Earth Lodge: an eco-friendly mountain lodge that doubles as an avocado farm and humanitarian outfit, is the ultimate traveler’s escape, at 6000 feet above Antigua, Guatemala.

With an impressive view of the surrounding volcanoes, the eco-lodge has a secluded location where backpackers and daytrippers like to hang out and exchange stories. Swing in hammocks, hike around the area or hole up in your treehouse (I did all three) – staying here alone is already an experience on its own. The biggest draw for some, is its famous homecooked vegetarian meals.

Owners Drew and Briana welcome volunteers willing to exchange discounted boarding to help out at the lodge’s reception. During my stay there, I met several volunteers from the US and England, who were picking avocados in the day and cooking by night.

As well as running the lodge and farm, Drew and Briana are very much involved in the local community, particularly the village school. From humble beginnings (donating 1Q of every Happy Hour drink) they have progressed to providing sponsorships so that more children can attend school, getting running water to the school and educating the children on recycling and sustainability. Visit Briana’s El Hato School Blog to read more about the school and how you can get involved.

Visit their website at Earth Lodge Guatemala.

Follow me on twitter @WildJunket.

The day before yesterday, I lost my zipline virginity. And oh, was it beautiful.

I went out with the staff of KapohoKine Adventures on the Big Island Zipline Tour, a wonderful tour group who pride themselves in showing visitors (and curious locals) the lay of the beautiful Hawaiian land while maintaining a carbon-neutral footprint. (My post-zip Mimosa was served in a biodegradable cup!) The tour group is most recognized for taking people on helicopter and vehicle tours for views of the rainforest with its immense gorges and stunning waterfalls, but they’ve recently added the Zipline Through Paradise tour, which showcases the scenery from an entirely different angle — from 160 feet above ground… at about 45 miles per hour.

Donning a dry suit and paddling out into a grey and stormy Pacific, on a day where you know your boat is going to be constantly beaten by salty swell, the rain will pour right into your face and the wind will force you to engage all of your muscles, possibly leaving you sore for days, might not sound like everybody’s idea of fun. But here in the Northwest, it’s the name of the game.

When I headed out to Pacific City for this past weekend’s Lumpy Waters Symposium, sponsored by local paddling shop Alder Creek, I didn’t really know what I was in for. In fact most of my paddling experience has been reserved for calm afternoons to check out wildlife and get a mild sunburn. Sure, there have been some multi-day trips thrown in here and there, but no epic “surfing the Pacific” kind of stuff. But when it comes to enjoying the outdoors, sometimes you have to push yourself and get out of your comfort zone. And there’s no better weather to do so than stormy wind and rain.

After a night of listening to the glorious sound of rain pelting the tent, Saturday morning we downed some bacon, eggs and coffee — breakfast of champions! — and suited up in various layers of polyester quick drying shirts, fleece, drysuits and booties. The ultimate outfit made for a sea of bright candy-colored groups placed along the beach shore, a stark contrast to the gray waters and sky.

My first outing for the day was intended to be an exploration of the Nestucca River, which, thanks to the elements, looked less like a river and more like the ocean that it feeds into. While another group experimented with rescue scenarios, we paddled directly into the headwind to explore some of the local wildlife. “Paddle” might be the wrong word as it felt more like cranking a very, very heavy piece of machinery. Even the seagulls back at the parking lot could barely stand still without getting blown to the side by the wind. But braving the incessant headwind and rain in my face paid off, as we saw a huge flock of pelicans skimming the water as well as a stoic Great Blue Heron undisturbed by the inclement weather. In fact from the comfort of my dry suit, I really had no place to complain; call me crazy, but being from the Northwest, I actually like the rain. And with pizza and beer as the consolation prize for working my shoulder muscles and core, the day couldn’t have been any better.

Sunday was a different story.

“Anna, why don’t you do the Fear to Fun in the Surf class?” one of the Alder Creek staff asked. They sure sounded upbeat.

“Umm… the one where I paddle in that?” I asked, hesitantly pointing out towards the large waves that might have even intimidated kayakers with a more solid skill set than my own.

“Sure!”

Like I said, it’s all about getting yourself out of your comfort zone. And so I tightened my helmet and headed down to the beach to embark on my first kayak surfing experience. Fear to fun Anna… this is supposed to be fun. I had to keep the mantra in my head –  it was the only way to make capsizing in the Pacific seem less daunting.

