Pathfinder Magazine 2017 by Western Colorado University

UNITY

2016/ 17

DIVER

SITY

CREATIVE WRITING | VISUAL ART | YEAR IN REVIEW

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

8 -13

14 -15

Mixed Media & Graphic Design

Literary Editor Showcase

Western Students Stand With Standing Rock

18 -21

Beth Paulson talks Poetry

Printmaking

22 -23

“The Importance of All Things Said”

24 -27

28 -29

“Stuck” “Morning on the RTA”

“Aloft in the Alpine”

“Cold Soles” “Itching”

30-31

32 -39 Gallery

40 -43

Celebration of Scholarship

New Quigley is ready to inspire students!

Photography

Mark McCleran, Erin Smith, Bryant Byrd, Alternative Spring Break

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46 -48

Peace Corps Prep Program Unveiled

Western’s Reducing its Way to Zero Waste

“Hunger”

Gallery

Year-In-Review

Poetry

Year-In-Review

Year-In-Review/Poetry “Parlance, Forgive Us”

Showcase

Poetry

Fiction

Year-In-Review

Gallery

Poetry

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54 -55

56 -59

Gallery Drawings

“Thrice Attempt”

“Escaping Limbo”

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64 -65

“The Spectacular Mundane” “Barder With Me”

“On the Rocks”

“Splinters” “An Open Letter”

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70 -80

“Highway 15 on a Tuesday Evening”

Camp Out

Gallery 3D & Painting

Dear Reader, As Pathfinder editors, we have had the honor of cultivating written and artistic work from the restless, imaginative minds of the Western Community to share with you, our beloved readers. The selections featured are prize-winning submissions from our Gunnison Valley, Spectacular Mundane, and Poetry of Apology contests, as well as general submissions that resonated with our editors. We hope you enjoy reading this year’s edition of Pathfinder as much as we enjoyed putting it together. A special thank you to all contributors willing to let us into their worlds and to all who helped make this magazine possible. We couldn’t have done it without you! Aaron Goettel Samuel Ferrara Pathfinder Magazine Literary Editors

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1) Alex Jacobson Ilegatimi non Carborundum Mixed Media 34" x 26.5" 2) Cierra Redding Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Play A Word Game Found Object and Oil 6.5" x 12"

Mixed media

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1) Dustin Crowner Fragments of Chaos Mixed Media 17.5" x 25" 2) Bonnie Farnell Sea Color Watercolor, Oil, India Ink 15" x 17.5"

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Mixed Media

1) Kenna Allen Reliquary 1 “Jaw” Mixed Media 10.3" x 13.5 2) Alex Jacobson Words of Voltaire Mixed Media 2' x 3.5'

1) Emily Woods Beautiful Anxious Thoughts Colored Pencil, Watercolor and Ink 12" x 22" 2) Barclay Weyhrauch Microscopic Watercolor, Acrylic, Ink 18" x 12" 3) Cierra Redding Scrapbook Found Object and Oil 12" x 14" x 2.5" 3 Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Graphic Design

2 1 1) Bryan Clocker Black Canyon Poster Digital Poster 19" x 13" 2) Aaron Bauer Mouzer Design Co. Logo Graphic Design 1080px x 1080px 3) Jeff Ismert Cube Digital Illustration 17" x 11" 3

1) Delaney Adrian Consider This Typographic Design 6" x 5" 2) Erin Diller Month of Giving Flyer Graphic Design 11" x 17" 3) Jeff Ismert Stowaway Digital Illustration 17" x 11"

3 Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

literary ditor showcase

Showcase

The Literary Editor Showcase allows Pathfinder to highlight the work of some of our student editors as chosen by an outside judge. This season’s showcase was co-sponsored by the Contemporary Writer Series, which brings emerging and established writers to Western’s campus for short residencies and Top O’ the World, the campus news sorce.

Laurie Ann Cedilnik PROSE JUDGE: Laurie Ann Cedilnik has an MFA in Fiction from the University of Houston and a PhD in English Literature & Creative Writing. Her work has appeared in Epoch, Colorado Review, West Branch, Hobart, and Bust magazine, among others. A native of Queens, NY, she teaches creative writing at Loyola University in New Orleans.

Sarah Vap POETRY JUDGE: Sarah Vap is the author of five collections of poetry, including Dummy Fire, winner of the 2006 Saturnalia Books Poetry Prize, selected by Forest Gander. Her second collection, American Spikenard, was the winner of the Iowa Poetry Prize in 2007. Her work has appeared in American Poetry Review, Denver Quarterly, and Gulf Coast, among other publications. She lives in Venice, California

Design and Layout by Jeff Ismert Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

e h

Showcase

Secret

by Marlena Romero

"with the talking my interest for

him faded”

Design and Layout by Jeff Ismert

I hate to admit it, but he was a looker and quite the catch by many standards. He was literally the cliché of tall, dark, and handsome and I was ready to believe it all. When it came to flirting with –let alone being around–attractive men my experience was amateurish. This man was the type that could tongue tie me if he knew how. My best friend Cari was with his best friend Greg so no matter how, this man was bound to be in my life. When all of us were invited to his place to hang out in the hot tub my stomach turned with nerves of excitement and fear. At first glance everything about him was great: kind, funny and hot. Just sizing him up worked to his own benefit. A well thought-out style that’s sure to catch a girl’s attention: clean cut, pretty boy. He matched his hat with his shoes and never let his jeans hang past his sculpted ass. His physique was fit for a pro-athlete. His skin was an even tone –the perfect tan to already dark skin–and lips noticeably soft and thick paired with dreamy, big, brown eyes with specks of green in the sunlight and eyelashes any girl would kill to have. To top off his features, he had facial hair that he groomed daily to keep his lines even with his crewcut hairdo. I remember his voice: low, calm, and rough, but even with a heavenly voice he was far from angelic. He wore a simple black tee that hugged each and every one of his muscles, outlining his pecs and the pulsing veins of his arms. I couldn’t help but stare when my friend and I had arrived at his house. “Hi Cari.” He nodded at me, “Cari’s friend.” “Hey Dom, this is Lena,” Cari whispered as she hugged him so that I wouldn’t notice what else she said, “the one you’ve been wanting to meet.” All I could think was so this has been planned for a

while now? He’s been wanting to meet me? Cari only told me about this guy once and that was the day before. Though he looked godly, his looks weren’t enough for me; I wanted more than that. Wit, humor, and commonality. Instead my first impression of him was handing me shots of Jack Daniel’s and a case of Mike’s Hard Cranberry Limeade. He then let us know, “There are plenty of drinks in this house for everyone to have their own six pack. Greg and I can always buy more if we need it.” “I don’t really drink,” I confessed. “Then I guess a second liquor run won’t need to happen. Let’s get you started with this,” Dom handed me a small glass with a brown liquid. Honey and rubbing alcohol tickled my nose when I took a sip. “No, you have to take it fast,” he laughed at my inexperience. “Like this, watch.” With the drinking came talking; and with the talking my interest for him faded. We had nothing in common and he held a conversation about as well as the talking orange on YouTube: pointless and endless. “So how old are you, Lena?” “I’m sev—” “I just turned 21, so if you ever need me to buy you alcohol I’m your guy.” “Oh, well I’m not—” “I have a full time job that pays me like I deserve,” he interrupted me again, “so you wouldn’t even have to give me cash to buy for you, I’ll just buy it for you.” I just nodded in response. He was a void, nothing but a pretty, empty shell. He was obvious about his interest for me, but unfortunately he was also dense and couldn’t take a hint. “I’m gonna go see what Cari is doing.” I tried to get away for a minute, but he followed.

“Her and Greg are probably in the kitchen making out.” His eyes were glued to my lips as I turned into the kitchen. There wasn’t much to the house that I saw, just the kitchen and his bedroom–which was the entire basement. We spent time in the kitchen because that’s where the drinks were, as well as the door to the backyard. The yard had a tent that covered the hot tub we all showed up for. His bedroom was where he led my friend and me to change into our bikinis. “Alright ladies go ahead and get changed, we’re gonna get the hot tub set up.” I had slammed the bathroom door before Dom could look at me like a stalking lion again. His bed was right in front of the bathroom; he had a couch, table, and T.V. I thought his room is like his own bachelor pad in his parents’ house. At the end of the night that’s where we ended up: the bachelor pad. By the time we got outside to soak in the hot tub, the sun was well below the trees and the clouds were dark, thick, and heavy barely letting the pink and orange sky pierce through. Everyone was already drunk and still drinking, so I decided to join. With every shot followed by a wine cooler I grew blunt and less talkative; I was isolated as my friend panted at her boyfriend’s feet, leaving Dom feeling as though he had to show off for my attention. “So I work at Red Robbins, I can take you there sometime. It’s the one by 24 Hour Fitness. I usually work out there after work.” He ran his hand down his stomach. “Cool.” I finished a bottled wine cooler from my six pack and let it float in the water so sitting in the hot tub wasn’t so dull. I remember imagining myself in the bottle as if I were Alice floating toward a beach that held more interesting beings. Eventually, I stopped trying to be nice and decided to drink until the environment felt fun. “Why isn’t there any music playing? This is lame without music. Dom go put some on.” I was mostly just trying to get him to leave my side. More shots were poured and Cari said, “Don’t be mean.” I rolled my eyes at her and laughed. This night was a worse social situation than a cheesy teen tragedy. I tried to hold a conversation with him, but all he really did was sit next to me, talking over me –loudly–to Greg. “Do you go to school at all?” “Who needs school as long as you get paid and tipped?” Greg shouted and both guys leaned over Cari and me to high five. At some point they got onto the topic of the gym and I tried to chime in, “I wish my gym was better equipped.” “24 Hour Fitness has ten of everything, and I use

everything! Woo!” He yelled like a caveman as he quickly stood up out of the water. I was splashed and completely drenched as he lifted his arms to bulge his biceps and flex his water-soaked abs. Drunk-me continued to chime into the guys’ conversations or speak over them with Cari to let them know we were still there, but the testosterone was too much. “Bro! You need to come with me to the gym Monday. Man, the chicks there are motivation!” Dom side glanced at me to check for a reaction, but it was Cari who was struck down by that comment. No more than a second later I watched as she took control of her loud boyfriend by sitting on his lap and sucking on his tongue: a reminder that she was motivation enough. I laughed at the silence followed by suckling that overcame the brutish energy and Dom took it as me wanting him to make a move, so he popped my personal-space-bubble and placed one arm around my lower back–way too low–and placed his other hand too high on my inner thigh. I tried to remove his hand, but he was too strong. That was when the “fun” environment was washed away with the rain I longed for. I really wanted to get back inside so I said, “I once read somewhere that sitting in water during a storm increases your chances of being struck by lightning,” and that got everyone moving quick. For just a second I really did have fun with him. I forgot about wanting to leave and about being stuck where I was because I didn’t have a car. We stumbled out of the hot tub and fell out through the tent into the mud disoriented from the Jack and Mike’s. Dom laughed so I laughed, Cari was screaming and Greg was already at the door. Dom and I crawled to the sliding door leading to the kitchen, slipping when we tried to stand; we even used the medium-sized gnomes to steady and brace ourselves. When he finally opened the door, the others and I were well covered in soft, brown earth and bits of grass. As we stood in the kitchen nearly naked and painted in mud, shivering, and clinking shots glasses, he disappeared to grab towels. “Lena!” Cari shouted, “Let’s take another shot!” I didn’t see or hear when he came back to the kitchen with towels, but one was thrown at my face to announce his return. “Thanks.” It didn’t look like he was the one who wanted to move the party down to his room, but after he took Greg to the side while Cari handed me another shot that’s where we all headed. Down the thin stairwell placed in the kitchen toward a closed door; I never felt so uncomfortable and out of place with a small

