Emma Thompson: Setbacks and Successes

emmas blog 2Gears grinding under the weight of heavy bags, hearts pounding and breathing heavy, we slowly fought our way up a gradual hill towards the capital city, Helena. Our 36 mile ride from Townsend to Helena wasn’t nearly our longest or hardest in respect to distance or elevation gain, but this particular day was made much more difficult due to the unforgiving headwinds. For us, Helena meant the halfway point of our journey and the prospects of a much needed recess. To say that freedom and a few days of rest was fueling us would be an understatement. We pushed on in silence, the blustering wind making it nearly impossible to converse, our legs heavy from a grueling ride the day before. Yet, as we always do, we eventually prevailed, reaching Helena by the sheer knowledge of the downtime that lay ahead of us.

Once in Helena I was elated to collapse on my friend Sarah’s couch. My excitement led me to ignore the chills that were creeping up along my spine, a knowing warning that sickness might very well be around the corner. Determined to make the most of the time spent with old friends and new, I continued to push the nagging fatigue and discomfort aside, instead savoring live music in the park and the immeasurable feeling of being freshly showered. Unfortunately, as soon as I arrived back at Sarah’s apartment I knew I was about to go down. Hard.

While I’ll spare you the details that I didn’t spare my group, the next few days were spent curled up in a ball with a low grade fever and a dehydration inducing bacterial infection (hence the IV of fluids I required pictured above). I wasn’t the only one who came down with an illness, three of us in total were rendered useless and antibiotic induced. We had it bad enough that by the time we were to leave Helena, we still weren’t well enough to ride. The rest of the group pushed on without us, and we were given another night in Helena to wait for two generous souls to drive us to Augusta where we hoped to be well enough to continue on by bike.

In Augusta us who were sick seemed to be on the up and up, attending a meeting and continuing with coursework. I personally felt that I had recovered post antibiotics and felt that I was cautiously ready to ride. From Augusta, our next destination was Choteau, a non-daunting 27 miles away. It seemed like the perfect ride to wean ourselves back into riding. I felt confident the first few miles, leading the pack with a new fervency after multiple days spent dormant. It was a hot day, but my legs felt strong so I peddled hard. Our first hill approached quickly, seeming to become more and more daunting the closer we came. Mia pulled ahead of me to take GoPro footage and I switched into a lower gear as we started the steep ascent. While not a particularly long hill, the grade was unforgiving and each pedal accentuated the blazing heat being reflected off of the hot asphalt beneath my wheels. Eventually, the top was reached leading to a nice decent. Feeling especially exhausted, I pushed on slowly, my strength from earlier leaving me rapidly. I assumed that as I hit the downhill I would begin to feel better, as it generally does after a steep climb, but to my dismay it only led to lightheadedness and continued fatigue. Other riders began passing me and I felt that I was beginning to wobble unsafely. At this point, I yelled to Matt that I felt dizzy and needed to pull over. I unsteadily dismounted from the bike, feeling dehydrated and defeated. I looked ahead at another long ascent before us, feeling the will drain from me. I determined that I didn’t feel well enough to push on, the effects of the bacterial infection rapidly creeping back up, clearly never completely leaving my body. Luckily, Matt’s friend, Jacob Cowgill, was along for the ride with us that day and had his car back in Choteau.

An hour later, I found myself in the Choteau ER (unfortunately, their walk-in clinic was closed for the day), explaining to a nurse my previous and current situation. A second bacterial infection detected, I left with a new round of antibiotics and a heightened sense of defeat. I returned to the group, uncertainty for the future of the trip on my mind.

The rest of the day was spent trying to focus on coursework, but my mind was being flooded with thoughts of anxiety and fear that I wouldn’t be better for our 4 day push on to Glacier. That evening, after speaking with family and instructors, I made the incredibly difficult decision that it wasn’t in my best interest, or the group’s for that matter, to continue on. It was apparent that my body needed rest and nurturing that I wasn’t able to give it in my current situation. Not wanting to completely abandon the course, I decided to take a few days to go back home to Missoula and then hopefully be well enough to meet back up with the group in West Glacier.

The next day everyone else carried on and I was retrieved in Choteau, relieved in a sense but also extremely upset that I had worked so hard only to have to cut my time short by illness. Determined to return, I spent the next two days in Missoula resting, chugging water and stuffing my face with as many probiotic rich foods I could find. My persistence paid off and by the time the group was heading to West Glacier, I felt well enough to join them for the end of the course. As chance would have it, I was able to hitch a ride with Keri, the director of WRFI, and two TREK employees who would ride with us for a few days in Glacier.

I’m happy to report that I was able to complete our final two longer rides to Going to the Sun Road and Whitefish without any further health setbacks. While the decision to leave was incredibly difficult, I feel especially lucky that I had the opportunity to rejoin my classmates and be welcomed back with open arms. In reflection, this experience has been full of unexpected obstacles as well as opportunities that I would have never been allotted without the structure of this type of course. This has been an unforgettable experience, filled with physical and mental challenges that cannot be recreated in a classroom setting. I have been allowed the ability to not only further my knowledge and passions, but also get to know myself and my strengths on an entirely new level.

