Updates 

April 16, 2024

"The Right to be Wild film tells the story of the near extinction and return to the wild of the endangered Mexican Gray Wolf. Filmed largely within the scenic Mexican wolf recovery area in the Southwest, the documentary highlights people who played critical roles in recovering the Lobos of the Southwest and emphasizes the beauty and ecological importance of wolves."

Mexican Gray Wolf Documentary - The Right To Be Wild

April 15, 2024

Thinking Like a Mountain by Aldo Leopold

A deep chesty bawl echoes from rimrock to rimrock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night. It is an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world. Every living thing (and perhaps many a dead one as well) pays heed to that call. To the deer it is a reminder of the way of all flesh, to the pine a forecast of midnight scuffles and of blood upon the snow, to the coyote a promise of gleanings to come to the cowman a threat of red ink at the bank, to the hunter a challenge of fang against bullet. Yet behind these obvious and immediate hopes and fears there lies a deeper meaning, known only to the mountain itself. Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.

Those unable to decipher the hidden meaning know nevertheless that it is there, for it is felt in all wolf country, and distinguishes that country from all other land. It tingles in the spine of all who hear wolves by night, or who scan their tracks by day. Even without sight or sound of wolf, it is implicit in a hundred small events: the midnight whinny of a pack horse, the rattle of rolling rocks, the bound of a fleeing deer, the way shadows lie under the spruces. Only the ineducable tyro can fail to sense the presence or absence of wolves, or the fact that mountains have a secret opinion about them.

My own conviction on this score dates from the day I saw a wolf die. We were eating lunch on a high rimrock, at the foot of which a turbulent river elbowed its way. We saw what we thought was a doe fording the torrent, her breast awash in white water. When she climbed the bank toward us and shook out her tail, we realized our error: it was a wolf. A half-dozen others, evidently grown pups, sprang from the willows and all joined in a welcoming melee of wagging tails and playful maulings. What was literally a pile of wolves writhed and tumbled in the center of an open flat at the foot of our rimrock.

In those days we had never heard of passing up a chance to kill a wolf. In a second we were pumping lead into the pack, but with more excitement than accuracy: how to aim a steep downhill shot is always confusing. When our rifles were empty, the old wolf was down, and a pup was dragging a leg into impassable slide-rocks.

We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes - something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters' paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.

Since then, I have lived to see state after state extirpate its wolves. I have watched the face of many a newly wolfless mountain and seen the south-facing slopes wrinkle with a maze of new deer trails. I ha ve seen every edible bush and seedling browsed, first to anaemic desuetude, and then to death. I have seen every edible tree defoliated to the height of a saddlehorn. Such a mountain looks as if someone had given God a new pruning shears and forbidden Him all other exercise. In the end the starved bones of the hoped-for deer herd, dead of its own too-much, bleach with the bones of the dead sage, or molder under the high-lined junipers.

I now suspect that just as a deer herd lives in mortal fear of its wolves, so does a mountain live in mortal fear of its deer. And perhaps with better cause, for while a buck pulled down by wolves can be replaced in two or three years, a range pulled down by too many deer may fail of replacement in as many decades. So also with cows. The cowman who cleans his range of wolves does not realize that he is taking over the wolf's job of trimming the herd to fit the range. He has not learned to think like a mountain. Hence, we have dustbowls, and rivers washing the future into the sea.

We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness. The deer strives with his supple legs, the cowman with trap and poison, the statesman with pen, the most of us with machines, votes, and dollars, but it all comes to the same thing: peace in our time. A measure of success in this is all well enough, and perhaps is a requisite to objective thinking, but too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run. Perhaps this is behind Thoreau's dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world. Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf, long known among mountains, but seldom perceived among men.

April 8, 2024

DANCE WITH ME by Blake Lavia

Have you ever heard the giants breathe? 
I think I have. I heard them breathe in the large rivers that meander down the peaks towards the valleys. I heard them breathe on the mountainsides, the trees pillars of thoughtful silence. I heard them breathe in the lakes, where the hush is so deep you can listen to your own heart beating. This is where the story begins, on a winter day. A day like many others, in which I decided to go and listen to the slumbering world of the mountains I call home.  
That was the day I met them, the guardian of the forest, dressed in brown feathers. They were a barred owl; I remember them clearly. They swooped down from the sky, landing on one of the tall branches of a tree a few feet away from where I was walking. Their black onyx eyes looked down at me, searching. I was startled, at first, by the purpose that lay behind those eyes. Somehow, I knew the barred owl wasn’t there by chance. They had been waiting for my arrival.

