Finding a North Star in the Climate Change Conundrum



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During the winter, climate change often feels like an abstract concept—in the face of an icy north wind, it is something going on somewhere else.

In British Columbia, the winter of 2023-24 was not one of those times. First, the flakes didn’t fall. There was a record low amount of snow on the ground in the mountains of southern BC in early January. Conditions improved over the following weeks, until a Pineapple Express fired a firehose of warm rain at the province, simultaneously melting and washing away the snowpack. Many ski hills had to close to repair the damage and several smaller areas never reopened.

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Watching winter literally washing away is one of those moments when climate change physically hurts. And not just because change is hard.

Geography is by nature dynamic. Mountains crumble, glaciers crack and flow, rivers change course, trees fall, wildlife moves and no two winters are the same. Embracing the dynamics is part of loving these wild places and playing outdoors. But seeing and experiencing and feeling that change in real time reminded me of the significance of what is happening.

snowshoe hike winter mountain

I do what I can to play my part in slowing climate change. I travel less, choose the lowest carbon transportation whenever I can, buy local when it’s an option, eat less meat and, most importantly, vote with my daughter’s future as the most important issue on the ballot.

Yet I still feel guilty, like I could and should do more. The harshest pangs come when I’m on my way to do the things I love the most: driving or flying to go skiing, hiking or paddling. These are the things that connect me with the Earth, but getting to them makes me feel the opposite. I know I’m not alone in this feeling of disconnect.

But I’ve also calculated my carbon footprint. At 10 tonnes per year, it’s nearly double the average European. But it’s also infinitesimal on the scale of the problem. The aviation industry alone produced more than a billion tonnes of carbon emissions last year.

ski hill winter whistler bc

Compared to a billion tonnes, what difference does one less drive up to the mountains make? Again, I’m not the only one who feels this way. Many good friends have given up on personal action. They drive solo up to our local ski hill three days a week without a second thought.

I was puzzling over this mix of guilt and apathy last spring when the invitation to join a Climate Social Innovation Lab in Vancouver, Toronto or Halifax popped up in my inbox. “How can the outdoor sector manage and mitigate the impacts of climate change to create a more adaptive and resilient industry?” The invitation stressed that the labs were not about solving climate change, but rather an opportunity to brainstorm how to continue playing and working outdoors alongside the impacts climate change brings. I figured it was as good a place as any to find answers.

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The labs were Brendan Madden’s idea. He’s the lead for program quality and innovation at Outward Bound Canada, a wing of the international non-profit that runs wilderness trips for youth. More and more of his time is spent scrambling to move a trip away from a dangerous heat wave or searching for a reroute around a wildfire. When he convened a casual working group of colleagues in the outdoor education industry, he heard they were in the same reactive cycle with no time, money or energy to develop a proactive strategy.

“I think people are really crying out for ideas,” Madden says. “The labs were a chance to bring people together, hear what the challenges are and make some connections for solving them.”

man winter ski hill whistler

In May 2024, I met with 25 other people from various parts of British Columbia’s outdoor sector. As facilitators worked us through ice-breaking games, experience sharing, brainstorming sessions and break out discussions, I met educators and parks staff, people who worked with disadvantaged youth and professors from college adventure guide programs. We talked about interesting ideas, disagreed and found alignment, aired our concerns and our aspirations. Mostly we worried about the young people and the world we were leaving them.

I left the lab feeling collegial and energized, but also pessimistic. Twenty-six people were fired up to change things, but sitting in traffic on my way home, it felt like it was all talk.

A few weeks later I was reading the book Longpath: Becoming the Great Ancestors Our Future Needs by Ari Wallach and came across a passage about “telos.” Wallach defines it as “the ability to align one’s actions with a broader purpose and vision.”

night sky stars winter golden

He says the only way we can achieve the future we want is to imagine it first. That image becomes our North Star. Using it as a bearing, I have to adjust my path to surmount barriers—walk around a lake, avoid a crevasse or cross a river—but then I return to my original route and continue toward my destination.

Reading about telos, all my thoughts and feelings start to solidify. I realize the Climate Social Innovation Lab was not about solutions. It was about figuring out the problems and imagining what a better future might look like. In other words, we can’t move on to preparing to climb the mountain until we’ve dreamed of the summit.

When I caught up with Madden a few months later, he had reached the same conclusion.

“The talking and brainstorming is well and good,” he said. “But we need leadership.”

hiking winter bc canada

It’s why Outward Bound organized the labs and Madden went to Ottawa soliciting financial support from the ministry of Environment and Climate Change to formalize the efforts. It’s also why Outward Bound is working climate change into their programming.

“We see with the young people we work with, the antidote to climate anxiety is climate action,” he says. “None of us can fix climate change. But we can help them to translate their wilderness experiences to bring leadership to their lives back home.”

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After talking to Madden, I realized that as outdoorsy people we’re better equipped than most to this task. Wishing things were different doesn’t help us climb the last hill or stop the rain from falling. Overcoming challenges and frustrations is half the reason we wander away from the pavement. 

So this past winter, I will to continue trying to do one more thing to reduce my carbon footprint, no matter how insignificant it feels. And when I get discouraged, I’ll go for a ski and focus on the most important lesson I’ve learned: putting one foot in front of the other.

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2 thoughts on “Finding a North Star in the Climate Change Conundrum

  1. If I see any more of this WOKE climate change nonsense, I will cancel my subscription.

  2. The previous comment is an odd one, given that one might imagine an explore subscriber to care about the outdoors, the people and animals in it, and the environment and the changes happening in it. Being awake to these things is a good thing. Sad, denigrating commentary is not.

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