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Jumbo: The Grizzly Bear’s home by Isabella Kallfelz

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Envision a pristine, sacred, protected land stretching for miles on end, providing a home for the grizzly bear, an important spiritual site for the Ktunaxa people, and a place for adventurers to seek their own sense of serenity. As our group hiked up to Jumbo cabin in the Purcell Mountains of British Columbia, our view was filled with mountains and glaciers that would leave you awestruck.

Can you picture this same wild land with a year-round ski resort, 22 lifts, 369 hotel rooms, 240 townhouse units & 974 hotel and condo units? As I sat atop Jumbo pass with my classmates, we stared at the mountain where this project has been proposed for the last 25 years and I thought about how this altered landscape would affect something other than my own experience.

One consequence of the Jumbo Resort would be the encroachment on one of the Ktunaxa peoples’ spiritual places. The grizzly bear holds much significance for the Ktunaxa people.

“For us the grizzly bear holds everything,” states a Ktunaxa tribal member.

The Ktunaxa tell the story of how the bears made room for the Ktunaxa ancestors in this valley. The Ktunaxa declared Qat’muk (upper part of Jumbo Creek Valley) as a refuge for both the grizzly bear & the grizzly bear spirit. The Jumbo Resort would impact the bear’s native habitat, hurt the grizzly bear spirit, and remove the current protection of religious and cultural sites.

The Jumbo Resort would also impact an important corridor for the grizzly bear.

“Essentially, bears offer a window into a larger, deeper environment of a landscape,” says Bruce Kirby. As an indicator species, the grizzly bear is a sign of how the landscape is functioning. Jumbo Resort is threatening one of the largest contiguous areas where bears still roam today. If the land was developed, the grizzly would have to migrate elsewhere and their habitat would become fragmented which could in turn affect the health of the species.

The views we see today include a breathtaking 360 degree view of the some of the largest glaciers in the Purcell Mountain Range. This may change within our very own generation. Townhouses, ski-lifts, half a million visitors a year, and a 55-kilometer road into the center of the Purcells would surely threaten the wild balance of this place. As British Columbia receives a new Premier, my hopes and the local’s hopes remain high for the continued protection of this spectacular place.

Shane Smith: Cycling Through History

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Everything that arises, decomposes. This is a simple, but overlooked reality of life. At first this may seem like a depressing thought, but when it settles in you realize it’s actually quite freeing. In fact, when you look at it from an ecological perspective it is a beneficial thing.

When we started out on our 35 mile backpacking journey through the Bob Marshall Wilderness we saw large swaths of burnt forest. We noticed that beneath these charred, dead trees were a variety of new plants including fields of strawberry, aspen, armies of young lodgepole pine, and many other low-lying shrubs. An important aspect to this successful forest re-growth was the mosaic the fire had created when it went through about seven years ago. When a fire burns a mosaic pattern, some areas are burned heavily, other areas are burned lightly and some areas are not burned at all. Later, we learned that habitat disturbance and subsequent rejuvenation is called succession and is essential for the continuing health of an ecosystem. Five weeks later, this lesson has come full circle with a reading on “panarchy,” which gives new meaning to the importance of rejuvenation in an ecosystem.

Panarchy is a theory proposed by Buzz Holling that states that all systems go through a phase of growth, a decrease in resiliency, a regrowth period, collapse, and then (hopefully) rejuvenation. This “new” system can be a little bit different, entirely different, or anywhere in between. According to Holling’s observations everything goes through this cycle, from the microscopic bacterial cycles that happen on the microsecond scale to the global climate cycles that happen on an epoch time scale. When these cycles are aligned, collapse events can be lined up, causing the rejuvenation process to become a lot harder.

In the Purcell Mountains, we saw this theory enacted first hand where whitebark pine was heavily infested by the mountain pine beetle. From afar it looked like an extremely hot and devastating fire went through, but as we came closer to the trees infected we could see the excessive sap on the trees that came down in defense and the many demarcations in the bark from successful sabotages. A warming global climate allowed for the mountain pine beetle to expand into whitebark pine habitats with populations that seemed to be growing exponentially. Specifically, the warming climate allowed lodgepole pine, a common attractor of mountain pine beetle, to grow into higher elevations where whitebark pine would normally grow exclusively. The increasingly warmer temperatures allowed for the mountain pine beetles to overwinter when they usually would be killed by frost and extended periods of subzero weather as well, exacerbating the problem. This aligning of “collapse events” is what leads to situations similar to that of the mountain pine beetle and whitebark pine– it makes the destruction a lot stronger and recovery nearly impossible.