"He wa s a void, nothing but a pretty, empty shell"

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Showcase group in such a confined place. Tunnel vision was taking over. Dom did a lot of whispering with his friend throughout the evening and it wasn’t until too late that I realized this hangout was more than just my friend having me meet a guy. I wasn’t being set up with him. I was being used so that she could hook up while her boyfriend’s friend had a distraction. I was continuously encouraged to keep drinking long past my limit: “Lena! Take another shot with me!” “Here, we have to finish the bottle.” They got me blackout drunk, barely able to move around on my own and every time I opened my mouth to protest, liquid rose in my throat. This night was the guys playing each other’s wingman for a guaranteed good time, and I was an offering. Cari was so proud the next day because she got me to hook up with a guy – so she thought. I felt like shit because I was still drunk and my body ached. When she took me home we talked on the drive; that’s when I asked her to fill in the missing pieces. “What happened after we went downstairs? I don’t remember moving from the couch to the bed.” Cari informed me, “That’s because you didn’t; Dom carried you. He is so sweet.” “Well I thought I was gonna sleep with you on the couch.” “But Greg wanted to have sex and Dom wanted you to be with him.” “Is that why I woke up without bottoms? Cari, I didn’t—” “Ooh you slept with him? I knew it! I bet he loved it!” “I did?” I remember telling her how I would have to push him away a few times and that the lightning contorted his face as he got closer and on top of me. I also told her my crotch hurt, and that I had to find my panties because I couldn’t find my bikini. Then I remember feeling sick. It was more than that, though; I felt disgusting like a used tube sock! I couldn’t really pinpoint my emotions about what had just happened. I was in shock. I was pissed off, I was terrified, and I wanted to scream and cry until I died. When we reached my house I went straight upstairs to shower everything I could off, and when I got out Cari was still there. “Are you okay? It’s no big deal you know, it’s just sex.” “Cari, I didn’t want to have sex with him. I was half asleep! I wanted to go home and sleep.” “Then why did you stay?” At this point I was furious, how could someone be so stupid? “We were drunk; I wasn’t about to let

you or anyone drive. I couldn’t even hold myself up or speak, anyway! Can you just leave now, Cari?” Since that day I stayed away from all three of them. To this day I won’t read the apologies he sends. After the deception of his looks, and my inebriation, just seeing a friend request from him online makes my stomach turn in horror. Same with Cari; text after text I didn’t want her in my life anymore. I was excited I was leaving for college, finally being able to escape them. To this day I refused to drink Mike’s Hard Cranberry Limeade, ** and* just ** the smell of Jack Daniel’s makes me sick. I still drink and I do get drunk, but I have never again let myself blackout. I barely even acknowledge men who aren’t my good friends when I’m drunk. Sex was a bit more difficult for me after the matter. Although I wasn’t a virgin when Dom forced himself on me, it took a long while for me to be comfortable giving myself away to someone in that intimacy. When I was finally able to, it was a year later and three months into a relationship. I never talked about what happened that summer night; I kept it a secret because I was ashamed. Now, I just want to forgive myself. I also don’t want to be that cliché victim, because I know it wasn’t my fault.

The Course of Empire by Ellie Watson

My mountain was once uncharted, naĂŻve in its power. People always take advantage of the unguarded. They come slowly; though, my land quickly bombarded. The peak competes with its first tower. My mountain was once uncharted. Whitewashed walls draped with fabric imported. The pinnacle of your civilization only serves to devour. People always take advantage of the unguarded. It was with destruction you consorted. How could you not expect to be devoured? My mountain was once uncharted. I creep up the marble to reclaim the discarded. I redeem what you left to sour. People always take advantage of the unguarded. I will leave your kingdom thwarted. I will take down what you build higher. My mountain was once uncharted. People always take advantage of the unguarded.

Design/ Illustration and Layout by Jeff Ismert Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Western Students Stand with Thirteen students join the Sioux tribe and water protectors against the DAPL Roberta Marquette-Strain/Senior Staff Writer

Year-in-review

ne cannot ask any of the students who traveled to Standing Rock Indian Reservation what the experience was like and expect a simple answer. There isn’t one. “It was a full range of emotions,” said group member Dustin Crowner. “We experienced truly beautiful things as well as terrible things, sometimes within an hour. It’s hard to convey in a sentence or a simple conversation.” The 13 students, Delaney Adrian, Jared Allen, Cody Bontecou, Dustin Crowner, Uma Costanza, Chris Doucet, Jessica Howard, Jodie Howard, Madison Manning, Lozen Miller, Louissa Rozendaal, Landan Schaller, and Bailey Stewart traveled to the North Dakota reservation Nov.

The pipeline and the implications it could have for the land are not solely what influenced the group to go. “It’s about all of the people who have been oppressed,” Costanza explained. “All of these people are fighting for others to recognize their worth that we have ignored for years and years. The oppression of these people and oppression of the Earth go hand in hand.” During their time at the reservation, the group saw the oppression first hand, but also encountered beautiful moments of community, love, and trust. The group did not know exactly what they were going to encounter, but any negative thoughts passed as soon as the group arrived in North

The Western group at Standing Rock. Photo courtesy of Dustin Crowner. 19-22, 2016, to join forces with the Sioux Native American tribe and protesters, who call themselves “water protectors,” who stand against the planned construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL). The DAPL would be built half a mile from Standing Rock, and would require digging up sacred Sioux land and could contaminate the reservation’s water.

Dakota. As they were setting up their camp the first night in frigid temperatures, a car drove by and the driver offered to let the group stay in their kitchen tent. “It was the first thing we were really hit with, the generosity,” said Schaller. Their first night set the tone for the rest of the trip. They were no longer just a group of college student from Colorado. They were members of

Standing rock

A camp elder, Joe, holds a rubber bullet that hit him the night before. Photo courtesy of Delaney Adrian.

this community, all gathered together for a larger cause–to stand with their brothers and sisters. The unity was felt across the camp, as Schaller explained. “The love and unity in the camp is kind of like a wave, a giant current that you can resist, but it takes everybody with it.” The Standing Rock community operates like a “well-functioning commune,” as Howard explained it. Everyone took the time to help each other, whether it was watching someone’s children, washing dishes, or doing chores. The students also contributed to the camp by helping them prepare for the winter by chopping wood and building structures. They were also able to donate clothing, firewood, propane, and other supplies, some of which were donated by the Gunnison community. Their entire trip was not spent completing these responsibilities however. It was only the second night when half the group found themselves in the middle of an extreme protest between the protectors and law enforcement. The two group’s tensions have run high throughout the months of the DAPL protest. This specific event, referred to as Backwater Sunday, is just one of the many clashes the groups have had. Water cannons were shot off, tear gas was used, and rubber bullets were targeted toward the protectors. Half of the students found themselves in the middle of the group of about 400 protectors. “As soon as we exited the camp and went over the hill, we immediately saw the lights, the water, the chaos,” Crowner said. “As a group, we kept inching up,

growing more and more curious and before we knew it we were right within it all.” Bontecou said they inched so close, that they themselves were teargassed. The group documented the event through photos and videos and watched as people around them vomited and passed out from the gas. Despite the pandemonium, the large community did not falter. The 400-some group worked together as a team. They warned people not to run as the tear gas was shot as it would cause more chaos, and those injured were carried out. The community never stopped looking out for their family. “It’s like everyone viewed the people around them [as] more important than themselves and it helps create this unity,” said Costanza. The unity of the community within the Standing Rock Reservation and its supporters world-wide is ultimately the biggest thing that Schaller has taken from the experience. He believes that the DAPL has stirred many to think more about the importance of the environment, people from all walks of life, and of course, community. “At the end of the day, this battle is going to be won in people’s hearts and minds. Not at the front line. (If the DAPL is approved) everything is stacked against us, but this movement has taken a life of its own. In that sense, we’ve already won.” The biggest thing one can do to help out the cause according to the group and the Sioux elders, is to educate oneself on the topic, putting one’s heart in the right place, and understand that while anyone is welcome to join the cause,

The front line following Backwater Sunday. The barrier was built to protect protesters from the water and rubber bullets. Photo courtesy of Dustin Crowner. this is the Sioux’s fight and protectors need to do it in their way. Even though we’ve had a victory recently, we must continue to be vigilant and to support the protectors and stand for Standing Rock.

Design & Layout by Delaney Adrian

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Year-In-Review/Poetry

eth Paulson talks

Poetry by Marisa Cardin/Staff Writer

and can be seen, although it appears smaller and forms a tiny part of our broad view gained by the mastery of the obstacles on our adventurous way up.” Truly, climbing a mountain could be much like writing a poem, especially for Paulson as she described writing about scientific methods she had trouble understanding. She encouraged writers to explore things they did not know, in order to gain a better understanding of the world in which they reside. Paulson’s poem “All Or Nothing” seemed to be a particular audience pleaser: “Both absence and presence / you are the hole inside the empty bucket, / biblical void, / wholly ghost, / suffused with unknown potential, / proof that something comes from nothing. / Without you everything would be lost. / You are the white paper for my uncertain pen. / You are the air I step through above this broken sidewalk.” Whether this is about the immensity of the universe or the immensity of ourselves is up to the reader to decide. Please join the Contemporary Writer Series for our next guest writers!

