Climbers on S Couloir in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado; Photograph by Terry Stonich

The other weekend, I climbed my first couloir. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure what a couloir was. I knew it was a mountain feature—but I figured it was somewhere in the realm of too extreme for me.

I’ve always been intimated by technical mountaineering. So how did I find myself in the backcountry of Rocky Mountain National Park attempting such a thing in late April after a storm dumped more than three feet of snow? Well, I signed up for a mountaineering class to get my butt in gear for my upcoming attempt to climb Mont Blanc in Chamonix, France.

It turns out a couloir is a deep gully on a mountainside—a great training ground. And it was awesome. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it was all peaches and cream and kittens. It was challenging. But that’s the point.

I’m bound to learn a few lessons as I tackle this new hobby.

Lesson #1: You have to deal with what the mountain gives you.

Confession alert: I’m a bit of a fair-weather hiker, biker, camper, skier, whatever. If it looks like it’s going to rain, be freezing, or blow a gale, I’d rather not go. But when you sign up for a mountaineering class (or a mountain climb), you have to suck it up. It’s going to get uncomfortable at times.

When we started out, the wind was howling. We were snowshoeing into 50 mpg gusts that nearly knocked me off my feet. The wind chill made it feel like the South Pole. “Get over it, “ I said. “You are not going to wimp out just because of a little wind.”

Lesson #2: Be prepared to not achieve your objective. But don’t give up too soon.

Given the wind, our guides warned us that we might not be able to do the climb. We’d have to wait and see. I have to admit, a few times during the approach, when the wind was hitting me head on and I was freezing, I wondered if I was cut out for this sort of thing. But I told myself to dig deep and stick with it.

Lesson #3: It’s mind over matter in the mountains.

At the base of the climb, I looked up in awe at the craggy slopes surrounding us. “Where are we going,” I asked. The guide pointed toward an impossibly steep slope with so much snow and rock, I couldn’t see how we would ascend it. Then my mental yoga kicked in. I could have gotten really worked up, catapulting to fearful thoughts of what was ahead. Instead, I chose to take one moment, one breath, one step at a time. All I did was think about putting one foot in front of another. It’s a pretty good lesson for just about anything in life.

Lesson #4: It’s really hard to pee on the side of a steep slope wearing a harness—with guys around.

When it was time to take off our snowshoes, we stomped out a platform on the steep slope and took a rest. I can’t say it was relaxing. I was filled with nervous energy. The wind tossed clouds of snow into our faces. And I had to pee—out in the open, on a slope, in the freezing cold, with four guys standing right next to me. And I was wearing a harness. To say it was awkward is putting it mildly.

I shimmied my way to one end of the group. The harness made it exceedingly difficult to drop my drawers. The pack on my back threw me off balance. And the wind whipped snow in my mouth and threatened to blow you know what all over the place. Suffice to say, it made me want to intentionally dehydrate myself in order to avoid having to do it again. Although that would be stupid. Dehydration and mountaineering don’t get along.

Lesson #5: Mountains bring you into the moment.

Then the going got serious. Thank goodness for my ice axe. I never knew how handy it could be. As we climbed, the gully steepened, the rocks closed in on either side, and I felt like I was living and breathing the mountain. I became part of the couloir. I felt so alive and immersed in the moment. Kick, step, ice axe, rest. Kick, step, ice axe, rest. I could think of nothing but the objective before me. What a way to clear the head!

Lesson #6: When the going gets tough, your soul starts to sing.

When the terrain became more exposed, we roped up. There were a few places where we had to go on belay and use protection while we navigated dicey terrain. In one particularly perplexing spot, the guide really had to think about how to crawl around a rock outcropping surrounded by super soft snow. He disappeared around the corner in front of me and placed an anchor into the rock. I stepped out over a big snow bank and tried to dig in my feet, my hands, and my ice axe. Nothing would grab. The slope dropped at a 60-degree angle. I felt vulnerable and exposed. I could have frozen in fear, but instead, I reached for inner strength and mental calm and carefully picked my way to safety, confident that if I fell, one of my climbing partners would catch me.

Just a little bit farther, we topped out on flat ground. What a rush! I felt such a satisfying, exhilarating feeling of accomplishment as I peered down the steep gully and took in the sweeping mountain vista around me.

Lesson #7: The thrill of accomplishment makes it all worthwhile.

The day was amazing, exciting, uncomfortable, tiring, and inspiring. I had to get up before dawn, fumble with a bunch of unfamiliar equipment, push myself physically and mentally, face adversity, dig deep for courage, and place my trust in a guide I barely knew. In the end, I discovered that not only can I accomplish something challenging that I’ve never tried before, I can have a lot of fun doing it.

