Navigation Made Easy

When traveling the backcountry, being able to accurately navigate based on nature's cues or with a map and compass is one of the most useful skills to have.  Whether you are trying to find your way after being lost, or sticking to a bearing, there are many reasons why you would want to know where you are going in the woods - and equally as many ways to figure it out.

Your first hints at where the cardinal directions will come from are the sun, trees, and even rocks.  These tricks often work best when not in dense forest, so try to seek out a fairly open area with only a few trees.  In the Northern Hemisphere, our peak exposure to the sun comes from the south, while in the Southern Hemisphere it is from the north (wherever the equator is relative to you). Because of this, these tricks won't work if you are very close to the equator - the farther north or south you are the better.  The side of trees closer to the equator will generally be more abundant in branches because of exposure to the sun.  This is where the larger branches may be.  They may even lean towards the south, but it also may be because of intense wind.  The reason why looking for number and direction of branches won't work in deep woods is because increased exposure to the sun may be skewed by trees blocking sunlight from certain angles.  Rocks that are out in the open can also give telltale signs to the directions in the same way that trees that have the most sun exposure to the south will. Rocks will be bleached by the sun towards the south, and if covered by snow, it will have a thinner covering on the southern side.

The most accurate way to tell directions just by the sun is a tool called a sun stick.  This one does require consistent sunlight for ideally 30+ minutes, but it will give you an accurate insight into the cardinal directions around you.  Find a very straight stick and put it perpendicular into flat ground.  Make sure it is at least a foot tall to get a good shadow being cast off it.  Then find a much smaller stick to mark the end of the shadow.  If it is in grass, it is often helpful to put your hand on the ground to more accurately see where the shadow ends.  Wait until the shadow moves a few inches, and mark the end of the shadow again.  The line between these two markers is an exact East-West line, pointing directly east and west as the name implies.  Because the sun rises and sets in a slightly different spot each day, watching to see where the sun rises and sets *approximately* is not as accurate as setting up an east-west line.  This technique gives an exact line that is very accurate with all four cardinal directions.  

Another essential tool for navigation is a compass.  The two most common types that will be handheld on a camping or backpacking trip are lenastic and orienteering compasses.  Although they have their differences, they work in the same way.  The most basic, and possibly useful skill to use on compasses is how to take a bearing.  This can be done simply by looking at a landmark that you want to navigate to, or on a map by knowing where you are and pointing the compass on the map towards where you want to navigate to.  Either way, the compass will have some sort of arrow or sighting hole (to look through towards where you want to go) which you point towards your destination.  Keeping this pointed towards your destination, you will now rotate the bezel of your compass.  This is a cylinder attached to the circle where the compass needle is.  By grabbing the outer edge of the main circle on the compass, you should be able to twist it back and forth both clockwise and counterclockwise.  There should also be some sort of line or arrow attached to the bezel so it moves as you rotate it.  Keeping the arrow or sighting hole towards your destination, rotate the bezel such that this arrow or line lines up perfectly with the north arrow inside the compass.  Now look right under the arrow or sighting hole to see which degree number (0-360 degrees) is at the front of your compass, and that is your bearing.  Now just start walking with the north arrow and the bezel line flush with one another, and you'll get to your destination in no time.

These are just a few basic ways to orient yourself out in nature when you have no other means at your disposal. The natural world is full of information, if you just know how to look for it. Happy navigating!

An Ode to Outdoor Gear

Although I initially wrote this as a college application essay, I felt it was worth adding to my blog. I do spend a large amount of time and energy researching outdoor gear, but I want my friends to know there is a reason behind every decision!

“Soft-shell or mid-layer jacket?” I had two options as I headed out on my run.  It was more than a decision, it was a discussion.  What are the benefits or drawbacks of each? One may be lighter, the other more durable. One may be more water-repellant, the other warmer. “Who was the first person to pioneer this trail?” Despite its beauty and societal value, it could be causing habitat fragmentation. “Should I still run it?” 