Design & Layout by Erin Diller

n the fall of 2016, Beth Paulson visited Western for a poetry reading and craft talk. Though it had been a number of years since her last visit to the school, she commented that she “was honored to be reading here again.” Paulson spoke to a room full of Western students, faculty, and community members, and read from her new book Immensity, a poetry book about the universe and its vastness. When introducing the concept of her book, she said that she really enjoyed using so many scientific words and terms in her poetry, though she is no scientist herself. “I use the natural world as my canvas, but have stretched it out to include the whole universe,” Paulson said. Her words seemed to be well received by English majors and non-English majors alike, all of whom were eager to clap after every performance she gave. Paulson opened the reading with a fitting quote by Albert Einstein: “...creating a new theory is not like destroying an old barn and erecting a skyscraper in its place. It is rather like climbing a mountain, gaining new and wider views, discovering unexpected connections between our starting point and its rich environment. But the point from which we started out still exists

Beth Paulson with the Contemporary Writer Series interns. Photo by Marisa Cardin.

The Importance of All Things Said It will always be special. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what he told me. The magic of the crisp and charming streets in a winter storm. This is the place where you will find yourself. In the golden fields of fall and blinding bluebird days of July. This is the place where you will find a career, a passion, a lover. Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s what he told me. As he led me down a street dressed in small town charm. Father first, adventurer second, the stories of gliding down the glittering hills, and soaring over perilous rocks bound and gallivant in this wandering soul. A fairytale from reality invites me to The place where I will find myself. Welcomed by the embraces of peace and comfort. Yet so far outside of the normal, I have found home in supple greens of sage and alpine grasses. In crimson and slate, a town dressed in the saturated sights of the west and the wild. Another sip from a Camp4 mug, reminds me of all that he once said. Bethany Eveleth

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

1) Zach Goering Making Honey Printmaking 8" x 10" 2) Dustin Crowner The Lost River Range Intaglio Print 7.5" x 14"

Printmaking

3) Margaret Chavez Colors of the Fly Monoprint 55" x 14"

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1) Erin Twaddell Omnis Cellula e Cellula Intaglio Print 8" x 6" 2) Bryan Clocker Blinded Intaglio Print 10" x 8" 3) Jeff Ismert The Room Linolian Print 13" x 10"

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Printmaking 1

1) Jordan Wilbanks Sensorium Relief Print on Steel 11" x 20" 2) Barclay Weyhrauch The Decieving 6 Relief Ink Woodcut Print 11" x 10"

3) Jordan Wilbanks Sepulchre Relief Print 15" x 22"

1) Liz Grindle American Apparel: What Are They Selling? Linoleum Print 10" x 13" 2) Erin Twaddell Mirantibus Arboris Intaglio Hardground Print 12" x 9" 3) Erin Twaddell Contemplativus Arboris Intaglio Hardground Print 12" x 9" 1

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Poetry

Stuck Swerving through snakelike passes, passing people moving meticulously through the mountains. Coming cautiously yet quickly to a sudden stop. Pissed off that my passing people is all for naught because these picnicking panicking people are forcing me to mull about while I’m stuck at a sudden stop.

Finally moving. Why were there people in peril? Then I see a woman. No older than me. Bruised, bloody, broken. No help for miles in this mountain pass, and traffic is backed up around the block. I see only briefly. Can’t tell if she’s breathing, maybe barely breathing. I can’t help but feel horribly hollow as my heart drops to A sudden stop.

“Why were there people in peril? Then I see”

Benjamin Pressnall

These headless chicken shit idiots are really pissing me off. Places to be. Things to do. I have no time to waste on slow stupendously stupid pedestrians piling in the pass keeping me at this Sudden stop.

Morning on the RTA Streams of melted butter pour in through the panes that separate me from fresh morning air;

Every crevasse exposes itself to buttery streams flowing down eastern faces warming cheeks, ears, shoulders; Eyelashes fight the weight of their lead filled lids, chocolatey suns rising, setting, and rising again;

Amanda Ravensbergen

My body tossed back and forth like in gentle ocean waves anchored on these scratchy polyester flowers;

Crickets send my gaze to the gray slick sky, beyond exists an untouchable blanket of blue; A cloud of cigarette smoke sits quietly in the seat next to me, hovering keeping me company on my travels.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

ALOFT Alpine IN THE

Fiction

BY SKLER STANLEY

The Kodiak sub-range bore more resemblance to the Dolomites of Italy or Bugaboos of Canada than their home parent range of the Rocky Mountains. The Kodiaks had stopped miners in their tracks in the 1800s as they scoured the landscape for gold. Oliver was no stranger to the Kodiaks, having summited all but four of the twenty peaks that rose above 14,000-feet in this range. As Oliver carefully ensured his backpack was properly geared-up in his tent the night before his hopeful ascent, he reminded himself that the day for a summit-bid was about more than climbing. Day one had been backpacking in. As Oliver awoke the next day in the claustrophobic confines of his tent, he was taken aback by how tired his legs already were. Day two was summit day. To approach the base of the peak, he’d have to hike another six steep miles into the heart of the Vestal Wilderness. After a breakfast of oatmeal, Oliver couldn’t help but slightly regret this arduous weekend retreat. It was going to be a long day. That’s alright, Oliver thought as he donned his pack, I’m doing this for her. “These larger and often loose boulders are called talus. They are certainly more stable than scree but can still cause trouble if you’re not careful.” She was walking Oliver through the basics. Above them, the gentle northwest slopes of Heisshorn Peak would guide them to the summit. It was Oliver’s first foray to the alpine. He looked at his climbing partner. Her fortitude was overwhelming. She was a seasoned veteran to this new environment Oliver was experiencing. Though Oliver struggled with the altitude, he did his best to show he could work through

the difficulty. He had learned a whole new regime of climbing vocabulary and worked to internalize it. He’d do anything to make her proud. Six miles later, a massive wall of coarse-grained conglomerate rock towered almost three thousand feet above Oliver. It had already taken him several hours of hiking to reach the base of this rugged rock. Oliver admired the north ridge of this peak, the route he would take to hopefully summit this perfect mountain. This route was designated for the tenacious only—those who could embrace the steep climbing and gut-twisting exposure. One fall, one bad hold, one careless move, and a climber would surely tumble to their demise. Oliver remembered the two Fox County Search and Rescue vehicles at the trailhead the day before. This was never a promising sight. Oliver recalled his climb of Citadel Peak, where he and his climbing partner watched a Flight for Life helicopter airlift a climber who had fallen sixty feet. That had been on a much easier climb. Ahead of him, Oliver would have to talus-hop along large boulders to reach the beginning of the climbing. A myriad of guidebooks published in the last twenty years would suggest that climbers bring rope and traditional climbing gear for this Class 4 route. A large number of alpinists used rope for routes of this difficulty, where terrain beneath your hands and feet is steep enough, and often dangerously loose enough, to encourage casualties. Class 4 climbs were typically associated with high exposure—a measure of a climber’s risk of falling while being on the route.

Oliver felt no need for ropes. As an avid outdoorsman and savvy climber, he would get the most out of the experience of scaling this mountain if he relied solely on his own two hands and feet. This style suited Oliver—it was how he had learned to climb. Not with the luxuries of expensive climbing equipment. From the boulders, Oliver neared a large cliff band. Vertical striations in the rock painted the geologic uplift from millions of years ago. A cairn marked his way, and turning right, the real climbing began. The lumpy conglomerate rock in his clutches was solid enough that the climbing felt easy. He worked his way towards the ridge, now climbing on the mountain’s northeast face. To gain the ridge proper would be the route’s first crux. Oliver worked with care, testing each hold, and looking down at the already dizzying drop. The first crux drew near, marked by Oliver’s entrance to a couple of grassy ledges. Among these alpine grasses grew small perennial wildflowers, flecks of color among the muted tones of the rocks.On these ledges, Oliver knew the climb would only get steeper and decided to pause for a water break. At least I know when the hard parts of the climb are coming up, Oliver thought, it’s not like life where things can turn to shit in the blink of an eye. With his pack back on, Oliver scanned the remaining northeast face for holds, and continued slowly. Every grasp up, every foot of ascent, every step made the exposure more daunting. Oliver was thankful he was initiated for this kind of height. Conquering the crux, Oliver crested the spine of the north ridge and

could see the remaining one thousand feet of Class 4 climbing. Only one more crux lay ahead, where Oliver would need to ascend from the north ridge to the large summit plateau. The climbing was aesthetic for Oliver. Hand over hand, heel over heel, Oliver felt growing confidence but diminishing strength. Several hundred feet below the final crux, Oliver stopped again, becoming overwhelmed by the lack of oxygen. Nearing fourteen thousand feet, Oliver couldn’t help but think of how much his former climbing partner would’ve enjoyed this climb. They had spent so much time in the mountains together that Oliver almost felt guilty for being alone. The Kodiaks, especially in the Vestal Wilderness, were significantly more solid than the climbs they had done in the Elks and Chalice Range. Heightened danger was born from the inherent steepness of the route, but was safer than the loose climbs in the other ranges. She would have appreciated that. * * * * * “You’re OK! Just wedge your foot as hard as you can into the dihedral and grab that rock to your left!” Oliver recalled his climbing partner helping him accomplish his first Class 4 ascent as a young teenager. They had been only six hundred vertical feet shy of the summit of South Apostle Peak, where climbers had to ascend a vertical thirty-foot chimney to gain the summit ridge. Oliver was warmed by her confidence. He desperately wished she’d put out her hand for him so he could balance as he readjusted his footing, but Oliver also knew he had to gain the summit without

“If only she were here, Oliver thought, remembering the confidence his climbing partner used to give him, if only Mom was still alive.”

