Inside the Outside: Hampden-Sydney College Nature Journal

Inside the Outside

Hampden-Sydney College Nature Journal Fall 2020

1

Table of Contents Introduction ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 3 JUST ADD WATER Palmer Jones Slippery Stream ………………………………………………………………………………………………… 5 Sam McLean Whitewater Danger in Nature …………………………………………………………………………….. 9 Bryce St. Clair Deep Blue Sea …………………………………………………………………………………………………. 12 Jonathan Lawson Fly Fishing on the Greys …………………………………………………………………………………… 15 TALES OF THE TRAILS John Bryson Changing Nature …………………………………………………………………………………………….. 19 Scotty Bowman My Grandmother’s Farm ………………………………………………………………………………….. 22 Victoria Fenton This Is Home ………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 24 Lane Faulkner Giving Back ……………………………………………………………………………………………………. 27 Julian Franks-Pollock The Good in the Bad ………………………………………………………………………………………… 29 HUNTING FOR PEACE Christian Reed The Great Wait ………………………………………………………………………………………………. 32 Wyatt Elam Alarms ………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 35 Tyler Puhlick Deer Camp …………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 38 END OF OUR EGOMANIA Finley Sirieys My Brothers and I …………………………………………………………………………………………… 42 Izac Mercer-Olatunji A Shift in Thinking …………………………………………………………………………………………. 45 Richard Bolton Environmental Emotion ……………………………………………………………………………………. 49

2

Photography Izac Mercer-Olatunji ……………………………………………………………………………………………….. cover Abigail Horne ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………... 3 Palmer Jones …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 4, 5 Glacier Raft Company …………………………………………………………………………………………………... 9 Alex Strangways ……………………………………………………………………………………………………12, 14 Jonathan Lawson ………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 15 Izac Mercer-Olatunji …………………………………………………………………………………………………... 18 Sally Bryson …………………………………………………………………………………………………… 19, 20, 21 Scotty Bowman …………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 23 Victoria Fenton …………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 24, 26 Lane Faulkner …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 27 Julian Franks-Pollock …………………………………………………………………………………………………. 29 Tyler Puhlick …………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 31 Christian Reed ………………………………………………………………………………………………….32, 33, 34 Wyatt Elam …………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 35, 37 Tyler Puhlick ………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 38, 40 Izac Mercer-Olatunji …………………………………………………………………………………………………... 41 Wyatt Elam …………………………………………………………………………………………………………….... 43 Izac Mercer-Olatunji ……………………………………………………………………………………………... 45, 46 Richard Bolton …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… 51 Izac Mercer-Olatunji ………………………………………………………………………………………………... back

3

Introduction Welcome to Inside the Outside: Hampden-Sydney College Nature Journal! This magazine issue is the final project for the students in the fall 2020 course American Nature Writing. One of the central aims of this Experiential Learning English course was to craft creative nonfiction that engages with the natural world and the role of human beings in the natural world. The students also collaborated with one another to edit this issue, assembling and organizing their various essays into a larger narrative consisting of four sections: Just Add Water, Tales of the Trails, Hunting for Peace, and End of Our Egomania. The photographs included were either taken by the students themselves or requested from family and friends so as to illuminate the places, stories, ideas, and emotions discussed in the essays.

The students of American Nature Writing in the fall of 2020 faced the unique circumstances of being college students during the COVID-19 pandemic. In many ways, the pandemic heightened the students’ connection to the natural world. When proximity to other human beings is a distinct risk to one’s physical health, the company of trees, water, animals, and earth gains greater significance. But their enhanced appreciation for the natural world as a source of refuge, respite, and rejuvenation also brought a larger sense of responsibility and loss for how human beings have changed and continue to change the natural world.

I was personally reminded of the inescapable influence of human beings on the natural world during a recent visit to the Outer Banks in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. I was lucky enough to watch a beautiful sunset over the shore, but, as you can see in the photograph below, human-made wires faintly bisected the view of the evening sky. The natural world still inspires great awe in us, yet we humans have the capability to alter that which seems awesome and immutable. As Wendell Berry writes in “Preserving Wildness” (1987), “Our problem, exactly, is that the human and the natural are indivisible, and yet are different.” How do we understand ourselves as one part of an overwhelmingly powerful natural world while also acknowledging our specific and impactful role in that world? These writings attempt to navigate that question. ~ Prof. Abigail Horne

4

Just Add Water

Dry River, Palmer Jones

5

Rose River Brown Trout, Palmer Jones

Slippery Stream Palmer Jones

It was 5:09 in the morning. The sun had yet to peak from the night sky, and the sky looked like a purple pastel painting. I could feel the brisk November air cut into my exposed skin like tiny needles. I was wearing dark grey basketball shorts, tan slippers with white wool, and a heather grey hoodie. It was unusually quiet that morning, and I could hear and see my ghost white breath escape my lungs, like smoke from a brick chimney in the winter. As I reached my ruby red Ford Escape, I noticed small, frosty ice crystals on my windows and windshield. I was surprised because I didn’t know it was cold enough for frost to form. The frost was white and translucent, and it nearly resembled fog. As I was sitting on my cold, black leather seat, the car was silent and cold, and my hands felt like I had dunked them in ice water. After I started my car and turned the defrost setting on full blast, I could feel my hands thaw like pieces of frozen meat, and the white frost gradually melted from my windshield after about five minutes. As I

6

shivered in my slowly warming car, I patiently waited for my friend Hunter to pick me up. We were going fishing at the Rose River in Virginia.

After about five minutes passed, I noticed Hunter’s yellow-tinted headlights peaking around the corner of the road. I quickly turned off my car and greeted his silver Honda Pilot in the driveway. With a double tap of my black Ford key, my trunk slowly lifted and exposed my fly-fishing gear to the whipping cold breeze. First, I grabbed my silver aluminum Orvis rod tube. I thought my hand was going to stick to the metal on the tube because it was so cold. After that, I gripped my orange and brown chest pack and my red aluminum net. My net felt like it was made of ice because it immediately made my hands numb. Finally, I tossed my grey and olive-green wading boots and waders into Hunter’s car, and we swiftly escaped the cold.

The Rose River was about two hours away. As we drove on the highway from Richmond to the Shenandoah National Park, the sun slowly began to peak over the horizon and the pumpkin colored sun punched through the white morning fog. We were the only people on the road for most of the drive, and I felt isolated from civilization even though I was on a major highway. The longer I was sitting in the car, the more impatient I became. I felt like a child waiting to go to Disney World because I was so excited to get to the river. Finally, we reached the end of the paved road and transitioned onto a gravel road. As soon as I felt the thump of the black rubber tires and the squeak of the suspension from entering the gravel road, my heart began to race, and I got butterflies; I knew we were close to the river.

Shortly after we entered the gravel road, I tracked the small, gin-clear river all the way to a small, grey bridge. Hunter shifted his shiny silver car into park, and I swiftly hopped out of the car, nearly twisting my ankle in my plush brown slippers. Immediately, I kicked my slippers off of my feet and slid my legs into my grey-colored waders. Once my slick waders were secured on my legs and buckled over each of my shoulders, I slid my neoprene booties into my brown wading boots. After about twenty cranks of the dial on my wading boots, the BOA laces were snug against my feet. I put together my 4-piece, fly-fishing rod as fast as I could, and I opened my baby blue fly box in order to select two flies that were appropriate for the river.

The first fly I chose was a size 16 caddis pupa nymph that I tied myself. It was about the size of my thumbnail, and it had brown dubbing made of rabbit fur wrapped around the body and head with a chartreuse green butt section. At the head of the fly, I secured a dark grey, nickel-colored tungsten bead, which gave the fly the appropriate weight to hold up against the swift current. This fly perfectly imitated the hatching caddis larvae in the river because their casings were stone grey, and the larvae body was bright green. The second fly I chose was a size 14 mayfly nymph. Again, the fly was about the size of my thumbnail, and the fly had an olive colored body with a whitish grey tail made of a mallard feather. I secured another nickel-grey tungsten bead to the head of the fly, and it allowed the fly to dance across the slippery brown rocks of the ebbing creek without hanging up on the rocks. The size of the flies corresponded to the size of the hooks that I tied the flies with. The size 16 hook was slightly smaller than the size 14 hook, and it caused the presentation of the flies to look more natural, like real-life caddis

7

larvae and mayflies. I tied this all together with a small piece of clear tippet, or fishing line, that was nearly the same thickness of a spiderweb.

Hunter and I marched down to the bank of the stream and slowly creeped into the water like a pair of herons stalking a group of fish. The rocks were slippery, and they were covered in small stoneflies that had small, pronged tails and grey-green bodies. The stoneflies also had multiple arms in order to grip to the slippery rocks and fight the current. With every step I took in the river, my feet slid, and I constantly had to readjust my footing. As I walked deeper into the creek, I could feel the water gripping my waders around my legs like a vacuum. I could feel the ice-cold spring-fed water through my thick, grey waders as if nothing separated my pale skin from the elements. When we were in our desired positions, we began to drift our flies through a deeper hole in front of a plunge pool, making countless casts. The water cascaded down a massive, grey boulder, and the oxygenated water plunged into the icy clear water below. There were white bubbles and foam coming from the plunge pool due to the turbid mixing of the water.

I focused my eyes on my fly line, waiting for the smallest tick in my olive-green fly line to indicate a strike from a trout. I almost went cross-eyed from concentrating on my fishing line. My right arm started to grow sore from fully extending it toward my flies for a proper drift. Finally, I felt a thump right near a round, brown rock submerged in the water, and I set the hook by ripping my right arm up and away. At the end of my line was a fish. The fish exposed its white underbelly like a flash of lightning and swiftly swam deeper into the turquoise water. The fish made rounds of jumping out of the water and thrashing its yellow mouth and viciously swimming into the depths in order to evade me.

After about ten seconds, I gained my advantage over the fish, and the fish’s erratic and frantic movements subsided. I scrambled to reach my red metal net from my backpack, but I kept grabbing my heather grey hood on my jacket instead of the net. Once I regained my composure, I slipped the exhausted fish into the silicon webbing of the net.

To my surprise, the fish at the end of my line was a native tiger trout. It had bright hues of green, yellow, and red and was about five inches long. The trout’s smooth body glistened in the cold air from the cool water cascading over it like a piece of glass. Tiger trout are especially elusive because they are a hybrid between brook trout and brown trout, and they are infertile, meaning they do not produce offspring. I couldn’t believe I caught a tiger trout because I didn’t know they existed in the Rose River. My hands were shaking like fine china in an earthquake, and my mind was racing with excitement and shock. While I was admiring the green, yellow, and red fish, Hunter was scrambling through his brown camouflage backpack to get his black iPhone in order to capture a picture of the rare trout. Right before Hunter snapped a picture of the tiger trout, the small fish slipped through the holes of my net and swam away forever.

