By Guest Blogger Karen Povey
“I can do this. I can do this,” I muttered through my clenched jaw while my stomach clawed its way into my throat. White knuckled, I gripped the thin wire cable and tentatively stepped further out on the bridge’s narrow planks that responded with the deeply unsettling give of a trampoline. I noted that several boards appeared to have been recently replaced, which wasn’t a particularly soothing thought as I inched forward. I couldn’t help but imagine myself plunging through to Tahoma Creek far below, leaving no trace of my disappearance.
Turns out, acrophobia is not a trait well suited to negotiating Mount Rainier’s suspension bridges, and I had another yet to cross as I completed my circumnavigation on the Wonderland Trail. I suspect I set the record for slowest crossings ever, but now — eight years later — I still enjoy recalling the triumphant satisfaction I gained by pushing through my fear.
Being on shaky ground wasn’t new to me. Earlier that winter, in 2012, I was transitioning from a long marriage to experiencing life as a single woman entering middle age. One night, feeling melancholy about my recent divorce, I lamented to my friend Tim that I no longer had a partner for backpacking or backroads exploring. No doubt tiring of my whining, he gave me a withering look and said: “What’s your deal? Just get out there and do it!”
Tim’s verbal slap down turned out to be the dawning of my mental transformation. Why should I be hostage to societal expectations about solo adventuring? As a zoologist and passionate nature lover, I’d always felt very comfortable in wild places and hiked alone often. I had the skills, experience and good sense to do so safely. Oddly, without Tim’s prompting, it really had just never occurred to me that I could do more ambitious adventures on my own. Feeling inspired and newly motivated, I set the goal of solo hiking the Wonderland Trail. Go big or go home, right?!
That summer of conditioning, with day hikes and testing my mettle on an overnight in Olympic National Park, culminated in a fantastic solo Wonderland experience – to this day one of my most treasured memories. It was also the singular event that stoked my “wonderlust” and cemented my ongoing love affair with “my mountain.” And I haven’t looked back. My life has become centered on my passion for connecting with nature worldwide, with the three national parks in my backyard serving as the beloved touchpoints to which I always return. The soaring peaks of the North Cascades, the spectacular flower show of Mount Rainier’s meadows, and the million shades of green within the Olympic forests feed my spirit beyond measure.
My story is not unique. All of us who love our parks encounter the deep wonder, joy and transformation that enrich our lives and help us hold these places so closely in our hearts. But as with all things we love, it’s all too easy to take them for granted. Like most people, for decades I never supported our parks beyond buying my annual pass and all the pika merchandise I could find in the gift shops. (Okay, that might be less normal.) But as my connection grew, I knew I had to do more. I was thrilled to discover that Washington’s National Park Fund served as the parks’ philanthropic partner and made the easy decision to join the Over the Top Society. This way I know I’m helping to fund projects that have been recognized as priorities by park staff to enhance research, visitor access and educational efforts.
One priority project I know quite a bit about is the effort to return fishers to the Cascades, both at Mount Rainier and North Cascades National Parks.Through my work as Conservation Manager for Northwest Trek Wildlife Park and Point Defiance Zoo & Aquarium, I have been involved with the fisher recovery project for a while and have been so impressed with the skill and commitment of the recovery team. I’m also a huge fan of carnivores, having spent much of my career involved in wild cat conservation. Learning of the ongoing challenges in funding this exciting work, I decided to up my giving to help restore these incredible creatures to their historic homeland in the parks.
I’ve devoted my career to protecting wildlife and connecting people with nature, so giving to these causes is a natural fit for me. By working with WNPF, anyone who cherishes the parks can support a specific project that resonates with them and know that it really makes a difference. I love that WNPF provides these satisfying opportunities to give directly to a specific project that would otherwise not be funded. And even better, donors have opportunities to hear directly from park superintendents and other staff to learn how this support translates to improving our beloved parks. It’s this kind of access and engagement that reinforces my decision to be a WNPF donor. I’m excited about future opportunities to connect more with park staff as well as my fellow WNPF supporters. I never tire of sharing stories of favorite trails and critters encountered!
These days my lust for wonder has reached a fever pitch. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work and have spent the summer wandering Washington’s parks with my camper, both solo and with friends. These experiences have been incredible and have soothed my soul during these troubled times. I’m about to embark on my biggest adventure of the year, hitting the road on a month-long western states trip. I’m excited to discover new places and continue to gain courage exploring on my own. But I’m also already thinking about future adventures in my Washington parks and the wonder and delight that will always be waiting to welcome me home.