2013: Telling our stories
Mitch Friedman Executive director,
mitch@conservationnw.org
View from the Director
Drawing from a deeper place
I love cute kitty internet videos as much as the next guy. But if given a choice
between watching cute kitties or, say, a wolverine ambling up a snowfield or a wolf
pack circling prey, my click is quick. I suspect the same might be true of you.
As people who love wild nature, what makes us tick? This edition of the Conservation Northwest newsletter deviates from our usual newsy content to offer
you a glimpse into the stories, experiences, and warped perspectives of your Conservation Northwest staff. These stories underpin the passion we bring to work.
Sure, we can explain in academic terms the importance of old-growth forest,
how best to protect and connect wildlands, and the role top carnivores play in ecosystems. But the vision and drive to pursue our mission comes from a deeper place.
Nature can be abstract as well as personal. There are millions (billions, hopefully) of people who love and care deeply about wildlife without having ever had
the opportunity to observe or interact in wild nature firsthand.
But for those who have heard howls, come across fresh grizzly scat, and felt
the primal sensation of being an actor rather than an observer on nature's stage,
there's a story worth telling. I hope you enjoy these stories and that you will feel
compelled to share with us your own.
Mitch Friedman with the company car
and our new plates supporting wildlife
(see story page 7). Barbara Christensen
We can explain in
academic terms the
importance of how
best to protect and
connect wildlands, but
the vision and drive
to pursue our mission
comes from a deeper
place.
Wildlife and wildlands
Balance and belonging
Wildlife have always given greater
meaning to my world. This was so even
as a suburban kid, before I'd had any real
wildlife encounters; but it was locked in
by an experience I had as a young teen.
During a couple of middle school
summers I went north to a YMCA camp
in the Boundary Waters for backcountry
canoe trips of a week or two in length.
These were formative, fixing my view of
wilderness and my comfort and expectations within it.
I was maybe a bit more enthralled
than the other kids, seeking (and finding) meaning in the night sky, the still
lakes, and the dragonflies. I was always
the first one up in the morning to have
some time alone. One morning I rolled
Keeping the Northwest wild
out of the tent at first light to find a mist
covering the silent lake to a depth of several feet. Not far off shore I spied a bull
moose in broadside profile, knee deep
in the water and head above the mist. It
was just the two of us in the whole wide
world, yet it was clear to me that I was
the visitor in his home. That was fine.
That was enough.
There weren't wolves in that area
then, so the main predator to my awareness was northern pike. The place was
wild thanks to the foresight of the visionaries who campaigned to create the
Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness and adjoining Quetico Provincial
Park. But it was not whole. And even a
place this sacred faced threats, as special
Columbia Highlands moose. © Eric Zamora
interests have sought to open the area
to increased motorized access and even
logging.
When I returned to visit about a
decade ago, the familiar wildness was
enhanced by the return of wolves. The
place where I learned about balance and
belonging from a bull moose endures.
Winter 2014 3
