Months passed after that morning, and I sat in a forest of ponderosa on the rim of that same sacred canyon. I sit pondering how the stream-carved chasm sounds today. It’s absent our singing voices, although our blessings remain in the spirit of that place. Drifting away from the daydream, I’m filled with contentment knowing that the medicine created, shared, and received lives on with the Native youth who sang with me that day.

I live, work, and play across the Colorado Plateau, committing most of my time to engaging with Native youth in outdoor spaces. I build community with Native youth on traditional farms across the Navajo Nation, in deep canyons and forests, and on all the mesas in between. Indigenous youth are our future—a proclamation that became abundantly clear this year as I facilitated culturally relevant outdoor education programs with various nonprofits in the Four Corners region. This level of community engagement in relation to the land represents movement toward the protection of biocultural diversity. Through generations of caretaking, the land of Indigenous peoples has maintained immeasurable biodiversity. The degree of protection and caretaking is evolving in challenge and intensity due to the unfortunate reality that Native communities are disproportionately affected by the severe impacts of climate change. The consequences of climate catastrophe will be left in the hands of Indigenous youth. So how do we inspire them to play a part in the story they are woven into?

It begins with reminding youth that they hold an intrinsic connection to the land. One of the many lasting tactics of colonialism is the forced disconnection of Native peoples from the land. Decades of violent removal, boarding school, and dispossession of land and water have left generations of youth to feel they don’t belong to the land the way their ancestors did. This lack of belonging is exacerbated by the gatekeeping of outdoor spaces by white communities. Socially discouraged accessibility to the outdoors is a barrier to maintaining cultural connection to place.

Growing up in the storied land of the Northern Arizona desert, I began shaping my personal relationship to land at a very young age. My time in red sand and between canyon walls was enriched by the teachings of my family, of my Diné community, that we are a part of this land. While I was never involved in an outdoor youth program, my proclivity for facilitating such programs stems from my belief that Indigenous youth should have limitless opportunity to design an intentional relationship to land and water based on their cultural and personal values.

This year, I had the privilege of helping to facilitate the annual RIISE (Regional Intertribal Intergenerational Stewardship Expedition) trip through the Grand Canyon Trust. Indigenous youth and elders gathered to share prayer, tradition, and abundant laughter along the Colorado River. On this trip, we honored the fact that spirit, knowledge, and tradition live in a physical space, brought to life by the stories told and prayers sung. To pass on teachings, Native youth must have access to these places. I’ve shared space and time with over a hundred Indigenous youth this year, and a resounding theme among all of them is a deep desire to know their culture by personally experiencing the land their relatives knew so intimately.

The relationship they desire has been taken away from them by the settler-colonial state we live in, which exploits racial identities to gain economic capital. National Parks are an example of this racial exploitation: land dispossessed from Native peoples has been turned into a commercialized and profitable space. Outdoor recreation is a predominantly white space, a privilege to those who can afford and feel safe in such environments. Outdoor recreation spaces are curated for the white experience, therefore becoming inherently exclusive. Native youth rarely see people of their own cultural background or race represented in the outdoor industry, thus perpetuating the false narrative that they don’t belong.

Providing a safe learning space for Black and Brown youth outdoors is a revolutionary act that uplifts both the individual and the community. Time on the land, in community, ignites a sense of belonging; an opportunity to heal the youths’ relationship with land. I observe this phenomenon when facilitating Native Teen Guide in Training trips through the Canyonlands Field Institute on the San Juan River each summer.

We walk alongside sandstone walls that tell of migration in the river corridor from millennia ago. The tradition continues as the youth paddle down the river. This river trip is the first and potentially only time many of these youth will have access to experiential learning and cross-cultural exchange in an outdoor recreation space. The riotous laughter of the youth ricochets across the water as we spend days passing by boats of people who don’t look like us. Some youth notice; others are blissfully oblivious to the racial disparity on display on their ancestral river. Despite these observations, we find our belonging in the stories of our people that etch themselves into the rocks, plants, and animals. Our night air is filled with a steady drum as we round dance, our hands interlaced, feet shuffling in red sand, an offering to the stars.

Outdoor programs geared toward Native youth have an impact that shouldn’t be limited to a singular experience. The magnitude of a culturally-relevant trip is, in essence, a reclamation of a relationship to land and water. How do we ensure the continuous growth of this relationship? We continue to provide Native youth with the opportunity to learn and build relationships with the land and water—to know the river and land as beings with a spirit, as relatives. We help them cultivate an inclination to care for such relatives. By instilling the traditional belief that our lineage is rooted in the land and the water, we can help create a generation of protectors. People protect what they know; they protect who they care about.

Encouraging the changemakers of the future does not eliminate the feeling of helplessness regarding the water and climate crisis in the Southwest and around the world. On a sunbaked afternoon, bellies full and lungs worked from hours of games at Redwall cavern—in Marble Canyon on the RIISE trip this past summer—the Native youth settled in for a floating talk. They sank into their seats on the rafts, all tied together for the moment, allowing the serenity of the walls to add a dramatic effect for our discussion of water in the West.

Complex topics like water law, legislation, and litigation—and related and problematic jargon, too—hindered a complete understanding of Western water among the youth. A discussion like this can have a similar effect on adults. Worried that we were losing their attention, my mind raced with ideas on how we, as facilitators of the discussion, might connect this topic to their lives, personally. Thinking on my feet, I reminded them of culture: of the days we had already spent giving offerings and blessings to the land and water, learning and strengthening our bond to the sacred. This is specialized knowledge, I told them truthfully.

“There are people in windowless rooms making decisions about a river they may have never floated on, bathed in, or prayed to. Despite this, you cannot forget the generations of wisdom passed through this place, through you, that instructs accountability as land and water protectors.” This dynamic connection to ancestral homelands is what sets Native youth apart; it is their superpower against a world committed to poisoning the earth.

