Wilderness Stewardship

Growing up spending my summers in the woods of northern Minnesota, I had long been interested in concepts of wilderness. I dreamed of exploring rugged locales where no person was truly a resident, but merely passing visitors; where wildlife earned that name; where I would be utterly at the mercy of nature's tempestuous moods, weathers, and dangers.

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It was not until I headed East and took courses focused on wilderness that I realized my ideas were romanticized, if not a little foolish. As you can read about on my Critical Courses page, I learned more about the history of wilderness, and how its very existence in the 21st century is the product of foresight and hard work and sacrifice. 

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So in summer 2019, I jumped at the opportunity to experience wild acts in wild lands for myself. I was hired by the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness Foundation, the "friends of" society for one of the largest wilderness areas in the Lower 48. I lived in tiny Gardiner, Montana, straddling the Yellowstone River next to the eponymous national park. I worked alongside a Forest Service trail crew, spending up to eight days out on hitches clearing backcountry trails of fallen trees and rocks from the previous winter's wrath. Hiking dozens of miles a day, sawing logs and swinging axes, it was the hardest physical work I had ever done. And I loved every moment of it.

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We were able to live off the grid, ride horses through the trails, create new infrastructure, lead interactive sessions for volunteers to learn about trail work and bear safety and Leave No Trace principles, and participate in wildlife surveys.

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I was enraptured by the natural beauty of the Rockies and enkindled by my work - no longer was I merely reading about wilderness, I was living it. My actions had positive, palpable impacts on the landscape and the local people who sought to enjoy it.

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To clear trails for future recreators is, I suppose in a sense, to make a place less wild. But I think that to love land deeply, to be inspired for its wellbeing along with your own, you have to experience that location firsthand. I learned a sense of place in wilderness and purpose in my work that I carry with me still, however far I may stray from the wilds of Montana.