But I’ll let you in on a little secret: once you’ve gotten schooled by a wave and realize that it’s not the worst thing in the world, paddling into swelling waves actually is fun. In fact you keep going back for more. And so I spent the good part of the morning learning how to brace against waves, paddle through them and be at peace with getting tipped over by them. Nature is, after all, much more powerful than we ever will be.

So despite the typical Northwest weather that made conditions difficult and put a lot of symposium attendees at the boundaries of their personal limits, there were a lot of smiles at the end of it all. Which is ultimately the main reason that we get outdoors: to push ourselves and be proud of what we can achieve, be it on the water, on a mountain or just on an afternoon hike. Now it’s time to go and plan for next weekend…

Lumpy Waters Symposium day 1 from Daniel Fox on Vimeo.

[Note: unfortunately the epic paddler in the photo above is not me... that kind of paddling takes many more years of experience, but athletes of that caliber certainly are amazing to watch - be sure to check out the slideshow for more of them!]

At first I thought that maybe we here at Wend HQ were just a little obsessed with salmon; we have friends that dress up in salmon costumes, we blog about salmon stakeholder rallies and Stiv even wrote a piece about his salmon trek last weekend. But then I spent yesterday afternoon at Eagle Creek — an optimal place to watch the salmon run — and realized that there’s good reason to be salmon obsessed in the NW: the species is an integral part of our local ecosystem and economy.

That may sound like an idiotic realization, but it’s one thing to blog, tweet and talk about environmental issues, it’s another thing to go out and see them first hand. In our technological driven society, it’s easy to get caught up in news articles, press releases and blogs, but sometimes the best way to get revved up on an issue is to experience it in real time.

So back to the afternoon at Eagle Creek. It was just a causal photo outing; a chance to shoot some colorful leaves and hopefully see some salmon. The salmon were definitely out, many of them using their last efforts to swim the final lengths upstream. Others had already perished and dead salmon carcasses covered the bottom of the stream. Sitting on rocks down by the water, if we were patient enough, every now and again we would see one of the fish jump out of the water in an attempt to make its way up through the rapids. A jumping fish is a beautiful thing.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Salmon are beautiful and majestic creatures, and it’s awe-inspiring to see them up close, to get to take part in this final chapter of their lifespan. And it’s a perfect reminder of how important they are to the local ecosystem — just one of many species that we need to continue to protect and preserve. Which is why we all need to spend a little more time outside.

Here’s some visual inspiration to motivate you:

The Mrs. and I got out for a little hike yesterday in the Salmon Huckleberry Wilderness near Mount Hood.  But it was more than that;  it was an experience of closing a big existential loop.  I particularly like this hike, though it’s not the most challenging in the world. There is slight elevation gain, but for the most part, the hike along the Salmon River is more of a forest stroll, the kind that’s conducive to big thinking, existence pondering, and post industrial ennui erasing.  On this trail, the mind is less focused on the physical challenge and more concentrated on the sense data that abounds.

First to the nose is a ubiquitous autumnal scent;  the leaves, the pine needles, all imbued with a hint of cold. Yes, one can smell the cold in the shadows this time of year. And the shadows, too, are sinister;  they’re a reminder that one must take care of himself here or face the consequences made manifest by the elements when bad decisions are made. In the woods, we are the exact measure of ourselves.  

A Circle Closed:

For months, we’ve been advocating with our friends at Save Our Wild Salmon for the Obama administration to change the Bush era policy on salmon in the Snake River Basin.  It’s been gut wrenching, and ultimately disappointing. But for any environmentalist, getting your teeth kicked in by greed and bad science is a familiar bad taste, one that must be washed down with a ‘never say die’ optimism. And instead of slitting your wrists, you need to get out and remember what you’re fighting for, and why.

It’s fall; salmon are running. After hiking about two miles in on the Salmon River (yes, aptly named) trail, my wife Molly spotted a rudimentary campsite off the trail, down by a calmer stretch of the river. Immediately, we both vowed to come back and hole-up in this spot.  I love backpacking, but one of my favorite kinds of trips is to hike in to the perfect spot, establish a base camp, and then day hike out of it for a few days. This was the epic spot in which to do that. Surveying the site, my dog had no interest in anything other than getting in the river, as he’s a true water dog.  