While I did not capture a picture of the tiger trout, I will always remember and cherish the moment when I saw it with my own eyes. I was happy to see this trout because it was an indicator of a good fishery and a healthy aquatic ecosystem in Virginia.

With proper regulation and conservation, these healthy aquatic ecosystems could flourish for countless years to come. Thankfully, the Rose River was in a national park, meaning I had to secure a national park license, a freshwater fishing license, and a trout fishing license. My freshwater fishing license was about forty dollars. The money that I spent

8

toward my fishing license helps fund conservation operations in Virginia, like protecting wildlife or other streams like the Rose River. These special regulations set in place by the Virginia Department of Wildlife Resources allow for safe and legal recreational fishing with the promise of practicing proper catch-and-release fishing, leaving the fishery and the national park unharmed for not only the wildlife, but for future generations to come.

Streams like the Rose River are protected in order for future generations like my children and their children to enjoy the same fisheries that I did. Hopefully, my children and grandchildren can come to the Shenandoah National Park and escape the sights, noises, and smells of the urban world. I hope future generations of people can feel the cold spring water run through their fingers. I hope future generations of fishermen and outdoorsmen alike can see the creek bed through the gin-clear water of the creek. I hope future generations of fly-fishermen can hold native tiger trout in their hands like I almost did. A professor once told me to treat the natural world as if I were to die the next day. If I were not able to enjoy the natural world anymore, I would wish only to leave it as beautiful and as untouched as I found it.

9

Bonecrusher, Glacier Raft Company

Whitewater Danger in Nature Sam McLean

Whitewater rafting is an extremely dangerous activity. As a whitewater and fly-fishing guide, I understand these hazards better than anyone else. The training to become a guide is indicative of the perils you will inevitably face while guiding. From the time that you begin training, you are warned of the inherent dangers that come with guiding. You are warned of the strenuous physical and mental requirements of being a guide. You are told that your job is to take individuals down the river safely. The things you aren't warned about, though, are the things that you should be most fearful of. From the time you take your foot off the bank to the time your feet land at the take-out, you are on your own. You are alone in the wild, and the only power getting you downriver are the people in your boat: your clients. This is a true adventure narrative of a time when my foot left the bank, and I wasn’t prepared for the wilderness that awaited us.

I was guiding rafting trips for the summer in West Glacier, Montana and it was June: that time in between winter and summer when the daily temp is warming up to a whopping seventy degrees, but the water is still a frigid thirty. This bright day was the wrestler’s day. The wrestler’s day was a notorious time when a group of over 400 wrestlers came on one single day to go rafting with us. The day before we had furiously

10

been inflating boats, washing them off, and making sure that we had enough life jackets for all of them. Upon the arrival of three school buses loaded full of prepubescent teenagers ranging from ten to seventeen, we rushed them onto the lawn through life jackets and sorted them into groups of twelve. As we loaded the wrestlers and guides onto the school bus to take the eight-mile drive upstream to our put-in, we were handed our assigned boats.

My boat was a group of rowdy twelve-year-olds in shorts, unprepared for the dangers of whitewater rafting and nature that were ahead of us. We got out of the bus, found our groups, and immediately got the kids into the boats and ready to go downstream. As we began to go downstream, the weather took a turn for the worse. In front of us was what looked like a gray wall coming down the canyon towards us. It was a line of hail and rain combined. I set up my boat with six boys in the back, one sister in the middle, and two moms leading us in the front. My strategy was to put the leadership at the front to lead the rest of the group. I was very wrong!

When the wall of hail and rain hit us, the boys began to cry, and the reality of the journey we had commenced set in. I quickly began to shed the layers off myself, taking off my rain pants and rain jacket to give out to the boys so that they would be sheltered. I found myself in the back of the boat guiding in little more than a pair of shorts and a t-shirt; my sunglasses were the only things shading my eyes from the blinding hail. As the hail and rain came toward us, it looked as if the gray wall were moving up the canyon.

The wind had to have been at least forty miles an hour as it was channeled through the canyon towards us. As we continued on, the rain, hail, and crying did as well. I tried to keep the mood on the boat light, asking about what they had been doing while they were on vacation and any adventures that they had been on. While we continued downstream through class two and three rapids, the weather was relentless in its bombardment of our raft and the boys.

As we came into our second rapid, I quickly realized that I had done a tragic disservice to myself by putting the two moms at the front, unable to see the boys not paddling behind them. This meant that there was no Mom enforcement available to yell at the boys to paddle. After all, they were the power I was counting on. As we continued through the third rapid, I encouraged the boys to continue paddling and foreshadowed to them of the more treacherous rapids that were still to come. The water in front of us looked as if the surface were boiling from the rain pelting it. We paddled on downstream, the water growing faster and faster, and the seriousness of the swelling stream became apparent to me. I looked side to side and saw full trees being sucked to the bottom of the river, and I realized just how intense the upcoming rapids would be.

When we came into our fourth rapid called “Rosie's Rock,” I yelled at the boys “All forward!” to get us away from the giant house rock which posed the greatest threat to us.

As the current pushed us closer and closer to “Rosie's Rock,” I became aware that we were going to hit it. Upon first impact of the rock, I told the boys to brace for a “bump,” then a “high side” (a term used to express the boats pushing up onto a rock), and finally a “wrap” (the boat’s final pinning against a rock by the current pushing towards it). With my final command I found myself outside the boat and in a dark place. I suddenly realized that I was no longer in the boat but was instead below the rock that we had wrapped on. I

11

suddenly felt myself turned upside down in the water, my life jacket doing nothing, and unable to find which direction was up. Then, suddenly, I felt a large knock on my head. It was the rock scraping my helmet. When I popped up three minutes later, I looked through the boat and saw the six boys and one mom climbing onto the rock as I had instructed them in my safety briefing before we launched the boat. They had done exactly what I said. But where were the other mom and the sister? As I looked downstream, I saw the other mom and sister floating along. I yelled to them to swim to the shore, and they followed my commands.

When I got to the shore, the sister was visibly shaking, and her skin was white as a ghost from the thirty-degree glacial water we had been in. I looked the young girl in the eyes and saw her crying, I saw the fear in the mom’s face, and I asked the sister if anything hurt. She slowly and timidly pointed to her ankle and said, “My ankle really hurts!” I looked at the girl's ankle and could see the purple swelling from where she had clearly sprained her ankle when we fell out. I told the girl, “We have to get back on the boat in order to get out of here and back to our car.” She was not happy with that response! With the promise that I would look after her, we got the boat off the rock, got back in, and continued on downstream.

As we floated downstream, it continued to rain and hail, but the entire time I continued to check on the sister in the middle. At one point, I even took my shoes off so that her feet would stay warm. As we went downstream, the girl and I conversed about everything, and to this day I still remember our conversation. Her name was Peyton, she was the sister of one of the wrestlers and the point guard for her basketball team. She was really excited about the trip and had grown up around water. Her mom was on the boat, and while I talked with her, I could tell that my concern for the sister seemed to ease the mom's worry. As our conversation shifted from how the girl was feeling to her own personal interests, we discussed everything from her school to her worries of life and even where she loved to shop on her days off from school.

When we got to the takeout, we got out of the boat and then loaded up onto the bus to drive back to the downtown office. After we got back, I filled out the paperwork and talked with the mom and my boss to make sure they were okay and to see if there was anything else we could do. This experience was an outstanding reminder of the power of nature and the beauty that we often neglect to see. As I left the downtown office, I was in deep contemplation of the events which had taken place earlier that day. It seemed surreal that just hours before I had been so close to death and yet required to still be a leader in that moment of peril. I had been called upon to give instruction to them in order to keep them safe, while trying to also keep myself safe. That’s what leadership is.

Leadership is sacrificing your safety for others. As I began that walk to my car, I thought about how precious life is and how water can give life, as well as take it away.

12

The King of Billfish, Alex Strangways

Deep Blue Sea Bryce St. Clair

During the summer months, one of my family’s favorite things to do is go fishing.

Since we live on the Chickahominy River, fishing is something we tend to do quite often.

Although, the one thing that gets us worked up more than small game fishing is offshore fishing. Being raised around sportfishing boats brought along some of the most enjoyable summer months of my entire life. One of the main reasons for that is the tournaments I was able to fish in and the memories I was able to make. Of course, with all of the memories, I was also able to meet some of the most down-to-earth people who share the same passion for the great outdoors that I have. Along with great friendships came some sticky situations that I am grateful to have been a part of for the appreciation of Mother Nature’s relentless elements.

It all started in August, one of the best months for catching marlin off the east coast. August just so happens to be tournament season, as well. One of my favorite tournaments to fish in is the Virginia Beach Invitational because the marlin, as well as various other species such as dolphin and wahoo, are numerous. For this particular

13

tournament, I was fifteen years old and eager to catch some fish. One of my father’s best friends also owns a sportfishing boat called the Sniper which we always fish the tournaments with because of the expertise of the crew we had established. Thankfully, this crew has led us to many top three finishes in tournaments all over the Atlantic Ocean.

For this particular tournament, there are three possible days to fish, and each boat must pick two days out of the three to go try their luck at victory. We decided to fish the first day, a very calm blue bird day with swells ranging from three to five feet, which is considerably calm for the deep blue sea. At the end of the first day we were able to catch one blue marlin and five white marlin which gave us a strong lead. That evening the crew came to the agreement that the following day was going to be a pretty hectic day offshore because every boat was going to try and enclose our lead due to the good weather.

Therefore, we decided to sit that day out and try our luck with the third day which was a much rougher day to be fishing as inclement weather was moving in for that evening. But this could play into our favor as we were fishing a much larger boat than some of the others, so there would be less competition within the tournament boundaries.

The third morning arrived, and we took off out the inlet, immediately being met with six to eight-foot seas which the boat was gobbling up no problem. Fortunately, our crew was full of experience, so rough seas were not much of a concern for us as far as sea sickness goes. Lines in was quickly approaching, and we were getting close to the grounds we planned on fishing for that day. Over the radio, the tournament coordinator updated the fleet on the standing of the top five boats. Our crew was informed that we had dropped back to third place as two of the boats from the previous day had a field day with the billfish. This built a lot of anticipation within the crew as there was a lot of money on the line and we were in the running. This placed the ball in our court as the two boats ahead of us were back at the dock and had already played their hand at victory.

The day started out slowly as we were being tossed back and forth, struggling to stand up straight. The crew was beginning to accept the fact that defeat was going to be our destiny as we were clinging to anything to keep us from losing our footing. Noon was quickly approaching, and the storm that we had been tracking was headed our direction.

This left us with two options: either pack up and go home, or hold out for a bit longer and enjoy a very bumpy ride in. The prediction for the storm was ten-foot seas which our boat, the Sniper, was capable of handling.

Almost immediately after we decided to stay out, the reels started singing a zipping noise as three rods took off several hundred yards into the ocean. This was our chance to capitalize and maybe take second as the leader was ahead by four white marlin.

