24 July 2017

A Small Price for Priceless

Paying $3.5 million really isn't much when it buys something priceless.

With the population of the Pacific Northwest continuing to grow rapidly, intact ecosystems disappear under paved streets and homes with startling and saddening regularity. However, efforts to protect some of the important wilderness areas have helped limit the damage; and the fundraising for one such preservation project comes down to the wire this month.

The Port Gamble Forest in Kitsap County encompasses 3,000 acres of wildlife habitat and recreational opportunities. Facing the prospect of seeing the land subdivided into housing developments, a coalition of groups, including environmental organization Forterra, two Native American tribes, and local land trusts, put together a campaign to raise the $3.5 million needed to preserve it. Check out the video for the campaign below:



As an important ecosystem, sanctuary, and place of recreation, the Port Gamble forest carries a value greater than any dollar amount. Protecting it takes an important step in maintaining the spirit and ecology of the Pacific Northwest. If you would like to contribute to the campaign by the July 31, 2017, deadline, click here. As of the last tally, they only need about $900,000 more, and that's a small price to pay indeed for this amazing place.

Let's raise the money to protect Port Gamble. We can't afford to lose it.

12 July 2017

Finding a Friendly Place

When an old friend and I began talking about taking a hike together, I didn't realize it would lead to making a new friend of a strangely familiar place, but that's what happened on my trip to the Mount Adams Wilderness last week.

Looking up at Mount Adams from the Killen Creek Trail.
For some years, a friend I have known since elementary school and I have discussed plans for a hike. We grew up in the same area, playing sports and musical instruments and occasionally fishing together, and we thought a hike might make another good adventure to share. Eventually, we settled on Killen Creek Trail #113 near Mount Adams, an area I didn't know well but that provided a nice central meeting point.

Growing up in western Washington, I considered Mount Adams more of an acquaintance than a friend. Its placement in the eastern half of the Cascade Mountains meant I could see it occasionally (though partially obscured) from high points near my home. On the other hand, I felt a much deeper connection with Mount Rainier and Mount St. Helens, the former in particular. I saw them regularly and built a kinship with them. When I see Mount Rainier, I instantly think of home.

Without much knowledge of the Mount Adams Wilderness, I went into the hike a little nervous. After all, my friend and I had to coordinate family schedules, bring all the right equipment, and find our way to a fairly remote trailhead. The trepidation proved unjustified, and I found myself looking over a new setting with which my heart felt a deep connection.

From the moment we turned off Highway 12 onto Forest Road 21, I began to like the area. Though dusty, the road enjoyed a canopy of trees that offered a warm embrace. I grew up surrounded by trees, so I love having them overhead, and although the ones leading to Mount Adams grew smaller as we moved closer to the mountain, they kept us company for the entire drive and hike. On the road and the trail, they provided shade against a sunny, warm day. In the clear air of the mountain meadows we crossed during the hike, they glowed green. Then, as I looked out from our stopping point just northwest of Mount Adams, I heard myself say with a smile, "Look at all the trees." They stretched out in a sea of varying green shades all the way to Mount Rainier, which glistened in the sun 50 miles north of our position, and I realized how much they made me feel at home in the shadow of a volcano I'd previously known only in passing.

Coming prepared for the hike added to the connection I felt to my novel surroundings. In May, I purchased a pair of trekking poles for added stability on hikes. They paid for themselves in just that one day on the Killen Creek Trail. Along with giving me extra points of control and taking strain off my legs while ascending and descending, the poles made the snow we encountered a source of joy rather than stress. The control they provided on an otherwise slippery surface allowed me to embrace the snow for its refreshing coolness. Even when I stepped through a weak spot up to my knee, I kind of liked it. Instead of resenting the snow as an obstacle, I reflected on how good it was to still have snow this late in the year after two years of hot, dry springs and summers in the Pacific Northwest. I prefer the cooler months of the year anyway, so I felt glad that I had the chance to walk up and meet a bit of winter in July.

Finally, hiking the trail with my mom and my friend and his family brought the new and the familiar of the experience together in perfect symmetry. Gazing over the landscape from our stopping point, I realized and appreciated how far into the wilderness I had gone, but I didn't feel disconnected from anything or out of place. I could have stayed there for hours more. Even the aggressive mosquitoes we fought during the hike, while breaking through the insect repellent, never broke through the feeling that I belonged there.

