Licking Glaciers by Cadyn Pitner

As I sit here at the top of Jumbo Pass Lodge, I look in front of me and see the glacier I licked yesterday. Ten miles away and an elevation change of 5,000 feet and MY LEGS brought me there. If you told me I would be able to move like this anytime in the past three years, I simply wouldn’t believe you. Last year, I took a huge risk in getting a rare surgery done: bilateral compartment release on both legs. Six invasive incisions, five years of accumulating pain, and no clear diagnosis.

For half a decade, I lived inside a system that wasn’t working. Every time I ran, hiked, or even walked uphill, I paid for it. Muscles locked down, nerves screamed, and my world grew smaller. I learned to push through pain until pushing was no longer possible. Systems thinking has helped me reflect on what was really happening, both in my body and in the world around me. In class, we talk about emergence: how complex things come from many small parts interacting. My breakdown and eventual recovery weren’t just single moments; they emerged over time, from habits and feedback. And so did my healing. Step by step, day by day, I learned to trust my legs again. Regaining my ability to move reminded me of how ecosystems, too, can recover when they’re given the space, time, and care they need.

Sitting at Jumbo, I see interconnection. That glacier feeds streams that nurture forests, which host animals that move seeds and shape the land. My recovery, too, was part of a larger web: physical therapy, supportive people, proper nutrition, and the lessons I learned from the natural world.

This land itself is a system rooted in relationships and history. Jumbo Pass sits on the unceded territory of the Ktunaxa Nation, whose traditional ecological knowledge ties each peak and valley to story and stewardship. Western conservation is just beginning to recognize that Indigenous stewardship is a living system of knowledge. This land isn’t just protected, it’s understood and cared for through deep relationship.

We often view healing, personal or ecological, as linear. But a systems perspective show us otherwise. Before surgery, the harder I tried to move, the worse my condition became, reinforcing the cycle.

But in recovery, every successful step created a loop of confidence and strength. Conservation follows that same pattern. Land degradation through fragmentation and industrial development weakens ecosystems, while restoration often initiates regenerative responses beyond our expectations. These loops remind us that change depends on the signals we listen to and the systems we choose to support.

I realized my body and this land had been treated the same way for too long: as things to extract from, conquer, or ignore. Now, I try to see both with more care. I listen to the signals. I move with intention. I ask what the system needs, not just what I want from it.

So now, when I hike, I carry more than a backpack. I carry a deep respect for feedback, interconnection, and the knowledge that care of land and body is worth conserving.