Indigenous youth play a critical role in the unfolding story of our planet. They, too, hold wisdom. The significance of intergenerational knowledge exchange becomes especially evident when in the presence of Native youth. One teaching I received from their enlightened youthfulness is the seamless transition between prayer and play. After an hour-long ceremony at each stop in the Grand Canyon, play promptly ensued. It is a teaching applicable to anyone living in this time, an honoring of the dualities omnipresent in the Indigenous experience. The youth raised my belief that there is room for reverence and laughter in sacred spaces. Our presence throughout the Canyon was marked by steadfast joy: joy for the chance to be in community, to reinhabit the spaces of our ancestors. In this way, joy was our act of resistance.

It’s midday at Whitmore Panel in Grand Canyon (If you know this place, you know scorching heat). We gathered around three young Zuni wisdom holders. We stood, backs of legs burning, listening to the youth sing us into the place in a good way. Taking in the stories on the wall, one of the Zuni youth recognized a symbol. The same symbol he paints on his traditional pottery. Thousands of years between him and his ancestors disappeared at that moment, a lineage connection so profound it forced all of us to recognize the depth of our presence. The presence of Native youth on sacred land is essential for the continuation of culture and the envisioning of the future.

Resistance to the exclusionary character of outdoor recreation is reconnecting Native youth to their right to access their ancestral homelands. Inclusivity begins with acknowledging the barriers to access and understanding how these barriers are a result of systemic oppression. Following this acknowledgment comes owning the part we each play in upholding these systems. Ultimately, this privilege can be leveraged to support Native youth outdoor programs. These programs are gaining traction as we collectively work toward Indigenizing the future. This future honors Indigenous lifeways and values like reciprocity, care, and relationship building. You can be a part of the movement by supporting organizations like these:

• Rising Leaders—Grand Canyon Trust
• Native Teen Guide In Training—Canyonland Field Institute
• Paddle Tribal Waters—Rios to Rivers
• River Newe
• Pandion Institute
• Pollen Circles

You can amplify your support by advocating, donating, and building relationships with your local Native youth programs and community. 

Guest contributor Chyenne (she/they) is a Diné adzaani from the small desert town of Page, AZ. The sandstone mesas, canyons, and sagebrush-painted plateaus became her teachers, instilling her creative capacities. Today, Chyenne works and writes as a dedicated land and water protector, applying her lessons from her homeland alongside a MA in Indigenous Studies and BA in Social Justice and Environmental Studies from Prescott College in her work with various non-profits in the Four Corners region.

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The anglers among us may already be thinking ahead and guessing that what the caddisfly has to say is something like “I know how to help you catch that brookie” as a dry fly lure on the end of their line. True enough, angler friends. 

But there’s a bigger and more powerful message coming from this taxonomic Order (Tricoptera), the largest group of aquatic insects. While the caddisfly does go through a complete metamorphosis and eventually emerges as a terrestrial flying insect, its more interesting phases are the aquatic ones. The common defining attribute of the caddisfly is its ability to generate silk. These hard-headed (literally), antenna-less critters use that silk in savvy ways to build sophisticated and wildly creative homes. 

While these insects are small, it’s easy to see their home-building skills if you look closely in a small stream. The many different species of caddisflies have adapted to different aquatic habitats, so you can find them from still pools to quickly rushing riffles. In those quiet pools, they will use their silk to construct homes from leaves or small sticks and twigs.  One of the important jobs of the caddisfly is helping to decompose organic matter in streams. While building homes with this organic material, they also shred leaves and twigs with their strong jaws, which contributes to the cycling of freshwater nutrients. To see these leafy homes in pools, look for small collections of shredded leaves and twigs in a gossamer web of silk.  

Where water is flowing faster over cobble and gravel bottoms, you will find them nestled into tubular homes made of small stones with just their tough little noggin poking out the end! They collect these stones and artfully build a snug tubular home cemented together with their silk. You can find these sturdier homes by gently turning over rocks and seeing these small structures, usually less than an inch, attached to the underside of the rock. 

So there goes the three little pigs analogy – leaves, sticks, and stones – for the straw, wood, and bricks! I know, I know. Kinda like a dad joke… 

But back to their clean water work.  Most of the different species of caddisflies are sensitive to water quality conditions, particularly the amount of dissolved oxygen in the water. When the dissolved oxygen is low due to increased temperatures or too many nutrients in the water, they are not able to survive. This characteristic is used by aquatic scientists to monitor the health of rivers and streams in ways that are much more powerful than occasionally taking a measurement of dissolved oxygen with a meter or chemical test. 

How so? 

For over 30 years, scientists have been assembling groups of aquatic organisms – algae, bugs, and fish – and grouping them according to their tolerance for different conditions of pollution. Some river critters are very tolerant of low dissolved oxygen or turbidity, or other chemical conditions, some are not. The caddisfly larvae are important members of these groupings of indicator species. 

By creating these groupings based on extensive monitoring and statistical analysis, a robust predictive model is created and used to understand how our work to improve and protect water quality is doing. 

So if we watch which critters are living where, they can tell us if a stretch of river is getting healthier with much more certainty than a simple measurement of dissolved oxygen, turbidity, or pH. 

Here’s to another clean water worker helping us all to enjoy what our rivers and streams give us all! 

A version of this blog was first published in Estuary, a quarterly magazine for people who care about the Connecticut River; its history, health, and ecology—present and future. Find out how you can subscribe at estuarymagazine.com. 

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Birthplace of the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act

The Flathead Wild and Scenic River includes the North, South, and Middle Forks that ultimately join and flow into the north end of Flathead Lake. A dam proposed on the Middle Fork of the Flathead River within the Bob Marshall Wilderness was the inspiration for the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act of 1968, which preserves free-flowing rivers and their outstanding values. The three forks of the Flathead River were designated as Wild and Scenic in 1976.

Renowned as having the cleanest, clearest water in Montana and beyond, the three forks of the Flathead River are a recreation destination featuring whitewater rapids, scenic floating, a healthy native trout fishery, and unparalleled riverside camping. The Flathead River system is the backbone for a robust tourism economy: Fifteen percent of tourism dollars coming into Flathead County are spent by visitors on outfitters and guides.