I set my sights on Mont Blanc to learn something new—and I don’t just mean mountaineering. I want to learn more about myself—how do I cope with this sort of risk and danger? Do I have what it takes to endure physical discomfort in pursuit of a goal? I’ve always been adventurous. But can I push myself a little harder and a little farther, put myself in a scary situation, and come out the other side stronger, more confident, and empowered?

Something tells me I can. I’m pretty sure this experience is going to be thrilling, plus a little unnerving. But I have a feeling this journey will take me to new and exciting places in the great outdoors—as well as within my own heart. What adventure are you going to undertake this year?

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on Twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Arches National Park, Utah; Photograph by Wayne Spivak, Your Shot

Last week, Sally Jewell—former CEO of REI—took the helm as the new Secretary of the U.S. Department of the Interior. This is great news for everyone who likes to hike, bike, run, ski, fish, paddle, climb, or explore the outdoors in any way. Why you should care? I’ll tell you.

The Department of the Interior, or DOI, oversees 500 million acres—approximately 20 percent of America, including our national parks, national wildlife refuges, Bureau of Land Management lands, and more. How many times have you enjoyed an adventure on these lands? I bet many! Secretary Jewell is now in charge of managing these, as well as the department’s 70,000+ employees. Suffice to say, it’s a pretty big job.

As with any political office, the Secretary of the Interior faces a delicate balancing act, juggling many interests. This is why we’re so pleased to have one of our own in this important position. Under Jewell’s watch, the DOI is poised to recognize outdoor recreation as a leading use of public lands—one that creates tremendous economic value.

The DOI website summarizes their mission this way: “The U.S. Department of the Interior protects America’s natural resources and heritage, honors our cultures and tribal communities, and supplies the energy to power our future.”

Notice that last part, about supplying energy to power our future. It’s been a pretty big focus of the DOI over the years, which is all fine and good. Of course we should harvest our nation’s energy resources. After all, DOI lands are rich with oil and gas resources that generate significant revenue for the government while also providing domestic energy for our growing population.

The trouble is, until recently, no one has given much more than a passing glance to how important outdoor recreation is to our economy. But by paying heed to the first part of the mission—protecting America’s natural resources and heritage—we can support a heck of a lot of jobs, and good-paying sustainable jobs at that—in technology, product design, manufacturing, sustainability, retail, global commerce, public land management, and more.

With Jewell in charge of the DOI, we are better positioned to spread the message that our nation’s public lands and waters are foundational to outdoor recreation and the economy.

Jewell brings a plethora of great experience to the table. As CEO of REI, she managed a $2 billion company that is as committed to protecting outdoor recreation experiences as it is to making and selling great products. Before that, she worked as an oil and gas engineer and financier. Wow. What a combo! It’s not often that we get a DOI official with such a broad and unique perspective. She has the chops to understand the opportunities and challenges facing the DOI, particularly as recreation lands are disproportionately targeted for budget cuts.

Jewell’s appointment is a big deal because it shows that leaders in Washington are starting to get it. Like Senator Wyden said during Jewell’s confirmation hearing: “The economics of public lands have changed. Recreation has become a big business, and it will be good for the economy if it grows bigger. To do that, the department will need to give more attention to the opportunities that recreation on public lands provides for businesses than it has in the past.”

Outdoor recreation resources are renewable and can continue to sustain economic dividends for years to come. Just what sort of dividends? I’m talking about the $646 billion in consumer spending that outdoor recreation generates each year. And 6.1 million sustainable American jobs (more than twice as many as the oil and gas industry). And nearly $80 billion in annual tax revenue. These are big numbers. And they deserve significant consideration when choosing how to manage our public lands and waters.

When people play outside, their spending goes right back into the economy.

Want to help spread the word? Download Outdoor Industry Association’s Outdoor Recreation Economy Report. Also get our recreation economy data for the state where you live. Take this to your federal, state and local decision makers and use it to make a case for why they should protect the outdoor places where you and many other Americans get outside and play. You depend on it—and so do the communities, businesses, and families that make their livelihoods from outdoor recreation.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on Twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

This picture was taken in Chamonix, France, on an early August morning from Aiguille du Midi. Climbers can start their journey to Mont Blanc here; Photograph by Ilona Antonoviciute, Your Shot

It’s that time of year—the eve of summer, when the earth starts to awaken from her long slumber and I get itchy for adventure. After all, it’s what feeds me. Sure, my weekends are packed with fun outdoor forays all year long. But nothing compares to setting your sights on a somewhat scary goal and charging toward it. Like climbing Mont Blanc, for example.

