Lessons from the Chesapeake
When I committed to working for Upstream Alliance, I didn’t really understand the purpose of the organization. It’s not that the idea of a leadership organization was completely foreign, I just didn’t understand why someone would consider it a professional opportunity for me to go kayaking with them. After reading the job description thoroughly, I was excited to help with social media and organize camp for these “emerging leaders” that would be joining us. It was surprisingly late in the game when I realized that I was actually one of the two young folks on the circumnavigation. Other fantastic paddlers would come and go, but I would be one of two spotlighted for the trip, and apparently the future.
As the second youngest member of the group, at age 26, it was easy to be classified as a ‘young person.’ It’s easier to take direction from tenured leaders, like my team members, but I wasn’t always thrilled with the idea. I’d already been managing employees for years, become accustomed to competence at work, and generally progressed as an adult.
In my early twenties, I’d spent a lot of time trying new things and wasn’t always very good right off the bat. I got lost a lot as a Wilderness Ranger before I learned how to navigate in a rhododendron thicket. Working as a dog sled handler, I was bitten breaking up dog fights before I learned how to do it safely and with a level head. As I got older I began to resist trying new things. Why would I want to fail at new things when I just started having success? Even though I don’t really enjoy the idea of starting fresh, trying always seems to pay off regardless of my aversion. So with hesitation I stepped off the trail and paddled into the unknown. I trusted Don to put me in a good place to be successful. I didn’t really know Don very well at the time, but the sentiment sounded solid enough to give me some, possibly misplaced, confidence.
As hopeful as I was to going into the trip, there is always an inherent sense of doom in your gut that it could go horribly awry – the twinge where you imagine yourself veering away from potential into failure. That same fear of failure can protect our reputations, but it also deters us from pursuing good opportunities. So, feeling a last bit of hesitation, I drove to Maryland to start the adventure. From the moment I arrived in Annapolis I knew I’d made the right choice.
I pulled into a driveway to see a man dancing around boats, paddles, coolers, and a slew of other such equipment. Don Baugh smiled with the excited glow of a child on Christmas morning. He greeted me with open arms, exuding a joyous panic that comes with a long to do list before an expedition. He put me to work within minutes explaining tasks and highlighting specific details that he wanted to make sure I got correct. His delegation philosophy was that he refused to micromanage anything unless it was a clear educational moment. When the moment arose that I did need an adjustment, Don addressed me with respect and a thorough explanation as to why I should do something differently. Trusting the people you manage to do tasks without getting hung up on the minutia and procedures they follow creates an environment where you and your team both feel capable and can learn.
I continued through an ambitious list of tasks, from adding foam to the kayak trailer to washing out the coolers that were soon to be our refrigerators. Soon after, my cohort Alex Crooks arrived for our first team undertaking, food shopping. During a 4-hour trip to the grocery store, we quickly opened up that we were overwhelmed and a little terrified. We talked about the importance of being comfortable talking out problems and issues, especially if they were with one another. Immediately, we set guidelines to communicate openly during the trip if there were times when we needed some personal space. Thirty days is a long time to spend with a group of people without conflict, but right from our first conversations I felt empowered by our dedication to trust and communicate with each other. Finding a clear foundation with both Don and Alex for a good work environment, all my anxiety about the trip subsided. It was obvious that every day would be challenging, filled with new and diverse tasks, but the idea felt so much more comfortable since Don and Alex are such professionals.
Before I knew it, we were a hundred miles into the trip, and Alex and I were functioning as a well-oiled machine. I’ve had the pleasure of learning and working with amazing folks in the bush, but Alex Crooks proved to be one of the finest I’ve worked next to. Her organization, focus, strength, and positivity complimented my weaknesses and kept our team paddling smoothly. I could not, and would not want to, imagine the expedition without Alex.
Working as part of this supportive team brought out a better version of myself. Our wonderful balance put me in the place to analyze and learn as much as possible. Don Baugh and Tom Horton provided a wealth of knowledge every day, but it was the way they taught that made the difference.
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Teaching ecology and environmental systems to interested students seems like it should be easy. The mistake many teachers make is heralding the inherent doom of Earth and every beautiful living thing in it without properly balancing this outlook with hope. I cannot understate the importance of this balance in young environmental leaders, who need both sobering knowledge about the world’s problems and uplifting faith that there is a path to solving them. Don would insist he didn’t “sugar coat” issues, but he knew that without optimism even the most committed environmental educator might give up. Tom Horton refers to environmental advocacy and stewardship in Turning the Tide as climbing a mountain that gets steeper and more treacherous with every step and is never truly over. With too much gloom, no soul will try to climb. With too much sugar coating, people won’t do enough to reach the top. During each experience and lesson on the Delmarva expedition I tried my best to take it all in, to build a comprehensive understanding of the peninsula’s ecology and culture. It’s all too easy to get caught up in the doom around the Chesapeake, and that’s what made me hunger for positive stories as well.
To my surprise, it was wonderfully easy to find hopeful moments around the Delmarva. With every success, we stopped to enjoy the bright side. We reveled when our seine nets would come up full with dozens of flickering silver sides, baby crabs, eels, and so much more. We celebrated the abundance of submerged aquatic vegetation in the Upper Chesapeake. When we saw Eagles, Osprey, and other beautiful birds, we marveled with childlike bewilderment. We met every watermen with a smile, got fat off delicious Rock Fish, and gorged on the best crab cakes this planet offers. I personally ate almost an entire Smith Island cake. Before I knew it, I had fallen in love with a place that just a month earlier had been only a google image to me. What seemed like a pleasure cruise at first had a more profound effect on me than I could ever have imagined.
After 30 days on the water, I feel different. I learned so much about kayaking and marsh navigation that I feel strength in a new subject that scared me just weeks ago. Functioning as part of a strong support team made it possible to get the most out of the experience and to find deeper meaning. It made it possible to piece together bits of wisdom from the experts that have been fighting for the area for the past 50 years. Amidst the laundry list of issues that still continue to stress the land and water around the Delmarva peninsula, I found hope. With every bite of bay Rockfish, optimism surged through my veins like a fishing cormorant through the water. As an environmental steward, the only choice we have is to build on the successes of the past and stand on the shoulders of our heroes. Upstream Alliance gave me the chance to play in one of the finest places in America while getting to learn from my heroes. Don says it’s time to pass the baton to the next generation of environmental stewards, and after 500 miles on the water with him, I’m ready to take it.