Similarly, panarchy systems thinking can be applied to our society’s system of thought. In Western cultures, we often have this incessant drive to take more than we need. If we stay rigid in this thought and practice, we could be aligning collapse event cycles— global warming, deteriorating environments, diminishing energy sources… the list goes on. However, if we change our ways and start respecting the environment by working to give back more than we take from it, then we will have the chance of recovery and revitalization when the winds of collapse blow in. Just like the Bob Marshall forest that was able to rejuvenate because of its fire mosaic, our societal rejuvenation will be manageable if there are pockets of strong, localized, and environmentally thoughtful communities.

Morgan Krakow: On Rivers and Holidays

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Rivers and holidays are hopeful. They’re both loud and big. They draw attention and glee, and on American soil, they represent a proud history. Just as the Missouri River meanders through the continent — its headwaters in Montana so vastly different than where it meets the Mississippi in St. Louis – The Fourth of July too ebbs and shifts depending on who and where it’s celebrated.

On this past Fourth of July, our wheels turned into Dupuyer, Montana, population: 86. The town approached after a long stretch of hills and watching the Rocky Mountain Front come into view. We had spent the last week understanding policy, voting and the advocacy side of energy in Helena. We met with journalists, lawyers and government workers all putting in time for a sustainable future.

After leaving the capital, we turned toward the Missouri River and camped at its banks and beside Holter dam, cycling its length at sunset. We watched the algal side turn golden as the evening’s fading light dipped and the mountains turned a deep purple.

Around the fourth of July last year I also spent some time at the banks of the Missouri River. It was muddier, dirtier, lacked the jolly fly fishers and horses across the way. I wasn’t frying up camp stove falafels or nursing the tail-end of a shoulder singe. And I was not very close to the headwaters. Rather, I was states and miles away, close to the end of the Missouri, in my hometown of Kansas City.

On this year’s American Birthday, I’ve found myself reflecting on the role I play as a citizen. Just in the last week we had witnessed democracy in the making. We came to understand the crucial roles of the Department of Environmental Quality. We learned how journalists like Hal Herring can change minds and only report the truth.

From the banks of one side of the Missouri to the other, 12 months have passed and I’ve continually reassessed my personal citizenship. I have found myself asking what it means to be an American and how I fit into the complex mix of individuals who make up the country. I spent much of the last year feeling embarrassed and disappointed in the nation. But it would be a stretch to say that these feelings were only from a vulgar election cycle.

As I finished my second year of college I took the time to study the nation from a variety of perspectives and viewpoints. As the immigration ban occurred, I was in a class on development in the Middle East and learned from my peers what it was like to feel fear about visas being revoked, or the cold uncertainty of not knowing if it would be possible to return home.

I spent time in a class on American nationalism, reading history books from different eras that veiled slavery and violence against Native American populations as small unmentionable blips that might tarnish an otherwise pristine historical record. In the last 12 months, I have read more than I have in the rest of my life. As my friends were out marching and protesting, echoing off of each other, I was reading and writing – soaking in the absurdity of rhetoric and trying to contextualize the present day with the historical American past.

After all of the months spent researching and contemplating, I felt bad about the country on my passport. It felt like democracy had broken – that people were more interested in flinging Internet insults, in telling me that my academic setting was too politically correct and sheltered, that xenophobia and bigotry had scored both free throws at the end of the second half. It felt like things were failing.

And then I got on a bike in Montana. I hesitate to brand this trip as a cure-all for my patriotic problems. We’ve witnessed incredible oversights when it comes to both people and pollution. We have come face-to-face with those who disregard climate change theories in favor of a less scientific approach. We’ve experienced the strangest and most sexist of side comments about women on a long bike trip. America has reared its underbelly all along our route, harassing words from R.V. drivers and the effects of an oil spill along the Yellowstone River won’t leave my brain anytime soon.

But something about the landscape, the way a bike flies down a pass, the way we cook and eat together, respectfully disagreeing and engaging with all those whom we come in contact with – it makes me feel proud to be in such a big country. We have beautiful places but we also have beautiful people and ideas, despite the present’s nasty tone. And local government is still functions. City council meetings are still happening every week. NGO’s are playing the crucial role of oversight and ordinary citizens are making their own efforts, from organic farming to organizing neighbors against coal companies.

I just needed to get out of my filter bubble, turn off my notifications and actually start talking to folks in America to start believing in my citizenship. I understand the terrifying and disgusting past that this nation has often engaged with, but that understanding has propelled me further to help change, shift and write about these places for the greater good.

I wasn’t ever much of a flag waver, and fireworks make me nervous, but on this fourth of July, while I didn’t necessarily feel a sense of incredible pride, I held a better sense of where I stand on this Earth and where I stand in this country. In a few weeks I’ll be back at a more familiar stretch of the Missouri, much closer to where it meets up with the Mississippi. I won’t be near to the Rockies anymore. I will still hold onto the complexity and scope of this country, just the way a river can flow and change as it runs through so many places, so can the people and individuals who live along it. Just as rivers and mountains, the nation is not a static place.