Many access their creative endeavors from the peace and quiet of a room or office. I am inspired by the wild places of the world. Exploring the outdoors is the spark for my greatest creative thinking.  Whether pondering how the landscape has changed throughout the geologic time scale, or asking how fabric could really be made to let air vent out, but not let water penetrate in, the natural world spurs my wonder more than any other place. The most extravagant chandeliers or city lights pale in comparison to the pristine stars and scintillating beauty of the Aurora Borealis.  The twists in the trail are a work of art, the rush of whitewater is music to my ears, the snowflakes’ dance is an act of divinity.  It is this connection between the outdoors and the imagination that allows me to find creative joy in so many things.  Each scenic view, each moss-covered boulder holds intrinsic meaning that creates opportunities for creative expression.  I climb, I hike, I paddle, I struggle, I fall. I climb again. This is my art. It is why I feel a connection to, and motivation for protecting the wild places of our world.  It is why I have been planning my trek to the Appalachian Trail since I was 9; why I have been dreaming of my expedition to the Himalayas since I was 12. 

Yes, I do have 7 different backpacks.  But each one is meticulously researched and designed  to perform a specific task.  An artist’s tools must be selected with care.

“A soft-shell or midlayer jacket…..?” Could I design a jacket that does the job of both?

Atavism

"Atavism"

John Myers O'hara

"Old longing's nomadic leap

Chafing at custom's chain

Again from its brumal sleep

Wakens the ferine strain

Helots of houses no more

Let us be out, be free!

Fragrance through the window and door

Wafts from the woods, the sea!

After the torpor of will

Morbid the inner strife

Welcome the animal thrill

Lending a zest to life.

Banish the volumes revered

Sever from centuries dead

Ceilings the lamp flicker cheered

Barter for stars instead.

Temple, thy dreams with the trees

Nature thy god alone

Worship the sun and the breeze

Altars where non atone.

Voices of Solitude call,

Whisper of sedge and stream 

Loosen the fetters that gall

Back to the primal scheme.

Feel the great throbbing terrene

Pulse in thy body beat! 

Conscious again of the green

Verdure beneath the feet.

Callous to pain as the rose,

Breathe with instinct's delight

Live the existence that goes

Soulless into the night."

Indigenous People's Day

 Today is October 11,  Indigenous People's Day

As today's post coincides with the season of college essay writing, I am thinking of one of my essays in which I wrote about my experience in northern Canada meeting some of the indigenous Cree who live there. I had so many thoughts, I wanted to share more about this topic (way more than 300 words!) so I decided to expand my thoughts in my essay into a blog post. 

As a group who has been in America longer than any other, Indigenous people have traditionally had a culture that highlights a sense of respect for the land where they reside. Having a culture that appreciates the land allows one to better understand it and utilize it sustainably.  In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer highlights that "to be native to a place we must learn to speak its language." Being native to a place is caring about it, and learning about it, even if you or your ancestors came from somewhere else. We can all adopt a mindset of being responsible for the land we are on, because we all need to take care of the land we live on today.  Because the land doesn't belong to us. In reality, it doesn't belong to anyone - it is a gift that is passed from person to person, as long as it is cared for and respected, and not manipulated and exploited for profit. Simply having a feeling of belonging and responsibility will keep us motivated to keep it healthy.  Just as we wouldn’t leave our house dirty and uncared for, why would we do the same with our communal home?

From my travels, the things I have read, and the people I have listened to, i think it is clear that our current global issues are not an accident. Climate change, the global pandemic, and social and racial injustice are all interconnected. The way we treat our home, the planet, is the way we will eventually be treated. Adopting Indigenous practices towards the earth would be a powerful first step for all of us as we seek to make things right. This year I started reading an amazing book called Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer. (Just as I had started it, I got lucky enough to find out that Michael Jarvis started weekly instagram storytime and read us Northwaters/Langskib folks one chapter every week.) Then I read it again for a literature class in high school! One of the ideas in this book is important for us all. It says that 

regardless of whether you are actually of Indigenous descent, living as someone connected to the land is a vital step in bringing our current society closer to one that is both sustainable and equitable.  This may not be as hard as you think. All it requires is living while being cognizant of treating the land and natural resources around us as a privilege, not a given.  Treat the land as if it were a gift. A gift that will take care of you as you take care of it, and will be used by many future generations.  

Kimmerer says that, “Being naturalized to a place means to live as if this is the land that feeds you, as if these are the streams from which you drink, that build your body and fill your spirit. To become naturalized is to know that your ancestors lie in this ground. Here you will give your gifts and meet your responsibilities. To become naturalized is to live like your children's future matters, to take care of the land as if our lives and the lives of all our relatives depend on it. Because they do. ”

One reason people don't always take care of the land and life around them is because they spend too much time indoors. When you never leave your house/school/neighborhood/mall it is easy to forget that there is a whole world out there. To care about something you have to become acquainted with it. That is one of the reasons I started my club at Skyline High School, and why I started this blog. As someone who is concerned with climate change as well as Indigenous rights, I want to help bring awareness to these issues. Racism and environmental destruction go hand-in-hand but to care about the land and the people, you have to get to know them. You have to venture outdoors!