If it’s wet, he’s in it. We walked down to the edge to throw a stick for him and we noticed eddies where eddies shouldn’t have been.  And then, like blowing the cover off the wilderness’s camouflage, there they were:  the salmon.  Tons and tons of them were running. Some had already spawned and were slowly decaying, and others still on their mission, navigating to their own birth place by some hidden industry that still eludes human comprehension.  Like bison in Montana, salmon are the ambassadors of the Northwest. They are THE icon and the ultimate indicator species.  We watched in awe as they darted to and fro as we attempted to understand the motivations for their movements. In cities, behind computers we forget salmon empirically; we measure them by our own policies and interests. We loose respect for them- not by any willful activity, but rather by the rages of circumstances- out of sight out of mind, as they say.  But here, on the bank of a river, in an old growth forest, I am with them. For hours. At first, I’m attempting to photograph them with a 20 mil lens, which is completely useless unless I wade into the stream.  But quickly, I realize that I need not photograph them to capture them–  no, I just need to be present.  I need to be here.  I need to be away from circumstance.  I need to be fully unengaged from the self, and intimately engaged with what I’m bearing witness to–  like watching a painter paint without care or worry for what the final product will be.  This is how beauty manifests in four dimensions, and arguably five; as it will be committed to memory, too.  I like the word ‘moment’ very much. Because it means nothing unless you’re in it.

They say that a picture is worth a 1,000 words.  They lie.  The words are the means by which we understand our pictures, whether they’re out in the world, our hidden in the mind’s eye. I’d say that a nature essay is worth a 1,000 pictures.

Ever wonder what it’s like to take part in a Wend photo shoot? Here’s a little taste from the Volume 4 Issue 3 Survival Kit that we shot in and around Astoria, OR. Thanks to all of our models and companies that provided gear!

Thanks to Eric for the great footage and montage!

Gothenburg's Central Station

Although there’s plenty of discussion about the effectiveness of a state governed train system (Swedish passenger trains are all run under the company Sveriges Järnväg, otherwise known as SJ), I personally love traveling by Swedish rail. The trains are usually on time, and if they’re delayed it’s only by a couple of minutes, the cars are clean and you can get pretty much anywhere in the country.

Who doesn't love taking the train??

SJ is also committed making to the environmental side of things. All trains are electrically powered, and the company buys renewable electricity from hydroelectric and wind-powered sources for its trains, giving them a much lower footprint — a train journey from Gothenburg to the country’s capital Stockholm generates only 400 grams of carbon dioxide emissions.

But SJ’s environmental program goes beyond just its use of electricity; the company also recycles its old train cars, reusing 99% of materials. In fact since 2004, 146 locomotives and carriages from the 1960s have been taken out of use and their materials reused. Of those 146 trains, the only material to make it to the landfill was the porcelain from wash basins and bathrooms.

The company also implements an environmental management program based off of the prestigious ISO 14001 standards, making a Swedish train journey not only enjoyable, but eco friendly as well!

To read more about SJ’s practices, click here.

Gothenburg does monthly Critical Mass too!

Living in Portland, I have a certain obsession with bike culture. This means that when I travel, I tend to take an obscene amount of bike photos. No really… and obscene amount. During my downtown Gothenburg stroll yesterday I not only took pictures of bikes, people on bikes, and signs with bikes on them, I also managed to come across the same version of my old school steel frame Peugeot. I was excited to say the least.

Cycling is second nature in Sweden, particularly in urban areas where it’s a preferred mode of transportation. But I had no idea that Gothenburg’s bike culture would be anything like Portland’s, which is why I was excited to find several posters advertising Critical Mass. The city’s Critical Mass is so organized, it even has its own blog. Although a bit sparse, there’s some great information for anyone who wants to participate or just wants to get more active in the cycling community.

But back to cycling as an everyday Swedish lifestyle… There is ample bike parking provided by the city. something that’s key when motivating car commuters to become bike commuters. There’s so much bike parking provided by the city that sometimes parked bikes look more like a sea of wheels and handlebars than actual modes of transportation.

Here’s a visual representation for full impact:

Next on the travel agenda: Swedish trains — always punctual and clean.

Wend’s Managing Editor, New Media, Anna Brones, is currently spending some time with family in Sweden and figured she should probably share her Scandinavian adventures with the Wend crew!