We were able to land all three white marlin thanks to our crew’s coordination and eagerness to win. Upon landing all three fish, we immediately put all of the lines back into the water and continued circling this hotspot we stumbled upon.

Within five minutes of resetting the lines, the same zipping sound overtook the stern of the boat once again which was music to everyone’s ears. This time we had two blue marlin on the line which were worth double the score of a white marlin. These were a must for us to secure that first place position, and one of the blues happened to be an absolute beast as he danced across the surface of the water, putting on a show for the crew. While landing these two great blues, the crew was ecstatic, and victory was

14

secured as the only other boats out were too far behind to even think about closing the gap. With that in mind, the crew agreed that we should try and head back a bit early and beat the storm home.

We hurried up and pulled in all the lines and teasers, put the boat into the wind, and headed for dry land. The whole crew was accepting of the weather we were about to endure thanks to the victory we had under our belts. At first, we were able to keep a pretty fast pace at about twenty-nine knots covering a fairly good amount of water back to shore. The boat was steadily crashing into the waves with water shooting up and soaking the entire boat, but it was nothing she could not handle. Without about forty-five minutes left to go, the storm began to set in, and the fleet was racing to reach land before things got too hectic. But there was no way we had a chance at beating this storm.

The remaining thirty minutes we had to slow the boat down to about twenty knots so that we could overtake the swells we were being faced with. The boat was lifting up over the waves and crashing down, throwing everyone around inside the boat and causing everyone to cling like their life depended on it. Thankfully, we were able to make it back to land safely with our flags that showed what we had caught for the day flying high.

Everyone was waiting at the dock to see what the outcome of the tournament was going to be. We were greeted with a dock full of loved ones who were proud of the fine work we had accomplished.

There were many things that I took away from this experience, but the most important was to never underestimate the power of nature. We as humans think that we have conquered nature, but, in reality, nature can devastate everything we as humans have worked for in the blink of an eye. On that day, we took a gamble with nature, and it ended up paying off. Had our crew not been filled with professionals who do this often, our outcome could have ended fatally. But, thankfully, we were able to put a little extra spending money in our pockets.

Watch Out for That Sniper, Alex Strangways

15

Greys River, Wyoming, Jonathan Lawson

Fly Fishing on the Greys Jonathan Lawson

The sun started to peak above the mountain in the distant sky and light the morning clouds ablaze with bursts of red and pink mixed into their cotton-like wisps, and it meant only one thing: time to get up. While I was lying in my sleeping bag in the back of my truck, I could feel the air start to heat up from the sun. The temperatures of Wyoming in the summer are crazy things. It can get up above one hundred degrees Fahrenheit during the day and down in the thirties at night. I had a busy day planned as today was the day I was going to do my first solo paddle board fishing trip down the Greys River. Paddle boarding down a river can be a lot of fun. You go super-fast, you can fit between rocks that rafts can’t, and you can get to places for fishing that would be impossible to hike to.

Excited for the day, I got out of my sleeping bag, crawled out the back of my truck, and began to set up the board. As I pulled the hard rubber board out of its bag, dust flew everywhere. The longer I have been in Wyoming, the more I have come to understand that dust is just a part of life; no matter what you do, it will get on

16

everything. After about fifteen minutes of pumping air into the paddleboard’s three chambers, its surface was tight and ready to go. I picked it up and threw it onto the roof racks of my truck, strapping it down and hopping into the truck. At this point, the sun had reached over the surrounding aspen and pine trees, allowing it to shine down onto the Greys River which flowed behind my campsite. This sun let me know that my timing was perfect. The fish I was looking for that day were the cutthroat trout and the brown trout.

Both fish like the water temperature a little warmer than the nighttime temps, so they don’t start to feed until the water heats up during the day. I do not mind that because I get sleep in.

Driving down the Greys River Road can be an interesting experience as the road has the tendency to be super busy on weekends. This coupled with the lack of upkeep to the dirt surface and steep cliffs creates a unique feeling that you have to drive faster than you want to so as not to anger the fellow drivers but still maintain a safe environment.

Luckily for me, it was a Tuesday, and no one was on the road but me. I drove for about twelve miles going upriver, the dust from the road making a cloud behind me, until I got to the spot where I was going to launch the board. I pulled off the road onto a small, open, grass path surrounded by trees and bushes and with one side falling off into the water. The sound of the river running was making me excited; I could tell there was going to be some good fishing and some fun rapids. Pulling down the board from the truck and setting it partly in the water, I grabbed a spare trailer hitch and tied it to the back side of the board to act as an anchor.

Now it was possibly the most important part: time to set up my fishing gear, deciding what flies to bring and which rod would work best for the spot I was fishing. I pulled open the custom drawers I made for the bed of my truck and started looking.

Sifting through boxes of flies, I settled on one with a mix of prince nymphs and bug misters and a few streamers, all the flies a mix of colors. Some of the flies were dull and some were bright with reflective tinsel wrapped around them. For the rod, I picked my Redington 5wt, a smaller rod that can cast some of the super small flies I had picked for this day’s adventure. After securing my rod, food, flies, and lifejacket to the front of my board, I was ready to set off. I marked the location of my truck on my GPS watch so that I could hike back up to it after the day was over and stepped on the board, paddle in hand.

I began to paddle into the current, waiting for it to pick me up and start the journey.

As the board began to move downriver, the fun started. I had about one mile to go before my first stop on the river, so it was all about the fun of the ride for now. As the current began to pick up, I could feel the cold water splashing on my feet, jolting me into a state of awareness. The water rushed ahead of me. I could hear the rumble of some small rapids coming up, so I began to chart out my path in my head. Picking the wrong path for a rapid can lead to a very cold and wet experience. It gets even worse when you have fishing rods protruding five feet in front of the board.

After I picked a route that would let me keep the rod safe from hitting a rock or tree, I started to paddle. The key to a safe rapid run is speed. The faster you’re going, the more control you have. Paddling as fast as I could on the left side of the board to counter the pull of the water, I felt the water below me start to speed up and try to pull me into a rock. After I passed the first rock, the river took over, as it always does. The water pulled

17

me along downriver. I did not have to paddle much, but I did have to steer the board away from rocks by dipping my paddle in the water to turn the board. I noticed the tree that had fallen and was sticking out into the river. It gave me the mark I knew was right before my stop.

I paddled to the bank in the calm section of the river, tossed my trailer hitch anchor onto the bank, and began to unpack my gear. Fly rod in hand and my fishing lanyard on, I began to wade through the water and felt the sharp sting of ice-cold water rush over my legs. Twenty yards from the bank and about halfway in the river, I began to cast upstream into the seams of the river. A seam in a river is a place where fast-moving water meets slow-moving water. It is a great place for fish because they can hunt for bugs that get swept down by the fast water while they sit easily in the slow water.

Not long after I started casting, I saw fish rising to the surface to feed. I casted once upstream of the fish and let the bright yellow and purple nymph fly drift over them.

As I was watching my fly, I saw a quick flash underneath the water, and then my fly got sucked into the mouth of a big, cutthroat trout. I reacted immediately, keeping tension on the line and keeping the rod tip up so I didn’t let the fish get away. After a few minutes of fighting, the trout gave in and let me pull it close enough to grab it. Its dark spotted back made waves as I pulled it through the water and into my net. The fish was indeed a cutthroat trout as I had guessed when it ate my fly, and it was beautiful. Around fifteen inches long and colored with such beauty, its olive green body has black spots and two red lines behind the gills, which is why it has the name cutthroat trout. After admiring the fish, I let it go and kept on fishing.

I stayed in the first spot for about twenty minutes, walking up and down the nearby banks looking for fish. I caught five or six more fish and then decided to move on, making my way downriver in that same manner of stopping at a spot, fishing it and the nearby banks, and then continuing on. About four hours into my trip, I was nearing the end of my float. I had managed to catch seventeen to eighteen fish at this point, mostly cutthroat but a few small brown trout as well. I even kept two of the medium-sized fish that I was going to cook up for dinner that night at my campsite.

Floating down a straight and calm part of the river, I relaxed, looked around me, and just felt at home. The sound of the water rushing, the birds flying overhead, and the vast expanse of trees going up the sides of the mountains that loomed over me made me feel more at home than I had ever felt in a house. Spending the last few moments of my float enjoying nature, I came around a bend in the river. Around the bend was a clearing that led to the road and a bank where I could easily get the board up and out of the water.

Steering the board to the landing, I stepped off before the board hit the bottom to make sure I did not break off the fin. Once everything was secured on shore, I grabbed a bottle of water and got started on the hike back to my truck, hoping to be back on the water soon.

18

Tales of the Trails

Blue Ridge, Izac Mercer-Olatunji

19

Artist Pointe, Sally Bryson

Changing Nature John Bryson

One of the most impactful trips I have ever taken in my life was my trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I went on the trip with my family when I was about thirteen years old.

We were visiting one of my dad’s childhood friends who happened to have a nice property right outside of Jackson Hole by the Grand Tetons. I remember when I first arrived in Jackson Hole. I was absolutely astounded by the sheer size of the mountains. Growing up in Virginia, I was no stranger to mountains. I had been hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains a couple times. I thought I had seen everything in terms of mountains, but boy was I wrong. The sheer size alone of the mountains was absolutely breathtaking, not to mention the graceful snowcaps that rested at the top. My family had decided to go on the trip because we had never seen the Grand Tetons nor had we been to Yellowstone Park. I had never before experienced nature in such a capacity, and it awoke a strong sense of respect for nature within me.

Once we arrived in Wyoming, we wasted no time as we quickly went on a hike. I don’t remember exactly what mountain we were hiking up, but I do remember it being quite a long hike. The first thing that really struck me on the hike was the sheer variety of flowers that the mountain possessed. Vibrant colors of lavender and pink abounded from

20

the edge of the trail from a diversity of flowers. I remember one specific flower had such a vigorous blue color that it almost placed me into a trance. At first I noticed the beauty of the flowers, but as the hike progressed, I noticed how many different insects interacted with the flowers. I noticed many different butterflies landing on the flowers to gather their precious nectar. The humming of bees was also a prevalent sound throughout the hike.

The beauty of all of the different colors and wildlife that was present on this mountain transported me into a different world. Specifically, it transported me into a world where I was separated from man, and I was simply at the mercy of nature. The first hike, however, was not the best experience I had on the trip as I got altitude sickness midway through the hike. I became very nauseous and tired towards the end of the hike, so I was not the happiest of campers.

