A More Formal Report

Although not exactly perfect to post here, this midyear report for my fellowship does have some life-details that seem worthy to add to the collection here.

To the Traveling Fellowships Committee:

First off: an enormous “Thank You!” to the committee for allowing me to set off on this incredible adventure. My time in South America has already proved one of the most formative experiences of my life. This fellowship has given me not just the means, but also the confidence, to step off the beaten path and head into a wild landscape, both literally and figuratively. Unlike a more structured job or program, my experience working here in south Chile for conservationists Doug and Kris Tompkins requires defining productivity and accomplishment for myself. With little in the way of guidance, I truly appreciate the sense of support—distant as it may be!—that comes with this fellowship.

As an introduction:
My job description here has morphed considerably since I wrote my proposal. Last winter, I set out a plan for enriching the environmental education opportunities in the future Patagonia National Park. Doug and Kris, who run this project of converting an overgrazed sheep estancia into prime wildlife habitat, were happy to work with me, but as time went on, we decided that my project needed some rethinking. Since the park will not open to the public for close to ten years, developing an environmental education curriculum now did not seem like the most productive use of my time. Instead, Doug offered to take me on as his Field Assistant. Neither of us knew what this would entail, since the position had never existed before, but the goal was to provide me with a comprehensive understanding of the vision, organization, dynamics and practicalities of a large, complex conservation project. The Tompkins have created large wilderness conservation areas in northeastern Argentina, Argentine Patagonia, and Continental Chiloe in Chile, as well as the future Patagonia National Park; they have restored over a dozen farms and ranches to productivity as models of sustainable organic agriculture; they have waged numerous battles against industrial threats to wilderness areas, from salmon aquaculture to mega-dams. In short, there’s a lot to learn about down here!

Pumalin Park, Palena Province, Chile: my home base for the year!

To the extent that my eclectic and ever-changing work her has a focus, it is on writing about and presenting the Tompkins’ work. Although incredibly impressive and critical for preserving biodiversity, these projects have provoked their fair share of controversy—creating massive conservation areas in countries without traditions of private philanthropy raises some eyebrows. Since I find this work so inspiring (and, thanks to my Hist & Lit training, can write decently about projects and ideas), I’m completing a series of projects to communicate the vision and scope of their work more accurately and compellingly. I’ve re-written Wikipedia pages and continue to improve their websites. Through taking the lead on several books we are publishing about this work, I’ve had an opportunity to research and write about various elements of these projects. Traveling around to help oversee various projects, introducing the project to visitors and participating in fundraising strategy sessions supplements my work on these books.

Although the format of my project has changed fairly dramatically, I’m learning and thinking about all the subjects I hoped to understand better. I had laid out the mission of studying the connections between wilderness experience and environmental ethics. Although I originally imagined I would accomplish this through launching my own project, I’ve appreciated the opportunity to listen to how renowned conservationists and outdoor educators approach this subject. Through months of working alongside Doug, I’m learning how he has designed wilderness areas like the enormous Pumalin Park to provide rich and thoughtful wilderness experiences. In short, I’m getting introduced to the existing school of thought on this subject—a tremendously valuable experience. At the same time, I’ve had the chance to head off on my own wilderness adventures, during which I have reflected on my goals and future as an outdoor and environmental educator.

Unconventional and unpredictable, my months here at the bottom of the world richly complement my formal education: through throwing myself into the vast and varied work of large-scale conservation projects, I’ve learned a range of practical skills, from collaring pumas to aerial photo shoots. Living on an isolated farm, with no road access, has taught me about both self-reliance and developing friendships with people from totally different walks of life. As I’ll describe more below, the rhythms of the days vary tremendously: whirlwinds of travel and guests alternate with quiet days of writing articles, reading books, weeding beds of carrots and baking bread.

Wrapping my mind around the enormous scope of the Tompkins’s work itself represented a project. Because I wholeheartedly support and admire this work, I’ll do my best to provide an overview of various efforts and the vision behind them—but given that detailing all these projects would take dozens of pages, I’ll focus on what I’ve learned and experienced here.