With all my musings in this blog about why we need adventure, how great it is to recharge in the wild, why we should strive to get out of our comfort zone and pursue the life of our dreams, I’ve decided it’s time to push myself a little. So I’ve signed up for a six-day mountaineering course in Chamonix, France, culminating in an attempt to climb Mont Blanc, which—at 15,781 feet—is the highest peak in Western Europe. The summit is an imposing dome of snow and ice that tantalizes climbers and doesn’t give up without a fight.

This might not sound like much to you, but it’s a bit of a stretch for me. It isn’t super technical, but it poses real dangers and requires a level of mountaineering I’ve never tried. Let’s put it this way: I’ve worn crampons only once, exploring a glacier in New Zealand. I don’t believe I’ve ever touched an ice axe, except perhaps the one that adorns a friend’s fence. I’m not sure what mountaineering boots entail. And I’ve never roped up to cross a snowfield. Good thing my course includes three days of solid skill-building and acclimatization before we ever get near the summit. Plus I plan on taking a class here in Colorado before I depart.

I have spent a fair bit of time traipsing around in the mountains. I’ve summited my share of Colorado fourteeners. I’ve hiked to 15,000 feet in the Peruvian Andes. I’ve explored the wilds of New Zealand. I’ve trekked to 18,192 feet atop Kala Patar in Nepal, overlooking Everest Base Camp. (Funny though, this peak is so completely dwarfed by towering mountains, you wonder why they even bothered naming it.)

But I’m pretty sure Mont Blanc will humble me. I’m going to have to dig deep and push myself. So what am I thinking? Well, I’m up for an adventure. And I’m hungry for a challenge. I think I can handle the physical demands pretty well. After all, I’m a bit of a fitness fanatic who loves an excuse to get outside and hike, bike, run, ski, or whatever. Having Mont Blanc as a goal will be the perfect kick in the pants to get myself in summer shape faster than usual.

The thing that gets me worked up is the exposure. I’m not sure how I’m going to feel scrambling along a spiny ridge, or traversing a steep snow slope where a fall could have very serious consequences. Will I suffer paralyzing fear? Or will I soldier through and be empowered by the experience? I’m willing the put money on the latter, but I’m not fooling myself into thinking this is going to be a cake walk. It sounds like the perfect combination of a physical and mental test, coupled with a healthy dose of thrill.

What spurred me to tackle this? For one, my backcountry skiing experience in Jackson Hole put a serious bee in my bonnet. When I was out there hiking and skiing, surrounded by stunning peaks and glistening white snow, I felt an urge to know more about mountains. Add the fact that every day, I am barraged with amazing images of the outdoors—people on mountaintops, skiing, hiking, climbing, challenging the depths of their souls—and it seems inevitable that I would eventually get such an urge. In this line of work, you can’t help but get a little aspirational about things.

I don’t even care if I make it to the top. I just look forward to tapping my inner strength, facing my fears, pushing myself, and learning some mountaineering skills. And let’s not forget the breathtaking views!

So despite the fact that I am in my 40s and fairly set in my ways, I’m going to follow my own advice and try something new. How about you? Is there something you’ve never tried because it seemed too hard or scary or tough to find the time? Give it a shot! I’ll report back on how this goes for me. But in the meantime, you try something, too! And share with me in the comments section down below.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Photograph by asafantman, Flickr

Have you ever considered quitting your job and hitting the trail for something like, say, 3,100 miles? Sounds like a pretty extreme backpacking trip, huh? My coworker, Peter Sustr, just left Outdoor Industry Association to tackle the Continental Divide Trail, a fabled route that follows the spine of the United States from Canada to Mexico.

Perhaps you remember Peter from when I wrote about his fast and light trip through Grand Gulch last year. He’s always had an affinity for trekking through the woods alone, but this brings it to an entirely new level. This epic journey will span six months, take him to the lofty height of 14,270 feet atop Colorado’s Grays Peak, and pass through five states, 25 national forests, 21 wilderness areas, three national parks, one national monument, and eight BLM resource areas. It should be quite an adventure. In fact, it’s on National Geographic Adventure’s Ultimate Adventure Bucket List.

What an amazing National Outdoor Recreation System we have in this country that you can embark on such a long journey through some of the most wild and scenic areas in the United States. This Continental Divide Trail system is a labor of love by passionate citizens who are dedicated to completing and protecting this national gem. Learn how you can help by checking out the Continental Divide Trail Coalition.

Just a couple dozen people embark on the full Continental Divide Trail each year. The route—which is only about 70 percent complete—requires some careful way finding as you pick your way along many sections that are unmarked and unnamed. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart. From the scarcity of water in New Mexico, to the dizzying peaks of Colorado, Wyoming’s vast isolation, and the daunting grizzly country of Montana, each state brings its own challenges and rewards.

