Conservation Northwest

2013: Telling our stories Paul Bannick Major gifts director, paul@conservationnw.org Fortune calls Rewarding work Bumping along a remote road deep into the heart of the Amazon Basin, my thoughts were electric with possibilities. Would I photograph the rare curl-crested aracari today or see a jaguar tomorrow? What unexpected encounters might I have? I was in the buffer zone adjacent to the Tambopata River and Peru's Tambopata National Reserve. The forest was every bit the ancient tropical forest I expected—until I saw the vultures circling, I watched as they landed on the tops of tarps that were only the beginning of a depressing scene: Huge clearcuts, bereft of vegetation and covered with ramshackle dwellings and scattered garbage. The unnatural yellow sand below the dwellings was a gouge in the forest, descending to the river's edge. Gangs of workers sifted material in pools along the shore. I was told these were "visiting gold miners" and that the chemicals of their trade were flowing into the river. When I asked what could be done, I was told local officials were aware of activity but would likely do nothing. I realized how difficult it was going to be to protect this reserve and the life-giving river. While the feeling of powerlessness was depressing, it also reminded me of how fortunate we are to live in a corner of the The Okanogan north of Riverside. Justin Haug/ WDFW Cascades chorus frog, green phase. © Paul Bannick My thoughts were electric with possibilities. globe with tremendous natural beauty, and the laws and means to make a difference. The most rewarding part of what I do at Conservation Northwest is to work with donors to help direct their giving towards meaningful work that protects wild lands and restores wildlife we all care about. A troubling experience from my childhood drew me to conservation. The wetlands behind my childhood home in Bellevue were being drained for development. Day by day, week by week, the frogs, salamanders, and birds that I drew, photographed, and studied disappeared with the water. Just like the day in the Amazon, I felt loss and frustration. I dreamed of one day protecting the homes of the animals I love, and thanks to Conservation Northwest and our supporters I can now do that. Chris Marx Development director, Together for wildlife A deep felt necessity "Do you want to see where they take the bodies?" My response was immediate: yes. Driving through the Okanogan Valley last spring with my colleague Jay Kehne, Conservation Northwest's Okanogan outreach associate, our talk had turned to the dangers posed by Highway 97 to both wildlife and people. I knew some of the facts: roughly 350 deer killed each year by vehicle collisions north and south of Riverside, with an average societal cost of over $7,000 per incident. At Jay's urging, I agreed to see firsthand the unsettling reality behind those numbers. We pulled to the side of the road and took a short walk. The massive pit ahead of me was overwhelming. I wanted to Keeping the Northwest wild chris@conservationnw.org turn away, but instead looked down and deep. While I've seen the occasional carcass on the side of the road, nothing prepared me for what I now witnessed. The accumulation of individual misfortunes thrown one on top of the other affected me deeply. Deer, bobcat, coyote—more animals than I wanted to count. And each moment, the site itself attracts ever more carnivores down to the highway for an easy meal, resulting in yet more accidents. While painful, this was the most inspiring moment from that trip into the field. It hammered home the urgency of our task. Our work to implement wildlife crossings both here and along I-90 was no longer a cool but basically conceptual idea it became a deeply felt necessity. As I stood that day — looking at all those bodies, my commitment to the particular work of this organization multiplied and deepened. I want to create a safer and more hospitable world for wildlife. And on an intensely personal level, I want to eliminate that pit. Winter 2014 9

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