Nemonte Nenquimo, an indigenous activist from the Ecuadorean Amazon, points out that you can't fight for the survival of something you don't even know about. She says, "For Indigenous peoples it is clear: the less you know about something, the less value it has to you, and the easier it is to destroy....this is exactly what [you] are doing to us as Indigenous peoples .... and ultimately to our planet's climate."

Cristina Mittermeier, who is a wildlife photographer and co-founder of the non-profit group SeaLegacy, points out that in order to face our current climate and health crisis we need to "change our lens."

"Caring for people and the planet demands a new spirit of collaboration, centered on justice and equity. When we work together we have the power to rewrite the future. Let this be the decade when everything changes."

Skynature Club

Skyline Outdoors and Environmental Sustainability Club

This club grew out of my love for nature and the awareness of how many kids my age have spent little to no time outside in the natural world.

Simple lessons about the outdoors are a step towards helping kids my age feel more comfortable in the world they live in. 

Shelters

Not A Bomb Shelter, But Necessary Nevertheless

Why would you want to build your own shelter? One reason of course is simply for the fun and challenge of building something with your own hands that you can sleep in. But another reason is more vital: what if you are out in the wilderness, and in need of rescue?  If you realize that you are lost, and have calmly decided you need a plan, what should come next?  It is time to construct a shelter for the night.  In a survival situation, not being able to regulate your core body temperature and keep it around 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit is one of the biggest dangers, so it is important to know what to do.  

The Waters of the Chichichiwan

The Albany River's Name in Cree:  "Many Rivers Forming One Which Flows to the Ocean"

There were twelve of us who set out from base camp in Temagami, ranging in age from 16 to 21. We had all chosen to spend our summer in northern Ontario, braving the icy waters of the Albany River. Our journey began far to the south in Lake Osnaburgh and followed the river northwest until it emptied into the James Bay, a rounded basin sitting on the southern end of the Hudson Bay and fed by the waters of the Arctic Ocean. Along with our two leaders, we were paddling our canoes through this northern wilderness, ending our journey near what Google Maps calls “Indian Reserve No. 67,” just south of the Polar Bear Provincial Park.


I'd always been an outdoorsy kid, but after five summers of canoeing and navigating wilderness and whitewater, this trip was a new challenge: twenty-seven days on trail, bringing only what we could carry, our only connection to the rest of humanity being one emergency satellite phone. Traveling the waters of the Albany River, or Chichichiwan in the Indigeneous Cree language, our canoes were brief splashes of red in a blue scene. We paddled dawn till dusk, through bugs and rain and wind and sun, through the powerful rush of churning whitewater, and around the cascade of roaring waterfalls. The river carried us swiftly down each curve, reflecting perfectly the cloudless dome of sky above. Separating sky and river was the rocky shore, leading to wild green forests that extended for miles. The powerful sun reflected off the water, glinting on each crest of the waves. The shoreline plants, highlighted in the afternoon light, developed a golden hue, concealing the occasional moose or black bear scavenging for food or getting a drink. Beyond the rocky shore and waving grass, deep in the woods, there were all manner of creatures, from clouds of mosquitoes, to squirrels and foxes, or even an eagle perched atop a solitary tree protruding from the mass of the forest. It all came together to form the beautifully rugged northern country so rarely traveled.



Our journey led us to Fort Albany, Ontario — a small town situated near the banks of the James Bay. The only way in and out of Fort Albany was by small airplane, or on the winter-season road made from packed down snow and ice. But the main way to travel in and out was on the water. Getting there as we did, required “putting-in” many miles upstream, and paddling in canoes that could navigate low water, narrows, and rocky bottoms. 

At the end of our one-thousand kilometer journey, I found myself in the house of Edmund Metatawabin, former chief of the Cree nation of Fort Albany. Ed was quiet but good-natured. He and his wife Joan had lived off this river their entire lives and knew it as well as any other member of the family. They invited us to join them for dinner. 