Shared Responsibility for the Future

There’s no doubt Montanans and tourists alike love the Flathead River. However, the recent federal employee reductions in force, together with increasing river use, belie a delicate tension between the benefits of loving this river and the consequences of loving it too much to the point of overuse. Loving a place too much can look different in different places: hordes of RVs parked on beaches, long waits at boat ramps, overflowing parking lots, erosion on river banks or human waste. 

When impacts from river recreation reach a boiling point, we all share in the responsibility to protect river health. Regardless of staffing constraints, the Forest Service is required to act. Part of what’s needed is a transparent menu of actions–from staggering boat launch times to requiring human waste packout–that the agency can choose from to lessen recreation impacts while still providing access to the river.

Partners and outfitters can and do help as well. And they’re needed now more than ever, with more staffing reductions predicted across the federal government. Each year, Flathead Rivers Alliance mobilizes 300 volunteers contributing more than 1,700 volunteer hours, distributes 4,000+ reusable cleanup bags, and collects litter from 80 miles of river, manages volunteer river ambassadors to educate river visitors on how to Leave No Trace, conducts noxious weed pulls on 40 miles of river, and monitors water quality. This summer, river outfitters also helped to keep bathrooms and river access sites clean, work that was formerly done by the Forest Service. 

While we need more public-private partnerships to extend agency capacity, it’s critical that the Forest Service take proactive actions to prevent impacts from overcrowding, pollution in the form of trash and human waste, streambank erosion, and overfishing on the river, despite staffing shortages. 

How You Can Engage

You can join American Rivers and Flathead Rivers Alliance in asking the Forest Service to put the appropriate safeguards in place to ensure we love the Flathead River responsibly. Assuming the process remains on track, concerned community members will have an opportunity this winter to give the Forest Service feedback on their proposed management plan for the Flathead Wild and Scenic River. The plan should set science-based thresholds on river use, commit to monitoring river health and visitor experiences, and creatively forge partnerships to monitor and enforce needed changes to visitation timing, location, extent, and behaviors, now and in the future. Montana, and the nation, have only one Flathead River. As the new management plan for the river is crafted, we must put the health of the river first.

Follow announcements by the Flathead National Forest on the Flathead River Comprehensive River Management Planning Process, sign up to volunteer with Flathead Rivers Alliance, and contact Montana’s congressional delegation to share your concerns about impacts to the Flathead River from federal government workforce reductions. 

Bob Jordan serves as President of the Flathead Rivers Alliance Board of Directors and Sheena Pate serves as Executive Director. Lisa Ronald is an associate conservation director with American Rivers in Western Montana.

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When the federal government recently withdrew from a historic partnership known as the Resilient Columbia Basin Agreement, we knew it was time to take to the river once again to chart our path forward. We helped the Nez Perce Tribe lead a team of 17 Tribal representatives and multiple state legislators, congressional staff, and non-profit partners on a five-day Snake River trip through Hells Canyon, on the border of Oregon and Idaho. During this impactful trip, the group discussed current challenges and the historical context that brought us to this point, and brainstormed solutions for our region’s future. 

Convening in Idaho: Day 1 

After everyone arrived in Lewiston, we met up with EcoFlight to get an aerial view of the river and the surrounding landscape. We flew over the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers, through golden dryland wheat fields as far as the eye can see, and over Lower Granite Dam, where we spotted a lone wood products barge waiting at the lock for passage downriver. 

Our group then joined the festivities at Hells Gate State Park, where groups were preparing food, art, and music for a “Free the Snake” flotilla the following day.  

Not long after arrival, we all went to bed to get ready for our early flight to meet our river guides in Halfway, Oregon, for our descent through the deepest gorge in North America. 

On the river: Day 2 

After a safety talk the next morning, our giddy group began our four-day, three-night journey downstream. With the launch dock still in sight, we landed a rainbow trout on the first cast – clearly a good omen for the trip to come.  

Our first lunch stop offered a warm welcome to Nimiipuu country from our gracious Nez Perce hosts, where we were grounded in creation stories and the importance of salmon, who represent the “first treaty” of a sacred promise between the animals and the Creator to care for the Nimiipuu people.  

We took turns sharing who we were, where we came from, and our intentions for this experience.  

After an easy day on the water in bright blue paddle rafts and sporty inflatable kayaks, we spotted a round black bear on the hillside, right above our camp. While our guides prepared dinner, a lively game of UNO sent laughter into the canyon, and the first of several sturgeon fishing efforts got underway.  

After a bit of fun, it was time to get to work. We had an in-depth conversation about the Columbia River Basin, which included the health of the fish that depend on it and the results of our conservation efforts. We used clothing props and home-laminated maps to aid the conversation, which continued through dinner and dessert, until the darkened canyon told us it was time to go to sleep.  

On the river: Day 3 

Day 3 started with early morning conversations about regional energy needs over camp coffee. To advocate responsibly for breaching the four hydroelectric dams on the lower Snake River, we need to co-create clean energy alternatives that consider impacts to Tribes.  

Lunch was dedicated to learning about first foods and seasonal rounds. Tribal members generously shared their histories and ties to place, how important their traditional foods are to their culture and well-being, and how each Tribe and place are unique. 

After paddling through Wild Sheep and Lower Granite rapids, most of our crew beat the heat by jumping in the water to float the remaining distance to our second camp. Our group had found the river magic!  

Although this camp is technically called Oregon Hole, I will forever remember it as Sturgeon Hole. Since we were skunked the previous night, I wasn’t holding my breath that we would land a fish. A little later, while I was setting up my tent at the edge of the campground, I heard hoots and hollers and immediately knew what was happening – we got one! 

My good friend, Rein Attemann, had reeled in a six-foot sturgeon! The fish was in the water, upside down, while a Nez Perce biologist evaluated her and explained her physiology to the captive group.  

Like sharks, sturgeons are mostly made of cartilage, and flipping them upside down induces a trance-like state called “tonic immobility”. In this state, the fish becomes calm, allowing them to be handled gently before being released.  