The next day was one I will never forget. We set out to hike the base of the Grand Tetons. The size of the woods was absolutely breathtaking. It resembled a magnificent maze chock-full of wavering animals and luscious plant life. The dark green vegetation was hypnotizing, and the smooth, grey rocks added a fantastic accent to the vibrant colors of the forest. I remember thinking to myself, “How is it even possible to maneuver through this entire forest?” Throughout the hike I had my breath taken away from me. Graceful streams and brooks that stemmed down the mountain were abundant. Many different organisms abounded from these streams. There were also bears that roamed the edge of the streams. The bears kept their distance from us, but I was still amazed by their rough thick coats of fur and their impressive size.

Another exciting sight that I encountered was a pack of elk. They were just gently grazing on lime green plant life in the distance, and, fortunately, I was able to spot them and not spook them.

They were incredibly large and I was just amazed by them. They had a thick brown mane which lay below their heads. The white racks they possessed were almost other-worldly, and they moved with such grace and purpose. The mountains themselves were a tremendous view. The rocky and snowy peaks really put the power of nature on display. Although it was the summer, there was still a large amount of snow at the peaks, which I thought was pretty cool.1 The experience of being almost alone out there with nobody but my family was definitely an interesting one. It changed how I thought about nature. It showed me how beautiful it was but also just how dangerous it could be. I remember that on the hike we saw many warning signs. They all contained information about different hazards that could potentially be nearby. I also remember how my mother would yell at me for 1

Photo- Big Moose, Sally Bryson

21

wandering off because of the potential dangers that lay in the forest. My image of nature had fundamentally changed. Instead of just looking at it as merely undeveloped land, I looked at it as if it were living and breathing.

Another incredible experience I had on this trip was our visit to Yellowstone National Park. The entire experience in Yellowstone was a great one, but I specifically enjoyed our visit to the Old Faithful geyser.

We sat down on large wooden benches and waited for the geyser to do its thing. Once it began to spew water, I was absolutely shocked at just how much water was coming out. Once again, nature was showing me how powerful it was. It was also shocking to me that the water coming out of the geyser was extremely hot, but once it hit the ground, it was completely cooled. This experience of seeing the water flow in such a magnificent fashion really caused me to gain even more respect for nature.

In addition to the geysers of Yellowstone, I was also very moved by the wildlife that inhabited the park.

One moment that stands out to me in particular was when we spotted a grizzly bear in the woods. It had scraggly brown fur that was home to many ticks and fleas. Its yellow-stained teeth were laser sharp and looked like they could tear through even the toughest flesh with ease. It was one of the biggest animals I had ever seen. We were from a safe distance, and I imagined just how scary it must be to be face-to-face with a creature of that size and stature. This was yet another moment when I was shocked by the true power and awe of nature. I had a newfound respect for it and I definitely changed as a person.2 At the conclusion of the trip, I was weary. I was excited to go back to my house and return to the everyday life in the suburbs I had grown so accustomed to. Although I was excited to go home, I was also upset to leave the magnificent environment that I had toiled in for the past two weeks. When I returned back home, I noticed I had changed quite a bit. I used to not be concerned with the environment and how we as humans treated it. After seeing its beauty and power in Wyoming, I was firm in my belief that we as humans need to protect the environment and preserve it. We would not be here without it, and it will be here once we as a species are gone.

2

Photo- Beehive, Sally Bryson

22

My Grandmother’s Farm Scotty Bowman

I can feel the gravel under the tires as we pull into the driveway. It crunches under the wheels and ticks of the underside of the car. A feeling of excitement and relief washes over me as I know that the fifteen-hour drive is finally over. The car snakes down the driveway with dense, green woods on either side. The turns are familiar and welcoming to me, and I could probably get down the driveway with my eyes closed. On the final stretch of the driveway, around a right-hand turn, the road gives way to a pond on the right. The water is brown and murky. I can’t see the bottom even in the shallow areas near the edge.

The lily pads gather in the small coves, and if I look closely, I might catch a frog relaxing on top of one. Off to the left, the dam slopes down sharply, and a creek at the bottom of a ravine winds down the hill. The woods open to reveal an old gray house built in the early 1960s with a big front yard that slopes down towards the car.

We have been coming to my grandmother’s house since before I can remember, and my mom and her siblings came here when they were kids, too. The grass is lush and green this time of year, and plants line a step stone walkway that leads to the front door. There is a gravel circle drive with an American flag on a pole surrounded by pine trees. I missed this place. I haven’t been here in exactly a year. The house is surrounded by tall trees and dense woods. Behind the house, massive pine trees grow in rows from the time this used to be a Christmas tree farm. These trees have long outgrown any roof that could hold them and tower over the house.

There is a paved road that leads down the hill and away from the house with the same type of pine forest as behind the house where the trees are lined up in rows on the right. On the left, the creek continues its way down the hill. I can see the erosion marks that show how much higher the water used to be. Then, when I reach the bottom of the hill, the ground flattens out and opens up into a meadow full of green grass on the right. It was mowed earlier today, and the smell hangs in the air. On the left is an old tin shed with tractors and bulldozers that have stood the test of time almost as well as the trees. Just beyond the meadow are two small ponds just as brown as the one from before. One of them has almost half of its surface covered with lilies.

Turning off the paved road onto a gravel path that runs above the two small ponds, I can now see the large pond where we go and swim almost every day. The tall, cottontail stalks dot the shoreline and the small island in the middle of the pond. The island used to have dying, water-logged trees, but they have since been cut down. I remember when I was younger, thinking the island was full of mystery and a journey too perilous or filled with danger. Now that I am older and the trees that once hid the secrets of the island are gone, it looks much smaller.

23

The path curves around to the edge of the pond to the right, and the gazebo and dock come into view. To the right of that is a cove filled with sand so we can have our own little beach. I can’t help but wonder about how many hours I have spent at the pond, how many afternoons in the sun, how many times I’ve gone around it in a kayak, canoe, or paddle board. The path splits and goes down a hill to the left flanked by more pine trees.

Just beyond that on the left is a clay tennis court and a shed. There is a basketball hoop with no net that has been there for decades. The clay feels warm on my feet as I walk across it, and I remember when this tennis court was overgrown with weeds and trees that stood taller than I did.

I walk through the tennis court down into an open field that joins up with the paved road. I turn onto the road continuing down the hill, and there is an old white house on the left. It is in a state of disrepair. The paint is faded and covered with mildew, and some of the siding is peeling away from the house. I haven’t been inside in years because of the mold that inhabits the house. The front yard is well-kept and mowed. At the far end is the frog pond, which is just eight feet long by three feet wide. I remember going there every day, having to move slowly and quietly to sneak up on the frogs if I wanted any chance of catching one. I can see the old driveway down the hill and the road and the end of it. It’s time to make my way back up the hill to take it all in again.

So much has changed here, most of it for the better. The dead trees have been removed, and the land is much more open and usable. The hopes I had as a kid to turn this place back into the pictures my mom had shown me from her childhood are coming true.

All the time I used to wonder what it was like to be here when the trees were young and alive, when the weeds weren’t overgrown and swallowing up everything. There was a time when all the tractors ran and weren’t rusting away in the shed. I know I am getting closer to seeing the best version of this place.

Meadows and Ponds, Scotty Bowman

24

Delilah, Victoria Fenton

This Is Home Victoria Fenton

Pacing back and forth, I hear her walk towards the door. She is on her way into the wilderness. I know this is my time when I can finally go outside. As soon as she opens the door, I walk outside with her. The brisk breeze blows against my short, golden brown fur.

I can feel the wind brush against my skin, and it makes me shiver. “My coat should come in soon; it is getting cold,” I think. I smell the dampness in the air, and I run down the steps that await me. I leap off the last step into the wet, cold grass. The chilliness from the grass hits my paws and startles me. I bolt and leap across the yard like a happy antelope in the safari. I love going outside, and I know this is what I live for; I live for freedom.

Unexpectedly, I hear some rustling in the forest ahead of me. It draws all my attention; I cannot focus on anything but that one sound. I must know what it is, and, unthinkingly, I sprint towards the noise. I feel wind in my face as I leap over the newly

25

fallen tree. I feel like everything is going in slow motion. I can see my target: two deer.

They are alarmed by my excitement. I watch them look at me in shock and then immediately leap away. I can smell them; the smell drives my fervor, and I follow the deer deeper and deeper into the woods. The smell is strong. It has hints of decaying leaves and mud. It drives me deeper into the woods until I cannot smell the deer anymore.

The deer are too fast, and they are eventually out of my sight. Finally, I hone into what is going on around me. I become very aware of my surroundings, and I look back to where I came from and see my owner, Victoria, looking for me. The worry on her face is disheartening. It makes all my fur spike down my back. I look throughout the woods and see that Victoria has brought out others to look for me as well. I can see Finley, Caroline, and Michelle. I can hear a faint, “Delilah! [Whistle] Please come back! [Whistle]” as they call for me, but I do not want to go back yet.

To avoid being captured, I run deeper into the woods. I allow all my instincts out, and I become infinite. I speed down the hills. I feel the wet leaves and dirt lifting from below my paws as I dig deeper. I feel my heart beating hard, but in a very calming sound.

My breath becomes heavier, but I do not stop. I hear the birds in the trees, and I cannot see anything but trees. It is calming. I stop running for a little while. I take in what is around me: the tall, daunting trees, the calming, rhythmic tapping of the nearby woodpecker, the rain beginning to fall, and me. I am a part of nature.

I notice that I do not think anything can get better than this. I sit down on the wet leaves and marvel at all the nature around me. I never want this to end. I can hear every little thing around me. I also notice my heartbeat slowing down. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just like nature’s heartbeat. Everything around me is part of a cycle, and it astonishes me.

I feel like a dandelion seed, flowing in the wind, and I want to see where it takes me.

I continue to prance throughout the woods. I no longer can hear my owner yelling my name. I feel a sense of fear and loneliness. I do not want to be all alone. I want Victoria to love nature as much as I do, but I fear she does not feel the same. I continue straight into the beautiful unknown. I have never made it this far, so I proceed with caution. As I proceed, I run into this strange black ground. I start to walk on it because it seems to act like a big path. It looks like it is leading me somewhere. I wander down it a little more, but then I hear a terrifying sound coming from behind me. It is a sound I could never imagine coming from nature. I scurry away in fear of this unknown object, but, suddenly, Victoria gets out of the big, silver object! She looks so exasperated, and she approaches me cautiously. She is here, and now we can go out together and be in nature together. This seems too good to be true! I know this is where I am supposed to be. This is home.

Suddenly, Victoria grabs my collar, and I am ushered to the unknown object. The sleek, silver object is terrifying. She opens a big door in the back, and I see grey seats.

They look very comfortable. As I climb in, I notice everyone else is in this object. I sit down and we quickly speed away. I am filled with so much sadness and regret. I loved being in the woods and being free from the inside world. Now I have noticed that we are going back to the inside, and I will not be free anymore. I will be like a slave to the inside.

I will have to listen to every order, and I will get punished if I do not listen.