September sun extends the summer months

Summer has always been my favorite Swedish season. The sun never sets, the good weather forces Swedes to take a more positive outlook on life and everyone spends their time relaxing at summer homes in the countryside. It’s idyllic to say the least. But fall has a different feel. With the change in season comes a change in activities. Swimming is traded for hiking, sun bathing is traded for afternoon picnics in warm sweaters and scarves and summer dressed and sandals are traded for more sensible attire. But the one thing that stays constant is the appreciation for being outside.

Every Swede grows up with a concrete understanding of the natural world, able to name all sorts of flora and fauna without hesitation. Every good Swedish family owns several mushroom, bird and tree identification books, and spending time outside, even if it’s just for an afternoon stroll is of the utmost importance. So traveling to Sweden in the fall of course means taking advantage of being outside. Which is exactly what Saturday entailed.

Having landed in Gothenburg on Friday, Saturday was devoted to driving north to Ljungskile, a small and sleepy village an hour north. Most of Ljungskile’s inhabitants are summer-only, making weekend trips in the fall months quiet and relatively tourist-free. Driving west from Ljungskile out to our good friends’ summer residence (that they keep open for beautiful fall weekends) we hugged the water, driving by small bathing huts and sailboats out for day trips. Because of it’s west coast location, water and marine life are huge parts of any Gothenburg local’s upbringing. The city boasts an extensive archipelago, dotted with islands and coastline that make up Gothenburg’s natural playground.

A mid-morning fika, the ever important Swedish coffee break, was followed by a hike through the forest and out along the water. The warm fall air was filled with a coastal breeze and the smell of salt water. A couple kayaked in the water and moored boats swayed in the gentle waves. It’s easy to envision myself scrounging up enough cash to buy a small hut on one of the archipelago’s many islands and hole up, away from the crazy pace of urban society. But it’s when the experience is rare that you truly appreciate it, so I welcome the simplicity of the moment and take time to let it all soak in.

Mushrooms ready for cleaning

Back at the house, we helped clean off newly picked chantrelles, straight from a morning mushroom search in the forest. Mushroom picking is synonymous with Swedish autumn, and there’s nothing better than donning a scruffy pair of old jeans and a pair of rainboots and scrounging around in the woods on the lookout for what’s locally known as skogens guld, or “gold of the forest.”

Four Swedes enjoying the September sun

Best way to end a day of being outside? A bus ride back into the city and a typical Swedish meal of salmon and potatoes. Next up on the agenda: urban exploration in Gothenburg.

Wend’s Managing Editor, New Media, Anna Brones, is currently spending some time with family in Sweden and figured she should probably share her Scandinavian adventures with the Wend crew!

When you play outdoors, it’s essential to take care of and work to protect your favorite spaces. At least that’s what we believe here at Wend, because if you don’t work to ensure that natural places aren’t here for future generations, we all lose out.

But sometimes working to protect the environment can seem like a daunting responsibility, which is why we like to support groups that make it a more manageable task, of which We Love Clean Rivers is a great example. Built upon the mission of “turning restoration into recreation,” We Love Clean Rivers focuses the energies of the local Portland boating community to cleaning up a large section of the Clackamas River every September. Working with local groups and companies, the Down the River Cleanup that is sponsored by We Love Clean Rivers may only be a one day cleanup, but its effects are felt much longer. Not only are local communities encouraged to keep local rivers clean on an everyday basis, this year We Love Clean Rivers is also teaming up with RIPPLE Effect to host an art show in October featuring pieces made from the over 3 tons of river debris collected during the cleanup.

So what exactly do you find during a river cleanup? There are your usual cigarette butts that litter the river banks, and the ever popular beer cans, but during yesterday’s cleanup I was amazed to see all the bigger stuff that finds its way floating down the water and buried in river grass: tires, camper tops, sign posts, metal siding from houses, etc. Spending a day with a group of over 350 cleanup volunteers ensures that those bigger pieces of trash make their way out of natural recreational areas and into trash bins.

To learn more check out www.welovecleanrivers.org.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Calling Wend a group of treehugging environmentalists might actually be an understatement; if there’s anything that resonates among the Wend staff it’s the importance of our natural surroundings and we’re overly committed to doing everything we can to protect them. Which is why we like to work with groups that believe the same thing.

