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A Moving Planet

2011-09-21T16:15:11Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

When I was a kid and things became too fast paced or stressful for me I would go outside, take off my shoes, and stand with my bare feet on whatever piece of earth was nearest me. I don't know where I learned to do that, but it always made me feel stable. It made me feel still. As I got older I struggled to understand the enormity of the truth that the planet was moving, rotating, revolving and part of the swirling mass of this galaxy, that we were anything but still. I didn't understand how we were not falling off, or how we couldn't feel it moving. It was hard to look beyond my physical experience of being still. Eventually, I came to like the idea of standing there in moments of stress, rooted to something so immense as it moved through the cosmos.

Turn on your media outlet of choice at any moment of the day and even with all of your adult understanding and knowledge it is easy to see the human condition framed by a few thousand politicians and talking heads. It is easy to believe that we are mired in conflict, indecision, and fear. If one considers the state of affairs surrounding the health of our planet and the people who inhabit it, it is easy to believe that we have come to an impasse and are standing still.

When faced with this reality, it is easy to despair. But if we would, even for a moment, choose to move through our community instead and see what people are actually doing, that reality would be shattered. Every day there are countless people in our communities taking the steps our politicians are debating. Every day there are more people biking to work than politicians debating whether building bike lanes is a good idea. Every day more people are buying their food from sustainable local markets than there are lobbyists for big agri business. Every day there are more people making their homes energy efficient than there are energy company executives hunting for new places to ravage for fossil fuels.

The Truth is and always has been this: we are a Moving Planet. There is no force strong enough to stop the people of this planet from making the positive change we need to live a sustainable existence. Not even fear.

This Saturday September 24th communities around the globe will be celebrate our motion, our movement, with a global day of action. Moving Planet, a project from our dear friends at 350, will tell the story of thousands of communities who are moving us in the right direction away from the fossil fueled past, and toward the renewable energy future. Chances are pretty good that your community has a story to tell too, visit moving-planet.org to learn more about how you can participate. I hope to see your story there, but even if I don't I take comfort standing here with my feet firmly rooted in our Movement together.

Deepwater Dispatches: The Worst Possible Time

2010-05-04T01:33:54Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

I think it goes without saying that there is never a good time for an oil spill. Certainly, the "drill baby drill" crowd would agree with me on that. Yesterday, sheltered from the pounding rain in his boat Capt. Kip Marquize tells us why this disaster couldn't have happened at a worse time for the fishermen and shrimpers of the Gulf Coast.

Deepwater Dispatches (Part 1)

2010-05-01T03:56:34Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

The first thing you forget when you leave the Gulf Coast, where I grew up, is the humidity. It is also, the first thing you are reminded of when you come home. When I got the call that I was to pack up and head out to New Orleans I loaded my bags with long sleeve shirts and ties, the uniform of DC. I am drenched just sitting here, and my coaster doesn’t stand a chance against the sweating glass of ice water. My ties are not going to see the light of day.

I spent the better part of my youth on a different bayou, one ostensibly tamed by concrete and steel. The truth is, the climate, the mosquitos, the Gulf...they’ve been around long enough to not be fooled by a few office buildings or air conditioned rest stops. Whether you are from Houston (like me), New Orleans, Mobile, or Pensacola, you feel a kinship with your fellow bayou dwellers - we are a special breed who chooses to live in generally unbearable conditions for 9 months of the year.

New Orleans is buzzing tonight. Jazzfest is in it’s final days and people are tired from the 7 days of festivities, but it is still the talk of the town. Here in my hotel in Houma, the buzz is different. The bar is stacked shoulder to shoulder with men in shirts with faded screen print that reads “EPA”, “Coast Guard”, “DEQ”, and “NRC”. They are mostly silent as CNN reports the progress of the reach of the Deepwater Horizon disaster. The oil is almost here, and the way the wind is blowing you can bet it’ll be here soon. It is clear that CNN isn’t telling them anything they don’t already know.

I’ve seen this scene before, at hotel bars in Utah and Arizona, where wildfire fighters from around the country have come to do everything in their power to mitigate the disaster at hand without concern about who is to blame. These men at the bar tonight are fresh, they’ve only just arrived on the scene from all over the country. In that way they are like my fellow bayou dwellers, in it together, for better or worse.

The pictures of oil covered wildlife are making the rounds, and when I mention to my waitress the tendrils of oil making their way inland she sighs and asks, “How much more can we take?” It is the question, it seems to me, we should all be asking our leaders who support a policy of addiction to the fuel of the past.