26

We finally pull up to the house, and I hop out of the car. In that split moment, I have to make a vital decision: run away and be free in nature again or stay caged in the house? As I look at the towering trees, I think back to what I just went through. I had so much fun running through the cold, damp forest. I have so much left to explore. Then, I look at Victoria. Her skin is glistening with a little line of sweat. Her smile is so big, and she stares at me. I suddenly feel her hand reach down to me, and I feel her rub my belly.

She truly loves me although I hurt her. This is when I decide to stay with the family in the house. I know I would be very happy in nature with all the wild animals and the unknown, but I know I belong in this house. These people are my family, and this is home.

Delilah Rescued, Victoria Fenton

27

Winter’s Colors, Lane Faulkner

Giving Back Lane Faulkner

Writing in nature can be calming and something of a luxury for some but essential for others. Being in nature can significantly improve the mood and mind that an individual may be in at the time. My father has always told me that I should go to the woods if I ever need to get away from life. The woods provide such a sense of comfort and belonging that not many other places can provide. They can also help an individual think more clearly and with a more positive conscience. My father and I have gone to the woods to hunt, fish, and do many other things. However, going there to think, write, or draw are all things that can help me and many others.

Nature writing consists of going out in nature, whether that is the woods or just a pond, and writing or drawing what the individual sees around them. Nature writing can help an individual think clearly and help them take in what realistically is around them.

Most people do not appreciate nature when it is around them because it's expected in a way. That is a common mistake and one that is made by almost everyone once in their life.

28

However, nature has so much more to offer than just being a nice picture or just being a part of the world. It can create inspiration for so many things globally and make people want to create things instead of destroying them, like through acts of conflict.

When people see nature, they see a new piece of land that can provide for so many different kinds of plants and animals along the way. Those things can inspire people to create something like a business or even to plant more trees out in nature. Seeing the natural world for what it is can help everyone see that leaving nature for what it is is so much better than tearing it down for an extra building. All of these things above show just how much nature can do for someone and their writing. Having a clear mind, being positive, and much more are essential for a good writer and one who cares about their writing. The writing tone will improve; the writing style may change to a more positive one. However, my father and I were out in nature and created life just through inspiration and the beauty of the outdoors.

My father and I were out hiking one day and had been walking for hours. We had talked about this path for weeks and had wanted to make the trip for a while. Once we finally got around to it, the path was much more intimidating than we had initially realized. The slippery slopes, steep terrain, and dangerous, scattered rocks made it very hard to stay motivated and stay along this path. We discussed heading back to the car and calling it a day after my dad and I had slipped numerous times along the treacherous rocks that felt as though they were covered in oil. However, having the birds chirp in our ears and the wind blow against our skin, we decided to keep walking and see what was at the end of this path that we had been trying to hike for so long. We hiked for about an hour more and slipped way more times than we should have, but we made it to the spot we had wanted to see. When we arrived, we were both in awe. The view was beautiful, scattered with mountain tops and trees turning their colors.

The scenery and everything else surrounding us inspired my dad and me to later go back to that same trail we had hiked and do our part for what it had given us all those months ago. We went back to the path where we fell and slipped on that dark brown mud, and we smoothed out the trail and lined it with rocks so no one would have to worry about it being too slippery to walk. Also, we planted trees where others had fallen or where dead ones were in the way of the new ones. We walked the path and got rid of any trash littering the ground and preventing things from growing. We felt it was our duty to give back to that stick, rock, and debris scattered trail because it had inspired us all those months ago. It helped my dad and me realize that we cannot take those opportunities for granted or make it seem as though that should be normal. Nature can help someone see the bigger picture within the world, and it can help them with their writing.

Nature is something that can help someone with their writing, overall mood, and their thought clarity. It can help the individual take everything around them and see what is truly out there, not just on the surface. Nature has a calming aspect and can make an individual do good or influence others to go out and do good. It can influence others to better their community or make a change in their life. Writing in nature can be a relaxer; however, being in nature in general will always be the best way to improve something in an individual's life.

29

The Good in the Bad Julian Franks-Pollock

Everywhere there is darkness, there should always be some form of good, no matter how small. When thinking about my previous travels and how nature affected them, the farthest places I’ve gone to in my life have all pretty much been large and loud cities that are constantly busy and seemingly rebuilding for the new age. My first thought with this depiction comes when thinking about the great city of New York.

When someone says New York City, I personally think of tall skyscrapers that can reach the clouds. crowded streets where people’s shoulders are inches away from one another, and, of course, the well-known Times Square with billboards and lights so extraordinary it’s impossible to look away. Having gone to New York City an abundance of times for Christmas, I still see the city of New York in this way. Since I have almost half my family up there in Long Island, I used to travel with my mother all the time when I was younger to see them. As I aged, my mother decided to reach out to her aunt who lives blocks away from Radio City Music Hall to see if we could start staying there. She gladly welcomed us with open arms. This was quite a different experience for me because I had never stayed right in the city. With large glass buildings everywhere you turn, it all seemed so new and modern. When I stayed with my aunt, she always had two dogs that she loved just like they were here kids. She is on the older side but still is able to walk her dogs every day. When we stayed with her, she took us to the only logical place in New York for dogs to roam and play almost freely: Central Park.3 Upon entering the famous Central Park, I realized that this city wasn’t completely modern and becoming entirely electronic in today's new age. Walking around in the brisk winter weather up north with my mom, aunt, and her two dogs truly gave me this perspective that I previously stated. Although New York City might not exactly be the same as a place full of darkness, it is still apparent that there is some light. With modern society becoming newer every day and advancing our civilization continuously, it seems to me as if there one day may be an extinction or depletion of the natural world that is too great to recover.

The Central Park experience provided me with a greater outlook on the 3

Photo- Central Peace, Julian Franks-Pollock

30

natural world. Being able to not feel so crowded and watching people happily strolling through the park made me see that you can always find good. The birds were playing beautiful songs as children of all ages were playing baseball on the fields, couples were having picnics with one another, and dogs could run their legs off after balls their owners would throw. The scenery was incredible with bridges of stone stretched out over streams with mini waterfalls trickling water in ponds. Benches were covered with older folks tossing out crumbs to the pigeons. People with skateboards and roller skates would fly right past us. It was a nice feeling to get out of the city and enter this seemingly new world filled with smiling faces and laughter heard from miles away.

A similar experience happened when I traveled to Georgia for a baseball tournament. The tournament was located about an hour away from Atlanta in the middle of July. Having family from my Dad’s side in Georgia was very helpful for not having to pay for a hotel room for a week. While living with them, they felt the need to take me into the city of Atlanta. Although I was beyond excited to go, it felt like a very similar experience to New York. There were a lot of large glass buildings that looked very modern and streets that were busier than ever. It was a fascinating experience to see Atlanta in this way and to be able to eat at The Varsity, an illustrious food place with unbelievable chili dogs and the largest drive-thru in the world located right in Atlanta.

On the same trip after one of our games, a few of the kids on the team were going tubing. I decided this would be a fun experience while down there. Having paid and gotten our tubes ready we were curious as to how this would go. We had no clue if this might be just a big scam in which something in the water was ready to eat us. Regardless of what was happening, I had no intention of getting out of my tube.

As we were tubing down the Chattahoochee River, we were looking at everything around us, whether that was some of the enormous houses right on the water overlooking the river or the numerous bridges we’d go under with hundreds of cars driving past and looking down on us. The water would occasionally get shallow enough to spot different fish and critters in the water. Many trees were hanging right over the river with their abundance of vibrant green leaves. The harsh rays of the sun were beating down on us when we were provided with no shade on the river. The water was quite brisk, but, eventually, we were all flipped over by one another into the water; sadly, there was not much of an escape plan on these tubes. Many people had their dogs with them on the tubes; others simply had beer. For example, our parents decided to join us for the fun, but we didn’t see them until the final docking spot. They were taking their time, drinking beers, and truly enjoying themselves.

It’s fascinating how the natural world can make people so happy without them even realizing it half the time. I am excited for what is in store and all the incredible advancements that await us, but at the same time, it is important for people to understand that there is a lot in the natural world worth preserving. If we can technologically move in the right direction while keeping the natural world as it is, then we’ll be in a good spot.

31

Hunting for Peace

Wooded Sunset, Tyler Puhlick

32

The Great Wait Christian Reed

I awoke still half asleep in a daze but excited. I was excited for the first day of muzzleloader season. Muzzleloader season is a season to harvest deer using only .50 caliber single shot rifles or bows. I scratched my eyes and looked out my window and saw it was dark out. The time was 4:30 am. I put my feet down and felt the cold chill of the wood floors. I got dressed in my camo shirt, pants, and jacket with an orange hat, and then I brushed my teeth. I ate breakfast still tasting mint. I was too excited to wait for the taste of mouthwash to go away before eating. I grabbed my gun and went to put my boots on. I had my boots sitting by the fireplace all night, and the sole was toasty when I slid my foot in. I walked out to the truck and realized I should have let the truck defrost because there was ice on the windshield. Waiting for the windshield to defrost, I thought of all the preparation for this hunt. All summer in the heat I prepared for this day.

Countless hours of cutting shooting lanes, planting food plots, setting cameras, and checking my stands on the regular. Being a successful hunter comes from property management, hard work, and dedication. As the windshield cleared up, I started my journey into the darkness.4 After I started my drive and was not even a mile from my house, I saw three deer crossing the road. It was two does and a small buck. I thought to myself, “This is a good sign that deer are moving.” I felt pretty good about my chances of seeing a deer while hunting. I finally made the four-mile trip from my house to the hunting land. When I arrived, it was still dark, but I could hear some birds begin to chirp a soft, peaceful tune. Before walking to my stand, I always put cover scent on. My cover scent of choice is coon urine. I spray it on my pants, jacket, bottom of my boots, and on the tree when I get to the tree stand. Deer have exceptional sense of smell. Trying to play the wind is important while hunting deer. Deer use the wind to their advantage to smell out predators. At the stand where I chose to hunt, I made sure the wind was blowing in my face. The wind blowing in my face will blow my scent behind me as I anticipate the deer to be coming in front of me. I grabbed my gun and started my walk in to the stand; I tried to tread lightly. I carefully placed my footsteps, avoiding any debris on 4

Photo- Deer Tracks, Christian Reed

33

the forest floor. I walked by the moonlight to stay hidden. Remaining quiet and unseen helps me to avoid spooking the deer that are already in the area. Finding my way to my stand, I climbed quietly. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but the old, metal ladder stand still creaked with each step I took.