This is the reason that last week Eric (that’s our videographer extraordinaire), Dave and I joined up with EmilyNuchols  from Save Our Wild Salmon and Jeff Hickman of Sierra Club to put together an informational video on the importance of partially removing four dams on the lower Snake River to restore the Pacific Northwest’s wild salmon and free-flowing rivers.

You can imagine the entertainment that happens when you get some eco and adventure freaks together for an afternoon on the river… it’s all for the love of salmon! Check back for the complete video which we’ll be posting soon!

Lots of pics after the jump.

The 28-year-old long distance relay race starts at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, and by way of 12-person teams, runners travel 197 miles to Seaside, Oregon, where the finish line waits on the beach itself. Each team has two vans, each carrying six runners who are assigned to a set of three runs (legs) along the stretch. Each individual leg can be anywhere from about three miles to just over seven, and the time between legs is usually close to 8 hours, depending on how collectively fast a team is. While one runner does their leg, the rest of the team follows along in the van, meeting the runner at the following exchange, where the baton (a slap-on bracelet of sorts) is passed. Most teams take an average of 30 hours to complete the race, and each runner ends up logging about 15 to 18 miles of total running distance by the end.

But the real fun of the race is obviously not just in the running… It’s in the fact that for the weekend, no one (except the elite runners) takes themselves seriously. People wear ridiculous costumes, paint and write all over giant vans, and drink endless energy drinks, and, yes, sometimes even beer and/or tequila. So despite the excessive running necessary to complete the race, the reason most people want to do Hood to Coast is so that they can see what it’s like to participate in weekend full of madness, lack of sleep and seriously strange characters. I mean, put a bunch of crazy runners together for the longest relay race in the world, and you’re bound to have a fun, bizarre time!

Two of our iWend Ambassadors are currently paddling 130 miles of the Columbia River from Willamette Falls in Portland to Ft Stevens, where the Columbia flows into the Pacific Ocean, to benefit the Disabled American Veterans, Team River Runner and WeLoveCleanRivers.org. They’re taking detailed notes, as next year the goal is to offer a similar trip to a group of disabled veterans.

On Monday the group kayaked from Willamette Falls to Hayden Island, managing to make their way through the urban waters surrounding Portland. They even spotted a sturgeon.

“The day was a nice combination of wildlife and surprising urban landscapes, mixed with an osprey catching fish, a rare surfacing sturgeon, a trout and/or salmon — I’m not totally sure — jumping cormorants, geese, ducks, etc… it is nice to see that even in industrial city somehow nature persists,” says Daniel.

Camping near Kalama, OR last night, today they will be making their way farther down the river. You can keep up with the trip via Twitter (@amaser and @kitsunekeimou) as well as track the journey live at SPOT Adventures.

Myself and Save Our Wild Salmon/Wend ninja Emily Nuchols went out to meet up with the team and take some killer paparazzi kayaking photos. Enjoy!

So what does that mean? Is it bad? Good? Does it even matter? I’m not exactly sure, but I do think that it is symbolic of modern society, in that we have a tendency to focus less on the details than we maybe should. This just may be representative of a bigger problem – after all, the small details are often just as important as the big picture.

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she recently returned from an extended backpacking trip in Europe. Read her other posts here.

Barcelona was amazing. Gaudi’s architecture and the bustle of the city itself won me over immediately, and the fact that there was a sandy beach just a few metro stops away from Las Ramblas made me happier than I thought possible. But one of the best parts of this city was that it was that it actually, in its own way, reminded me a bit of Portland.

OK, before you start mocking me for not realizing how big and cosmopolitan Barcelona is in comparison to Portland, let me explain myself. Barcelona was, fundamentally, a very different city from the one I grew up in. But what it shared in common was the way it operated. People there were, for the most part, friendly and kind, and despite the fact that there were always massive crowds of tourists and locals wandering the streets, it still felt welcoming to me, and much less overwhelming than most big cities. This inevitably had to have something to do with the fact that I can actually speak the language (not Catalan, but Spanish… which most of the locals do speak as well). But there were also things that I hadn’t seen since Portland, such as public restrooms at the beach, and bathrooms in restaurants and cafe’s that were accessible, clean and prepared for common washroom necessities (toilet paper, soap and paper towels, for example).