After dinner, we heard the second sturgeon line ping and several of us raced down to the water. I was keen for this experience and had bought a fishing license in Halfway. It took me a few tries to develop a rhythm, and reeling in this fish was no easy task, but as she got closer to the boat, I could see she was beautiful, mysterious, and massive – like a living dinosaur.  

At 7.5 feet in length, she was likely at least 50 years old, making her bigger and older than me. She was probably alive before some (or all) of the four lower Snake River dams were constructed. She had a Floy tag, which meant she had been caught before. We wrote down the numbers to report to Idaho Fish and Game, turned her right side up, and released her to power downriver.  

On the river: Days 4 and 5 

Our last full day and a half on the river was filled with deeper conversations about how to develop a truly just energy transition in the Northwest, in partnership with Tribal Nations, and how to face opponents and stakeholders who resist the restoration of the Snake River and greater Columbia Basin.  

Our time was also punctuated by play and laughter – it’s important to have fun and take care of each other along the way.  

Being on the river brings out the most intense and authentic version of who people are. It allows relationships and conversations to progress at warp speed relative to what is possible in the normal course of our work. I returned home confident and knowing that this group can do hard things. We will keep up the momentum, keep supporting each other, and continue to have the hard conversations – preferably on the river!

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1. Take Action: Sign our Clean Water Petition

Investing in clean water security generates a tremendous return on investment for the country. Clean water is not a luxury. It is vital to our future economic growth and essential to the heritage of our communities. Please ask your member of Congress to support this common sense blueprint for keeping America’s rivers safe and our water clean.

2. use our official handbook to organize a river clean up

If this is the first time you are hosting a river cleanup, download this one-stop-shop handbook on how to organize a successful event. It has everything you need — from tips on how to select a cleanup site to engaging your volunteers to securing attention from local media. Organize a river clean up in your community today! 

3. Advocate for rivers through our action center

Be a voice for rivers: Last year, our community sent 30,000+ messages to decision-makers calling on them to take action for healthier rivers and cleaner water. Check out our Action Center and take action today!

4. Learn about the top 10 ways to conserve water at home

There are a few simple things you can do at home — Fix leaks, turn off the faucet while brushing your teeth — to ease the burden on your local water supply and save money in the process. These water-saving measures can have a big impact on water demand in your local community.

5. Share your favorite river!

Leave a comment here and share your favorite river and why you love it. If someone else has mentioned your river or a river you love, share your story with them. We are all connected by our waterways, let’s prove it! 

One small action each day adds up to make a big impact over time. Share this list with your family and friends and revisit these actions when you can. Healthy rivers are for everyone, not just a privileged few. We are in this together, and it will take all of us in this movement to protect rivers and preserve clean water. 

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From cute pets to epic whitewater shots to serene sunsets, we’ve got it all. Below you can see just some of the pictures we received. It was so hard to pick which ones to feature, so if you don’t see your picture, don’t fret! Keep following American Rivers across our platforms to see if your picture is featured. 

Now, enough of the chitchat. Let’s showcase some photos!

Whitewater

If you have been in whitewater, you know just how unpredictable it can be. With crossing currents, strong eddy lines, rock gardens, and more, you never paddle the same river twice. Just ask Bekah Grim:

“I got up close and personal with Pinnacle Rock at 2,800 CFS, a prime level just before this hit is washed out. This is in Brown’s Canyon on the Arkansas River in Colorado. I somehow landed in the raft and resumed guiding.”

Sometimes you intentionally style yourself down some falls, which by the way, do not do without proper equipment, safety boaters around you, and knowledge of the river. Thankfully, Addison had all of those things when he decided to send Kanawha Falls on the Kanawha River in West Virginia on his paddleboard. Skill, precision, guts.

Paddling rivers and moving through whitewater also brings a sense of being part of something bigger. Mandela van Eeden shares what guiding on the Alsek River in Alaska means to her:

“I’ve guided rivers around the world for 20 years, but the Alsek remains one of the most powerful. From rowing across iceberg-studded Alsek Lake to preparing for the Turnback Canyon portage, every moment here reminds me: running rivers is a privilege, and with privilege comes responsibility. Wild places like this inspire awe, but more importantly, action. I guide to help protect them—because people fight for what they’ve experienced.” – Mandela van Eeden

Photos from left to right: Oceana Falls, Tallullah Gorge State Park | Robyn F. Baker, Wolf Creek Rapid on the Selway River, Idaho | Jake Blotter, Rackette River, paddling towards Long Lake in the Adirondacks of Upstate New York | Sarah Campbell

Pets and Wildlife

Who doesn’t enjoy a walk or paddle with their best furry friend? I mean come on…that smile says it all.

“Majestic protector” is what I would use to describe this pupper.

“Deerfield River near Charlemont, MA. Chili, our little rescue, loves paddling the lower section below the Gap in our inflatable. She watches over all members of our group when we go.” – Deborah Spadaro

Even if they might not be sure of it at first, floating with your furry friend is always a special time!

Photos from left to right: “We float the beautiful Buffalo National River every weekend in the spring/summer! Located in Arkansas & it is the 1st National River. 10/10 ❤️” Geneva Stafford | “Eddy, our 2 year-old rescue, wasn’t sure about his first paddling trip on the Haw River near Cary, NC. Lucky for him, little sister Rosie was happy to show him the ropes.” Kerri Hable | Tubing on the Pine Creek in Pennsylvania | Joseph Womer

Bonus: Check out some pro tips to keep you and your dog safe on the river all summer long! Make sure to be aware of your surroundings, you never know who is slithering by…or flying by!

Fishing

Fishing…one of the greatest pastimes. Whether you’re spending time with friends and family or going solo to be one with the river, fishing is an experience that truly can be described as “ya never know what you’re gonna get.” It can take you to some scenic areas where you get some pretty sick drone shots:

You’ll also find yourself in places where you are lucky enough to witness the most stunning sunsets.