I am steeling myself for the things I will see here on the coast, in the Gulf that taught me to swim, surf, and fish. I suppose there is no better inoculation than the damp night air and the sound of the bayou.

Copenhagen: Another Perspective

2009-12-17T23:29:37Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

We're nearing the end of our time here in Copenhagen and there is a lot going on. Things were hectic last week and I thought it couldn't get busier, but as this week has rolled on it has reached a fever pitch. I'm working the social media front, watching tweets and blogs and working to get word out to the world about what is happening here. I leave the policy work to the experts on my team, and you can read their thoughts here on our aggregation page.

I've spent nearly two weeks glued to one screen or another - laptop, iPhone, Blackberry, television...you name it. So a couple of nights ago it did my spirits a whole lot of good to come across this little event in the city square.

Dispatches from Cop15: Over the Atlantic

2009-12-07T09:34:40Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

It is 1 a.m., and for the first time in my life I have crossed the Atlantic. I am traveling at 625mph, fast approaching the island that my wife is named for. Somewhere below, Ireland like my wife and son, is sleeping. I’ve not slept a wink, which is no strange thing, my son has been the best training I could have asked for. Now, 5 hours from my final destination, my mind is finally turning to the two weeks ahead in Copenhagen, and the work that is coming. It occurs to me that the only two times I have left my country have been in the spirit of, and in search of, the very thing I seek on this trip - collaboration and creation.

My first trip outside of the US was with a team of climber friends. We were recruited by a friend who, as a caver, was a bit of an oddity for us. Our inclination to verticality and exposure to the sun on our backs and faces was surpassed only by our love of the equipment associated with the sport. In those tools we found common ground, and conceded to joining her in a road trip into the mountains of Mexico, and into a cave system rumored to be the longest in North America. We went for the adventure, and to take measurements and make maps together, with hopes of uncovering the connections necessary to secure the title.

The trips to Mexico that followed kept us above ground, climbing the lechuguilla covered limestone monoliths of Potrero Chico. Our songs echoing in the little valley, we climbers spent the day on routes built by our more skilled and daring friends. On the days when it was too hot to sing and we were too hung over to brave the 3,000 foot heights, we languished near the base in the shade, the Mexicans with their tiny cars and loud radios drinking and shouting encouragement and taunts from below. Their revelry was an invaluable contribution to the effort.

My most recent venture out of the US took me to an island in British Columbia, northwest of Vancouver, called Cortes. My pack was lighter for this trip, but included my trusty sleeping bag, and my lightweight tarp. Even in a setting that had nothing to do with sport it was important to me to ground myself on, well, the ground. I went to Cortes alone, but knew that again this adventure was about working with others, learning from those more skilled and daring, this time bringing a little of my own skill and bravery to the table. I soon found comfort in those kindred spirits who work the social web every day to make this a better world. That week was as powerful and stimulating as hanging from a belay 500 feet above the valley floor in Mexico, or crawling through the phosphorescent glow of Moon Milk Pass somewhere hundreds of feet below an ejido in central Mexico.

The creative genius that came from these trips endures and is apparent to me in my life every day. None of these adventures could have sustained the energy to give birth to the ideas and friendships without the fuel collaboration, and selflessness. So, as I travel to Copenhagen it does not escape me that I am headed to the largest most collaborative event of my lifetime. The leaders of the world are gathering to collaborate, to create common ground in the face of the greatest challenge facing humanity. While I will not be at the table negotiating the details (those are depths and summits for more skilled than myself), I’ll be collaborating and creating with a community of people who work hard to find and to tell the story of those most impacted by climate change, and with those who have spent decades urging our leaders to do something brave.

I am beyond tired, and beyond excited. The work begins soon, and I am roped up and ready get started. Climb on!

Lowering the Cost of Play

2008-11-19T13:00:00Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

In my living room sits a 32" LCD HDTV. I feel guilty every time I turn it on because I know how much energy the thing uses. Every night I turn it off, and not just stand-by, but OFF. It's the only device in my entertainment center that I turn off every night because it is the largest amongst the usual suspects identified as vampire devices.