These were things that were much, much harder to come by in France and Italy in the most tourist-dense cities that I visited there, and also things that I have come to seriously appreciate during my travels. Ultimately, I can’t really say that Barcelona and Portland share much in common, but they do, for me, elicit a similar feeling of simultaneous ease and excitement. They are both crazy cities (although Barcelona arguably much more so) yet they both have some seriously well-thought out, welcoming qualities that make a visitor feel right at home.

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she’s currently backpacking in Europe, so we asked her to blog about her adventures and everything green she sees along the way.

Rome was, to say the least, complete insanity. Between the skin-melting heat of the day and the bibite-infused Italian night life, my travel companion and I were ecstatic to make it to the peaceful little town of Manarola. Perched on towering gray slabs of rock, where the buildings literally seem to sprout out of, this tiny town is absolutely full of Italian Riviera charm.

Local women shout, “Ciao, bella!” to their younger Italian counterparts on the windy street, which is completely car-less except for the occasional white or green van. And if you crane your neck and look straight up, you can see the tiniest speck of a local tending to the grape vines that make up most of the green hillsides.

Manarola is steeped in its own idyllic beauty, which is part of why I’ve fallen in love with it. But it is also seriously committed to preserving this beauty through integrated environmental practices. First of all, the city of Manrola is part of the Cinque Terre, a national park consisting of hiking paths and a myriad of flora and fauna. Its water, and that of the other four towns along the coast, is a Protected Marine Area, which was actually enlarged in 2004 with the Environment Ministry Decree. Aside from protecting its abundant natural resources, the Cinque Terre also works hard to encourage and enable sustainable tourism. Hostels and hotels here for the most part boast the Brand of Environmental Quality, which “guarantees a high quality service which is also eco-friendly and thus protects the environment and conserves natural resources.” In addition, regional trains and buses allow for ecologically sound transportation. Restaurants and hotels offer up primarily local cuisine and regional specialties, including pesto, walnuts and jams that are organic and delicious.

At the Hostel Cinque Terre, where I am staying, the food is almost all organic. And to top it all off, recycling bins in Manarola and the other towns completely break free of the whole, figure-it-out-yourself trend that I saw in the rest of Italy. Here, they’re easily accessible and clearly labeled.

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she’s currently backpacking in Europe, so we asked her to blog about her adventures and everything green she sees along the way.

For our summer issue Survival Kit we decided to do the all-time classic summer adventure: a river trip. So we rounded up some models (including our iWend Ambassador Dave Hoffman), sweet talked Oregon Rafting Team into loaning us a boat and Ben Sigler’s guiding skills, loaded up the cars with bbq fixings and some Widmer beer and took off for the river.

Check out these behind the scene shots so you can see just how much fun we have here at Wend.

Our iWend Ambassador Daniel Fox is in town this week prepping for the Portland exhibit of Wild Image Project: Works From Argentina, so we thought we’d give him a little kayaking time… but all we could find was this practice pool…

Personally, I really don’t think that this is just a stupid American tourist assumption because every time I notice a trash can, it is literally chock full of empty plastic water bottles. And that’s the other thing…  tourists and locals alike are constantly clutching a plastic water bottle, and I have yet to see a Klean Kanteen, Sigg or Nalgene (or any variety of that sort) the entire time that I have been in Italy! Unfortunately, I’m guilty of this as well,  having left my own stainless steel bottle at home for lack of space to pack it. That being said, I’ve been refilling my waterbottle as much as possible, rather than buying a new one every day.  But without a recycling bin in sight, when my little plastic  bottle gets too grimy to use, I’m forced to leave it near a trash can, in the hopes that someone will pick it up and find a better place for it. So, my mission is to find out where I can personally put my used plastic bottle when it’s all done, and also to figure out why recycling bins and trash cans don’t just always go hand-in-hand here.

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she’s currently backpacking in Europe, so we asked her to blog about her adventures and everything green she sees along the way.

Bonjourno! I am now in Italy — Venice, to be more exact. And I feel my world-traveler status rising with each hectic day I experience. In fact, I feel as if I’ve seen enough to make a few general statements about the way that some European countries (namely France and Italy) are contributing to the environmental consciousness of the world.