“Last casts on Mattawoman Creek in Maryland. The freshwater tidal portion of this coastal plain river is a favorite of largemouth bass anglers who can be reluctant to call it a day.” – Jim Long

Captivating Beauty

Honestly, rivers are just freaking beautiful.

The story of just how important rivers are to us across the country is clear — we depend on rivers, and rivers depend on us. Rivers flow through our communities, they flow through our lives, and they flow through our taps, providing most of our nation’s drinking water. So, while you’re out on rivers this summer, take some time to learn more about them, take care of them, and have fun! And remember: Life Depends on Rivers™. 

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Research has shown that spending time in nature or green spaces can significantly improve mental health, reduce stress, and even alleviate symptoms of depression. In recent years, medical professionals have emphasized the mental health benefits of spending time outdoors in green spaces. Studies suggest exposure to nature can have profound effects in reducing stress, depression, anxiety, social functioning, and self-esteem. Yet, proximity to green spaces or riverfronts isn’t accessible for everyone. A report by the Hispanic Access Foundation found that communities of color are nearly three times more likely to have less access to open green spaces compared to white communities. 

Development and land use decisions have often prioritized profit over protecting the environment, leading to polluted rivers and fewer natural areas for communities of color to enjoy. In many neighborhoods, parking lots and retail spaces have replaced trees and parks, and urban streams are polluted. Like many urban waterways, the Grand Calumet River in Indiana, a once-natural asset, has suffered from heavy pollution due to steel industry pollutants like polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs), polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs), heavy metals, other industrial toxins, and untreated sewage continue to severely degrade the environment.

This contamination leads to beach closures, fish tumors, and deformities, restrictions on fish and wildlife consumption, and loss of fish and wildlife habitat. 

As an urban resident, I understand firsthand how disconnected city life can feel from nature—it often seems like a distant destination requiring a commute or trip. However, there’s a growing movement to invest in river restoration and restore nature in urban spaces. The idea of reclaiming nature in urban spaces-especially in nature-deficient neighborhoods—inspires my work with communities to creatively invest in and reimagine urban spaces through natural infrastructure. By incorporating natural amenities like trees and gardens, we not only improve water quality, mitigate flooding, and reduce air pollution but also have positive public health benefits. 

However, communities of color and low-income communities often face significant barriers in accessing natural areas, beaches, riverfronts, and green spaces. According to the  Nature Gap, families with children, especially families of color with children, have less access to nearby nature than the rest of the country. American Rivers is working alongside communities of color to identify opportunities to incorporate natural features and develop funding strategies to implement them. For example, the Rivers of Opportunity tool supports communities in reducing the nature deficiency experienced in communities of color and ensuring a clean water future for everyone. Our new online dashboard  Lake Michigan Funding Resiliency Dashboard is helping Great Lakes communities identify funding for nature-based projects that provide community benefits and strengthen resilience. 

Recognizing the negative impact of environmental disparities such as limited access to nature, poor air quality, and polluted rivers on emotional, physical, and psychological well-being, I sought to learn firsthand how nature influences mental health – specifically in a community burdened by environmental pollution.   Can exposure to natural spaces be a “cost-effective public health intervention” in promoting mental wellness? This is particularly relevant in regions like the Great Lakes, where an abundance of rivers and lakes offers opportunities for improving mental well-being through access to nature. I was curious about how spending time near rivers or in parks can improve our mental health, so I spoke with Dr. Tifany Jamison (“Dr. Tif”) to learn more. 

As a nurse practitioner serving Lake County Indiana, at Solace Health Solutions, LLC Dr. Tif is dedicated to improving the well-being of her patients. Lake County, located along Lake Michigan’s southern shore presents a mix of urban, suburban, and rural landscapes. Originally inhabited by the Potawatomi, the region is known for its sand dunes, steel mills, and proximity to Chicago. Known for a strong work ethic and blue-collar roots, the area faces economic hardship, as evidenced by higher poverty rates and a median household income 30% below the national average. Beyond the economic challenges, the community has been burdened by the legacy of pollution from the steel industry, which has contributed to increased health risk, including elevated rates of asthma, cancer, and other respiratory diseases. It is precisely this context that makes Dr. Tif’s dedication to uplifting her community and fostering well-being so vital. 

When not providing direct patient care, Dr. Tif volunteers her time to facilitate an urban agriculture program led by Black youth. This program empowers young people through place-based learning, equipping them with new skills and knowledge about wellness and environmental sustainability. Recently, Dr. Tif shared exciting news about a new initiative with her place of worship to offer mental health workshops for Black/African American men and women in the community. Despite her busy schedule, Dr. Tif remains passionate about sharing her insights on the therapeutic powers of nature for mental wellness and healing. 

As we settled into our conversation, we couldn’t help but comment on the unusual weather this autumn. The uncharacteristic warmth for the Great Lakes region this time of year is a pleasant surprise, providing more opportunities to get outdoors. This led us to the topic of the day: the benefits of nature and mental health. 

SV: Does, spending time in nature help reduce stress and anxiety? How? 

Dr. Tif: When I think about walking near water, at the park, or even sitting on a bench at the beach, there is something calming that urges your body to relax which significantly reduces cortisol levels – a hormone associated with stress. 

SV: Spending time outdoors, under the shade of trees and near calming waters, always makes me feel happy, but scientifically nature provides mental health benefits? Tell me more… 

Dr. Tif: Absolutely! Spending time near water can be incredibly soothing. It’s a simple yet powerful way to reduce stress and promote relaxation. When we’re near water, our senses are engaged: the gentle breeze, the soothing sounds, the beautiful sights. These stimuli can trigger a relaxation response in our bodies, slowing our heart rate and easing muscle tension. It’s a simple yet powerful way to reduce stress and improve our overall well-being. 

It’s no surprise that water holds a special place in our lives, given that we are primarily composed of water. The rhythmic sound of water can be incredibly therapeutic, acting like a natural lullaby that eases tension and promotes relaxation. It’s a simple yet powerful way to recharge and rejuvenate. 