 
It sounds odd to say that a barred owl might be waiting for a random human to walk by. Yet, there they were and there was I, both of us staring at one another. We didn’t move for a long time, and I got lost in those black thoughtful eyes. It was like a spell. I couldn’t look away, I couldn’t move. The forest receded all around me, as all my attention turned to the plumed forest guardian. 

Then, the barred owl shook their feathers and took flight, leaving me gaping at their extended wings. They landed a few trees ahead and turned back towards me. The barred owl moved their head side to side, their body swinging sinuously as they wobbled on the spot. I gazed at them bewildered, wondering at this new display. I even looked around, searching for another owl, who would have been a more appropriate recipient for the owl’s attention. 
We were alone. The woods were silent, except for the occasional breeze and the sound of dripping snow. The owl hooted, catching my attention again. They were still dancing on the branch, looking at me, and I understood. The owl, as odd it might seem, was asking me to follow them. 

I started walking, without thinking about what I was doing. As I trudged through the snow, the owl took flight again but didn’t go far. They perched on another tree and waited, more patiently this time. Time slipped away from me. I followed my plumed guide, at first through the trail I was pursuing, up a gentle slope flaked by tall white pines. At a certain point, I don’t quite remember when, we left the human-made path. We dove into the heart of the forest. The sun ascended to its winter zenith, and then started falling, painting the snow orange and the shadows silver. 

I only realized it had gotten dark, when the light had totally faded, and I couldn’t make out the shape of my guide. Everything was silent. It was as if an incantation had broken. I suddenly realized I was extremely cold, hungry and my body ached. Yet, oddly enough, I wasn’t scared. I could see the Milky Way, shining over my head. Thousands of stars dotted the sky, giving a new meaning to the word infinity. I stood there, lost in the contemplation of the universe, until I became aware of a stirring in the air. 

``

I looked down, and blinked. Fireflies. There were fireflies everywhere. Little balls of light were floating all around me, almost as if I had willed the stars to come down and join me on earth. It took me a moment to rationalize that I couldn’t be looking at fireflies. Fireflies don’t dance in the snow. Yet, there they were and were getting closer. 

I didn’t dare move. The forest had come alive, the air brooding with small round beings made of light. Suddenly, they enveloped me. They weren’t solid. I was surrounded by pure light, which felt like the warm caress of a candle flame. They pushed me forward. I don’t know how they did it, ephemeral as they were, but I was compelled to move. 

With their shining light, I could now see the path, for I was once again on a path. Some of the lights had gone ahead, showing me the way through the night. The snow ignited, reflecting the glowing orbs. I had the feeling of being inside a gigantic crystal, the snow also a white sky full of shining stars. It was still extremely cold, the air crisp, thin. Yet, I wasn’t freezing anymore, and even the hunger had faded. The shining lights held all my attention. 
I didn’t immediately realize the night was no longer silent. I could hear water rushing. The lights’ pace accelerated. They had started dancing; dancing to the tune of a music I had never heard before. The water seemed to be singing; singing with a clear voice that spoke words no human language could replicate. 

 We got over a hillock, and I looked down. The trees parted, like the curtains of a theatre, and there they were: a lake and a small waterfall. The same orbs that had guided me were now dancing on the lake’s dark surface. It was like a dream. 
The lights pushed me forward, and I descended the slope towards the lake. My boots crunched in the icy snow. The snow had melted during the heat of the day, and then frozen over. The weather hadn’t been particularly cold lately. The snow had been melting and refreezing, alternating between rain and ice. 
I stopped at the edge of the lake. A crust of ice covered the lake’s surface, except for where the water still rushed. I didn’t dare step on it, for I doubted it could hold my weight. From closer by, the song of the water was louder, and I thought I could catch the meaning of the whispered words in the surreal melody. 

