and all its equipment was confiscated and put up for auction. Additionally, the environmental certificate the company needed to proceed was finally rejected—so it gave up. On the Kruščica, the local women still guard the bridge to stop illegal construction crews from crossing the river to the proposed dam site, despite a June 2018 court ruling that annulled the environmental permit. The next step in the women’s fight is to convince Minister Salkan Merdžanić to delete two concessions for dam construction on the river, preventing any companies or private investors from advancing future hydropower plans.

SAVE THE BLUE HEART OF EUROPE Get the rest of the story at patagonia.com/blueheart

The Franciscan monastery, central mosque and inflowing river valleys of Fojnica, Bosnia-Herzegovina.

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Top: Bearing witness to a fast-moving storm in Montana’s Jewel Basin. Steven Gnam Left: Xuihtezcatl Martinez presents at the Tools for Grassroots Activists conference in Fallen Leaf Lake, California, October 2017. Keri Oberly

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Center: Upward of 200,000 hit the streets of New York on September 21, 2014, for the People’s Climate March. Tim Davis

Right: Artist and Patagonia designer Geoff Holstad donates his drafting skills to water issues in Michigan. Sarah Darnell

Beyond Clicktivism “To us, the choice is clear: Our planet depends on activism, and this moment demands it.” R O S E M A R C A R I O,

Chief Executive Officer, Patagonia, 2018

Patagonia has been supporting grassroots activists

spent the last four years supporting grassroots orga-

for over 40 years, but the environmental crisis isn’t

nizations through pro-bono creative work. “They’re

going away. If anything, it’s intensified. And we often

not holed away in an office on the other side of the

hear from our customers, “What can I do?”

country. They don’t even have an office. It’s a grandma leading the charge with a small group of volunteers,

Great question. For one thing, vote. Even in midterm elections like we have this year when most of the country doesn’t bother. For another, punch up Patagonia

on next to no budget, from her kitchen table. I love having grandma as my client.” Volunteering allows activists to recruit critical

Action Works in your web browser.

assistance that otherwise would be costly, especially

Patagonia Action Works is an online platform that

when budgets are tight. The Surfrider Foundation

connects our environmental grantees with individuals

New York City worked with a single skilled volunteer

who are fired up and want to go beyond likes, shares

who helped create a whole new revenue stream for

and retweets, and get involved. Think of it as a kind

the chapter, mapping out how to monetize beach

of dating site for people who want to collaborate to

cleanups when working with corporate partners. Lace

protect the places they love and defend the air, water

Thornberg of Oregon Natural Desert Association says

and soil we all need.

that so far volunteering assistance through Patagonia Action Works has saved them $6,750, and there are at

Since 1985, we’ve given away 1 percent of our sales to action groups working to solve specific environmen-

least $10,000 worth of projects in the queue. They’ve

tal issues. These organizations make up our grantee

also seen their attendance numbers triple at events.

network, which has grown to include 1,000 worldwide.

“We posted an ad for an event and ended up packing

Through events, petitions, donations and skilled vol-

the room with people we hadn’t ever seen at our

unteering opportunities using our partner Catchafire,

events before,” she says. Darlene Lee of the Earth Law Center, based in New York City, said that as of April

people can unite around meaningful work and make a

2018 her organization had saved nearly $100,000

measurable difference. It’s a way to feel better, too. Logo lockup 1

through volunteer work. “The power of networks

Logo lockup 2

“By supporting small grassroots organizations, your client becomes someone who is almost always directly affected by the causes they’re defending,” says Geoff Holstad, a Patagonia artist and designer who has

is amazing.” So is being a part of that network. What can you do? Take a minute to sign up.

patagonia.com/actionworks 105

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Three women from the Patagonia Europe team traveled to BosniaHerzegovina to guard the Kruščica Bridge while the local female protestors attended the screening of Blue Heart on the decommissioned Idbar Dam—a symbol of resistance to the proposed hydropower dams throughout Bosnia. Built in 1959, Idbar cracked soon after its construction, allowing the Bašćica River to flow freely again. On the Kruščica, the Patagonia team drank strong coffee, ate homemade cakes and stayed up all night once the brave women of Kruščica returned from the screening to share stories of their river and the film. Fly Fishing Nation

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front On Positive Affect, Nicolas (Nico) Rivas begins the crux—a delicate, 131-foot, calf-burning, stem-for-yourlife section. Nico and friends Paula Salguero and J.B. Haab (at belay) have spent years in Chile’s Cochamó Valley, establishing routes and helping to maintain the Refugio Cochamó, an important task as the valley is threatened by overvisitation. Drew Smith

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Thunderheads mass on the Comb Ridge (Tséyík‘áán in Navajo) in San Juan County, Utah. The Comb Ridge is a prominent feature of Bears Ears (Shash Jáa) National Monument, which the president has illegally reduced by more than 1.1 million acres (or 85 percent). To stop him, Patagonia has joined with Utah Diné Bikéyah, Friends of Cedar Mesa and others to sue the president. Josh Ewing The move to slash Bears Ears National Monument is one of dozens of rollbacks of public lands and environmental protections carried out by the current administration. This fall, get educated on the issues. Get registered. And on November 6, exercise your right and responsibility to vote polluters out.

Midterms matter. Vote November 6

Patagonia September Journal 2018

Articles inside

Beyond Clicktivism

The Brave Women of Bosnia

Juan Alberto Delaroca

Everything, Everybody

Raw Potential

Home Run

Quinn Brett

Getting It Right

A Very Real Possibility

What Midterms?