For this installment of Material ReCulturing, I thought I would write about some of the contradictions of camping—of going out to have an experience in nature, with all of our plastic gear. We snuggle into our fleece sweaters, our plastic tents, our plastic sleeping mats, and so on, to be out there.
I spoke with Megan MacLeod of Zero Waste Yukon: the education, outreach and advocacy arm of Raven ReCentre. She agreed that it was a matter of concern. “Most camping gear, especially high-end outdoor gear, includes “forever” chemicals mixed into the materials to make things waterproof and breathable.” The technical complexity of these garments also makes them harder to repair.
She also noted that people involved with the outdoors often care about climate change and the environment, and may even be activists. Some of the outdoor clothing brands are beginning to offer repair services and are looking into ways to make gear out of materials, with less of an environmental footprint. So even at the corporate level, some of these ideas are gaining traction.
I was thinking about these things as I got ready to go camping in Ddhäl Ch’èl Cha Nän, Ragged Mountain Lands in Hän (a.k.a. Tombstone Territorial Park) for the weekend. I had been invited up to give a last-minute art workshop to complement the Interpretive Centre’s annual celebration of birding, Weekend on the Wing. I have an acrylic painting workshop that I know works well. It teaches participants, who have a wide range of drawing experiences, about how paints and colours work in a fun way.
As I prepared, I got thinking about my article. I started to question what I was doing—going to the Tombstones to teach painting in a kind of paint that must produce microplastics. I also often use prefab plastic-wrapped canvas boards as painting surfaces for the students.
While I had committed to the acrylic paint, this line of thinking led me to consider how I could avoid some of that plastic wrap, as well as avoiding using things made by people who might well be working in exploitative conditions. I considered buying plywood and cutting it up, but my table saw isn’t very good. Then I asked myself, What do I have already?
Now, having a store of stuff (and tools to use it) is a luxury associated with being a homeowner—and one who hasn’t moved in more than 20 years. But I did remember I had some old board of a width I could use in the chop saw. Between that and some paint I already had open, I had surfaces that would work for the workshop. I am going to try to ask myself that question—What have I got already?—more often. And to note that it sometimes takes asking myself that question a few times.
Up in the Tombstones, I sat down and talked over these concepts with Quinn, a recent graduate in neuroscience and mental health, in their second year as park interpreter.
While they do think about the impacts of the drive to get up to the Tombstones, they consider the cost-benefit analysis. Their role in the Tombstone Territorial Park is educational, and they find they have cool conversations with people about things like climate change. Shrubs have been moving north along the highway and into the alpine, where there has been tundra before. You can see changes in the permafrost; more slumps in the landscape from melting. The Porcupine caribou herd used to come to the park and no longer does. There is also change in the ice and snow on the landscape.
It’s a hard balance. How do I be part of it without damaging it?” asked Quinn.
Interestingly, the interpreters’ introductions and land acknowledgements now not only relate how we owe this park to the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in Land Claim Agreement, but also makes the distinction between this park and other parks whose rules keep people separate from the landscape. People can harvest berries here; and in the fall, people hunt in the park. I found this idea to be healing.
Quinn noted that “shifting into a rethink mindset takes effort and a change of brain” and said, Sometimes I feel like I’m going so fast I don’t have time to get there. I come up here and it’s a sigh of relief. The world feels more real, but less pressing.”
At school in Ottawa, Quinn was desperate to hike. One day they planned a route that would actually take them through five kilometres of continuous green space. But on a more daily basis, Quinn would walk the one and a half kilometres to and from campus.
Their roommate observed them and said, “You know, I never thought about just walking.” The roommate thought that to get to campus you just had to drive or take the bus. So they started walking sometimes, too. So for Quinn, education sometimes happens unintentionally. You never know what effect your actions will have on other people.
I visited my friend Julie Frisch on the way home. She has cared about and taken action around environmental questions and moving towards Zero Waste, for a long time. She fretted a bit about not having cruise control, and she shared with me that she always drives just the speed limit on the highway. Without cruise control, it’s a bit hard on her knee.
On my way back down to Whitehorse, I did my best to drive the speed limit or below. Not because Julie told me to—she didn’t. But I did already know that driving more slowly would have a beneficial impact not only on the cost of fuel for me, but also on my greenhouse gas emissions and on the microplastics I’m grinding off my tires.
The next day, driving out to gather clay with my friend Susan Walton in Marsh Lake, I did the speed limit or below. I watched for good passing places and slowed down and let people pass me. Maybe it will become a habit.
I’ve gone on overnight camping trips with Susan. She mused poetically about plastics and camping during our visit. She considered the washing of dishes and possible scraping off of microplastics from our kayaks onto the rocks. She appreciated the plastic zippers that keep mosquitoes out. But she practices “Pack it in, pack it” out very seriously and also repairs and uses her gear for a long time, as well as sharing it with others, and doesn’t see her plastic impacts due to camping as being that much more than in daily life.
Susan is a retired nurse and practical-nursing instructor. She has observed that over the past decade in hospitals, quite a lot of things that used to be sterilized in an autoclave have been replaced with plastic disposable items. I will have to look into that for another article.
Susan’s got me looking lovingly into the plastic teeth of my zippers. Maybe demonizing a material like plastic isn’t fair. Maybe disposability is more of a problem.
But maybe finding problems isn’t as useful as finding something we can do about them. As Quinn noticed, it’s hard to rethink things when we’re in a rush all the time. How can we slow down? How can we slow down some more?
Not only did I follow Julie’s example in going the speed limit, but I realized that if I encounter someone doing 90 on the highway, often I follow them at that speed. At a good following distance, of course. It means if there’s a moose, they will hit it first but I will be there to check if they’re OK. Sure, sometimes I pass them. But maybe not. Maybe now I’ll appreciate the leadership they’re offering me in slowing down.
Thank you so much for your emails to [email protected]. I will use what I have in my next column on materials and sentimentality. Keep them coming! But take your time.