The orbs dispersed. They all flew away from me, like a flock of birds taking to the sky. It was startling. Their glow had been keeping me warm and safe. Now I was left alone, prey to the biting crispiness of the night air. The orbs, however, didn’t vanish. They had joined their companions and were dancing on the lake’s frozen surface. I stared at them, only vaguely wondering what was going to become of me, lost as I was in the middle of the forest. Strangely enough, I wasn’t panicking yet. My senses had been dulled by the beauty that surrounded me. 
A light emerged from the center of the lake. At first, it didn’t have a defined formed, but then it expanded, stretched, and contracted until I could discern a shape. I was looking at a stag; a stag made of light with dark patches as black as the surrounding night.

The stag advanced towards me. As they got closer, I realized they weren’t quite a stag. Their horns extended like the branches of trees and had Nitella algae dangling from them. Also, the being’s face was like no deer face I had ever beheld. It had something human, but also something owlish. 
The stag stopped in front of me, and their shape changed again. They became taller, even taller than me. Their limbs stretched, and their hide lengthened, draping down like a gown. Suddenly, I was looking at a human body with the head and the antlers of a stag, and the vaguely human face of an owl. We stared at each other. I wasn’t cold anymore. The creature’s body was even warmer than the orbs that had accompanied me. It was like standing in front of a blazing fire that didn’t melt the surrounding ice. 

“Who are you?” I wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth.
“The spirit of Water,” I heard a voice reply. It was speaking in my head, but it had nothing to do with my own thoughts. 
“You…” I gasped, and the creature nodded. 
“Yes, and I brought you here.”
“And why did you bring me here?” I asked. 
The creature smiled, or at least I think they did. Their black onyx eyes curved slightly, and I thought there was a mouth curving right under their beaky nose. 
“Because of this,” the creature pointed at the waterfall.
I frowned. Why would a spirit bring me there just to see a waterfall? 
“It’s beautiful,” I muttered. 

“I know, they are beautiful, as my immense body always is. I, the Water, am always magnificent. But this is wrong. I shouldn’t be running, like I do here. The snow is not enough. The cold, it’s not enough. We need more ice. My lakes need more ice, for life to cycle, for the currents to flow. Snow quenches the thirst of the Earth and keeps the balance for ecosystems to thrive. We need the ice, we need snow, and it’s not cold enough,” the creature replied. 
I was enchanted by the sound of their voice, which was like the melody of the waterfall singing. Yet, their voice was so sad, it pierced my heart. I glanced around. There couldn’t have been more than half a foot of snow, and not everywhere. I remembered more snow, in the long winters past, when I was younger but still roamed those forests. The snow had diminished exponentially over the last decades, and every year the winters shortened. All the fossil fuels we burnt, the forests we cut, and the rivers we dammed, increased the planet’s temperature, making glaciers and the frozen poles a memory. 
“I know,” I said, realizing I was crying. My tears froze on my cheeks, crowing my lashes with crystals that glistened in the light that emanated from the Water Spirit’s body. 

“What can I do?” I added, knowing there wasn’t much I could do to change something that was happening on such a vast scale. Yet, the creature had sounded so desperate. I had to try and do something for them. 
The water spirit smiled again and took my hand. It was like touching light made solid. Their touch felt like water; water made of light. 
“Dance with me,” the creature replied, pulling me forward. 

My boots slipped on the lake’s frozen surface, but I didn’t fall through the ice. I started skating, as I trailed the Water Spirit towards the center of the lake. There, we were joined by the glowing orbs, and suddenly the music started. The melody that had been playing in the background had swelled in volume, Water now singing to the top of their voice. 
The Water Spirit started moving in a circle, and I followed. At first, I was slipping and tripping on my feet. Soon enough, however, I got my bearings, and I was spinning, twirling. The sky revolved over my head, while the lights spun all around us. The Water Spirit held both my hands, guiding me through the paces of a preternatural waltz. 

I closed my eyes, letting myself be guided. I don’t know for how long it lasted, but it suddenly stopped. The Water Spirit held my hands a moment longer, and then they let go. The lights went out. I shuddered, as I opened my eyes. The night was dark and extremely silent. I looked around, confused. Where had the waterfall gone? 

I was standing by my car. I couldn’t believe it. After all that walking in the woods, I had somehow returned. I searched my pockets for my keys and hurried inside. Now that I wasn’t surrounded by the supernatural lights, the night felt even colder. I turned on the engine and waited for the heating system to kick in, but I didn’t drive away. I was too stunned to do anything. Had it all been a dream? 