In the process of reconnecting with an old friend, I found another I never knew I had, and for years to come, I'll think of that distant mountain as a friendly place.

27 June 2017

Staying Power

Life for endangered streaked horned larks poses many risks, but one member of this subspecies of horned lark continues bringing hope to conservation efforts aimed at protecting the birds, returning to his nesting site in western Washington year after year and lasting longer than even the identification band that gave him his name.

Photo of a horned lark (not Pinky though).
Born in 2009, Pinky the streaked horned lark keeps showing the tenacity of his subspecies. Last year, South Sound Prairies, an organization that promotes conservation, restoration, and preservation of native prairies in the South Puget Sound region, announced that Pinky had returned (still sporting his pink identification band) and built a nest at the Joint Base Lewis-McChord military installation.

Considering that the oldest horned lark on record was about eight years old, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's All About Birds site, and that fewer than 1,000 streaked horned larks remain in the wild, the news brought great excitement. Over the winter, I thought about Pinky occasionally and hoped 2017 would bring equally happy news about him. This year, the venerable Pinky returned again, sporting a slightly different look. Now eight years old, he'd lost his trademark pink band, but that didn't keep him from nesting in his familiar spot.

I learned this year's good news about Pinky while birding at the Glacial Heritage Preserve on Prairie Appreciation Day last month. The ornithologist who told me about Pinky couldn't hide his excitement and pride. That's understandable, especially given the endangered status of the subspecies and the powerful symbol of hope Pinky has become.

With that, I'd like to wish Pinky another great year with safe travels. Stay pink, my friend!

21 May 2017

Early After All This Time

The Glacial Heritage Preserve and the Black Hills
on Prairie Appreciation Day 2017.
The seemingly contradictory claims that "good things come to those who wait" and "the early bird gets the worm" came together at the Glacial Heritage Preserve in southwest Washington state last week to make one special experience.

Every year in early May, the preserve opens to the public for Prairie Appreciation Day. Offering wildflowers, educational booths, and a chance to catch up on all the work done to protect the important prairie environment near Puget Sound, the event celebrates spring and environmental preservation.

My mom and I used to go before I began my doctoral studies, but because of school and work commitments, I've had a long wait between chances to enjoy Glacial Heritage. Last year, I stopped in for the first time since 2008, but I could only stay for about 30 minutes. To make things worse, most of the wildflowers bloomed out before Prairie Appreciation Day last year because of an abnormally hot April.

My long wait to immerse myself in the prairie ended this year on May 13 though, and thanks to the Black Hills Audubon Society, I made it to the prairie before almost everybody else and before the rain. Most of the day's festivities began at 10 a.m., but the Audubon Society hosted a birding event at 7:30 a.m., giving those who participated early access and an exceptional experience of the preserve.

As I walked with the other birders, I reacquainted myself with the prairie in a whole new way. With the wildflowers in full bloom this year, the morning sun glistened off fields of wet camas, blue-eyed Mary, and golden and harsh paintbrushes. Years of restoration work, which still continues, showed in the colorful, lively landscape.

In the middle of this sea of flowers and Mima Mounds, birds sang, chattered, buzzed overhead, and landed on the informational signs set up for the public. I had never birded the prairie before, and the group of birders helped me identify three species I would not have confirmed on my own. Two (the willow flycatcher and the western wood peewee) proved quite difficult to distinguish without great expertise, and the third (an orange-crowned warbler) was only identified by its song, which I wouldn't have known by myself.

All told, the birders received three hours of good birding before the rains came at 10:30 a.m. As the majority of people were just arriving, we walked out having seen more than 40 species. Personally, I added eight new species to my 2017 total, and I left with a special feeling of having seen the prairie again after a long absence and before most everyone else this year.

My 2017 Prairie Appreciation Day proved that the early birder gets the good weather and a memorable experience even if it means waiting nine years.

24 April 2017

The Illusion and Reality of Isolation

Lonesome George in 2006.
The human mind sees loneliness amidst connection, and that illusion carries concrete consequences.

On a living planet, we think we're alone. Surrounded by marvels of nature, we believe everything on Earth exists for our consumption, not for its own sake. Such thinking makes us feel isolated, and as in the case of Lonesome George, it sometimes leaves other creatures facing a harsh and real loneliness.