The first “general” statement I will make is that food products here appear to be mostly locally grown or produced, rather than heavily imported. Part of that is because of the climate here, which allows for delicious, ripe fruits from just across the country, rather than from another nation. However, part of it may be that people here eat what is in season locally. It seems to me that in France and Italy, nectarines and apricots are everywhere (at the market, on my breakfast plate). And when I go to markets, a sign clearly identifies where the fruit came from — in France it came from France, in Italy, from Italy. Even here in Venice, the sparkling water is produced in Italy!

Another thing I’ve noticed is that cosmetics and toiletries are mostly compliant with the European Union directive. This means that these products don’t contain seriously dangerous chemicals, such as parabens — a specific type of preservative that is potentially carcinogenic, and also heavily used in many cosmetic and toiletry products in the states.

And finally, many items here, such as the toilet paper in my hotel, meet the requirements set by the EU Eco-Label. The toilet paper, for example, has “low water pollution,” “low greenhouse gas emissions,” and “low electricity use” from its production. And it’s not like a lot of the rough, papery stuff I’ve bought at home. In fact, it’s actually “extra soft!” Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she’s currently backpacking in Europe, so we asked her to blog about her adventures and everything green she sees along the way.

Despite the massive crowds and endless stream of cars, and inevitable pollution of a hugely populated, tourist-filled city, Paris appears to be environmentally conscious, and many of its residents and visitors really seem to be taking advantage of the ability to be eco-friendly.

First of all, recycling receptacles are located at convenient locations around the entire city, and seem to be as prominent as trash bins. Even in my hostel, the Foyer International des Etudiantes, the number of clearly marked recycling bins seems to exceed that of trash cans. And almost all of the food and drink containers I have gone through are recyclable. Back in the city, there are also environmentally conscious travel options for everyone — from rentable bicycles to pedi-cabs, otherwise known as Bio Mobilites. Just a taste of what Paris is doing to help keep the city, and mother earth, clean.

Sami is one of Wend’s fabulous interns, and she’s currently backpacking in Europe, so we asked her to blog about her adventures and everything green she sees along the way.

I’m not exactly what you’d call a “seasoned traveler” yet, but hey, we all have to start somewhere, right? I’m a recent graduate from the University of Oregon, so it’s about time I get my ass out of Oregon and see the world, which is precisely what I’m doing. Tomorrow, July 1st, I set off for Europe with my travel partner, one of my best friends. Together, we’re going to trek it through France, Italy and Spain. The plan is to let our feet take us wherever we want to go”¦ massive backpacks permitting.

I expect my trip to be an adventure ““ full of the unexpected and the strange. But during my travels, I will also keep my eyes peeled for a few particulars ““ anything along the lines of eco-friendly housing, organic delicacies, and energy efficient travel options, which I’ll then blog about from any computer I can get my hands on.

I’m guessing my trip will be part wondrous zigzagging, part documented journaling, and I’m pretty sure that it’ll be one of the most insane, eye-opening experiences of my life. So, here I go with my new “world traveler” status (it’s a start), and I’m more than ready and open for whatever it is that I’m getting myself into. Check out my posts for updates on where I am, what I’m doing, and what sorts of eco-awesome European things I’ve found along the way.

On Saturday my friend and I decided to enjoy the sun by canoeing down the Sandy River. Just twenty miles outside of Portland, the Sandy is a moderately tame river that flows from Mt. Hood to the Columbia River. It’s a fun ride if you can handle putting in and taking out at beaches run amok with the drunken weekend crowd. But in between those two points the Sandy rolls through a gorgeous valley, filled with deer and osprey. Good times.

Here at Wend, we’re good friends with Andy Maser, who also blogs for us at times.  He’s a pro kayaker, environmentalist, and filmmaker that rolls with a tight crew of whitewater wizards that go by the name of the Epicocity Project. So, I’ve shot a lot of action sports photos in my life, but haven’t done much river shooting and had expressed interest in going out with these guys to work on my waterfall documentation chops.

Andy had organized a little grassroots race on the White Salmon River, which is about 5o miles up the Gorge from Portland. The wifey and I headed out to check it out, and Maser gave us coordinates to hike down to a waterfall that they planned to launch.

“Mile market two, park, head down, fade left.”