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Fiction

that kind of support for it to be a valid ascent. With painstakingly slow movement, Oliver reached for the hold. She had an unmistakable and infectious aura of excitement. “We’re going to summit!” * * * * * Looking down, a two-thousand-foot vertical drop was highlighted by the contrast of the many alpine lakes at the base of the peak. It had been dark when Oliver had passed them, and seeing them now from this terrifying height reminded Oliver of crystalline blue eyes. Continuing with more aesthetic climbing, Oliver reached the second crux. Oh fuck. In front of Oliver, a nearly 90-degree face of craggy ascent guarded the summit plateau. Oliver had seen pictures and was able to picture how he’d accomplish the crux, but it was ever more clear that even a small mistake would land him in his grave. Oliver’s breathing, already strained at the altitude, became quicker. If only she were here, Oliver thought, remembering the confidence his climbing partner used to give him, if only Mom was still alive. The slab Oliver perched and clutched onto was too steep for Oliver to angle downward to descend. It was also too exposed for him to stop and take a break. The idea of a rope started sounding a lot nicer to Oliver than the night previous. Reminding himself to breathe, Oliver slowly reached his dominant right hand up for what looked like a good hold. As he shifted his weight, for the first time in the climb, the hold broke loose. Fuck! Wondering if this climb would reunite him with his mother, Oliver fended off the self-doubt his bad hold choice had washed over him. Oliver felt his entire being shake, but it wasn’t just the fear of falling. For the first time since her death, Oliver truly started mourning his mother’s passing. She had shown him the beauty of the mountains and had always been passionate about climbing. Trying not to cry, Oliver reached up again, letting his fingers scan for another hold. Locating one and testing its integrity, Oliver was able to ascend half of the crux. He didn’t realize it until now, but

climbing today, for the first time since his mother had gone, was his way of remembering her. It wasn’t to mourn, it was to celebrate her life. Knowing how proud Oliver’s climbing had made his mother feel when she was alive, Oliver carefully readjusted his footing on the chunky conglomerate and moved slightly upward. A low Class 5 move blocked his way to the easy remainder of the route. With already sore arms, Oliver shifted his weight once again to grab another hold. Crack! His weight caused his foothold to crumble. Oliver’s adrenal system surged with adrenaline. In primal fight-or-flight mode, Oliver hugged the wall with all the remaining strength he had. In his desperate grasp, he had managed to find half a handhold, but had lost all of his footing. He was now dangling on the edge. In terror, Oliver yelled something he never had before in his climbing career. “Help!” He knew he was alone on the wall. The cry for help was to his mother. Only she would know what to do. * * * * * “I know it can be scary. This is the greatest exposure I’ve had you negotiate yet.” Oliver’s mother warned him of this inherent danger of mountaineering while on an ascent of the difficult Trinity Peak. Oliver was twelve. His mother recounted tales of her friends perishing in the sanctuary of the peaks offer. “It’s always dangerous but we do our best to mitigate the risk.” “What if the risk is too great? What if I think I’m going to die?” Death was an abstract concept but still frightening notion for Oliver. “I’ll always be here for you, sweetie. If you lose a route, or get stuck on a wall, I’ll always be there to help you.” Where are you, mom? Why couldn’t you have stayed true to your promise? His remaining half handhold began to slip out of his weakening fingers. Oliver looked down at the void and began to embrace himself. His life didn’t flash before his eyes. Instead, he thought of how dis

Design & Layout by Aaron Bauer

appointed his friends would be in his carelessness. His final thoughts would be dark and woe-stricken. As he prepared to pass to the next life, he looked up once more towards the sky. His mother’s arm reached down from above, beckoning Oliver to grab at her calloused hand. In a trance, Oliver reached for the hand. Her toughened fingers were welcoming and warm. “Mom?” Certain this was a sign of his end from the heavens; he let go of his hold and welcomed his fate. “What?” the shock had dulled Oliver’s senses. “Hey! Up here!” The arm tugged at Oliver’s clenched torso. A woman’s voice yelled down at him. “Hang on!” Climbing rope was lowered. Another voice shouted and asked if he was OK. Oliver couldn’t respond. Grabbing onto the rope, he was hoisted over the crux and was grabbed by another couple of climbers. “We heard you cry for help at the summit. We just ascended the East Ridge. Good thing we were up there, huh?” Oliver, still in shock, couldn’t respond. The climber who had reached out to him bore a passing resemblance to his mother. She introduced herself as Violet. She was clearly concerned but still smiled. Oliver caught his breath and thanked his rescuers with a cracked voice.smiled. Oliver caught his breath and thanked his rescuers with a cracked voice. They shuffled him up to the summit. “That was pretty close. Did you think I was your mom or something when I reached down?” “I was just hallucinating,” Oliver said, “it was a moment of intense confusion.” At the summit, other climbers greeted Oliver and congratulated him for his summit. “You know,” Violet said, “you made the summit but it wasn’t really valid. You used my arm!” That sounded just like something Oliver’s mother would say. “I guess I’ll have to come back then, huh?” Oliver responded. Violet smiled. “Need a climbing partner for next time?”

“His mother’s arm reached down from above, beckoning Oliver to grab at her calloused hand. In a trance, Oliver reached for the hand. Her toughened fingers were welcoming and warm.

“Mom?” Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Poetry

Cold Soles Walking aimlessly. Listening silently. Waiting for the parading tip-toe Of snow so bright. Dark nights form grey stories over houses. A November so long it seems we will never thaw out.

Bethany Eveleth

Gently tumbling, snowflakes recreate the town. Warm arms wrap around me, warm aromas float past me. Swirling, whirling, twirling watching from the fireplace. As mountains form. And cars sigh and grumble. I slide off my pedestal and to the window. Cold and clammy gnaw at my comfort. A smile slips from my lips My soles will dry another day.

I’m sorry that I throw stones at the home we built We were a quilt woven so tightly that you couldn’t hear a word spoken through its silk

Cole Thomas

Itching

And I’m sorry that I scratch at itches that aren’t there A stitched cut still hurts if it tears I’m sorry that I switched from the man in the mirror to merely a man But still I see him standing here Scratching

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Quigley Hall inspire Year-in-review

is ready to

students!

Story by Grace Flynn/Staff Writer.

Photos by Delaney Adrian.

he smell of fresh paint and warm lights welcome visitors into the new and improved Quigley Hall. Music and art students are surrounded with new classrooms, new equipment, and a place to call their own. The building makeover addressed the old building’s hazards, allowing students a safe place to learn. The renovations dealt with faulty ventilation and leaks, so art students now have a space with clean air to work. As the year goes on, more improvements are on the way. The plans for the hall include implementing security measures that will allow the equipment in classrooms to be safe. Upon entering, visitors soon realize that the building is divided into two sections. The art classrooms are on the west side, while the music classrooms are on the east side. Al Caniff is an art professor who works with 3-D art, sculpting and jewelry design. He has been teaching for 24 years at Western and can remember what the building was like before the reconstruction. “Art students really needed more space. Some years we had overflowing classrooms, and it was difficult to have room to work and create. The art classrooms have better ventilation so the classrooms don’t fill up with smoke when we use the kilns!” said Caniff. Students have their own space to practice what they love and are able to keep their supplies safely locked away. The new building is full of practice

rooms, and music fills the halls. Art classrooms have new easels as well as equipment that will allow students to perfect their work and improve their skills. Dr. Robert Barrett said, “my favorite thing about the new building is the concert hall. It is named after Western faculty member John Kincaid, and his wife Georgie Kincaid. It’s going to be a change for everyone on campus! Kincaid Hall is what it’s called now compared to the formal Quigley Hall.” Dr. Barrett is a woodwind player who teaches music. “This building offers a comfortable setting for students to learn and grow!” said Barrett. Visitors are able to explore the halls, sit in on the campus’s band rehearsals, and admire the art exhibit on the first floor. The concert hall has optimal seating and gives performers amazing opportunities to show off their stuff. Students at Western are encouraged to explore the hall, and to attend the band concerts and check out their peer’s artwork. The grant that made all of this possible was used well, and students are already making use of the wonderful Quigley Hall. The hall is a great addition to the Western campus and will allow students to explore music and art for many years to come.

Photo by Delaney Adrian.

The electric piano room is giving music majors a chance to record music and work on their classwork. Photo by Grace Flynn.

Design & Layout by Erin Diller

“This building offers a comfortable setting for students to learn and grow!” - Dr. Barrett

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Photography

1) Karrie Butler Old Town, Prague Photography 2) Bobbie Hamblin Distress Photography 3) Bonnie Farnell Construction Art Photography 3

1) Mckenzie Conradson Whisper Photography 2) Kira Pattillo Flower on Metal Photography 3) Karrie Butler Manifest Destiny Photography

3 Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Photography

1) Kassia Lawrence Untitled Photography 2) Alexandra Marsolek Derby Photography

1) Roberta Marquette Reflection Photography 2) Delaney Adrian Untitled Photography

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Photography 1

1) Shelby Deutsch Barnhouse Film Photography 2) Skyler Stanley Lost Lake Photography

er find Ga y l le r

Pat h

WINNER

2016-2 017

1) Karrie Butler Trail Markers, Moab UT Photography 2) Dustin Crowner False Hellebore Photography 2

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Photography

1) Carley Clegg Piazzale Michelangelo Panoramic Photography 2) Daphne Fiedler Windows to the Beauty Photography 3) Skyler Stanley Copper Lake Photography

1) Erin Diller Untitled Photography 2) Jack Thibodeau She Jumps Photography

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Celebration o A word from

Director

Mark McCleran

celebration of Scholarship

Lance Dalleck

The faculty of Western State Colorado University is committed to our mission to “graduate students skilled in written and spoken communication, problem solving, critical thinking, and creativity.” The Celebration of Scholarship Undergraduate Research Symposium grew from this commitment. The “Celebration” highlights the independent creative work of our students and reflects our vibrant community of inquiry. As a multidisciplinary event, this semiannual “Celebration of Scholarship” provides an opportunity for students to be exposed to the practices of communication and critical inquiry across disciplines. Exposure to inquiry across disciplines supports our commitment to the Liberal Arts and builds the “foundation and appreciation of values appropriate to a liberally educated individual.” A schedule including both oral and poster presentations communicates scholarly activity under the critical eye of peers. Both faculty and students benefit from participating in this academic discourse which contributes to the development of our students’ critical thinking and communication skills, providing them with the solid intellectual foundation necessary to “assume constructive roles in local, national, and global communities.”