SV: What other natural mood boosters does nature hold? What about people that suffer from depression? 

Dr. Tif: Isolation can exacerbate feelings of loneliness and depression, particularly during the winter months. Spending time outdoors, like going for a walk in a park or a forest, significantly improves our mental well-being and shake off those winter blues. Sunlight, for example, increases serotonin levels, a neurotransmitter associated with happiness. A simple outdoor walk, surrounded by the calming hues of nature – blues, yellows, and oranges – can foster a profound sense of peace and tranquility. In fact, incorporating mindfulness techniques, like meditation or yoga, into your outdoor experiences can further enhance the calming and restorative effects of nature. Additionally, encountering other people on trails and in parks can provide opportunities for social interaction and a sense of connection 

SV: That’s a great point! The therapeutic benefits of spending time in nature are undeniable.  

Dr. Tif: Exactly! Nature promotes both mental and physical well-being. Physical activity, especially when combined with nature exposure, offers a powerful boost to mental health. Activities like hiking or biking not only get our bodies moving but also release endorphins, natural mood elevators. 

SV: I’ve come across research suggesting that exposure to nature can increase attention span and even benefit individuals with ADHD. Is there any truth to it? 

Dr. Tif: Yes, nature has a remarkable ability to improve focus. By tuning into the natural world and engaging our senses – sight, sound, touch, and smell – we can become fully present in the moment. This heightened awareness can improve our focus, reduce stress, and enhance our overall well-being. This, in turn, restores our attention span and promotes a sense of calm. Even simple activities like sitting by a body of water can be incredibly therapeutic. The vastness of the water can paradoxically help us focus on our immediate environment, allowing us to concentrate on specific tasks. 

SV: I’m not a huge fan of the cold, so I tend to stay indoors during the winter. Any tips for getting outdoors even when it’s chilly? 

Dr. Tif: If the weather permits, even on moderately cold days, I encourage people to bundle up and spend at least 15 minutes outdoors. Fresh air and sunlight can do wonders for your mood and energy levels. Even a short amount of time spent outdoors or in a green space can make a significant difference in your mental and physical health 

When it’s too cold to be outside, Dr. Tif suggested I consider alternative options: 

• Indoor Green Spaces: Visit botanical gardens, greenhouses, or zoos. These places offer opportunities to connect with nature, even during the winter months. 

• Volunteer: engage with a nearby urban farm or community gardens. The social interaction and physical activity can be incredibly beneficial. 

• Indoor Plants: Bringing plants indoors can improve air quality and boost mood. 

• Artificial Light Therapy: If you’re struggling with seasonal affective disorder, consider using a light therapy box to mimic natural sunlight. 

SV: “Thank you so much for sharing your insights with us, Dr. Tif, Before we wrap up, I’d love to know: What’s your favorite outdoor space to unwind and recharge?” 

Dr. Tif: My favorite place to unwind is near a body of water – specifically Lake Michigan. It provides a sense of calm and focus, allowing my mind to wander freely. The sound of water invites me to pause and appreciate the beauty of nature. It’s a place where I can feel a spiritual connection to the world around me, humbled by its vastness and complexity.  

Nature, particularly bodies of water like rivers, offers us a vast, natural pharmacy. By simply being near water or engaging in nature, we can experience numerous physiological and psychological benefits. The calming sounds of flowing water, the fresh air, and the beauty of natural landscapes can reduce stress, improve mood, and contribute to improved mental and physical health. 

My conversation with Dr. Tifany Jamison sparked a strong interest in how I can better incorporate nature into my daily life to improve my mental well-being. I left our discussion about the mental health benefits of nature with three key takeaways: 

1. The calming effect of nature can reduce stress 

2. Rivers, parks and forests are mood boosters 

3. Nature can enhance mindfulness and support mental clarity 

So, what are you waiting for? Get outside and experience the healing power of nature! 

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Check out these four easy things you can do for World Rivers Day and be a confident voice for rivers come Election Day in November. Don’t forget – #VoteRivers!

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Where Great Valley Grassland State Park’s single boat ramp meets the San Joaquin River, the water ripples with non-native mosquito fish, darting aimlessly in the murky water. Sparse riparian vegetation along the river bank provides little protection from the stinging Central Valley sun. Dry floodplains surround us, and a single social trail, an unofficial trail formed from people repeatedly walking that way, winds through the tall invasive plants that thrive on the unnaturally parched land. I wonder how many cars whooshing by on the Central Yosemite Highway know that the space they’re passing is a state park. 

At Great Valley Grasslands State Park (GVGSP), American Rivers is combining levee deconstruction, native plant revegetation, habitat restoration, and community outreach to conserve one of the California Central Valley’s last native grasslands, restore the San Joaquin River’s natural floodplain hydrology, and create an accessible and inclusive community space for recreation, environmental and cultural education, and stewardship. When I first visited GVGSP with my supervisor and Associate Director of California River Conservation at American Rivers, Kristan Culbert, during the second week of my internship, I was still grasping the multipronged goals of this project. But even then, seeing invasive species growing over the floodplains, feeling the warm and turbid water, and wishing there were more signs to engage with communicated one thing clearly: this place holds so much potential. 

Back in my home office, something else strikes me. This expanse of native grassland sits amidst acres and acres of agriculture fields, like a diamond in the rough. I wonder why this land, seemingly suitable for plowing and planting rows of crops, hasn’t been changed, seeing as agriculture is the most lucrative sector of the San Joaquin Valley’s economy. But relief races my wonder and wins. California’s Central Valley has some of the poorest access to green spaces in the nation, and growing up in the Pacific Northwest made me confident that green spaces – that protect the liberty to walk without waiting for cars, breathe air exhaled by plants instead of pipes, and bathe in the sight, sounds, and streams of free-flowing water – are worth fighting for. Thank goodness this grassland remains. 