Minutes passed, and I slowly regained sensitivity to my face and legs. The more I thought about what I had experienced, the more I realized it didn’t really matter whether it had been a dream. Water had spoken to me. A Water Spirit, the spirit of a lake and forest, had asked for my help. It was then that I knew. I was going to do something. I drove home, knowing that I would be guided, just like the owl had guided me earlier that day. Water would guide me, and together we would find a way to bring the snow and the ice back to the mountains we loved.

Source: The Rights (Rites) of Rivers
 

March 31, 2024

What FDR had predicted on the third anniversary of the CCC in April 1936 had come true: Our records show that the results achieved in the protection and improvement of our timbered domain, in the arrest of soil wastage, in the development of needed recreational areas, in wildlife conservation, and in flood control have been as impressive as the results achieved in the rehabilitation of youth. Through your spirit and industry, it has been demonstrated that young men can be put to work in our forests, parks, and fields on projects which benefit both the Nation’s youth and conservation generally.

"Idle through no fault of your own, you were enrolled from city and rural homes and offered an opportunity to engage in healthful, outdoor work on forest, park and soil conservation projects of definite practical value to all the people of the nation. The promptness with which you seized the opportunity to engage in honest work, the willingness with which you have performed your daily tasks and the fine spirit you have shown in winning the respect of the communities in which your camps have been located, merits the admiration of the entire country. You, and the men who have guided and supervised your efforts, have cause to be proud of the record the CCC has made in the development of sturdy manhood and in the initiation and prosecution of a conservation program of unprecedented proportions."

— President Franklin D. Roosevelt, radio message to CCC enrollees, April 17, 1936

2024 is the 91st anniversary of the New Deal and so March 31st is the 91st anniversary of one of the first-funded, and longest-lasting New Deal relief programs, the Civilian Conservation Corps. Franklin Delano Roosevelt was sworn in as president on March 4, 1933, and in his inaugural address reassured Americans with the famous line: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself – nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.” The next 100 days were filled with legislation to help the devastated economy — which had a 25% unemployment rate — and to put Americans to work to feed, clothe, and house their families. The CCC was FDR’s idea – reflecting his longstanding interest in well managed forests and conservation, and he tasked Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins, the first woman to serve in the cabinet, to work with Congress to pass the necessary legislation and then set up the program. On March 31, 1933, FDR signed the enabling legislation and a week later issued an executive order creating the agency and appointing a director. 

March 29, 2024

The American Chestnut tree was a keystone species that ruled the Eastern United States, numbering in the billions. In 1904 an airborne fungus was introduced into the United States by way of imported Chinese Chestnut trees. The disease caused what is known as blight, which reduced the American Chestnut to "functional extinction", preventing the trees from sustainably reproducing. Within 40-50 years blight decimated the entire population. There are few people alive today that have ever seen a fully mature American Chestnut tree. Known as “the redwoods of the East”, they were the largest trees in their domain. Their loss is one of the greatest ecological disasters in history. - When Giants Roamed Appalachia

Chestnut Trees Are Returning to Forests - American Chestnut Breeding Program

“Once, the springtime canopies of western North Carolina forests were an unmatched floral display, thanks to a tree that nearly vanished. The American chestnut rose 100, sometimes 120 feet above the loamy forest floor. Most were nearly barren of branches for 50 feet or better. … These were massive trunks, some 16 feet in diameter. And they lorded over the forest. In most places every fourth tree was a chestnut. … All told, perhaps 4 billion chestnut trees grew from southern Maine to Georgia, and they put on a pageant. A starburst of pearly white catkins tipped nearly every branch of the massive trees. Each catkin was nearly half a foot long, streaking like a comet’s tail against the dark surrounding foliage. In the spring, you could stand atop ridges and watch the white flowers roll like surf for miles.” - T. Edward Nickens Our State Magazine 2012 - Appalachian Trail

Ted Talk De-Extinction - Reviving The American Forest

March 24, 2024

"Rewilding female jaguars to El Impenetrable National Park in Argentina, where there are none, will provide a genetic lifeline to a species destined for extinction there. They include a rescue from Paraguay and a captive-bred jaguar from Rewilding Argentina’s first-of-a-kind rewilding program." (Tomkins Conservation) - Rewilding Female Jaguars

March 17, 2024

"A lot of people were able to put things that mattered to them in the casket with Charlie. There was an eagle feather on his chest, there were necklaces, there were flags, there were rings, there was an iron cross. It was perfect."