Structural Diagenesis in the San Rafael Swell, Emery County, Utah The San Rafael Swell is a Laramide fold located in Emery County, Utah. Fluid-rock reactions occurred during deformation and evidence of these interactions are associated with fractures, faults, and deformation bands. My research has been focused on assisting with a field work which includes sample collection and measuring structural orientations, and laboratory work which focuses on the analysis of mineralogic, chemical, and diagenetic variation of samples obtained from the Jurassic Navajo Sandstone using X-ray diffraction (XRD) and scanning electron microscopy (SEM). Last semester, classification of mineralogy changes in whole rock samples was done using standard XRD. A second XRD scan of clay separations from these whole rock samples was then done using the USGS standard procedure. Several diagenetic products including calcite, dolomite, crushed quartz, and several clays including glauconite, dickite, illite, and smectite were identified. This semester I have been awarded SOURCE funding to complete XRD scans and interpretations and conduct SEM transects across deformation features. SEM analysis is being

conducted to obtain high quality images and to identify the chemical changes at key deformation features. Results from this study will be presented at Western’s Spring 2017 Celebration of Scholarship and incorporated into a larger collaborative research project between, Western, the University of Oslo, Colorado School of Mines, and Utah State University.

Scholarship Erin Smith

is a 2nd year graduate student in the High Altitude Exercise Physiology Program here at Western. She has recently explored strategies to lessen the symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). Erin delivered an oral presentation of her findings at the fall 2016 Celebration of Scholarship.

Purpose: Acute mountain sickness (AMS) is a syndrome commonly experienced in non-acclimatized mountaineers when ascent is too high and too rapid. Ischemic preconditioning (IPC) is a noninvasive experimental technique that has been shown to protect remote organs from ensuing hypoxic damage. In this study we sought to determine if IPC would 1) mitigate the effects of altitude on arterial O2 saturation (SpO2) and 2) attenuate the symptoms of AMS. Methods: Ten (6 men and 4 women) physically active individuals (Age: 26.7±5.0 yrs, VO2max: 45.0±7.1 mL•kg-1•min-1) who were acclimated to 2350m were randomized to either a treatment (IPC) or control (CON) group. An IPC protocol consisting of 3x5 min bilateral leg occlusion/ reperfusion bouts at 200 mmHg was administered to the IPC group. The CON group was administered a protocol identical in time and frequency, but with an inflation pressure of 40 mmHg. To examine the potential late phase protective effects of IPC on SpO2 and symptoms of AMS, 36 hours post-IPC or CON, all participants hiked 9km at a standardized pace to an elevation of 3800m. Symptoms of AMS were evaluated by Lake Louise score (LLS). Results: It was found that SpO2 was significantly higher (p<0.05) in the IPC group when compared to the CON group (IPC 89.6 ± 3.9 % vs. CON 86.9 ± 4.2 %,). A LLQ score of less than 3 is considered mild AMS, whereas a score of 3 or more is considered severe AMS. Incidence of severe AMS was significantly lower (p<0.05) in the IPC (0%) vs. CON (50%) group. Moreover, the IPC group (when compared to CON group) had significantly (p<0.05) lower incidence of dizziness/lightheadedness (IPC=0% vs. CON=50%), fatigue/weakness (IPC=25% vs. CON=66.6%), change in mental status (IPC=0% vs. CON=33.3%) and ataxia (IPC=0% vs. CON=16.6%). Conclusion: Our findings suggest that IPC may be a strategy to increase SpO2 and decrease AMS symptoms at high altitude. Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

celebration of scholarship

Bryant Byrd

“Our findings support the feasibility of exercise training with a sauna suit...”

is a senior in Exercise and Sport Science. His research project focused on the metabolic responses of exercise with a sauna suit which have implications for long-term weight loss and cardiovascular health. His research was sponsored by the American Council on Exercise and was also published in the International Journal of Research in Exercise Physiology.

Introduction: The purpose of this short report was to examine the acute metabolic responses of exercise with a sauna suit (SS) under different exercise intensity and duration conditions. Methods: Twelve physically active men (age = 27.1±7.5 yrs, height = 175.4±6.3 cm, weight = 75.6±7.9 kg, maximal oxygen uptake – VO2max = 38.6±7.8 mL×kg-1×min-1) completed four experimental trials on a cycle ergometer: 1) 30min moderate-intensity (MI) exercise (55-60% heart rate reserve–HRR) with SS, 2) 20min vigorous-intensity (VI) exercise (75-80% HRR) with SS, 3) 30min MI exercise (55-60% HRR) without a sauna suit (CON), and 4) 20min VI exercise (75-80% HRR) CON. Trials were separated by 24-96 hours and performed in randomized order. Exercise energy expenditure (EE), one hour excess post-exercise oxygen consumption (EPOC), and one hour post-exercise weight loss (PEWL) were measured for each trial.

Results: There were significant differences (p<0.05) in exercise EE, one hour EPOC and one hour PEWL between SS and CON under both MI and VI conditions. MI results: exercise EE was greater with SS vs. CON (282.6±34.7 kcal vs. 247.8±40.2 kcal), one hour EPOC was greater with SS vs. CON (69.9±4.3 kcal vs. 45.2±3.0 kcal), and the SS condition resulted in greater change in one hour PEWL (0.52±0.14 kg vs. 0.37±0.15 kg). VI results: exercise EE was greater with SS vs. CON (204.7±24.2 kcal vs. 184.6±21.3 kcal), one hour EPOC was greater with SS vs. CON (87.7±7.0 kcal vs. 72.1±3.4 kcal), and the SS condition resulted in greater change in one hour PEWL (0.63±0.15 kg vs. 0.39±0.12 kg). Conclusions: Our findings support the feasibility of exercise training with a sauna suit– and the amplified exercise energy expenditure and EPOC–to contribute to long-term energy balance and thus improve cardiovascular health.

Alternative Spring Break

Design & Layout by Erin Diller

Last Spring Break 2016, seven students traveled to Selma, Alabama to spend a week in service and on a Civil Rights Historical Tour. We collaborated with an organization called Something New, of which Western alumna, Gwen Brown, is a founding member. Something New is a human rights and youth development organization that believes in equality for all. For service, our group volunteered at three different schools and it mostly entailed helping teachers in the classroom. We were also fortunate to meet with representatives from the Equal Justice Initiative and Southern Poverty Law Center, both organizations proactively fighting injustice and hate crimes. Our group also met with individuals that demonstrated in the famous 1965 March from Selma to Montgomery, advocating for their constitutional right to vote. Besides being awesome and loads of fun, the students feel like it was a life-changing experience to see the racial and poverty issues that still exist in the South, as well as learning about some of our countryâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s very painful history. Story courtesy of Sara Phillips (advisor).

Students attending: Alejandro Alejandre, Mckenna Sherry, Alexia Phillips, Samantha Patzelt, Josh Holmes-Sullivan, Taylor Juniel, Esmerelda Alejandre, & Sara Phillips (advisor). Special thanks to SOURCE Fund, Student Government Association, Gary Pierson, Multicultural Center, Athletics and Residence Life for supporting the students.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Year-In-Review

Peace Corps Prep Program Unveiled Western Brings New Program for Service Minded Students

To better prepare students for service in the workforce, Western collaborated with the Peace Corps to bring their preparatory program to the university. The program was officially launched in the fall of 2016. Key figures of the program gathered to share their experiences with the Peace Corps and answer interested students’ questions. Christopher Nutgrass, a Master’s in Environmental Management (MEM) Program student who served in Guinea, West Africa, introduced the program briefly as a panel of volunteers arranged themselves. The discussion panel covered everything from life as a Peace Corps volunteer, to loan deferment for volunteers. “I am so excited for this program [to come to] Western! So many of our students are adventurous, curious, daring, and have leadership potential,” said Amanda Campbell, a junior at the university. “The Peace Corps Prep will fit in perfectly at Western.” Completion of the program not only makes sudents more competitive in the Peace Corps application process, but also increases their marketability in any job sector. “This program builds professionalism and leadership development,” Nutgrass said. “The program itself exposes you to some different opportunities, classes that you might not have taken, studies that you would not have studied, and opportunities that you would not normally have.” There are six potential sectors in which applicants can apply. Those sectors are: education, public health, environment, agriculture, youth development, and community economic development. Once students pick their area of interest, there are particular classes they must take that include foreign language courses and intercultural development work as well as volunteer experience, and development of leadership abilities and professionalism. Nutgrass says that students are able to fulfill these requirements retroactively, which means that juniors are not out of the running to fulfill the necessary requirements. Students who want more information are encouraged to explore Western’s Peace Corps Prep webpage.

“Once the program has been completed, [the student] receives a certificate from Western and from the Peace Corps,” said Nutgrass. “Which makes them more likely to be accepted to the program.” Completion of the prep program does not guarantee acceptance to the Peace Corps, but does make applicants more competitive. It is also important for students to know that, by participating in the prep program, they are not obligated to apply for service in the Peace Corps upon graduation. Richard and Linda Barrows, a couple who served in the Peace Corps in the late 1960s, came to campus for the event. Mr. Barrows briefly talked about his service, and Mrs. Barrows was a part of the discussion panel. “[The Peace Corps] is a place to go if you want to find out who you are,” Mrs. Barrows said. “You learn a tremendous amount about your own self, capabilities, limits, and capacity.” The Peace Corps has volunteers in more than 60 countries around the world. Volunteers serve for two years in their assigned country, as well as go through a rigorous three-month training period. The prep program is still in the beginning stages, and will continue to develop and evolve. Nutgrass said that an abundance of applicants have made the Peace Corps into a very competitive program because students recognize the value it provides when entering the job market. On a positive endnote to the launch, Campbell said, “The Peace Corps Prep will make us all more globally aware, better leaders, and will help us get out and make this world a better place. I can’t wait to see what happens!”