Vertically traversing this giant country promises to wear through Peter’s shoes, deliver a physical beating, leave his hips begging for a soft bed, and ultimately transform his perspective—whether he’s ready for it or not.

Such is the beauty of thru-hiking. (Yes, those in the know spell it like that, even if it gives grammar geeks like me a severe twitch.) You’re bound to spend a lot of time alone, reflecting on life and how insignificant modern-day worries seem. To immerse in the raw beauty of natural landscapes day after day—with little distraction—promises to profoundly connect Peter with nature and cleanse his soul in a way only the wilds can.

Will he make it? Peter thinks that mental will is the ticket to success. Of course it will be tough. Some days he’ll want to curse or cry or bail. But he firmly believes that if he sets an intention, he can complete this challenge—as long as he is able to adapt to the unexpected.

Is he nervous? Of course! You’d have to be missing a chip to not have a little trepidation. But he’s learned to live with challenges before. And he’ll be fueled knowing that his journey is helping raise awareness for a cause near to his heart. Peter suffers from Crohn’s disease, an intestinal ailment, and he’s partnering with the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation of America to demonstrate how you can still live a full life with this disease. The motivation to prove his point will be the stoke that keeps his fire burning through bad weather, getting lost, broken gear, physical pain, loneliness, or whatever other curve balls come his way.

This is Peter’s dream. And he’s doing it. Good for him! How many people sit around day after day, chained to a job they don’t like, or hindered by the perception that there are too many obstacles to pursuing what makes their heart sing? Nonsense! You only get one crack at life. Start crafting it into what you want it to be. You might not be able to take off into the woods for six months, but I’m willing to bet you can take one small step toward making your dreams reality. And guess what? If you keep taking small steps, before you know it, you’ll be living the life of your dreams. What are you going to do about it today?

Want to follow Peter’s journey? Check him out on Twitter and Facebook at Couch2CDT and read his blog at http://couchtocdt.wordpress.com/.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Photograph by Glenn Tachiyama Photography

You have to have a healthy respect for people who tackle ultra running races. Especially off-road races. It takes a special personality to grunt through the pain and suffering that comes with running dozens of miles through the woods—particularly if it involves rain.

I have a coworker, Loraine, who’s crazy about running. She gets up in the dark and runs before work. She runs at lunch. She puts in huge miles over the weekend. She’s part of a running group. Let’s just say, running is her passion. I admire her dedication and tenacity. She runs through thick and thin. It grounds her. And she likes races. A lot.

For Loraine, running is about being outside and becoming one with nature. So when she heard about some friends signing up for the Chuckanut 50K, she jumped at the chance to join in the fun. Despite having many marathons and other races under her belt, she’d never tackled an off-road ultra event. This seemed like a perfect first.

The Chuckanut is an annual 50-kilometer run that takes place in Fairhaven, Washington—a scenic town on Puget Sound that’s spitting distance from Canada. Trails wind along the rolling hills that hug the coast, cloaked in verdant forest. Moss drips off branches, the air is damp and palpable, the ground soft and fertile. It’s a magical place, where the light strike of a runner’s gait seems insignificant in contrast to huge, towering trees.

To Loraine, this was about far more than the race. It was about everything it took to prepare. She bonded with fellow runners and devoted herself to endless workouts, even in the dark, snowy days of winter. She never questioned a thing. She had a goal, and the impending race gave her the drive and motivation to overcome any obstacle in her head.

When she was finally there, she approached it differently than any other race. She didn’t stress about her pre-race meal. She almost missed the start because she was distracted by the view. She didn’t care about her time. It was all just the process of running through the woods, sharing camaraderie, and doing something she loves.

The course was technical—more technical than she’d ever experienced. The trail was a narrow, gnarly path that scrambled up muddy slopes, twisted over roots and rocks, and traversed high, misty ridges. It rained—a lot. On one climb, fittingly named “Chinscraper,” Loraine had to practically crawl up the hill, hand over fist, grasping at roots and branches to claw her way to the top. The descents were especially challenging, made all the more treacherous by slippery mud. Clumps of dirt clung to her shoes, weighing down her feet.

Through all the mud and muck, all she could do was laugh and enjoy the moment, bonding with fellow runners over the hysterical scene they created.

It sounds entirely painful and exhausting. Yet with all the races she’s done, Loraine said this was the only one where she was in the moment the entire time and loved every minute of it. “Even when it was pouring rain and so technical, I never said, ‘Get me out of here.’ It was one awesome thing after another. I never wanted the finish to come.” To see Loraine’s face light up as she recalled the feeling was truly inspiring.