The Projects and the Vision:
As the story goes, Doug Tompkins, founder of The North Face and Esprit, decided twenty years ago to leave the business world and devote his resources and energies to conserving large wilderness areas in south Chile and Argentina. A few years later, he married Kris Tompkins, former CEO of Patagonia clothing company. Together, they have put over two million acres of land into conservation, with the aim of donating new national parks with public-access infrastructure to the nation for permanent conservation. Controversies have popped up along the way, but for the most part, their “wildlands philanthropy” has proved enormously successful: Corcovado National Park in Chile and Monte Leon National Park in Argentina have been incorporated into the park systems. Pumalin Park, Doug’s 800,000-acre flagship project in south Chile, received the official designation as Nature Sanctuary in 2005. The future Patagonia National Park, Kris’s jewel of a project, has the blessing of the Chilean park system. In addition, they have provided critical support to a conservation project in the Ibera wetlands, in northeastern Argentina.

Conserving and defending biodiversity lies at the heart of these efforts. Seeing the mass extinction of species as a crisis as serious, but far less recognized, than climate change, the Tompkins aim to preserve large enough wilderness areas (the “cores” of the “cores, buffers, corridors” model of conservation) that all the representative species can thrive. When necessary, they have launched projects to reintroduce extirpated species, monitor endangered species—and legally prosecute threats to wildlife.

Believing that “conservation must come as a consequence of production,” the Tompkins have transformed dozens of degraded farms into models of sustainable organic agriculture, which demonstrate how productive lands can benefit both economies and ecosystems. Around Pumalin, six small farms produce honey, berry for jams, sheep, cattle, and vegetables for local consumption. In northeastern Argentina, they operate around a dozen sustainable cattle ranches, managed with low stocking rates and careful attention to grass quality to prevent overgrazing. Slightly to the south, three cultivated polyculture farms produce a variety of organic grains, fruits, and nuts. Restoring land to productivity and beauty represents a major component of this work: transforming unproductive farms into exemplars of good agricultural practices provides real-world evidence for how humans can satisfy their needs without diminishing the health of soil or ecosystems.


The spectacular polyculture Laguna Blanca farm in Entre Rios, Argentina.

I’ve been lucky enough to visit all of these projects during my time down here. When I first arrived, I spent two weeks in Argentina, getting introduced to the wetland conservation work there. Completely flat, composed of mostly watery swamp and swampy water, the landscape of the Ibera wetlands altered my conception of natural beauty. Although far from sublime, this insect-rich subtropical watershed provides critical habitat for a vast number of animals. Even without any philosophical commitment to biodiversity, a visitor had to notice the thriving aliveness of the place: hundreds of bird species living side-by-side with carpinchos (enormous rodents), Marsh deer, crocodiles, foxes…the list goes on. For me, immersing myself in this landscape led to a deeper recognition of what we’re missing in the rest of the world: ecosystems teeming with life, to remind us of our small place in the magnitude of life on earth.


Flying over the watery parts of the Ibera wetlands, Corrientes, Argentina

After a few days in Buenos Aires, Santiago, and Puerto Varas, I finally arrived at my home base for the year: Pumalin Park, in south Chile. Doug’s first large-scale conservation project, Pumalin Park is now an 800,000-acre (larger than Yosemite) private nature sanctuary with public-access infrastructure. In the heart of the Valdivian temperate rainforest, the Park is just that: incredibly rainy, and densely forested. The Andes come crashing down into the ocean all around: wildly beautiful, this place certainly presents challenges to habitation. I live at the Reñihue farm, where Doug and Kris have lived for the past twenty years; the farm sits in a valley, between two rivers, on the edge of the Reñihue fjord. No roads reach into this mountainous; we get around either by small boat or light aircraft—Doug is a pilot. On the borders of the park, five other model organic farms act as guard stations for the park, preventing poachers from exploiting valuable tree species. The combination of an annual rainfall of seven meters (!), poor soil, a cool climate, and the remote location makes farming challenging: various experiments in growing berries have failed; honey production varies tremendously from year to year; even livestock, the most successful product, presents complications. Nonetheless, the project of finding an ecologically and economically sustainable livelihood for the area continues—and I’ve found listening in on various farm tours and discussions one of the most fascinating elements of my time here.