“The Peace Corps is a place to go if you want to find out who you are,”

Design & Layout by Aaron Bauer

Bethany Eveleth Staff Writer

Poetry

Parlance, Forgive Us Lost like shrow, now the shrew surely childish, a pain no longer a frew “I have– an appointment?” Poor Bunbury’s gone Oh how scurrilous to Madam Language’s song Hodge-podge? No– Gallimaufry! Words, they’re alive Tis mullock! Snollygosters who prevent their thrive Forgive, I beseech, dear ol’ locution come, do realize You are the solution

Brittany Pratt

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Western’s Reducing its way to

ZERo WASTE Year-in-review

by Kennedy Sievers/Senior Staff Writer

Don’t be Trashy: Western’s Movement Towards Sustainability

Western is a progressive school in many ways, reducing the amount of money spent on Waste and a true demonstration of this is our Zero Waste Management services, and helping the environment Movement facilitated by the Masters in overall. King said, “Based on research by Western Environmental Management (MEM) students, students Sam Kozel, Cassidy Tawse-Garcia, Alyssa sustainability coordinators, and facilities. The Zero Vogan, Stephanie Aubert, and Zach Vaughter, we Waste Movement redistributes 90% of the waste generate 633,645 pounds of waste per academic created by Western’s campus. calendar year (32 weeks). If you include the summer According to Nathan King, Sustainability conference season this number is even larger. We Director, “Zero Waste means designing and currently divert 24% of this waste from the landfill managing products and processes to through recycling, composting, or reusing which systematically avoid and eliminate the volume and means 480,577 pounds still end up in the landfill.” toxicity of waste and materials, conserve and recover In order to illustrate his point, he continued, all resources, and not burn or bury them. In a more “Imagine filling two football fields one-foot deep in practical sense, this means diverting as much of trash. That would be the equivalent of what Western our waste away from the landfill as we can through sends to the landfill! This is a lot of waste, and we strategies such as reduce, reuse, and recycle. Some pay for it by giving Waste Management Inc. about universities define it as 90% waste diversion, but this $46,000 or more a year to haul away our trash. Our is not always achievable for every university given research shows that we could increase our diversion their location and resources at hand.” rate to 71% just through recycling alone.” While Zero Waste is a new initiative for Western and the community as a whole would Western, it is a progressive concept that has been benefit in many ways. According to King, “This around for a while. Innovative people who care would have multiple benefits for Western and our about the environment have been playing with community at large! These benefits include reducing the concept for quite a while. King says, “It was our impact on the Gunnison landfill, reducing our born from the mindfulness of taking a linear waste Waste Management Inc. contract costs, increasing stream and making it cyclical instead. Thus, nothing the recovery of usable materials for future (or very little) is being wasted in the cyclical system. This mimics natural systems in the environment like nutrient cycles or rain cycles. It is the way the earth was intended to operate so that it can sustain itself.” There are quite a few goals that Western hopes to accomplish through the Zero Waste Movement. About their goals, King said, “Our short term goals involve getting to 50-70% waste diversion in the next year or two. Longer-term goals involve creating a Zero Waste athletic event toolkit and having Zero Waste integrated into all parts of university operations. Eventually, we would like to reach that 90% diversion rate that I mentioned earlier.” This is something that will benefit the environment, as well as Western. Through successfully reaching a Zero Waste status, we will be reducing the Students having fun at Zero Waste barbeque. Photograph courtesy of Nathan King. amount of waste that ends up in landfills, Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Year-In-Review

MEM Student Ayodeji Oluwalana demonstrating proper recycling. Photo courtesy of Lissette Rios. generations, and reducing our greenhouse gas emissions.” The Zero Waste Movement is growing quickly through the help of students that are continuing to get more involved. They are trying many methods to educate students, which can help undergrads get involved and become more educated about Zero Waste. According to Cara Leapley, sustainability coordinator, “We are doing a few things to educate undergrads. We have a composting station in the cafeteria, which someone sits at to make sure students know what they can and cannot compost. This year we have started to do a few Zero Waste events.” The group also held two different Zero Waste barbeques where they had several different buckets for different types of waste and educated people on how to properly dispose of the waste. They believe that these events have been instrumental in helping students become more aware of the movement and how to contribute. “We had one at the Freshman Orientation Barbeque, and at the Welcome Back Barbeque so far. At these we have stations for people to throw their food away, but rather than just having one bin where everything goes, we have four. One for recyclables, one for compost, one for the pig farm, and one that goes to the landfill. We have people at each station to direct people on how to dispose of their waste,” Leapley said. The Zero Waste movement is also trying to get involved in freshman lives. The movement appealed to students during freshman orientation week, and Leapley and Taylor Paulson, another sustainability coordinator, helped to organize an orientation event informing incoming students about how to properly recycle and compost. “This year was the first year we

tried to incorporate sustainability during freshman orientation. Taylor Paulson and I worked on this together. We made a flier about sustainability at Western to put in all of the freshman folders. We also talked about some of the sustainability projects when students were going on their tours of campus,” Leapley claimed. The orientation went well and seemed to help bring Zero Waste into the conversation for new and old students alike. “I think that orientation is such a great way to kick start sustainability at Western,” said Leapley. “We really want students to be thinking about it from the moment they start at Western. Hopefully in future years we will be able to expand on sustainability at Western even more.” Student involvement is the most successful way to accomplish the goals set by this group for Zero Waste. There are plenty of ways that students can get involved if they are interested. “Students will probably play the most crucial role in helping Western go ‘Zero Waste.’ One way of doing this is to cultivate a zero-waste mindset in your day-to-day life so that you minimize your trash,” according to King. There are many ways to reconsider what is actually trash and what can be saved and reused. It can be really easy if you just keep these few steps in mind: “You can do this by remembering the 5 steps to Zero Waste (refuse, reduce, reuse, recycle, recover). It is best to not create any waste in the first place (refuse). If you do have to create some waste, try to make as little as possible (reduce). Then try to find other uses for the waste you want to get rid of (reuse). If you can’t reuse it, then try to recycle or compost it in order to save the value of the resource (recycle). Lastly, use the leftover waste to create new forms of energy,” said King. wwwThere will be opportunities to get involved in Zero Waste on campus, so keep a look out.

Design & Layout by Delaney Adrian

Poetry

Haley Horvat

Hunger It’s doomed they say, There’s nothing more to do, This is how you live, So you sit here and use, use, use. Oblivious to a different life, Breathing in greed, This is how you live, Stubborn and needy only new, new, new. Animals will become scarce, Paying for your bad deeds, This is how you live, Polluting and abusing because you cannot see, see, see. The snow will disappear, There will be no future to hold, This is how you live, Your grandkids will have nothing all due to you, you, you. Today, everything is dying, No thought for tomorrow, This is how you live, You’ll never have enough, so you kill, kill, kill the Earth, until you take all you think you need.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

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2016-2 017

1) Cierra Redding Self Portrait Chalk Pastel 18" x 24" 2) Robert Valdez Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Stdy of Attilius Charcoal 19" x 25"

Drawing

1) Skyeler Smith Fall Fruit Carbothello Pencil 22" x 28" 2) Jenna Lundberg Farm Across the Way Prisma Color 33â&#x20AC;? x 26.5

2 Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Drawing 1) Christine Belgarde Isopod #2 Pen 4" x 6" 2) Cierra Redding Barbwire Impression Chalk Pastel 21" x 7" 3) Lane Sherman Top Water Ink 18 " x 24"

1) Jenna Lundberg Hannahâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Amsterdam Graphite 13" x 13" 2) Jeff Ismert Curious Crow Pen 8" x 17" 2

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

After waiting for years, top-shelved in brain, they’ve come again—the thoughts, the swears of death— through my throat, out my mouth, into the strained, beaten steering wheel, screaming, fucking kill yourself already. Down the road, burning through the house—anti-home—empty. Grimy tub running, crying, seeing their mocking faces in the blade, eternal slimy grins. You are nothing. No one cares, hisses my lip, breathing poison air from rotted chest cavity. Grab a bottle of piss to dull the fear. Dump it down your knotted throat. Numb, I plunge. Drowning, relieved of doubt, I break the skin to let the spirit out.

Bella Lewis

Thrice Attempt

Year One / Soul Bathing

Year Two / Night Surfing

Layout by Erin Diller

I break the skin to let the spirit out, but stuck like sap it stayed within. It dug a hole inside my head and fell asleep. Another year it laid in wait, until my father blasted through the barricades I’d set before we’d met. I hope, he said, They come and drag your body from my home. You disgusting human being, you pathetic, worthless, ugly, stupid piece of shit. My lungs were flat, my mind ablaze, to kill the flames—expand the lungs—I ran through sand to shore and thought I’d drink the sea to fill the body, wash it out, until the soul escaped and floated far from here.

Year Three / Scar Sketching The soul escaped and floated far from here but westward bound it met me once again. I scolded it—the stubborn ghost—sincere in longing I could keep it from my skin, my bones, and mind that ache to be alive. And yet again, for thrice attempt, I stabbed with quaking hand three shallow marks. I’ve tried to hide them under sleeves since purple scabbed them dry, but here they stay, a skin-scrawled sign that says congrats on your last suicide attempt. With shaking hands, I trace the lines possessed hands drew and beg myself to try, to live, to bring back thoughts apart from pain after waiting for years, top-shelved in brain.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

non-Fiction

Your bones ache first. They sense the cold before your muscles, fingers, extremities, before the hairs on the back of your neck, the tear ducts in your eyes, the enamel on your teeth, and the mucus in your nose. In the agonizing cold, your bones are the first to telegraph the brain and cry out, “Why have you forsaken us?” You hear their cries, and pause just past the traitor door which condemned you to the agony of the outside world.But, you ignore your bones, and the rest of your body begins to protest as you move farther away from the comfort of your home paradise. This is your body’s first response to the negative-degree weather in the ninth layer of Dante’s Inferno: Gunnison, Colorado.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

non-Fiction

Design & Layout by Delaney Adrian Illustration by Zhaolifang

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Prose/Poetry

Stay I know. I’m only a pencil; an austere, wooden pencil. A stick of graphite wearing a coat of wood. There’s nothing special about me. That became obvious by the ones with plastic suits. They call themselves mechanical pencils. Mechanics for short. They think they’re so smart. Apparently the plastic suits make them run faster. It rejuvenates them. With those coats they don’t have to stop and sharpen themselves up in the middle of a race. I do. My forest apparel is useless. It’s heavy and a hassle. But as I reflect on it, what is so wrong with that? Maybe I do take things a little slow. So what? It yields room for thought. I, at least, invest the time to enjoy leaving those gray footprints on that white field. I’ve witnessed those mechanics. They charge so fast towards the finish line. They run so fast they crumble and split. Plastic coats crack and the mechanics are so thin they can’t hold their own. But not me. I am strong and sturdy. It takes more than a firm grip from the gods to break me. While a mechanic may wither away and get forgotten I, a carpenter, stay. I write my stories and pass those tests. I illustrate my life. And I, the wooden pencil, finish their mistakes.