"I'd like to focus on some things that Charlie brought my attention to, and the world's attention to; we can all do it together right now, by breathing in and breathing out. We do it all the time. Trees sustain the air that we breathe, moment to moment. And then the animals, that tend the garden that supports us all, and the entire web of life, day to day. And that's what this man stood for!”

Edit from eulogy of CM by GW 

Charles Milles Manson’s body was put to fire at 13:23 hours of 3.17.18. 

119 days after Charles left the body lying in chains on a hospital bed in Bakersfield on 11.19.17. a service was held in which a viewing was part of the cremation/funeral service in Porterville, CA. Charles’ body lying in a coffin looked like a pharaohs or a monks or a Confederate Generals body. While Charles’ body burned the Inner Sanctum said prayers, played music and sang songs with our (R) coming generations. There is no such thing as death and the cult is alive, All The Way Alive – In The Air, The Trees, The Water and The Animals. Charles’ body’s ashes were spread in the Sierras, where the equinox had already painted the landscape with greens of grass, nettle and poison oak, purples of lupine and datura, oranges of poppy and monkey flower…red soil, stone, and sun, grey boulders and clouds, brown oak and water…The sky was stormy and as soon as the ceremonial ash spreading began the wind kicked up, cold, and the sky darkened. Grey, ashen faces…Into the black night the procession of vehicles departed… And the rain fell.

Blog post from - ATWA ATWAR - in honor of six years past.

March 14, 2024

Nicknamed the "Grandmother of Conservation," perhaps no individual has fought harder for the protection for the Artic National Wildlife Refuge than Margaret Murie. - Arctic Refuge Testimony Before Congress

The voiceover from this film comes from a testimony Margaret Murie delivered to congress on June 4th, 1977, as part of the public hearings for HR39 - the bill that would eventually be signed into law in 1980 as the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act. The bill expanded the Refuge to 19.2 million acres and designated 1.5 million acres of the coastal plain as area 1002 - requiring an act of congress before permitting any oil drilling. (Video/Description by Dan Ransom)

The Story of "Mardy" Murie - Main Street Wyoming

March 9, 2024

Ocean Updates - Habitat, Practices and Protected Species

The Coral Triangle is one of the largest ocean habitats in the world, representing 30% of the world's coral reefs, 600 species of reef building corals, 75% of the world's coral species, and is home to six of the world's marine turtle species. More than 2,000 species of reef fish thrive in these waters. Here is a good overview of the threats facing the region - The Coral Triangle

Destructive fishing practices - Stories From Indonesia's Coasts

Illegal Fishing in Africa - Africa Fishing Industry

The Marine Conservation Institute - Marine Protection Atlas

Whale Protection - Seaside Sanctuary

Monterey Bay Aquarium - Rockfish

March 4, 2024

Rewilding Europe: The Tauros Programme - The Auroch's Revival From Extinction

"The aurochs is the ancestor of all cattle and thereby the most important animal in the history of mankind. The keystone species for many European ecosystems was hunted to its extinction in 1627. However, its DNA is still alive and distributed among a number of the ancient original cattle breeds. "The Tauros Programme" aims to bring back the aurochs as a functional wild animal, by back-breeding the closest relatives of the original aurochs." - Ronald Goderie (Director of the Taurus Programme)

The Return of The Aurochs Trailer - Science Vision Productions

The Aurochs Are Back (Short YouTube Video) - European Wildlife

De-extinction Ted Talk - De-Extinction

February 27, 2024

The Rewilding Institute works to restore habitat for keystone species in North America - rewilding.org

In this episode of Beyond Borders, Megan Southern talks about her work with the Northern Jaguar Reserve in Sonora, Mexico. She covers the history of jaguars in the United States and tells intimate stories of their lives. "Storytelling is key to advancing conservation; science alone doesn't lead to action, and imaginative empathy is key." - Paula MacKay 

Episode 121: Beyond Borders - Jaguar Recovery In The United States

The Northern Jaguar Reserve - NorthernJaguarProject.org

February 25, 2024

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June 2013 -

Welcome to the newly-launched Official ATWA website, www.ATWAearth.com  

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