Although I’ve been based primarily in Pumalin, I’ve spent a fair bit of time further south at the future Patagonia National Park (generally referred to as “Valchac,” from the project’s base in Valle Chacabuco). This park-in-progress was the location of my original fellowship proposal. A transition zone between the arid Patagonian steppe and the southern beech forest, this landscape represents one of the only true areas of “Patagonia” in Chile—Patagonia being properly defined not as the southern part of Chile and Argentina, but only as the dry pampas characteristic of the east. The future park will encompass two existing National Reserves on either side of the Chacabuco Valley, to total around 750,000 acres. It will provide critical habitat for endangered Huemul deer, pumas, guanacos, and other species of wildlife previously pushed out by livestock grazing.


A view of the diversity of ecosystems within the future Patagonia National Park: wetlands, forests, and alpine areas.

Because the project still remains years from completion, my initial proposal of developing an environmental education program proved unfeasible—or at least, would have required a lot of unsupported solo work to produce possibly useless products. Every time I’ve visited Valchac, I’ve felt grateful to the Tompkins for suggesting that I change my plans—working side-by-side with Doug is one of the most educational experiences I’ve had. Everyone working down here is focusing primarily on building the park infrastructure: the park headquarters is one massive construction site, with four buildings currently in progress. Meanwhile, we’ve hosted dozens of interesting and important visitors: donors, prospective donors, conservation biologists, outdoor adventurers, architects, interior designers, and so on. Given the economic downturn, fundraising has become challenging, so I’ve listened in on many strategy sessions and spent many days entertaining guests. Although I did not expect fundraising to be a major part of my Patagonia experience, I’ve gotten a full-immersion introduction to the world of development; since I imagine working in the non-profit sector, I’ve found this element of my education here super valuable. This conservation project, and the ecological philosophy behind it, fascinates and excites me, so understanding the work required to complete it feels like a worthy use of my energies.


What I’m doing and learning:

And now, on to a more precise description of what I’ve been up to since landing in South America!

As I’ve told friends and family many times now, I struggle to come up with an accurate description of daily life and work here, because every day throws something new at me. That said, I would say four types of days are most typical.

The first is flying around with Doug to check up on different projects—farms, park infrastructure construction, or more remote conservation properties. I trot around, take notes, talk to various people about what they’re working on, help measure out where buildings should go, inspect berry bushes, admire cattle, learn how rock crushers work, how to lay bricks, restore eroded hillsides, design bathrooms—the list of miscellaneous lessons goes on. I’ve enjoyed learning, and learning how to learn, this hands-on, practical knowledge, since my previous decades of learning focused on books and documents. Given that Chilean Spanish is notoriously hard to understand and my vocabulary on subjects like rock crushers is limited, I’ve had to pay close attention to understanding these subject—but appreciate working in a context in which no subject seems too irrelevant to ignore.


A flying field trip in the tiny Husky with Doug. The Corcovado Volcano is right outside.


The second is entertaining various guests: organizing farm tours, leading hikes, taking kayaks, driving around, cooking dinner, all while talking and listening. As I mentioned above, I’ve met incredibly accomplished and interesting people from different walks of life, leading me to think about where I hope to head in the future. Meanwhile, I’ve collected stories: of biological research in the Amazon, hitchhiking through India, starting a clothing business, climbing unclimbed mountains, analyzing financial markets, and catching fish. At this uncertain stage in my life, hearing about the life experiences of people I admire provides a rough sort of guidance on the characteristics of success in a wide variety of fields. I’ve picked up some skills in the art of entertaining, as well—again, not something I imagined learning, but useful nonetheless.

The third is working with Doug on various book projects. When I went out to San Francisco this fall to meet Doug, we put the finishing touches on a photo-format activist book on CAFOs, the industrial animal feedlots that produce most of America’s meat—with a host of nasty problems. Then I edited and fact-checked a “Land Ethics” book, which describes the Tompkins’ philosophy on land ownership and details each of their conservation and productive properties. Most of my work on the book front, however, has been devoted to a 20-year retrospective of all the work of Conservacion Patagonica, the Conservation Land Trust, and the Foundation for Deep Ecology—the three organizations through which the Tompkins do their work. I’ve researched and written the majority of the text for this 250-page book, and have helped select, organize, and layout photos.