Brittany Pratt

Barder With Me Here we are. Each a verse in hand, Equipped with language and Each a foot in the sand.

Whether embellished or terse, As a shorelineâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sunset fades, Carve some woolly words and Barder with me, mate.

Matthew Ward

While we share the Earth Why not also make a trade?

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Fiction

“This woman has forgotten how to laugh.”

Design/ Illustration and Layout by Jeff Ismert

The woman opposite me is a stranger. Her smile, her laugh, the light in her eyes—they’re all things I’ve seen in photographs and home movies, but have not met in person for a very longtime. She sits there, laughing at all my jokes—even the bad ones. She even contributes with a few of her own in a southern twang not yet rubbed out by Colorado’s accent eraser. Her face twists and her eyes bulge out in faces that leave me in stitches. I try to imitate it, but I can’t—not like her. She laughs without slur, without the giggle-enhancer that is alcohol. At this table of my imagination, there is no wine. There’s seafood: all kinds of fried perfection and pasta that would put Red Lobster to shame. She gorges on it all, not worrying about the calories. She encourages me to do the same. She’s simply grateful to be placed at such a feast, especially when considering her childhood meals consisted of ketchup on crackers. She tells me about the movies she likes—all romance, of course, and with happy endings and good soundtracks and doesn’t try to force out a film reviewer’s vocabulary on my behalf. There is no, “The photo-tograophy was stunning,” or, “The performers were great.” She simply smiles and tells me how much she enjoyed the story and maybe shed a few tears. Some of them are B and C-rated, but she doesn’t care. They make her feel something special, something warm. In her eyes, that is perfection. It is a simple way to love something, and it is the way she loves everything. “I just love Hope Floats. It’s got such a great love story in it. And I just love Sandra Bullock. Such a great actress.” When she smiles, there is a kind of sunlight that enters the room. It’s a real, unhindered smile and laugh that means she’s thrilled to be alive. It’s loud and unfiltered. It’s the kind of laugh comedians hope to hear that first time on stage.

We don’t talk about war. She hasn’t been yet. She tells me about the hell of basic training, and how she runs miles at five in the morning after dropping her daughter off at day care. The men she has to work with are unbearable, of course, but not all of them. “Some of ‘em are good men, but some of ‘em, my God.” Her daughter is the most beautiful, talented little girl on the planet. At least, she tells me so. She’s just as headstrong and proud as her mother, and even more so than she expected she’d be. She can’t wait to see her grow and become even better. Being a single mother in the military is not easy, sure, but for that little girl, it is absolutely worth it. But this table and this conversation only exist in my imagination. The woman opposite me is a stranger, but one I am very well acquainted with. Her face is dim, her eyes are red, and every look she gives me seems to have a sort of hidden pleading within them. She tries to laugh—to smile at my jokes for my sake—but every time she laughs before the punch line, it stabs me in the heart. This woman has forgotten how to laugh. There is a constant misery trying to hide itself under a smile that seems yellow and rotten. Every word she speaks sounds like it was put in a wet blender. Every laugh sounds like it rolled off of an assembly line. In front of her sits an empty wine bottle, and a freshly opened one beside it. I did not put it there. The only thing that urges me to drink it is the thought that whatever I drink will not go inside her. She encourages me to drink. She knows I’m not old enough. The table is empty. She doesn’t eat. She barely fills out her jeans, but in her small body she feels heavy. She avoids mirrors. She compliments me, but

does not accept her own. We don’t talk about her childhood, or anything about herself. She’d rather hear about me. I lie. When we talk about movies, she tells me about all of the Oscar films she’s seen and how all of them are incredible. If a worthy critic has seen it and thinks it’s great, she does too. “We should see it, Bel. We should see it. You’d love it. We should see it together. I’ve heard so many great things from Entertainment Weekly.” At some moment, like every night like this, she starts to cry. When this moment comes, I scoot my chair next to hers and hold her. She asks me to hold her tighter. And tighter. She sobs loudly, unafraid to scream in an empty house. Afghanistan will never leave her. She’s a Purple Heart hero, but she never talks about heroism. She never talks about anything that happened over there. That point of her life is a secret that is written nowhere but her crying face and PTSD. “Please don’t leave me. I’m so lonely. I’m so lonely. I couldn’t take it. I miss you so much, Bel.” And I miss her, too. I miss the woman who gave up everything for everyone else and left nothing for herself. Twenty years ago, this woman would have looked at this version of herself and felt as much pity and hurt as I do now. Her past self would look at me and apologize, but I wouldn’t hear it. I would hold her tightly and let myself cry for hours until she vanished back into whatever make-believe memory world she came from. But this reuniting and this perfect, past version of my mother only exist in my imagination. The woman sitting in my seat—in my skin—is a stranger. Her reflection is hazy and full of self-pity. When she was a child she’d think about her mother—her hero—and think, ‘that’s what I want to be.’ And in a way, that’s just what’s happened. She’s self-sacrificial a fool for the sake of others. She’s projecting a mask out, hoping to squeeze a laugh out of someone just to feel, for a moment, that her presence is worthwhile. Laughing through the pain is better than crying through it, after all. She’s learned this well. It’s been passed down to her like a talent. The table is full of half-priced beer and on-sale vodka she got from a friend—and mother, as a housewarming gift—and nearly all of it is gone, but still there’s a voice in her head begging for more. Nothing else is ever enough. Music is not enough, film is not enough, acting is not enough; all of those things just distract from the pain, but liquor—liquor can dull it until you can’t feel your brain in your head anymore. The movies she likes are all dark. Someone dies, someone cries, someone kills themselves. If it has

a happy ending, it’s a cliché, because god knows no one gets those in real life. There is no love story. There is no family. Everyone in them is broken, for one reason or another. That’s what life is like, after all, a broken mess you can’t pause or rewind. She liked Disney when she was a child, but she’s not a child now. “That’s not the way life fucking is, okay? I don’t wanna see some bullshit love story or tied-up-with-a-bow ending. I wanna to see realism.” The smile she wears is fueled by alcohol. When it hits her, she giggles like she’s being ticked from the inside. It’s not exactly real, but it’s still laughter, so she figures it’s acceptable. It’s justified. She doesn’t talk about war with anyone. All anyone wants to hear is patriotism and fighting for country. They don’t want to hear about PTSD, veteran suicide, or how impossibly hard it is to adapt after you come back from overseas. Everyone just sweeps it under the rug and lets America continue jerking itself off with how great its military is. And sure, she brags about her veteran mom for a bit and leaves it at that, but the conversation ends when she starts getting angry. When she needs someone to blame for her losses. “The military took my mother away from me. She never came back. Not really.” She knows everything that was done was for her, and is thankful for it. Getting out of the trailer park, having nice clothes, having food on the table—it was all put into place by her mother’s enlistment. Every now and then she thinks of how different her mother’s life would be if she weren’t born. None of this would have happened. Perhaps she’d be happy. But perhaps will only ever exist in a self-destructive, alcohol-drenched imagination.

“Twenty years ago, this woman would have looked at this version of herself and felt as much pity and hurt as I do now. ”

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Poetry

Splinters The buildup of age is evident. Prints from various feet are the only thing to disturb the dust. With every wondering breeze the old tomb moans. Bones splinter and creak. Glorious wall paper sags from the sides of weathered walls. Scratched, stained, beaten, broken Memories of sickness and blood shed, What lies under old rugs, hidden between the cracks. A free soul, long forgotten. Cool breath pricks a delicate ear. Find the truth behind the mysterious, Doors squeak, opened for who?

Slick vines claim what was once theirs. Sunshine glints off missing reflections. Even when what once was is no more, The wood will always remember.

Belle Perugini

Shattered windows allow for escape, but the wood knows all and will never forget.

To the comforting cold of a mountain fall. The rigid stability provided to the spine by the rustling breeze that brings back the

Bethany Eveleth

An Open Letter hot apple ciders, and thick plaid scarves. Thank you for undressing the trees and for the reminder that it is okay to lose your sweatshirts, mittens, socks or minds. In the midst of the crazy autumn whirl of marigold hillsides and the sweet stink of sweets not long forgotten. Paradoxes of life shimmer through the wispy, wintery clouds of fresh snow. The naked trees mocking the bundled up passers by moving through their days, waiting for the frost to thaw. Chasing the sun we run. Not far, not long, just to find the sun soaked rocks that warm the soul, as the next round of stinging storms seep down from the mountain and into the valley. The comforting cold collides silently with dancing diamonds.

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Fiction

Highway 15 on a

Tuesday Evening by Roberta Marquette-Strain

I hate this song. I can’t understand what the singer is saying, the bass is too loud, and I’m sick of hearing it 10 times a day on 5 other channels. I change the channel. “I liked that song.” He said sharply. “It’s on all the time. I’m bored of it.” I said. “You’re just full of confessions today huh?” He turned the channel back. I want to say I’m sorry. I have to bite my cheek to stop myself, remembering the feeling of relief I had half an hour ago, when I decided to stop lying to both of us, and told him how I really felt. But that was half an hour ago. The strong woman who looked him in the eye, told him I wasn’t happy anymore, that I wanted to stop treatment. That woman was gone. “I’m sorry.” Dammit. I look at the dark road now, clenching the steering wheel tightly. He begins to turn the volume up, hurting my ears. “Really?” I say, voice raised, “Stop acting like a child.” “I wouldn’t know what a child acts like.” He replies. He looks at me with challenging eyes. He knows what a low blow that is. We used to be happy. A feeling that I haven’t known in months. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, what I thought I wanted at one point. But I got tired of sticking myself with needles, endless headaches and nausea, only to be let down. I kept on doing it, for him. I wanted us to be happy again. “Can we at least wait until we get home? I’m driving and it’s dark. I

need to focus, please turn the music down.” I say as calmly as possible. He turns it off. His eyes are still on me. He wants to fight. I kind of do too. But this road is narrow and winding, there’s nowhere to pull over. He stops looking at me and looks at the road ahead. The silence now is aggravating. I take a chance. “I’m not sorry. I mean, I’m sorry it took so long for me to tell you, I just thought it would eventually work but I just got tired and I coul–” “Just shut up. I know you never wanted this. You were never in it as much as I was, you didn’t care enough.” “You think I didn’t care?” I say. “Then why did I put all that shit into my body? Why did I put myself through months of pain, agony, just to be disappointed again and again? I did it for you, for us.” “You’ve been lying to me.” He said sharply. “Stop acting like the victim. See it from my point of view, I’ve been jumping through hoops for us, it’s not my fault my body doesn’t work properly.” “That sounds like it is your fault.” Finally, the words he has been waiting to say. “Well go find someone else, clearly I can’t do this for you so leave-” My chest slams against the wheel, my body recoils back forcibly. I lie frozen against the stiff seat until I realize what has happened. My shaking hands fumble with the seatbelt and I step out of the car.