These were Andy’s instructions. So, we get there, and the wifey is till healing from a bum ankle, and I notice that the approach is essentially a  60 degree decent on a moss covered talus slope into a slot canyon. Definitely not flip-flopable. So, I put on some actual shoes, left the wife, grabbed the camera bag and the dog, and started heading down. Half hike, half butt slide, I made it to the location after about 2o minutes or so. There it was,  the waterfall. Probably just about 3o feet. I noticed someone had already set up there. There were a couple tripods and some packs. And a bottle of water that I pilfered a drink from. I sat there for about a half hour, and then noticed some kayakers pulling out and portaging the falls on the far bank. Then comes Maser. He hiked down to the film spot with another couple from Sisters, who had been waiting since 8 am to shoot this.

Apparently, they had no idea that these guys were running, but figured that someone would be that day, so they decided to kick and wait. Andy’s got a massive HD vid camera and tripod that he’s been kayaking with. Ridiculous. That think must have weighed a ton. Anyway, Maser hiked back up and dropped the falls along with 17 year old Teva Sponsored kayak prodigy, Todd Wells. Pics of Andy are in the orange boat, pics of Todd are in the yellow. Pretty sick gentlemen.  Stay tuned for some bow mounted GoPro footage from Andy.

Click here to view the embedded video.

You would think that the infamous Pacific Northwest precipitation would translate into powdery trails up in the mountains. That’s what you would think. The reality is that a lot of the time we’re graced with days, even weeks, sans snow, leaving us an icy layer to attempt to play on. But complaining about the lack of fresh powder is even worse than not taking advantage of the snow that has fallen, and so we decided to take off for a Saturday of snowshoeing.  And so, outfitted with some new MSR snowshoes, and decked out in hip sunglasses, we found ourselves at  Barlow Pass on Mount Hood.

Packs filled with apples and granola bars (because we left in too much of a hurry to actually plan a real lunch), we set out on a section of the Pacific Crest Trail, headed for Trillium Lake. To say the snow was well packed would be an understatement. “Having fun on the ice today?” I remarked when we passed a group of cross country skiiers.

“Yeah, you’re probably having a much easier time,” replied one of them, pointing to my snowshoes.

“True, although I think it would be easier just to walk.”

But if you’ve come to snowshoe, you’re going to snowshoe dammit! No matter how much easier taking them off might be…

The hard packed snow was soon forgotten, our minds much more focused on the welcomed sight of the bright sunshine streaming through the trees.  Blue skies with minimal clouds meant we could wear our sunglasses without feeling like we were merely making an attempt at being fashionable; although guaging from Kyle’s choice of killer white shades, I’m not sure we should totally count that option out.

After a long descent that we were sure would defeat our canine friend, we stood on the banks of a snow covered Trillium Lake.

Looking out over the white lake, the middle of it free of ski and snowshoe tracks, I asked, “how far out would you guys dare to go?”

Not too far was the group consensus. “Safety first” tends to be a good policy, especially when you’re talking about the risk of breaking through thin ice only to find yourself swimming in freezing water. Definitely not what we wanted out of our Saturday, so we stuck to the outer edges and admired the pristine snow from afar.

Six miles, a mini photo shoot in a deserted igloo, a few snowball ambushes, and a lost cell phone (that Christopher was attentive enough to find and Kyle was inquisitive enough to track down the owner) later, we were back at the trailhead, the need for actual food and drink setting in.

Unstrap the snowshoes, pile into the car — with said canine friend on our lap in the backseat — and head for warm showers, a comfortable couch and an IPA where we bask in our winter workout glory. Icy winter trails, we’ll take you on any day!

It’s Halloween and Bryan and I are in Glacier National Park. It almost seems like we’re the only ones here. Once the park shuts down its major attractions for the winter season (and by winter I mean most of the year, considering the on season is only May-October) it’s only the courageous few that venture past the park gates. Today there isn’t even a ranger at the Visitor’s Center; apparently if I want to trick or treat it’s going to have to be with a moose.

With the park near empty, every photograph feels like it should be a postcard. No screaming children or retirees in gargantuan RVs to mess up my pictures, only my own limitations as a very amateur photographer. 

The magic of a National Park without the onslaught of destination-focused tourists is indescribable. With only two days it would have been hard to get into the backcountry, but somehow even only feet from the park road, silent Glacier NP feels like I’ve stepped far away from any signs of civilization. Beyond the wind in the trees and the ominous steps of a large animal in the dark of the night, the only sounds are the clicks of my shutter in an attempt to capture the essence of the moment.