Shots from my book research: a small-scale hydropower station (an example of local renewable energy production), and a worm composting facility

This book project has proved educational in two ways. First off, I’m learning about book production, from start to finish. I’ve imagined writing a book before, but composing the text was all I thought about. Immersing myself in this process, which includes layers of photo editing, proofreading, legal reviews, etc, has taught me about the many steps behind publishing this kind of book. Working side-by-side with Doug is a tremendous opportunity to learn his methods of working, which tend to be unusual, visually-oriented, and effective. Second, I’ve had to gather and summarize information about projects from hydrogen energy storage to poster projects, from one specific organic farm to CLT’s approach to interacting with government bureaucracies. Much of my research has involved traveling around to the various projects and talking to the people engaged in the hands-on work. I’ve gotten tours of biostimulant facilities, watched how horses get trained for use in animal traction, and walked around with land surveyors working to secure land titles for local settlers. This informal type of gathering information threw me off a bit at first: I wanted articles to read and summarize, not lengthy chats with farmers who bombarded me with factoids about worm composting. Over time, though, I’ve appreciated how this project has let me jump in and become interested in a range of subjects I might not otherwise have learned much about. I love that no element of the work down here feels irrelevant.

The last is working by myself, when Doug and Kris leave to visit other projects. The pace of these days tend to differ from the whirlwind pace of traveling with the Tompkins. During the days and weeks I’ve spent at Renihue without them, I can settle into understanding what life on a remote farm in south Chile actually consists of. Most days, I work in the garden with Vicente, who can barely read but knows every trick for growing slug-free organic lettuce. I share an afternoon maté with Carmen, who’s spent her whole life in this valley, including some years 30km inland on a lake with access only by horseback. I teach her daughter Victoria to kayak in the evening, before she teaches me about Chilean pop culture while baking cookies. In between, I read my way through the stack of eco-philosophy books Doug has recommended, continue working on book projects, write the two blogs I’m keeping this year, and occasionally talk or email family and friends.


On-land explanations before the kayaking begins! Reñihue fjord.

I learn to cook on a wood stove, how to bake bread. I start to understand what it means to live far away from supermarkets, coffee shops, cars, corporations. I knew before I came down here that although wilderness expeditions would prepare me partially for rural life, I had much to learn about adapting to daily, routine life in a remote place. But immersing myself in this place—even in the partial, transient way that I am experiencing it—has taught me a lot about what I value, and what I need. Much of me delights in the beauty and simplicity here: walking down to the fjord at sunset reliably fills me with intense gratitude for this experience. Many moments, I wonder how I can ever return home to an ugly, overdeveloped world. Yet at the same time, days and days spent mostly alone deepen my respect for communities of minds and friends. Grateful as I am for the warmth of the other people on the farm, I can’t romanticize away the fact that simple farming people don’t spend much time discussing ideas. The people who survive in these inhospitable parts develop admirable skills and tenacity. Many have incredible tales of life on this frontier of human settlement. While I appreciate the opportunity to share their way of life, part of the educational experience of this year lies in recognizing the limitations of remote rural life. With swimming classes, kayak lessons, beach clean-up days, and the like, I’ve tried to enrich the little community here.


Thoughts for the Future

For what it’s worth, I’ve decided that my five-year goal is to create a J-term or semester study-abroad program here in Pumalin. All of the visitors I’ve spent time with remark how their few days in Pumalin prove the most extraordinary and thought provoking of all their time in South America. I’ve learned so much through letting this place soak into me; with some structure, the educational opportunities of these farms and conservation projects could come into full bloom. Learning about the ecocentric philosophy behind these projects while surrounded by wildness reaffirms my faith in the power of engagement with nature to deepen environmental ethics. At the same time, the stack of books I’ve been assigned to read in my spare time leads me to recognize the importance of rigorous study in conjunction with outdoor experience. Pushing people to stretch their ecological imaginations while immersing them in thriving ecosystems seems, to me, a critical component of a truly sustainable future.

Bringing such a program into existence will have plenty of challenges, but I’ve spent a fair amount of my time here talking to various people who are interested and able to help out in some way.

Meanwhile, before I leave South America, we still have lots of work to do! The retrospective book will require substantial work. I may take on communications-type work for Conservacion Patagonica, meaning more researching and writing. Adventures must be had, as well—I’m planning to travel a bit at the end of my time here. Basically, I can’t believe how fast this year has gone, and want to get as much out of the rest of it as I can.


Every day brings something wonderful here: waking up to the sunrise, with volcanoes in the background.