Climbing to the top, I raised the arm rest and took a seat in the stand. The woods were dark, but I still tried to look through the woods and make out figures. The gloomy dark woods made it hard for me to pick anything out. I sat and waited in the silence, occasionally hearing birds come alive from the deepest sleep of the night. The moon and stars appeared to be dancing with how they shined and disappeared in the early morning darkness. Minutes faded, but that seemed like hours in the dark. I started to hear something to my right. I looked in that direction but could not make out what was making noise. Starting to walk closer, I could hear the leaves crunch but not at a consistent rate, so I knew from experience it was not a deer. Sitting and listening, I could see it was a raccoon. It was walking slowly with its stomach dragging the ground and rustling the leaves. The coon appeared to be smelling around, foraging for food. The raccoon ate acorns. I could hear the crunch of the acorns. It paid me no mind, just walking and eating. It stood on its hind legs, sniffing the base of trees, and then finally walked out of my hearing.5 It was getting close to sunup; I could hear more birds start coming alive. Legally, you can shoot thirty minutes before and after sunset before it is too dark. Pondering my thoughts, I was interrupted by what sounded like a stampede of buffalo running through the woods. I could hear sticks snap and trees break. The leaves were rustling, being plowed away like a snowplow. The animal in question ran up to me twenty yards ahead and stopped dead in its tracks. I knew then it was a deer by the way it came in and stopped, trying to smell me. I peered to my left to see horns but could not tell how big the deer was. My heart racing, I looked at my watch to see if I could shoot if given a shot. I was still forty-three minutes from sunrise. A few minutes went by, and the buck creeped off, making his way through the oaks and foraging. At this time, I could not contain my excitement. I had already seen a buck and had not even used the grunt, doe beat, or rattle antlers yet, so I knew it was a good sign.

Late bow season into muzzleloader season is when bucks go into rut. They chase does that give off estrus from being in heat ready to breed. During the rut, bucks become aggressive and protective of their territory. Hunters during the rut will call to mimic other deer to get bucks to come in ready to breed or push competing bucks out. The sun began 5

Photo- Creek Crossing, Christian Reed

34

to rise, and, like it always does, it seemed to be dark before it got lighter and then dark again. Then, finally, the sun came up. When it got light enough for me to see, I started grunting, bleating, and rattling. With the deep low grunts I make, I try to mimic an old mature buck. The rattling of the antlers signifies two bucks fighting in competition of a doe in that area.

It was not fifteen minutes later, and I heard rumbling again. Hidden behind the red and brown leaves, I could see only the body of the deer and not its head. This was a problem because I wanted to kill only a buck and not shoot a doe, and I could not identify what it was. I saw steam blow out from behind the deer since it was a cold crisp morning.

The deer took two steps into an opening, and I saw it was a ten-point buck about twenty inches wide. Shaking from buck fever and adrenaline, I raised my gun. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I aimed and decided I had a good shot. Click. That is the sound the gun made. The cap in my gun misfired. The click caused the deer to spook and run off. I was devastated. The buck of a lifetime was gone. I sat there in disappointment and disgust.

But then I reminded myself that my dad always taught me to be patient, that it is called hunting, not killing. He taught me that often a deer not spooked too badly will come back. I reloaded a new cap into my gun. I sat there for another hour and saw no signs of any animals except for squirrels playing tag. Thirty minutes later, I caught a glimpse of something to my left. A few minutes later, the same ten-point was back. His coat was a rich dark brown and his horns were massive with a golden tint towering in the trees. The muscles and veins were poking through his fur, showing his dominant body. Stepping forward ten yards, he gave me the perfect broad side shot. When I shot, I could hear the thud of the impact of the bullet hitting his body. The buck immediately kicked his back legs high in the air, turning like that of a backflip. Jolting his legs down, he collapsed, perishing right where he stood. I could not believe it; there were no words to describe how I felt. If I had not sat and stayed, I would not have been able to harvest such a trophy.

Prize of Patience, Christian Reed

35

Alarms Wyatt Elam

My whole world is rocked as I sit up in bed trying to make sense of the deafening noise that is screaming from the corner of my room. It takes a few moments for my groggy mind to realize that the assumed bell tower is actually the alarm clock on my phone. Half awake, I fumble with my phone trying to make it stop. I had gone to bed later than I had planned the prior evening, so turning off my 5:00 AM alarm proves to be harder than normal. After a few terribly long seconds, I manage to make the incessant noise quit. Despite my rude awakening, I am excited to meet the day that I have been anticipating for months. Though archery deer season has been going on for a couple weeks in Virginia, my class schedule has not allowed me the time to escape to the woods.

However, this particular late October morning offers the opportunity I have been waiting on. It does not take long to find my well-worn camouflage hunting coveralls and hunting pack. After a brief stop at the Keurig in the kitchen, I leave the threshold of my house and face the fall morning.

A cold front has moved in, bringing rain with it. The harsh weather offers no comfort but promises extremely favorable hunting conditions. The overcast sky blocks out all moonlight. On this morning, only drizzling, chilled rain reaches the ground. An uncharacteristically brisk south wind compliments the high forty-degree weather. Despite the conditions that would keep most in bed at this time of the morning, I stride towards my car with a mind contemplating the prospects of the day.

The drive to my favorite secluded hunting spot seems longer than the typical five minutes. The land belongs to my grandmother, but I am the only person who has stepped foot on this property in years. I pull into the ten-foot by twelve-foot dirt patch that offers an excuse of a driveway. The beams of my headlights shine on an overgrown trail that is blocked off with a chain and padlock. The yellow NO TRESPASSING signs tacked to the trees stand out vividly against the obscurity of the early morning forest. The scene looks more like the opening of a horror film than the gateway to a favorite pastime.6 With the headlights off, the woods turn into a dark maze of shadows that depict scenes limited only by the imagination of whoever views it. With 6

Photo- Posted, Wyatt Elam

36

each footstep, the damp ground allows no noise to escape from the flooded leaves. The only sound is the continual dribble of rain hitting the foliage that is yet to fall. At a cautious pace, I proceed into the darkness.

My nose is filled with the fresh smell of rain in the forest. As I press forward, I am mindful of the wind that so often is the ruin of hunters’ morning plans. The rain hits my face as I proceed head-on into this wind. The sun, still concealed by clouds, has taken its place low in the eastern sky. The mysterious shadows have disappeared, leaving only fallen trees, large boulders, and tangled vines. This particular location has proven successful over the years due to its topography. The steep bluff before me funnels all creatures into a ravine full of wind-snapped trees that descends to my right. These trees offer cover to predator and prey alike. Navigating the fallen trees silently is nearly impossible in dry conditions. However, this wet morning allows me the ability to slip through the thicket unnoticed.

Each step forward is interrupted by a long pause to take in the surroundings. The soaked trees are a shade darker than normal, seeming to further deplete the little light seeping through the clouds. The red leaf bed that covers the ground has taken a deep orange color that is unique to the damp October woods. The varying shades offer beauty to the observer but danger to those that call this place home. The deer seem to stand out slightly more in these conditions. It is for this reason that, while only halfway through the gulley, I catch a glimpse of deer moving through the underbrush. It is a seldom occurrence that a hunter sees an entire deer. From an early age, I was taught to look for pieces of the deer rather than the whole body. What catches my attention is the flicker of an ear as the deer scans the woods before him.

Immediately, I fall to my knees. A large tree offers a shield between myself and the intended path of the unaware animal. As it walks in, I notice the rippling of the large shoulder muscles. As the deer continues through the thick cover, my heart drops when I catch my first glance at the entire deer. The buck boasts a broad, symmetrical set of antlers with four points on each side. With a full neck that is wider than his head and a stomach that is beginning to sag with muscle, it is apparent this deer is at least three years old. Any deer that has survived multiple hunting seasons is crafty for its kind.

However, a buck of this stature possesses a finely tuned set of instincts as he has a target on his back for life. Each step is silent until the animal is within twenty yards; only then can the hooves be heard puncturing the leaf bed. A whitetail’s movement through the forest is full of apprehension, rarely more than five steps are taken without the creature stopping to look around. Deer move as if they are intruders trying not to disturb those that may be around. It is ironic that I, the real intruder, walk the most confidently.

It is one of these pauses in the deer’s gait that offers a shot. The deer is visible only through the vision of my right eye that peers from behind my wooden screen. A small eternity passes as I make eye contact with the deer. Suddenly, he turns his head to look in the opposite direction. A broad-sided deer at twenty yards is an easy shot that is not often offered, especially to hunters not within the confines of a tree stand. As the deer scans the far woods, I seize the opportunity. Moving to the right of the tree that has sheltered me from the buck’s vision, I clasp my trigger release onto the string. As I contract my upper back to pull the heavy bow, a terribly familiar bell tower begins to clang from my pocket.

37

The calm of the morning woods is broken by the tolls of the electronic church bell that travel throughout the gulley, pinging off the steep hillsides.

Without hesitation, the deer’s apprehension turns to swift action. He moves at blinding speed to return down the path from which he came. As he bounds out of vision, the last thing I see is the wide crown of antlers disappearing into the underbrush. I reach into my pocket and correctly silence, not postpone, my morning alarm. Disappointment, as well as awful embarrassment, immediately clouds my mind. I sit there for yet another small eternity trying to process what has happened. It is not until I notice the water soaking through my clothes around my knees that I snap back to reality. My mind immediately analyzes what I could have done to prevent this catastrophe. I should have gone to bed earlier. I should have paid closer attention this morning when I turned off my alarm. I should have checked my phone before I left the car to make sure it was off. In the midst of this mental self-beating, I pause to think about the deer. How lucky is he? Or was it chance? Is that deer destined to go on and live a great deer life, distinct from the rest?

Maybe. But more likely it is pure luck that has allowed him to see another day.

Then again, as I am second-guessing my conclusion, maybe luck has nothing to do with it. The reason that I spooked this deer is simple: I am out of my element. No matter how much time I spend in the woods, I do not belong here. This is the deer’s home. He has no college class to keep him away, nor a need for an alarm clock to wake. My seemingly terrible blunder is actually a reminder. Even the most careful outdoorsman can cause an unwanted effect on the natural world around him. As I leave the wet woods hoping to have a better, quieter day tomorrow, I am reminded about the place of humans in the natural world. We are guests, not residents, no matter how hard we may try to be at home in the woods. And humans must remember to act as guests: courteous of what they do and what they take.

The Target, Wyatt Elam

38

Deer Camp Tyler Puhlick

The Friday before deer season is a day every avid hunter dreams about all summer long. A day filled with work to be done, tree stands to be adjusted for the final time, game cameras to be checked, and many memories to be enjoyed late into the night while swapping tales and sipping on a bourbon by a fire. As I was finishing loading up the truck and securing the tree stands and four-wheeler in the bed, I felt that brisk autumn breeze rush over the back of my neck. The kind of breeze that makes your hair stand on end and sends a slight chill throughout your body. The same kind of breeze that bubbles up excitement and anticipation for a cold and exciting hunt. After I finished securing everything, my best friend came cruising into my driveway with a power slide, leaving a tornado of red clay dust and the last of the year’s grass clippings in tow. We piled in my Silverado and made our way to deer camp. As we pulled out of the drive, we quickly became excited for the prospect of separating ourselves from the rest of humanity and becoming enveloped in nature for the weekend.7 As we made our way out of the suburban hellscape of grey homes, on grey streets, with a whole bunch of grey people, we began to see the world wake up around us. The first thing we noticed as we made our way into the countryside of Virginia was the rolling mosaics of color that seemed to paint the landscape. The deep reds, piercing oranges, and warm browns that made up the roadside were an incredible sight to see instead of the monochromatic classroom walls in which we should have been sitting that Friday morning. It was a refreshing reminder that the world consisted of more than the anthropogenic dullness that made up the suburbs of northern Virginia. For the first time all year we saw evidence of life.