Loraine is a changed person for it. Something about this experience cast a peaceful serenity over her. With this race, Loraine let go of expectation and let it all unfold—without trying to plan too much or control things. She just opened herself to the experience. She trusted that it would work out, and it did. As she told me, she has a newfound belief that everything is going to be okay.

Time spent outdoors—whether running in a race, hiking a peak, skiing through the woods, or casting a fly in a stream—is cathartic. It scrubs away everyday worries and recharges our batteries. That’s why protecting quality outdoor places to play is so important. Fairhaven is fortunate to have a network of trails for people to explore. It improves the quality of life there, and attracts residents and visitors alike. And events like the Chuckanut pump valuable dollars into the local economy.

Plus let’s not forget the intrinsic values of wild places that are hard to quantify—yet are so clear when you look into someone’s eyes, like Loraine’s, as she describes the joy that being outdoors pours into her heart.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Photograph by Avery Stonich

Don’t you love it when you set out on an adventure knowing it’s going to be fun …  and then it blows your mind? This is what happened when I ventured into the Jackson Hole backcountry recently. We headed to Jackson to check out the ski resort. But when a friend said you can’t fully experience this special part of Wyoming without exploring the terrain out of bounds, we followed his advice. We were glad we did!

Cody Peak, Jackson Hole, Wyoming; Photograph by Avery Stonich

Given our limited knowledge of the area, my husband and I signed up for an all-day tour through the ski resort. The outfitter set us up with all the safety gear—avalanche beacons, airbags, shovels, and probes. We had a thorough briefing, reviewing the equipment, how to locate a buried person, and—most important—how to avoid getting caught in a slide. My husband and I have had some avalanche training, but we’re no experts, so the refresher was key.

The guide said we’d take the tram up the mountain, then pop out the side gate for some turns—likely returning to the ski area a few times during the day for some lift-assisted altitude gain. Guess he didn’t know what sort of powder junkies he had on his hands.

It turned out to be a superlative day in so many ways. We set out under a perfect bluebird sky juxtaposed against a dazzling magic carpet of glistening white snow. I was pretty stoked for the skiing and not particularly nervous. I failed to anticipate what sort of willies the hiking would produce. I didn’t ask a lot of questions—certainly not how far we’d be climbing or on what sort of slope. Maybe it’s better I didn’t know what was ahead. Ignorance is bliss. But, then again, so is adventure with an edge.

We began our hike on the boot pack up Cody Peak. It started fairly tame, then turned sharply skyward. Pretty soon I was practically crawling on hands and knees as I scrambled up a rocky 45-degree slope. Did I mention I was wearing downhill ski boots? They’re not exactly suited to hiking. My skis—not strapped to my pack quite right—awkwardly hit my calf, sending me off-balance. To my left was a craggy drop-off that looked like certain death in a fall. I tried not to look. Sometimes you just have to dig deep and ignore potentially paralyzing fear.

And then, I was rewarded. We approached a beautiful bowl and I felt like I could touch the sky.

We donned our skis and carved fresh tracks down the buttery face, through snow like cream cheese. Before we knew it, we were at the bottom, anticipating another sweaty climb. We made the next trek twice, the first time skiing down Powder 8 Face. When we approached the top of the ridge the second time, the guide asked if we wanted to repeat the last run, or explore a steep face called No Name that beckoned to the south. No Name had been tantalizing us all day, so, of course, we had to go there.

It required a pretty sketchy traverse—with jaw-dropping views. Rocky crags towered overhead, interspersed with steep avalanche chutes. The guide told us to stay spaced out, and not dilly dally. With temperatures warming and loaded snow overhead, it wasn’t wise to stop under something that could slide. Finally we reached the safety of a rock overhang and finished our hike to the skiable face, navigating a lung-busting climb and an awkward talus field. It was all worth it when we delighted in another ripping descent.

After one last climb, to Jensen Divide, and a long run through the trees, we emerged four valleys down from the resort and returned via a 1.5-mile traverse. Good lord! It was the hardest run of the day, given that it was just a skinny little track through the trees and my legs were toast. As we returned to the ski area, amidst people and noise, I suffered a little culture shock and realized how tranquil the backcountry had been.

Now I’m hooked. I was so enchanted by the staggering views, peaceful retreat, physical challenge, and amazing lines, I’m going to have to give it another go—just maybe not with downhill gear. It may be time to add another set of boards to the quiver and venture into the alpine touring world.

I also could use some more training. You can get a false sense of security when you go out a ski area gate and hike a well-trodden boot track to access backcountry runs. It’s important to remember that no matter how many people go there, the backcountry is still unpatrolled. You need to be knowledgeable about the terrain, snow conditions, and how to rescue someone in need.