I m sorry. I m so so sorry. ’

’

Design & Layout by Aaron Bauer

’’

There’s a doe lying in front of the car; it’s bleeding. I kneel beside it and put my hand on it’s stomach. It’s torn and bloody but the body is moving up and down, slowly. My head is pounding and I can’t breathe. I suddenly feel dizzy, I lie beside the deer, keeping one hand on it’s stomach. Tears prick my eyelids. I hear his labored breaths as he carefully shuffles through the scattered glass. He grabs my arm. “C’mon.” He says. I don’t have the energy to open my mouth; I shake my head adamantly. I don’t want to leave her, alone on the road. “Get up. Do you know how ridiculous you look?” I’m trying to hold in my sobs, but my shoulders begin to jerk, sending painful waves through my sore body. “I’m sorry.” I whisper. I don’t know who I’m talking to. My husband, standing over me, seething and annoyed. The deer, whose last breaths are slowly releasing under my palms. Or myself, pathetic and ridiculous, lying in the middle of the road with a dying deer beside me, headlights glaring above this hideous scene. “I’m calling Cal to pick me up. I’ll call a tow truck for you.” He says. “Don’t look like this when they get here.” I hear him go back to the car and I let out a guttural sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

campus

Year-In-Review

campout students gathered for fun, food and games!

by Roberta Marquette-Strain Senior Staff Writer

In Oct. 2016, students gathered on the Field House lawn in the cool fall air to take part in the Campus Campout, an event hosted by a group of Recreation and Outdoor Education students. Music rang out into the evening as new friends bonded during games of croquet and badminton, while others chatted over a barbeque dinner. The event was created by the students for their Program Planning class. “It’s supposed to help us start learning how to plan and organize events, which we will have to do in outdoor recreation,” said Victoria Dinkel. Dinkel and four other students were in charge of creating, funding, and promoting the event. Shelby Deutsch, another member of the group, said that the ultimate goal of the campout was focused on community. “It’s a community builder,” she said. “We wanted to get students out of their dorms and hang out, play some games. I think it also got a lot of people to talk to people they normally wouldn’t have.” The students also got help from the Gunnison Community, receiving food donations from City Market and Gunnison Vitamin and Health Food. The Gunnison Sockeyes served as a sponsor and gave lessons on fly fish casting for some of the attendees. “There’s no better time to practice casting than when there’s nothing on the hook to lose,” said Austin Noel, a member of the Program Planning group and an officer for the Gunnison Sockeyes.

, it s a safe way to camp, and , it s a lot of fun.

Shelby Deutsch sets up her tent for an overnight campout.

Tori Jarosh plays a game of badminton.

Jordan White gets a casting lesson from Austin Noel. The newly minted Croquet Club also made an appearance at the campout. Students were able to learn the basics of the game while playing with the club’s brand-new equipment. “I knew they were planning this and since we were starting this club I asked if we could come and play,” Shawn Siegert, the club’s president said. Siegert explained that he is in the same Program Planning class as the campout hosts and appreciated the opportunity to the promote the club. And the plan seemed to work for Canyon Mueller, who played throughout the night and said that Siegert should “sign him up.” Meanwhile, others in attendance went head-to-head in multiple games of badminton. It was never clear which team won, but the laughter shared seemed to be the only thing that mattered. Games like Apples to Apples and Bananagrams were played during the barbeque dinner. While this year’s campout was for a class, the hosts hope to see the event becoming a tradition. “I do hope it becomes an annual thing,” Deutsch explained. “It’s a safe way to camp, and it’s a lot of fun.” Deutsch added that in the future, hopefully the event could be held earlier in the year so the attendees can also camp out on the lawn overnight. Nevertheless, the group of students was pleased with the turnout and hope to see it grow in the future.

Design and Layout by Jeff Ismert Photos by Roberta Marquette-Strain

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

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2016-2 017

3-Dimensional

1) Jamie Thompson Tanzanite Pendant Sterling Silver, Tanzanite, Smokey Quartz, Shark Eye Lense 2) Rachel Bender Oceanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Treasures Silver, Fossil Shark Teeth, Black Opal

1) Christian Linton Bullet Ring Brass, Copper, CZ 2) Jordan Wilbanks Engrammatic Steel, Copper, Brass, Glass 12" x 17" x 15" 3) Cierra Redding Opening the Cupboards Found Object 24" x 7"

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

3-dimensional 1

1) Jordan Wilbanks Ghuulghaal Steel, Copper, Wood 14" x 16" x 22" 2) Jamie Thompson Amethyst Pendant with Matching ring Sterling Silver, 14 kt Gold, Amethyst, Chrome diopside

1) Cierra Redding Time To Change the Channel Found Object 32" x 24" x 14" 2) Rachel Bender Scarab Sterling Silver, Ammonite 3) Corrina Bergeon Thought Bubbles Paper Mache, Modge Podge, Styrofoam 20" x 12" x 8"

3 Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

1) Kathryn Tech Lady of the Valley Watercolor and Ink 6" x 4" 2) Kassia Lawrence Prehistoric Teaparty (Part 1 & 2) Watercolor and Ink 9" x 14" (each)

Painting

1) Alex Jacobson Corruption of Nature Watercolor 17.5" x 24" 2) Bonnie Farnell Solitude Watercolor 12" x 16"

2 Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

painting

1) Kassia Lawrence Sol Watercolor 36" x 24" 2) Richard Paz Underground Abyss Watercolor 6" x 11.5"

Christine Belgarde Isopod #1 Watercolor 36" x 24" Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

painting

1) Richard Paz Stalactite Watercolor 6" x 11" 2) Daphne Fiedler Italia Nouveau Acrylic, Pen and Watercolor 2' x 4'

1 2

1) Aubrie Noland Caught in the Web Watercolor, Egg Tempra and India Ink 9" x 12" 2) Portia Wassick Number 9 Acrylic on Canvas 24" x 36"

Design & Layout by Alexandra Marsolek

Vol. 25 | 2016-2017 | www.western.edu/pathfinder

Year-in-review

Western Community Begins to Move Mountains

Students and Faculty Showed Up to SGA’s Inclusion Walk Roberta Marquette-Strain Senior Staff Writer

On Wednesday, February 22, the Student Government Association (SGA) hosted an Inclusion Walk to kick off their new student-led program, the Moving Mountains Initiative. The program aims to create a stronger community on campus by focusing on inclusivity and acceptance, while also challenging students to partake in tough conversations dealing with race, sexual orientation, and other topics. The Inclusion Walk did just that. Around 100 students and faculty members attended the event in the Mountaineer Field House to stand for inclusion on their campus. Associate Vice President of Student Affairs Melanie Hulbert gave a speech focused on the importance of understanding one’s identity as well as accepting others’ identity. “Western, it is wise to see people for who they are, to acknowledge that people’s experience may be different than yours. It is wise to feel uncomfortable and push yourself into place, with people that look different than you, that speak different, that think different.” Hulbert touched on her own experience with learning to push herself to be more understanding of others’ backgrounds and open to difficult conversations. Hulbert said honestly. “I’m still trying to learn what it means to think in a diverse and inclusive way.” Hulbert ended her speech by asking the crowd what kind of ancestor they want be, and what

Members of Pathfinder Magazine Design Team work on mural during the event. Pictured: Erin Diller, Alex Marsolek, Jeff Ismert and Robin Butler.

legacy they want to leave behind for future Western students. For Hulbert, she hoped that the Inclusion Walk would set the foundation for the future of a more inclusive, diverse, and accepting campus. When the time for the inclusion walk came, where the attendees walked twice around the track, Hulbert asked them to talk and walk beside someone they didn’t know and most importantly, didn’t look like them. After the walk, the attendees got to have some fun on the inflatables SGA provided. Clubs like Spectrum, which is the LGBT+ group, and Program Council had booths at the event to talk to attendees about what their clubs do to support an inclusive campus. Students Ethan Menzies and Ariana Sorensen were interested in the event because of its focus on inclusivity. “It’s an event that has meaning, and the goal is to get people together to create a better environment we want to live in,” Menzies said. Sorensen agreed, adding, “I feel like this is a good step towards making progress.” SGA member Ashley Nguyen was required to come, but said she would have come anyway to meet new people and help set the foundation for a more inclusive campus. Nguyen is also a member of the Asian Pacific Islanders club, which is associated with the Multicultural Center (MCC). For her, inclusion is incredibly important, as she has had personal experiences of being excluded, “I went to an all-white high school, so growing up I always felt not included, and honestly not important. But coming here and starting fresh and being a part of the MCC, I feel like I belong and have a place on campus. I’m very excited to see what (Moving Mountains) will do.” The Inclusion Walk was considered successful by the SGA members, but also recognize that this is just the first step. Hulbert acknowledged this in her speech, and pushed the students to continue to lend their voices to fight discrimination, color blindness, and so on. so on.

Because before the Western community can move mountains, they have to move stones first.

Design & Layout by Erin Diller

Design Team Delaney Adrian Aaron Bauer Robin Butler Erin Diller Jeff Ismert Alexandra Marsolek – Art Director Terri Murphy – Faculty Advisor Cover design by Jeff Ismert

Literary Team Managing Editors Samuel Ferrara Aaron Goettel Specialist Associate Editors Jennifer Cirkovic Marlida Mear Elizabeth Ramsey Kennedy Sievers Associate & Assistant Editors Zoe Henderson Levi Larson Bella Lewis Josiah Miranda-Troup Douglas Nelson Brett Nielsen James Powell IV Jay Ytell Tajá Mir Butler Jonathan Gossman Enrique Lozano Emerson Stewart Dr. Elizabyth A. Hiscox – Faculty Advisor Dr. Mark Todd – Faculty Advisor

Top O’ the World Contributors Marisa Cardin Bethany Eveleth Roberta Marquette-Strain Kennedy Sievers

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