Lonesome George, the last of a subspecies of Galapagos tortoise, died in 2012. However, today's presentation about George for this year's Earth Week at the University of South Dakota caused me to reflect on the real nature of loneliness and isolation. The presentation discussed how human activity led to the extinction of several subspecies of tortoise in the famed archipelago that inspired Charles Darwin. Centuries of hunting and careless importing of invasive species that preyed on tortoises and destroyed their habitat shoved the reptiles to the brink. By 1971, only George remained of the subspecies on Pinta Island. He lived out the last 40 years of his life in a sanctuary, facing a loneliness so real we can't fathom it.

In constructing an isolation from the rest of nature, we create situations in which we act like we are the only ones on Earth. We take what we want, and we act without thinking about the larger impacts on the web of life. And so we sentence animals like Lonesome George to the experience we fear most: sheer separation.

Despite our tendency to feel alone and act like we are, perhaps in remembering Lonesome George, we can recall our true connection to the other pieces of nature and take real action to protect the shared fate of all life on this planet. In that way, maybe we can also preserve a symbolic connection for that solitary tortoise in place of the real bond we severed.

25 March 2017

Headed in the Right Direction

Anthropologist Elizabeth Kapu'uwailani Lindsey once said, "True navigation begins in the human heart. It's the most important map of all." Compass Outdoors, a new outdoor gear and apparel company based in Washington state, embodies those words.

Before going any further, in the interest of full disclosure, I know one of the company's co-founders.

Following in the footsteps of companies like Patagonia and Klean Kanteen, Compass Outdoors places environmental ethics at its heart. The company logo, which consists of a compass pointing toward the Pacific Northwest's iconic Mount Rainier, gives the sense that Compass Outdoors knows what's important to it and where it's going. Looking more closely, the company has the stated objective of, "Using business to help create awareness and support for environmental issues." Such ethics influence the business model as well with five percent of each purchase going to support the national parks.

The launch of the company Web site last Wednesday marked the first step in Compass Outdoors' journey toward its core vision. The initial offering of six products, including an insulated bottle, a shirt, and hats will soon expand with additional items. To see the current selection, click here.

Compass Outdoors also plans to pursue a better environment by carving a path beyond simply selling products. Its Web site will expand in the future with a companion blog that spotlights environmental issues by featuring individuals working to address those concerns. Such issues did put the company on its path after all.

Knowing what Compass Outdoors set out to achieve and the reasons at the heart of that objective makes me excited to see where the company goes. It's clear they have a good navigation system.

25 February 2017

The Shredding of Our Moral Core

According to Immanuel Kant, "We can judge the heart of a (person) by his(/her) treatment of animals." In a more general sense, that behavior, along with how people treat the environment, probably also says something about the heart of a society.

It is with a heavy heart then that I have watched recent environmental policy coups play out around the United States. For example, as this article from BuzzFeed describes, the Republican-controlled US House of Representatives recently passed legislation to reinstitute the barbaric killing of wolves and bears on wildlife refuges in Alaska. The approved tactics include aerial shooting and killing pups and cubs in their dens. To say nothing of the fact that these activities would take place on wildlife refuges, the inhumane legislation reveals those supporting it as sadistic, sociopathic, and bereft of conscience.

Morally corrupt as it is, the wolf-bear policy displays a cunning level of strategy. Targeting wolves and bears proves a clever tactic for unraveling the threads of human concern and environmental policy. As apex predators, those species indicate the health of the ecosystems in which they live. When they're wiped out, proponents of environmental exploitation can more easily make the case that extracting resources will not damage an ecosystem anymore than it already is. Additionally, as charismatic megafauna, wolves and bears generate public concern, and people rally to save them. In short, these species are critical to environmental preservation, and it is no accident legislators are targeting them.

We see the reasons for using bears and wolves as strategic targets in environmental policy proposals and decisions across the country. Stripping the species of their federal protections takes the first step in breaking down the systemic mechanisms that foster, institute, and enact our environmental ethics. Eliminating key reasons to protect the land opens the door to proposals that allow for expanded environmental exploitation. For example, we've already seen a proposal to permit oil and gas drilling in national parks and renewed efforts by Democrats and Republicans in the state of Alaska to drill in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.

Ultimately, taking federal government out of the picture puts our environment in the hands of private interests, which is exactly the point of these policies. One of the best (though most egregious) examples of this process comes from Oregon, where a state board led by Democratic State Treasurer Tobias Read voted to sell off the Elliott State Forest to private interests. Covering the story, Men's Journal calls the sale "the natural conclusion of a land losing federal protection" and "a bad sign for America's public lands." Throwing away our heritage of conservation and our responsibility to future generations, the board sold the forest for short-term profits.

