In the words of the great Bucky Preston (Hopi elder and activist), “I guess I’m an environmentalist.”  What was meant by this seemingly simple statement was that through the actions and protests he has partaken in over his lifetime he was not trying to conform to a group identity, he was trying to live a

“Screedle on!” Someone shouts as we descend steep Navajo Sandstone slickrock. This is our third expedition as a group and we are each carrying twelve days worth of tightly packed gear on our backs. We appear to be defying gravity as we round a cliffside for our first glimpse of the Dirty Devil River far

It was full speed running. Sand flying, daypacks forgotten, every one of us dying of curiosity for what lay beyond the bend of the sandstone walls. We had reached a point in our hike where Katie and Dave, our WRFI instructors, let us find the last greatest surprise of the day. Out of uncontainable excitement

I have come to realize that there are very few things I need in order to lead a good life. This revelation was brought on by incessant amounts of mud and endless laughter as our group repeatedly and intentionally trapped ourselves in quicksand. The canyon walls strengthened our goofy energy and fostered patience and perseverance.

Almost two weeks worth of food and gear descend onto my shoulders in what I know is the largest backpack I have ever carried. I turn around and blindly splash into the water, quickly sinking over my ankles in mud. “Yeehaw!” I hear from behind and grinning wildly, I slosh forward. The Dirty Devil River

We arrived in the middle of the arid pinyon-juniper woodlands with clean clothes, heavy backpacks, and an atmosphere of anticipatory excitement. Our small group of six students and two instructors already felt like a crowd as we piled out of the dusty van. Between the expansive landscape and over a year of social distancing, being

A flash of blonde hair disappears in front of me as Lauren squeezes her body into the hole. I step forward–it’s my turn. I squat down low, and slip my feet through the narrow slit, just big enough to get my shoulders through. My feet make contact with the wall; I take a breath and

I first meet Randy Ramsley on a clear morning in Utah, the kind where I want to stand half in sun and half in shade. My classmates and I have been bouncing along dirt roads for days in the van we have christened Jedidiah Smith. The Wild Rockies Field Institute (WRFI) logo magnetized to Jedidiah’s

5 Concerns about Cycle the Rockies, Demystified By Ruth Crystal Are you interested in learning about climate change science, networking with real-world professionals, and observing firsthand how energy systems impact natural and human communities in Montana? If so, this is definitely the course for you. As a Cycle the Rockies alum, I can attest to

As my watch alarm wakes me from my intermittent slumber, I slowly lift my head from my sleeping bag to confront the cold morning air. It is now early November, almost two months into my semester with the Wild Rockies Field Institute, and the canyon country is being greeted with the first signs of winter.