But, serious talk aside, what a joy to have such a fun adventure, push my boundaries, get a little nervous, and have so much darn fun. More please!

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Sign me up, too! It sounds like an adventure. Paradise waits for us when we explore the unknown, overcome challenges, and discover a newfound appreciation for the world.

Johnson’s words and other enticing tales inspired me at the Banff Mountain Film and Book Festival tour, which swung through my hometown of Boulder, Colorado, last week. This is a pretty cool festival that takes place each year in Banff, Alberta, showcasing mountain and adventure films, books, and speakers over the course of nine days. Then the show hits the road, screening select films at cities all over the world.

I saw several films, ranging in length from four minutes to 45, that spanned a wide variety of adventures—from mountain biking to kayaking, mountaineering to canyoneering, with some South Pole action to boot. It was a nice combo. But what struck me most was the common human condition that wove through widely disparate people and experiences.

The Denali Experiment was my favorite—about a team from The North Face who decided to climb Denali… and ski down—since why on earth would you merely climb a 20,320-foot peak when you can hump up it with a bunch of extra gear? The team included pro skier Sage Cattabriga-Alosa and pro snowboarder Lucas Debari, who have skill in spades when it comes to charging down mountain faces, but not much experience climbing them. Luckily famed mountaineer Conrad Anker was there to show them the ropes—literally. It was fun to watch the group coalesce around a common goal and share mutual admiration for one another’s trades. My favorite quote was Anker marveling at a trick Sage pulled off: “…a crevasse feature and he does a back flip and he lands it smoothly in touring gear with an expedition backpack on. What’s up?”

Another story of trailblazers, Last of the Great Unknown introduces us to a group of canyoneers exploring the uncharted finger canyons surrounding the Grand Canyon. They pored over maps to figure out where it might be feasible to penetrate the rocky depths and plotted a course into canyons so hard to access, few—if any—people have dared venture. What struck me is that even in this time of maps and GPS and thousands of years of exploration, some places are so remote, they still hold their secrets tightly.

The most heart-warming (or freezing) story of the night, Crossing the Ice features two Australian buddies who decided to make a go at skiing—unsupported—to the South Pole and back, despite the fact that it had never been done before (and they’d never skied before!). Sounds like an audacious plan, huh? Pulling 350-pound sleds, they tackled the arduous 1400-mile journey, completing it in 89 grueling days. It cost them a bit of sanity, a whole lot of heel skin, many hungry nights, and a combined 121 pounds of body weight. But they made it. Throughout it all, they displayed amazing tenacity, humor, friendship, and humility.

And finally, the last film I’ll mention is The Way Home. Remember that quote? Park Ranger Johnson spreads joy by introducing newcomers to Yosemite. In this film, African-Americans from a Los Angeles church group venture to the park—for the first time, even though they’re in their 60s and live just a half a day away. This is a common problem in the United States. Compared to other ethnicities, African-Americans have the lowest outdoor participation in our country. Only one percent of Yosemite visitors are African-American. This needs to change. What this film taught me is that while journeying from Los Angeles to Yosemite might not seem all that adventurous, for these folks with limited outdoor knowledge, it was a challenging and rewarding experience that pushed their limits, opened their eyes to a whole new world, and transformed their lives.

So the moral of the story is, adventure means different things to different people. Whether you’re pioneering a ski descent of America’s highest peak, penetrating unexplored canyons in the Arizona desert, tackling the South Pole, or exploring a national park for the first time—it’s all adventure. Extreme or not, it taps a fundamental piece of humanity that lives inside all of us. And we can all rejoice in the satisfaction of a day spent exploring the wilds. Thanks to the Banff Mountain Film Fest for bringing this into focus.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Photograph by Esther Speck

What would you do if you had worked hard, were set for life, and could do whatever you wanted? Would you retire to a beach in Costa Rica? Gallivant around the world with a pack on your back? Or buy 200,000 acres of land in Chile to nurture into the country’s next national park?

Did you do a double take on that last one? Let me introduce you to Conservacion Patagonia (CP), a nonprofit organization founded by former Patagonia CEO Kris Tomkins. Kris moved to South America in the late 90s with her husband, Douglas—founder of The North Face and Esprit, to work on conservation issues, setting sights on the lofty goal of creating national parks in Patagonia. Since 2003, CP has been mending a biologically diverse stretch of the Chacabuco Valley in southern Chile in the hopes it will one day become Patagonia National Park.

The future park will span 650,000 acres, combining the almost 200,000 acres that CP plans to donate to the Chilean government with 460,000 acres of national reserve land. For now, CP is restoring the delicate ecological balance of the land, which suffered from overgrazing in its former life as Estancia Valle Chacabuco—one of Chile’s largest sheep ranches. The organization is also developing facilities, like a visitor center and trails, with the goal to have a fully functioning national park within eight years.