GVGSP has survived over a century of development, but it needs lots of love. To share this newfound affection for the park, I started creating a factsheet. A few iterations and some suggestions from the Central Valley and marketing teams culminated in a four-page magazine-like spread that tells the stories of habitat fragmentation faced by native wildlife like the San Joaquin kit fox, Chinook salmon, riparian brush rabbit, and fairy shrimp. This piece is both a plea to slow the growth of state and federal listings of endangered species, and a plan for doing so, illuminating the restoration and river-floodplain reconnection work American Rivers champions. It will be distributed to the public, policymakers, and decision-makers, and join a bank of American Rivers factsheets. My hope is that it will convey that GVGSP will one day be a properly accessible park, but it is a home to wildlife first.

Still, in line with the demands of multi-benefit restoration, American Rivers aims to do it all. The Grasslands Floodplain Restoration Project places a strong emphasis on soliciting community input to ensure park infrastructure, interpretation, recreation, and educational opportunities are accessible and aligned with local community needs and wishes. In preparation for public outreach events, I used CalEnviroScreen 4.0, municipality websites, and even a trip to the Hilmar Cheese Company to research community demographics, environmental exposure burdens, and existing community spaces. This information illuminated much about the towns surrounding GVGSP, such as Gustine, Stevinson, Hilmar, and Merced, and came in handy when writing a Public Access Scoping Report and community survey questions. Writing this report was an opportunity to be clear-eyed and critical about the existing conditions of GVGSP, but it also allowed me to imagine people using the park, and push this vivid vision for their sake.

During my internship, I also got to visit Dos Rios State Park, California’s newest state park, located about thirty-five miles north of GVGSP. Here, I witnessed an actualization of the improvements I imagined for GVGSP, and the progress that can come of pursuing a vivid vision. We waited for a few minutes, then the wooden gate before us began to slide, revealing the entry path into the park. A sleek California State Parks pickup truck led us to a parking lot demarcated by evenly-spaced boulders.

We were greeted with a warm welcome from park interpreter Julian Morin, who invited us into his truck to begin a guided tour. Julian drove us slowly through dense vegetation, a green marshy area, and the shade of valley oaks and Fremont cottonwoods. He pointed out lines on the tree trunks that show how high floodwaters can rise in the park. We stopped often for quails crossing the trail, because here, they have the right-of-way. We observed a water pump and cement pillars, which comprise the irrigation system supporting the newly restored plants. We spotted a Swainson’s hawk soaring purposefully above an area with bunny mounds and blackberry shrubs. After the tour, some of the other CA State Parks staff invited us into their office for water and shade, and we talked amiably about the Parks Online Resources for Teachers and Students (PORTS) program and an NPR team coming tomorrow to promote the park opening. Though everything was still emerging at Dos Rios State Park, everything already seemed to be thriving. Dos Rios was a simple space, but it felt inviting, safe, shady, and green, the hallmarks of a greenspace. There is so much work to be done to reach this state at GVGSP, but that means there is also so much potential. Working on this planning project has helped me see it as a space that will one day be the place people didn’t know they needed. 

As my internship concludes, I want to thank Stanford University’s Bill Lane Center for the resources and support they have provided to allow me, and many other interns, to contribute to meaningful work in American West. I also want to thank my supervisor, Kristan Culbert, the Central Valley team, and all the American Rivers staff who have helped me feel welcome and trusted me with worthy work. Most of my interactions were over Zoom or Slack, but my coworkers’ humanity, humility, and support always showed, testifying to the incredible interconnectedness and robustness of this remote workplace. Over only a couple of weeks, I came to understand that American Rivers is able to create impact from the local to national scale because everyone’s investment in each others’ work, wellbeing, and ideas supersedes any desire to simply clock in and clock out. Whoever I was meeting with would always ask me about my work and interests, and I often concluded 1:1 meetings with an abundance of resources and an invitation to chat again. Working as part of the American Rivers community has been fulfilling and inspiring to say the least. I’ll definitely be taking up those invitations. 

Anneli Chow’s internship was sponsored by the Bill Lane Center for the American West. This piece was originally published on the Bill Lane Center’s Out West Student Blog. You can learn more about the Bill Lane Center at their website (west.stanford.edu). 

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While all these rivers are special, none, for me, compares to the Alsek. This remote, relatively obscure river flows for 174 miles from its headwaters in the Yukon Territory, across the northwest panhandle of British Columbia, then makes its final run to the Pacific Ocean through Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park. Among its superlatives, the Alsek traverses the largest non-polar icefield, the largest protected wilderness area, and the second highest coastal mountain range on the planet.

Back in 2012, a friend of mine from Montana who had guided on the Alsek for years invited my wife and me to join him on a private trip down what he called “the wildest river on earth.” We jumped at the opportunity, and that August, fourteen of us embarked on an epic two-week adventure. The thing I remember most about that trip was the bears – we saw 53 of them, including one large male grizzly that charged full speed into our camp when we were cooking bacon on the first morning.

There are precious few trips that are truly life-changing. That trip down the Alsek was one of them for me. I had to totally recalibrate my concept of wildness.

I never thought I’d get a chance to return to the Alsek. But then a few months ago, American Rivers’ President, Tom Kiernan, had to drop out of an Alsek River donor trip due to an injury. The main purpose of the trip was to discuss with our supporters how we plan to expand our river protection work in Alaska. I was asked if I could take his place. I felt terrible for Tom because I knew how much he was looking forward to this trip, but I could barely contain my excitement at the prospect of returning to the river that had so captivated me.

So, on the summer solstice, my wife and I flew from our home in Montana to Juneau, Alaska, where our adventure began. Early the next morning, we boarded the ferry for the four-hour trip up the Lynn Canal to Haines, where we met the other trip participants and guides at the historic Hotel Halsingland that evening. As the guides handed out personal river gear to everyone, I felt the same giddy anticipation that I felt 12 years ago.

Our expedition team included five highly skilled guides from Haines Rafting Company; American Rivers’ Northwest Regional Director, Sarah Dyrdahl; a mother-daughter duo from Wyoming; a retired couple from Sitka, Alaska; a gentleman in his 70s from California who once hiked the entire the Pacific Crest Trail; another gentleman in his 70s from Florida who had never camped before; a whip-smart young investor from Colorado; a professional photographer from Haines; and my wife and me.