The flock of geese that set our course south with their V-formation acted as our compass towards camp. A pair of wood ducks loafed in a small farm pond, slashing around. As we drove by, they became flustered and provided our windshield with a light show of their brilliant, iridescent rainbows of wings and their flowing mullets of head feathers as they

7

Photo- Cut Corn, Tyler Puhlick

39

flew directly in front and safely to another secluded pond. And of course, as hunters do, we scanned the countryside for deer.

Our first sighting was a pair of young fawns prancing along the edge of a freshly cut cornfield while their nervous mom scanned the wood line and road for any side of danger. Our first sighting of a buck was one that was not so pleasant. The nature of the season causes many of the intuitions of even the oldest and wisest deer to fall away as they search for a mate. The rut, or the whitetail’s mating season, got the best of this beautiful deer as he had fallen victim to a car on his quest for love. This subtle reminder dampened the mood and showed that even though we had left the populated landscape we called home, the effects of human population and our interference on their environment were still affecting the natural world. The mood of the drive quickly returned as the leaves continued to blur by in an ensemble of color in time to the country music we had blasting through the radio.

As the last door slammed on our journey to deer camp, we settled into the quiet woods and quaint cabin that surrounded us. Except for the subtle hum of the furnace turning on in the house, all was quiet. We quickly set to work in a scurry of motion. Plans had been discussed the whole way down, and there was little time to take in our new scenery. Stands were hung, cameras were checked, and a fire was started all before dusk in order to give the deer adjacent to us time to relax in response to this whirlwind of foreign motion. Later that evening, as we settled around a campfire and told stories, I looked up to see the stars for the first time since my last trip to camp. The brilliance of the Milky Way streaked across the dark night sky, and stars previously hidden beyond the mask of light pollution pierced through the blanket of night. The newfound twinkle of the night sky reminded me of myself in that moment.

The single alarm and smell of coffee in the pot was enough to spring us out of bed, don our camouflage and bows, and step out into the night we had gone to bed to. The frigid fall air produced a plume of steam with every breath, and a thick layer of frost coated the previously colorful foliage on the ground. We parted ways and went to our respective spots under the cover of darkness as we knew the paths by heart. The only guiding light as I quietly traversed the frost-kissed field edge was the sliver of a crescent moon, slowly fading into the western sky. Once I reached my homemade wooden tree stand and climbed into the comforting arms of the same oak tree I had grown up sitting in every fall, I finally felt back home. I sunk back into my layers of camouflage and silently awaited the sun.

The first sound to break through the silence of dawn was the drop of a single acorn as the first slight breeze moved through the almost bare treetops. The sudden drop was followed by the hoot of a startled owl in the tree that had produced the sudden noise. The chain reaction of sounds and motion cascaded through the grove of trees on which I was perched. While the procession of life marched through the woods, the sun had begun to turn the eastern sky from a jet black to a deep blue and purple, and the stars began to disappear to the new day. As the sky evolved and shades of colors and patterns formed in a painted sunrise that could only be replicated by God himself gave way to daybreak, I became aware in the invisibility I had. I felt completely immersed in my surroundings and almost as if I were this omniscient being watching the woods from an all-seeing eye. I

40

could hear the scurrying of squirrels, the tapping of a bright red woodpecker head, and the cooing of a lone dove in the yellow maple tree to my right.

As the morning progressed and turned into day, I had sat silently long enough to see a pair of doe step out of their bedding area and calmly make their way around the grove and field edge I was situated on.

Their careful steps and deep brown coats made them nearly invisible to the untrained eye. I watched them for around ten minutes, as they switched between scanning the woods and splurging on a breakfast of acorns and the last green of clover in the field.

They soon became wary of my presence as I made the fatal error of moving too quickly, producing a foreign noise to the woods. This was enough to alert the skittish does of danger and left them bounding away with their tails high in the area as if they were waving a white flag.8 The smallest introduction of human noise into the untouched and pure grove of woods I had chosen was enough to spoil the hunt. It had not spoiled my morning, however. The ability to become immersed in the natural world and achieve a degree of separation from the anthropogenic effects on the natural world for a few hours was what I consider to be a success. Being able to see the world fade back into its natural state and become a part of that state is why I hunt and what gets me excited to go back every year.

8

Photo- Sunrise over the Woods, Tyler Puhlick

41

End of Our Egomania

Reach for the Sky, Izac Mercer-Olatunji

42

My Brothers and I Finley Sirieys

While growing up, I spent many hours playing outside with friends and my three brothers. I spent most of my time outside with my brothers in the field and woods that were behind my childhood house. My house had a backyard which ended at a large green open field that slowly sloped up towards the right. At the bottom of the slow, green slope was a shallow creek that we fished every single fish out of in one sitting except for a few minnows and two large catfish that were too heavy for our weak fishing lines. On the other side of the field was a patch of woods that we would also play in.

We, my brothers and I, could see the fish in the creek because of how shallow and clear the water was, so one day my mother bought two fishing poles for the four of us to use. After sneaking away with my father’s old, rusty wheelbarrow, we filled it with water from the creek so that we could keep the fish that we caught. After about half an hour, the wheelbarrow was teeming with many slimy, dark gray and green catfish that had six, short receptors that looked like whiskers around their mouths. The wheelbarrow also had a few sunfish which were bright silver with a bright golden yellow stripe that ran from the back of their eyes all the way to their tails. The sunfish, though pretty, had spines on their dorsal fins that were as sharp as needles.

At the top of the slope of the field were a few large piles of dirt that we called the “Muddy Place.” The piles of mud were a beige clay colour and had clumps of metal and trash buried around randomly. At the back of the field was a small forest that the creek streamed out of. Inside the forest, my brothers and I would have epic sword fights with sharpened sticks that we made without my parents’ knowing. When we were not trying to stab each other with the sticks, we would cut down large green bamboo shoots to try to build teepees and forts. Being as young as we were, our forts were crude and unstable. We would try to use tree branches that had large green leaves to cut out the most sunlight in our huts. The strong, smooth bamboo stood as our walls because they were sturdy and stood straight while smaller grey sticks and vines were weaved into the sides to help hold up the branches with leaves.

Occasionally, when we were a little older, my brothers and I would cut down trees with axes to get extra firewood for the cold winters and as a workout during the summer. I would try and race my brothers to see who could cut through a felled tree the fastest. The trees that we cut down were thin but tall so that we could gain plenty of firewood.

Although I fought with my brothers a lot on small, petty matters, we would rarely fight while outside because we were having such a good time. While in the woods, we would often see grey squirrels with thick bushy tails clambering up trees and running through the treetops. Every once in a while, there would be a herd of deer that would spring up and run away from us. We would never see any smaller animals like rabbits or foxes while

43

we were in the woods, even though we knew that they were there because we had seen them through the windows of our house.

The way my brothers and I destroyed trees and bamboo just for the fun of it and the way we caught every single fish in the creek in one day are prime examples of how humans continuously take from the environment without thinking about what their actions will do to the surrounding wildlife. Some of the trees that we cut down had birds’ nests that could no longer be used because they had been picked up by my youngest brother, Robin, and then passed around to the rest of us, picking up our scent. Being as young as we were, it was not uncommon for us to start cutting down a tree but stop a portion of the way through because we got tired or because it was getting late and we could hear our dad’s whistle telling us it was time for dinner. This was detrimental to the trees because a portion of their trunks were hacked away, causing weak spots that could cause the trees to fall on their own during a cold windy autumn day.9 Humans have been seen throughout history to have little regard for their surroundings. Many beaches and harbors are littered with plastic trash from people dropping their empty water bottles on the beach or leaving their tangled fishing line to blow in the wind. The evidence that humans have been in an area is not restrained to the beaches and harbors either. Many campsites in wooded forests and open fields will have trash littered across the ground. Mary Austin finished her essay “Scavengers” (1903) saying, “There is no scavenger that eats tin cans, and no wild thing leaves like disfigurement on the forest floor” (139). What Austin is saying is that humans are the only species to leave a trail that cannot be recycled back into the wilderness. Should a wolf kill a deer, the wolf will eat its fill and then move on leaving the remains. But the remains will not pollute the earth because they can also feed scavengers like vultures, crows, and insects. Once all the edible parts of an animal have been eaten, the bones will get degraded by bacteria and will eventually recycle after they are fully underground. The tin of a soda or a plastic bag, on the other hand, can stay in the ecosystem for an eternity because few natural resources can degrade these man-made objects.

In order to protect the wilderness so humans can remain on this planet we call home, humans must learn how to dispose of their trash effectively. Humans should also strive to create new materials that can be decomposed in the wilderness to help the surrounding ecosystem so that in case trash does get left out, it will not damage the wildlife or ecosystem. One easy way to make sure trash does not build up in the wilderness 9

Photo- Deforestation, Wyatt Elam

44

is to recycle as much as possible out of one’s trash. It may be annoying to separate the plastics and metals from each other, but this small inconvenience will make a large difference for our planet Earth.

Work Cited Austin, Mary. “The Scavengers.” American Earth: Environmental Writing since Thoreau, edited by Bill McKibben, The Library of America, 2008, pp. 134-139.

45

A Shift in Thinking Izac Mercer-Olatunji

When one imagines the supermarket, an abysmal mood can take over. Thoughts of fast-paced consumerism pollute the mind. Crowded shopping aisles and time-consuming searches for meaningless products can be physically exhausting. The cacophony of checkout beeps, robotic megaphone voices, and human screeches generate a chaotic synergy of sound. The surge of people can be overwhelming and extremely distressing. However, we depend on the chaotic supermarket and stick with it because convenience supermarkets are a microcosm of our industrial cities.

This metallic environment contrasts with that of the vivacious forest, whose leaves crunch and rustle your boots. The flourishing forest reaches for the sky, a swath of green, brown, and grey. The distant squawk and tweets of various birds can be heard in the distances. A cool but refreshing breeze washes over you and wraps itself around the surrounding trees and flows through their leaves.

Laughter and yells of joy can be heard coming from your friends thrashing around in the nearby pool.

A peaceful gushing sound echoes from the emanating river.10 Yet, for some reason, we identify with the grey and mundane city.