Okay, next question: What would you do if your job gave you paid volunteer time? Would you pitch in at a local soup kitchen? Take disadvantaged kids into the wilderness? Or fly to South America to camp in a remote valley and bust your knuckles cutting trail? My coworker, Beth, chose option #3. She just returned from a volunteer trip to Chile, where she put some sweat equity into the future Patagonia National Park.

This was no exotic vacation disguised as a do-gooder trip. In the field, there were no showers, cell phone service, or relief from the brutally persistent blackflies. It was camping and braving the elements and hard labor. It was also hard to get there. Beth flew into Coyhaique and took a dusty, bumpy seven-hour bus ride south to the property. A van then carted her seven kilometers to the main park headquarters, before she climbed onto a 4WD truck for the final two-hour drive into the campsite. Talk about remote! Let’s just say, you can’t exactly change your mind after you get there if the whole volunteer thing doesn’t work out.

Beth and her friend and outdoor industry colleague, Esther, who works for Mountain Equipment Co-op, signed up for a week of volunteer work—and found it tremendously rewarding. They camped with 10 other volunteers from all walks of life, including a 20-year-old German backpacker, a 60-year-old woman from New England, several Chilean college students, and a former football referee from San Francisco. The group toiled seven hours a day, marking and cutting new trail. At night they discussed the day’s travails, swapped life stories, taught one another their native languages, and slept beneath the stars.

Photograph by Esther Speck

They worked under the tutelage of locals—former gauchos (kind of like South American cowboys) that CP has hired to help with habitat restoration, park operations, trailbuilding, and wildlife tracking. CP is committed to providing jobs for the people who used to work on the ranch. Pretty cool.

Beth and Esther walked away from the experience feeling privileged—to work in an industry that helps protect wild places, to have jobs that support giving back, and gratified to have contributed to something larger than themselves. Their labors each day produced tangible results. Yet in the grand scheme of developing a huge park, the few kilometers of trail they built feel like just a tiny piece of the plan.

CP is slowly coaxing the land into a healthier balance and creating a way for people to explore it. Future park visitors will undoubtedly be in awe of the rugged beauty of this remote corner of the world. The landscape is gorgeous. Rolling grasslands cloak the hills, tall mountains stand as ramparts in the distance, pristine lakes dot the countryside, and puffy, round shrubs conjure up images from Dr. Seuss books.

Perhaps the evolution of Patagonia National Park is a modern-day Lorax tale. Man comes, sees a wild land of abundance, and brings huge sheep herds that trample the earth and decimate the habitat. Then—when the land is on the verge of destruction—we collectively figure out how to return it to its former glory while simultaneously preserving the heritage and livelihoods of the local people.

The vision is grand: Protect a biologically rich area of Patagonia, transition the local economy from ranching to sustainable ecotourism, and provide a place where people can experience first-hand the value of protecting wild places. In my humble opinion, CP and the future Patagonia National Park is an inspiring story of outdoor industry vets pouring their hearts and souls into a greater good that will preserve a stunning slice of earth for all to enjoy.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Glacier National Park; Photograph by Teresa Cronin, My Shot

When you head out outdoors to play, do you ever consider how you’re fueling the economy? Think about it. Sure, there’s the gear you buy—jackets, shoes, gloves, base layers, water bottles, skis, bikes, kayaks, fishing rods, carabiners, crampons, binoculars, car racks or whatever it is you need to equip yourself for adventure.

But that’s not all. You also spend money to put gas in your car. You buy snacks for your pack and perhaps stop for a bite along the way. You might get a hotel room, purchase gifts for your family, or spring for a souvenir. You might pay for a rafting trip or hire a guide. The truth is that for every $1 Americans spend on gear for outdoor recreation, they spend an additional $4 on trips and travel-related expenses along the way. And this adds up. Trust me.

Nationally this makes outdoor recreation a huge driver of the U.S. economy. It’s way more significant that most people realize, to the tune of:

• $646 billion in direct spending each year
• 6.1 million direct American jobs
• Nearly $80 billion in federal, state, and local tax revenue annually

How do I know this? Because last year Outdoor Industry Association (OIA) came out with The Outdoor Recreation Economy, an eye-opening research report that tallies up what we all spend on outdoor recreation each year.

And it gets even better. Now you can learn how important outdoor recreation is in your state. OIA just released state-by-state numbers quantifying the economic impact of outdoor recreation in all 50 states, including direct spending, jobs, salaries, and tax revenue. It was a lot of work, but a logical follow-up to the national data.