The following morning, we made the three-hour drive to Haines Junction in the Yukon Territory, checking in at the international border station along the way. From there, we drove another hour on a rough four-wheel drive road to the put-in on the Dezadeash River. After loading our rafts in a light drizzle, we were finally ready to launch into the great beyond.

A few hours into our float, we spied a grizzly bear swimming across the river a few hundred yards downstream. It disappeared into a thick patch of willows on a peninsula right where we planned to camp for the night. “Here we go again with the bears,” I thought to myself. But the only large animals we saw that evening were a dozen trumpeter swans in a backwater slough.

For the next several days, we made our way down the upper Alsek, marveling at the glacier-polished landscape and soaking in the warm sunshine. As we approached our camp at Lava Creek, we pulled over at a familiar point on river right where one of our fearless team members, Ariana, took a swim in a gin-clear pond while the rest of us hiked around on the sand dunes and rock outcroppings. On that upper section of the river, the land is so freshly sculpted it feels like you’re floating through the Pleistocene. You half expect to see a wooly mammoth around each bend.

On day three of the trip, we arrived at iceberg-studded Lowell Lake, created by a 50-mile-long glacier that dammed the entire width of the river not long ago. Words can’t describe the beauty of this place. We camped beside the lake for two nights, spending our days hiking, swimming in off-channel ponds, and glassing for wildlife. We had planned to climb Goat Herd Mountain, which affords dazzling views of the 15,000-foot-high Hubbard massif, but a swollen side-channel of the river blocked our way. In the evenings when the sun dipped behind the mountains, we sipped tequila by the campfire and listened to the faint roar of distant waterfalls and the occasional thunderclap of calving icebergs.

As we departed Lowell Lake through a maze of icebergs, we entered the most perilous whitewater section of the trip – first Sam’s Rapid, and then Lava North (named after the notorious Lava Falls rapid in the Grand Canyon). We pulled over on river left to scout our line through Lava North. You don’t want to flip your raft here, as the consequence is a long and harrowing swim in 35-degree water. Only after we made it through safely did we hear the story of one of our guide’s friends who did just that, got sucked down into a thundering hole, and “saw the darkness.” He hasn’t rowed the river since.

As we made our way downriver, both the mountains and the river grew in size, making our rafts seem like tiny specks in comparison. We arrived at the entrance to Turnback Canyon and pulled into the portage camp on river right. As we unloaded our gear from the rafts, someone noticed a chocolate-brown sow grizzly and her three cubs at the foot of an alluvial fan across the river. We took turns looking at them through binoculars for hours.

Later that afternoon, we took a short hike onto the Tweedsmuir Glacier until we got bogged down in knee-deep mud. The glacier hems the Alsek River against a waterfall-studded mountainside, turning it into an unrunnable maelstrom of whirls and boils. The only way rafters can get around the canyon is via a helicopter portage. So, we got up early the next morning, wolfed down breakfast, and laid out all our gear in neat piles so the helicopter could haul it in a cargo net dangling from a longline. Once the helicopter transported us and our gear around the canyon and onto a sandy island, we reinflated our rafts, reassembled the frames, and reloaded our gear. The whole operation took four trips and about three hours.

Downriver from Turnback Canyon, the climate rapidly changes from continental to coastal. As we made our way towards our camp at the confluence of the Tatshenshini River, we added layers of clothing to ward off the damp chill. The confluence is one of those power spots that heightens all your senses and makes you feel incredibly alive. On maps, it is known as the Center of the Universe because there are petroglyphs carved into a rock outcropping on a nearby island that tell the story of how the world was created.

Before we departed the confluence camp, we gathered in a circle on the beach to share the story of how, over three decades ago, U.S. and Canadian conservationists fought off the proposed Windy Craggy copper mine. At the time, it was called the most environmentally destructive project ever proposed in Canada. It would have lopped off the top 2,000 feet of Windy Craggy Peak, sending acid mine drainage into the Tatshenshini and lower Alsek rivers, devastating their salmon fisheries. After a long battle, the Canadian government designated the Tatshenshini-Alsek Provincial Wilderness Park in 1993, closing the door to future mining. A year later, the area was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Below the confluence, the Alsek doubles in size and glaciers and waterfalls plunge into it from every direction. While there are no large rapids in this reach, rowers must stay laser focused and follow the deepest channel in the labyrinth of braids, lest you run aground on a submerged sandbar or worse yet, get carried across the floodplain and separated from the group. In the latter case, you might not reconnect with your party until the next day. 

The last major landmark on our trip was Alsek Lake, the entrance to which is marked by a distinct promontory known as Gateway Knob.  You can enter the lake through one of three doorways. We chose door #3, to the right of the knob, because you can get your rafts trapped in a dangerous traffic jam of constantly shifting icebergs if you enter through the other routes. We set up camp on a wildflower-spangled beach, then scrambled up to the top of the knob through a dense forest of alders and devil’s club. From that vantage point, we could absorb the grandeur of the landscape we had traversed over the past two weeks – the huge, silt-laden river slithering across its floodplain like a thousand snakes, the massive glaciers pouring off the Fairweather Range, and the giant icebergs sailing across the lake like frozen ocean liners.   

On our last morning, we rowed across the outlet of the lake in a silvery fog, then made our way downriver, escorted by icebergs that occasionally would hit the bottom, rear up, and then roll over. Arriving at the takeout near Dry Bay, we formed a firemen’s line to unload our gear from the rafts for one last time. Soon, our bush plane would arrive and fly us up the coast to Yakutat where we would say our farewells, catch our commercial flights, and go our separate ways.

Epilogue – On July 20, two weeks after our trip ended, a small plane carrying our bush pilot, Hans Munich, and his partner, Tanya Hutchins, disappeared on Mt. Crillon in the Fairweather Range in poor weather conditions. A few days later, the U.S. Coast Guard called off the search for the plane and its occupants. Our hearts go out to all who knew them.

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