In the place where our moral and environmental ethics once found their footing, a corporate callus now resides, an indifference to anything other than consuming resources and making money. That's how, according to Greenpeace, the public relations firm for Energy Transfer Partners, the company building the Dakota Access Pipeline, ended up writing the letter in which the Republican governors of North Dakota, South Dakota, and Iowa asked the Army Corps of Engineers to approve the pipeline.

At their heart, these actions by our elected officials represent a bipartisan, corporate attack on the core of our society and the shredding of our moral and environmental fabric.

11 February 2017

Now Presenting: The Search for Alternative Voices

In our attempts to respond to nature's signals, we clearly need the help of new voices, and I recently gave a presentation on how critical rhetoric allows us to identify these alternative perspectives.

Much of my research in environmental communication focuses on rhetoric, especially one approach to rhetorical criticism called critical rhetoric. When I was asked to deliver a presentation for the Humanities Research Forum Series at the University of South Dakota, I brought together several papers in which I had employed critical rhetoric. Below, you can view the Prezi I used to present my presentation aids for the talk:



Critical rhetoric challenges power by deconstructing meaning and identifying and advocating for marginalized voices. That focus makes it particularly useful as environmental communication scholars pursue new ways of articulating the relationship between humans and nature.

The Prezi above addresses several key aspects of the presentation I gave on critical rhetoric's potential. First, it explains the value of laying out environmental discourse about the human-nature relationship on a continuum. Part of the continuum addresses discourses found in newspaper coverage of global warming. These discourses include nature-as-out-of reach, nature-as-antagonist, and nature-as-co-present, the latter of which represents an important alternative perspective that challenges its more dominant counterparts. Next, the continuum adds components through an analysis of the Web site, The Featured Creature. Together, the discourses from the newspaper coverage and The Featured Creature provide a fuller picture of the human-nature relationship. 

The presentation also discusses how an analysis of The Nature Conservancy's Liquid Courage Web site suggests that elements of physical distance can be added to a public participation model to enhance research into environmental communication. Liquid Courage demonstrates the value of physical-distance elements in our relationship with nature.

As our environmental issues grow more complex and the urgency to address them increases, critical rhetoric presents us with an important tool in finding the voices that can help us respond to environmental signals.

03 January 2017

A Whole New Light

Now, you don't see it; now, you do.

Our physical environment heavily influences what things we see and how we see them. My experiences at the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge demonstrate this fact well.

The most recent of my trips to the refuge possessed a much different character than the previous two (the second of which I blogged about two years ago). Back on my first trip in 1994, rain dominated experience, and in 2015, a thick fog enclosed the refuge. As a result, my family and I had limited visibility both times, drawing our focus to things close at hand. When my mom and I returned four days ago, clear skies, sun, and miles of scenery treated us to many new sights and experiences.

Out in the open, in the context of the Nisqually Valley and the extended Puget Sound, the refuge and the recent work to restore it took on even greater significance. It truly represented the meeting place of mountain and marine ecosystems--the destination of the Nisqually River, which begins at Mount Rainier. In that light, the work to remove the dykes that had dominated and reshaped the estuary for a century meant so much more. Seeing the sun shine on the larger natural processes working freely once again at the refuge proved quite satisfying.

Besides highlighting the larger importance of the refuge, the clear day revealed sights and things I've never seen before. For the first time, I saw the Tacoma Narrows Bridge from that vantage point. I also documented my first sighting of a peregrine falcon--a bird I was drawn to as a child and waited years to see in the wild.

American wigeon at the Billy Frank Jr.
Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge.
The final revelation offered by the sunny day at the refuge involved ducks. As an amateur bird-watcher, I have experienced difficulty committing ducks to memory. For some reason, other than mallards and wood ducks, they all seem to slip into one general image in my mind. I think one reason for this difficulty is that unlike songbirds, I am not around ducks all the time. However, because of the open scenery and the many ducks at the refuge last week, I was able to identify and become familiar with four species, including the American wigeon, the green-winged teal, the common goldeneye, and the bufflehead. I can say that they are more than just ducks to me now. I can see them for the individual species they are.

When the light changes, even familiar places give us more to see.