We cooked and ate our meal together in the community center. On the menu for the evening was Canadian Goose, cranberry sauce, fried potatoes, and salad. We prepared the goose by cutting the head and neck off, removing the legs, and separating the organs, lungs and heart. While the goose roasted we basted it with rendered fat to add flavor. Afterwards, Joan offered me the cooked goose heart, saying it was very healthy. It was savory, rich and chewy.

Later, after we ate, we sat together. Ed sat with us, and then quietly began to tell us his story. In his lifetime, Ed endured innumerable injustices. The Cree were discriminated against in Canada in every way possible: housing, education, basic civil rights, and the right to express themselves through their culture.

Ed told us about the forced conversion of Cree children to Christianity by residential schools. These schools had the sole purpose of alienating Ed from his Cree culture and making him conform to the European culture of the Canadian government. This had been going on across Canada for some time, yet people today often fail to realize how recent this was. Ed was born in 1948 — a time when residential schools ruled over reservations such as this one. The last residential school in Canada closed in 1996, little more than 20 years ago. When Ed was a kid, his little sister died, and his family was forced to bury her in a Christian cemetery, using a Christian service. He and his family could not send off their beloved daughter using the native traditions that were so important to them.

Having so many people still alive who have had to endure the horrors of a place practicing the “kill the Indian, save the child” mentality as Ed did, is a sobering thought for a world claiming to be so far removed from the iniquities of the past. Ed now lives with his family, speaks his language, and participates in his culture along with his children and grandchildren. The world now grants permission for him and his community to be who they are, but they still face a lot of challenges.

In recent years, numerous water diversion projects have left the Chichichiwan with a critically low water volume. In a decision largely made by officials living far from the river and the Cree who depend on it, the Canadian government diverted large amounts of water for farms, irrigation, and hydroelectric power. Chiefs and Elders from First Nation communities along the river repeatedly voiced their concerns, first on what they feared would happen as a result of the water diversion, and then as a call for aid when their concerns became a reality. At points, the river is now ten feet lower than it should be. When traveling down the Chichichiwan, the suddenly tall jagged banks and the wide expanses of riverbed rocks stretching out from the shore give a sense of how much water is missing; as water levels of the river have been depleted, so has the wildlife that depends on the water for life. The waters that are so essential to his people were taken away by others, without giving Ed and the Cree people any say.

This all leads to the disconcerting truth that even today, Indigenous people continue to be discriminated against in ways we as a society often cannot see. Many people, including myself, thought that the injustices facing Indigenous communities were a thing of the past, but my experience of this past summer showed me they remain a thing of today. The discrimination and dehumanization of Indigenous people continues to be no less potent, only sometimes less apparent.












After we slept in Fort Albany we went to the airport, and loaded our gear onto the two-propeller plane to begin our journey home. As we waited to leave this beautiful wild place, the cold wind drove us all close together and into the one room airport to be sheltered from the air’s sharp bite. As we took off, we looked down on the wild boreal forest below and saw a blue line turning and twisting through it like a snake, marking the route we had just traveled for the past month. Climbing higher, the wild lands faded away into a picturesque scene — vast blue expanses of water and sky interrupted by a brief splash of forest green on each side, eventually converging into nothingness on the horizon. 

We had been twenty-seven days on trail, and these were some of the best twenty-seven days of my life. I was amazed at how much you can learn about yourself and your trip-mates when traveling so far from home, in a pristine and wild landscape. I remember how hard the journey could be, waking up to freezing temperatures, pulling our canoes, splashing right into the frigid water, and paddling many miles in any temperature. I remember each time that we plunged into rapids, with water noisily churning around rocky outcroppings, or each time we loaded our heavy gear onto our shoulders to portage it over slippery rocks. But most of all, I remember the rugged beauty of it all throughout the day and into the night, when the scene faded away from the glinting waters to a serene, resting landscape. While the river rushed on, lost in the dark waters many miles downstream, the intermittent rustling of birds or squirrels in the trees died down and the aurora borealis, cold, yet brilliantly vibrant, moved like waves in the sky, washing each bright star as if it were a pebble in the cosmic ocean above.

Our trip was over, but it stayed with me, and I pondered what it all meant. I had learned so much about the people, the land, the wilderness, and myself. I was awakened to the fact that there are still places in the world where the wrongdoings of past centuries are as alive as ever. The wilds of the world are closer than I expected. And so are the injustices.