And we see ourselves as separate from the natural world. The dominator complex of the human ego has cut the earth beneath our feet. A shift from the archaic mind, which respected and worked with nature, to embracing “modernity” has allowed egomania to take over. We now view the universe surrounding us as dead or inanimate. We no longer understand or respect our relationship with the primordial spirit of Gaia and therefore allow ourselves to dissect, probe, and destroy the finite earthly globe. This same denominator complex denies the natural world’s value outside of human purpose. Mega 10

Photo- James River, Izac Mercer-Olatunji

46

agriculture, the mass marine debris of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and high energy resource extraction are examples of our egomaniac behavior. The voracious need for material gain in our culture and society is killing us. We have almost destroyed our home.

NASA’s global climate change team analyzed the Fifth Assessment Report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, a group of independent scientific experts from countries all over the world. NASA’s team reached the following conclusion: The industrial activities that our modern civilization depends upon have raised atmospheric carbon dioxide levels from 280 parts per million to 414 parts per million in the last 150 years. The panel also concluded there's a better than 95 percent probability that human-produced greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide have caused much of the observed increase in Earth's temperatures over the past 50 years. (“Effects”) The results found by this panel convey the well known fact that humans are causing the death of our planet with our toxic ways. Ultimately, the effects of carbon dioxide levels rising are that the global temperature has risen 2.0 degrees Fahrenheit since 1880, the Arctic ice minimum has decreased by 13.1 percent per decade, ice sheets have gone down 428 billion metric tons per year, and sea levels are rising 3.3 millimeters per year (“Effects”).

But how are we going to save the earth? The move to clean energy is a start. But one can argue that this is not enough. We have to fight this at a political level with congressional resolutions like the Green New Deal, which is only the first step of a plan that has not been fully written. But, first, we need a shift back to the collective consciousness of shared ideas, beliefs, and attitudes towards the natural world. We need to as a whole embrace the archaic attitudes and mindsets towards nature so we can all understand the deep rut we are in. We must accept that we have done the earth wrong and that we need to halt, overturn, and reverse out of the end of the world. An acknowledgment of our co-relationship with everything else is imperative. Breaking through our culture of wasteful norms will be hard. But we must destroy our egocentric tendencies and crack the warm dark pupa of material love.11

11

Photo- Look Up, Izac Mercer-Olatunji

47

The need for constant consumerism is not present in every culture but does dominate the West. Throughout mankind’s history, many civilizations have viewed their relationship with nature and the earth differently. And, in fact, many still do. Animism is the attribution of a soul to plants, inanimate objects, and natural phenomena, creating the belief in a supernatural power that organizes and animates the material universe. It is a central belief and fundamental principle to many Indigenous societies.

In Hinduism, this is brahman. Brahman is cosmic energy or the world soul that is the source of creation. In Taoism, this is the life energy that pervades all things and is constantly seeking a harmonious relationship and balance with everything. And in ancient Andean culture, this is seen as the spirit of Pachamama (meaning Mother Earth). To this worldview, the earth is not just the dearth beneath our feet or the dust from which we are simply made. It is the spirit of their ancestors, of life itself.

The partnership with plants and the feminine has drifted into the past due to cultural neuroses increasing as manifestations of egomania and dominator complexes.

Slavery almost unheard of during the medieval period was brought to the forefront when notions of private property restricted ownership to the elitist and privileged few.

Manpower was needed in the labor-intensive colonial cultivation of sugar. The spirit of Gaia was no longer worshiped but seen as inanimate or dead. This allowed humans to investigate her, dissecting and cutting at the very flesh that birthed them. This gave humans great power in the forms of technological advancements and wisdom of the material. This has resulted in the dominator complex justifying all means to create profit.

The Bhagavad-Gita of Hinduism educates on how to avoid this dilemma. Lord Krishna, the theophany of Lord Vishnu in the Bhagavad-Gita, says “be intent on action, not the fruits of action; avoid attraction to the fruits and attachment to inaction! Perform actions, firm in discipline, relinquishing attachment; be impartial to failure and successthis equanimity is called discipline”(The Bhagavad-Gita, 2.47, 48). Work must be done without thought of reward, and a person may have a tranquil mind even during activities.

We can no longer operate as a society in our money-hungry ways. The natural world is sentient, organized, living, feeling, humorous, and graceful. The archaic mind understood this and, therefore, worshipped the spirits of nature.

The archaic mind understood its place within the collective consciousness. We can learn from this attitude towards nature. Henry David Thoreau takes this point further, conveying in his short essay “Huckleberries” that we can truly learn from the natural world. He says: We boast of our system of education, but why stop at schoolmasters and schoolhouses? We are all schoolmasters and our schoolhouse is the universe.

To attend chiefly to the desk or schoolhouse, while we neglect the scenery in which it is placed, is absurd. If we do not look out we shall find our fine schoolhouse standing in the cow yard at last. (Thoreau 35) Thoreau is explaining that we should stop bragging about our education system as we do not realize that the universe could teach us endless possibilities. If we continue to limit ourselves to the confinements of the schoolhouse, we will never go beyond the threshold of our current society. This quote connects strongly to the fact that we will not reach our potential as a species if we continue on this narrow path. We can learn so much more from

48

the surrounding earth; however, this will not be possible if we carry on ignoring the collective consciousness of everything.

A shift in thinking is required. The Western understating of the universe must be altered and challenged. Dominator-style society must shift its views of the natural world, no longer thinking itself better. This is beginning to happen around the world. The Whanganui River in New Zealand now has the legal rights of a person. The government also wants to extend these rights to a nearby forest and mountain. This is because the Maori tribes of Whanganui declare the river as having an inseparable connection to their ancestral heritage. But can humans as a totality reconnect with their natural foundations?

Creating a new era is key, but we must first understand that there is no dichotomy of nature but rather the unity of earthly matter.

Works Cited The Bhagavad-Gita: Krishna's Counsel in Time of War, translated by Barbara Stoler Miller, Bantam Books, 2004.

“The Effects of Climate Change.” NASA, NASA, 22 April 2021. climate.nasa.gov/effects/. Accessed 21 Aug. 2020.

Thoreau, Henry David. Huckleberries. Windhover Press of the University of Iowa, 1970.

49

Environmental Emotion Richard Bolton

Grief is the primary emotion that rips through me when I see another part of our natural world taken away from us. With the continuing advancement of human society and technology, the natural world continues to be drastically changed to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Every day, I read some other news article about massive amounts of deforestation, increasing temperatures in the oceans all across the planet, and species of animals in danger of going away forever because of the inevitable greed of human beings. As I drive between Charlottesville and Farmville, I can see massive swaths of forest clear-cut for real estate or lumber, as well as clumps of trash littering the roadside. It really makes me sad to see that people care so little about the fact that humanity constantly abuses nature. What makes it worse is that there are so many people who travel the route between my hometown and school. Yet, no one stops to try and do something or even acknowledge the problem. They have their heads stuck deeper in the ground than the trees and plants that live in the forest.

When I returned to Hampden-Sydney to begin class last August, the route between my hometown and school seemed like it looked better. The brush that lines the sides of the road in the green season was abundant and flourished in numerous patches down the sides. The trees were tall and healthy, and there was a lack of garbage caught in the brush or scattered from bags that had been left out. I had hoped that someone maybe had addressed the problem. I’m afraid it wasn’t like that. You know what they say about those who hold onto hope. That hope is usually misplaced, and things rarely turn out the way we hope.

The next time I travelled the route when I came back during the beginning of fall, I was in for a very rude awakening. The green had faded away to reveal the monster hiding in the guise of a flourishing forest. This monster had waited until the very moment fall came to unveil itself. It really showed, too. Trash lay on the side of the road for miles, either chucked aside haphazardly or even in full trash bags that someone had so carelessly discarded. The most ridiculous stuff still lay on the road. A tire, an old refrigerator door, and part of a sofa were only a few of the things dotting the roadside.

The sheer change in the route for me was both shocking and saddening at the same time.

It makes me wonder if people are truly capable of caring for nature at all. The trash on the roadsides was not the only problem.

The trees being cut down and replanted were another thing that displeased me.

When I travelled down this route several years back, the forests were standing, healthy, and diverse. The spring sun gleamed off the light green leaves. However, as time went on, and a few years passed, the trees were the next on the “list.” Where oaks, poplars, and beech had stood was now nothing but a bunch of stumps and freshly churned earth.

50

Lumber companies replaced centuries old forests with coniferous trees that are cheap and grow faster. The way they plant them makes them look like a battalion of well-conditioned soldiers rather than a real forest. The rest of the land they turn into real estate where they will build uniform and mundane houses. As I passed one such site, I could smell the smoke from the burning of the stumps. I think the concept called “solastalgia” applies to this situation. “Solastalgia” is when someone feels emotional pain over great environmental damage. I feel this pain and sadness when I see the route in its current state. I feel this way because I realize that this constant abuse will drive our natural world into madness. After the smoke clears, all that will be left is a shell.

In my experience, there are two kinds of people whom I see. There are those who wish to learn about and preserve our natural world. Then there are those who wish only to exploit it and use it for personal gain. For those who seek to exploit the natural world, that exploitation will result only in disaster and damage to the environment. A perfect example of this is the Deepwater Horizon oil spill that happened in 2010. BP was doing a routine drilling operation in the Gulf of Mexico, and they neglected to go over several safety checks. As a result, over 210 gallons of oil spilled into the Gulf, causing massive amounts of damage to the water and animals. There are, however, people who are willing to go out of their way to protect our world from harm. Nearly 30,000 people responded to that spill, and every one of them was vital in the cleanup effort. Since that day, almost 6,000 volunteers have been trained to monitor beaches and oceans in the event that something like that ever happens again. This battle to protect nature is fought on multiple fronts. From the field to the political scene, there are people willing to help.

I recently watched a fascinating documentary on Netflix called My Octopus Teacher. The “main character” perfectly fits the criteria of someone who wants to interact with and learn more about the natural world. The film was released in September of 2020. I have never seen a documentary as intriguing and fascinating as this one. The documentary follows a man named Craig Foster who lives near Cape Town in South Africa. It follows his documentation of the surrounding kelp forests as well as the odd relationship he manages to forge with a common octopus. He knew that it was afraid of him, and he still pursued it. The way he spent days on end observing the octopus and ultimately developing a bond with the creature was an incredible sight to me. He mapped out its routes, its eating habits, how it moved and hid from predators, and everything in between. Craig Foster spent a whole year observing that one little octopus. To devote himself that much to learn about how an animal thinks and lives on that scale is astonishing. This is a prime example of someone who appreciates and cares about the world that we live in.

51

Heaven’s View, Richard Bolton

List of Contributors Richard Bolton Scotty Bowman John Bryson Wyatt Elam Lane Faulkner Victoria Fenton Julian Franks-Pollock Palmer Jones

Jonathan Lawson Sam McLean Izac Mercer-Olatunji Tyler Puhlick Christian Reed Finley Sirieys Bryce St. Clair