It’s important that states realize how important outdoor recreation is to their economies. Why? Because major decisions are based on this sort of data. Do you want your state to provide adequate funding for parks? Do you want a vibrant network of open spaces areas? Do you enjoy having trails near your home where you can work your legs, let off steam and breathe in fresh air? All of these things create vibrant, healthy communities, and attract families and businesses who want ready access to the outdoors.

I think it’s safe to say that having a variety of awesome outdoor places to play is sort of like having a piggy bank in your backyard. People come. They play. They spend.

The fact of the matter is that outdoor recreation drives the economy. And economics talk. When you talk money, decision makers listen.

I invite you to check out the new state reports on our website. You can use this data to gain support for public lands. Perhaps you’ll have a referendum on your ballot that asks citizens to help fund local parks. Or your city council members are deciding whether or not to buy more open space. Or your state leaders are making key budget decisions that affect state-owned lands where you get outside and play. Our reports can help you make the case for protecting and enhancing outdoor recreation experiences in your state.

Because when it comes down to it, investing in a network of public lands and waters is an investment in the future of our country. Our parks, waters, and trails produce substantial dividends for our citizens, communities, and businesses.

So check out the reports. Download the one for your state. In the coming weeks, we’ll be adding even more resources to help you make a case for outdoor recreation in your backyard. Thanks for helping.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

Utah's canyon country; Photograph by David Weinstein

What might you be reading if it includes quotes from Ronald Reagan, Jack Kerouac, Edward Abbey, Brigham Young, Thomas Jefferson, and Devon Williams (former basketball player)?

Hmmmm, let’s think about it. Young and Williams might clue you into Utah. Toss in Kerouac and Abbey and you’ve got creative minds who care deeply about the landscape—and have a maverick streak. Jefferson was a founding father, so he represents a forward-thinker dedicated to what’s best for our country. And Reagan is remembered as “the great communicator.” But most important, they’re all Americans who recognize the value of outdoor recreation.

Did you figure it out yet? Okay, I’ll tell you: It’s “The State of Utah Outdoor Recreation Vision,” a brand-spanking-new 60-page document that outlines a plan for how to optimize outdoor recreation in Utah. This week, Governor Herbert and Outdoor Industry Association (OIA) held a joint press conference to unveil this plan, which is the culmination of a ton of hard work by the governor, his staff, the outdoor industry, and Utah’s Balanced Resources Council.

This is a really big deal. It represents significant collaboration among the outdoor industry, Utah state leadership, and local businesses. Utah has been an epicenter of public land debate for decades. Sticky points have been who gets access where, what lands will be developed for energy extraction, and even whether the state of Utah should take control of federal lands in something akin to a Sagebrush Rebellion. Let’s just say conservation, outdoor recreation, energy development, and the State of Utah haven’t always seen eye to eye.

Now, two sides have come together to pursue a balanced approach to natural resource management and chart a course that takes into account many competing interests.

Governor Herbert deserves huge props for this vision, which his office cranked out in six short months following discussion with OIA’s board of directors and other representatives from the outdoor industry.

This plan is groundbreaking—the first of its kind in the country. It came about because outdoor recreation is key to Utah. The state is world-renowned for its iconic landscapes and outstanding outdoor recreation opportunities. And Governor Herbert seems to get it. He recognizes the importance of protecting the integrity of outdoor recreation because attracts tourists, residents and businesses; supports jobs; creates healthy, happy people; and generally makes Utah the awesome place that it is.

Outdoor recreation is a key economic driver in Utah. It:

• Contributes $4 billion annually in retail sales and services to the state
• Supports 65,000 jobs
• Generates nearly $300 million in annual state tax revenues

The governor’s plan outlines many thoughtful recommendations for how Utah can protect its amazing outdoor experiences. Some of the highlights are:

• Create an Office of Outdoor Recreation within the Office of Economic Development
• Appoint a Director of Outdoor Recreation
• Hold an annual outdoor recreation summit to make sure the vision becomes reality
• Incorporate outdoor recreation into regional and local planning processes

This is a major milestone and has the potential for ripple effects across the country. Utah has just set a nationwide standard, acknowledging that outdoor recreation is essential to the state’s economy and quality of life, and that the state’s natural areas and recreational lands are foundational to Utah’s future.

The same could be true of just about any state in the nation. Our hope is that other states follow Utah’s lead and create their own outdoor recreation visions. This would be good news for the 140 million Americans who love to get outside and play.

This plan is a great first step toward finding solutions to long-standing conflicts. Now Utah has its work cut out to ensure the state’s vast public lands can sustain economic and quality-of-life dividends for years to come. Governor Herbert seems committed to making this happen. You can bet we’ll be keeping close tabs to make sure he turns this vision into reality.

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.