At bedtime, when I turn the lights off, my entertainment center looks like something from the movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind. At the very heart of all of those little LEDs are my gaming consoles. With a 7-month-old baby my time logged gaming is no longer measured in consecutive hours, but in 10 or 15-minute chunks. That means I don't have time to waste waiting for my consoles to boot, and then load a saved game. So I do what nearly half of all gamers do, I leave the console turned on. What I didn't know until today is that collectively gamers are logging 16 billion kilowatt hours per year. For a single gamer like me, that means that my console is burning more energy than my refrigerator - in fact, chances are it's using twice as much. And that TV I feel so guilty about? My console uses 2-3 times more energy.

In a new report called Lowering the Cost of Play NRDC outlines how I, and gamers everywhere, can change the way we use our consoles to save a little cash and 7 million tons of CO2 emissions every year. For a little perspective 7 million tons of CO2 emissions is about the same as the electricity use of 841,000 homes a year. The good news is that the steps are simple, and we can take them now.

The holidays are upon us, and that brings lots of extra time, and a host of new games. Before settling in for a marathon session with Fallout 3, take a few minutes to tweak your console, because being able to destroy your environment in a game shouldn't mean you have to destroy THE Environment in meatspace.

Is T. Boone selling you shinola, or something else?

2008-08-25T18:26:25Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

I grew up in Houston, Texas. Maybe that made me more susceptible than most to the romanticized idea of being a Texas oil man. At the age of 18, the same summer I graduated high school, I went to work for a family friend selling oil field supplies to oil companies in West Texas and Mexico. It was a dream job for me. I met some very wealthy men and heard stories about growing up dirt poor and making a fortune by pulling oil from otherwise worthless ground. Every year I went to the famed Offshore Technology Conference (OTC), where they would erect an offshore drilling rig in the parking lot of the Astrodome. The oil rig was just the start though, because oil companies offered helicopter rides onto the rig. Spending time with these men meant eating $80 steaks, wearing $300 Stetson cowboy hats, and in the case of the oil men from Mexico, riding in Suburbans retrofitted with bullet proof glass. In those formative years I jumped at the opportunity to sit with the Bush family at the ballpark to watch the Houston Astros, although I don’t think we ever exchanged a word other than hello.

No offense to my alma matter American University where I later earned my undergraduate degree, but I learned more in the 4 years working with oil men than I ever learned anywhere else in my life. I learned how to shake a man’s hand and look him in the eye. I learned how to make an honorable deal, and how to break that deal without losing an ounce of respect. I learned that for many business men, after family, money is the most important thing. I learned that you always have to listen very carefully to hear everything an oil man is telling you. And finally, I learned how to tell when someone is trying to sell you something other than the shinola you agreed to buy.

Very recently a west Texas oil man, T. Boone Pickens, has paid his way into the spot light. He is the very picture of the American oil man I imagined when I was younger. The accent and the cadence of his speech capture his audience instantly. The environmental community was captivated by Mr. Pickens when he said, in his first commercial regarding the oil crisis, “we can’t drill our way out.” Now, in Denver, during one of the most historic events of my lifetime, I am surrounded by some of the best environmental bloggers in the country. We bloggers pride ourselves in our independence and aversion to being co-opted by anyone, but guess who is a major sponsor here at the Big Tent? Mr. Pickens, has certainly made his presence known.

A couple of days ago, Mr. Pickens released his latest video and in opening lines he says, “I say drill, drill, drill.” The commercial has caused some buzz for sure, and the conversations about the value of the rest of the ad are varied. But here is what it boils down to – Mr. Pickens is a business man. His investments in the oil market are volatile, wind and natural gas are less susceptible to global market influences. Listen closely to his ads, he doesn’t want to get America off oil, just foreign oil. That’s it. Don’t let the pretty images of wind turbines fool you, and "clean natural gas" isn't as clean as you may think. Mr. Pickens is looking out for Mr. Pickens.

So while I admire Mr. Pickens for being a maverick all of his life, I know shinola from what he is actually selling. I just hope everyone else does too.

On cycling and a loss.

2008-07-10T17:22:29Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

When I was about 13 years old, my folks bought me my first 10-speed bike. I’d been riding a single speed starter Huffy for years already, but the gift of the Sears Free Spirit sent a clear message – my parents we done driving me to the neighborhood pool or my friends' birthday parties. I relished in the new found freedom, the name of the bike said it all.

Since then, I’ve clocked thousands of hours in the saddle of a bike, from the mountains of Mexico, riddled with thorns the size of a man’s finger, to the streets of Washington, D.C., with its teenage thugs who throw milk jugs full of urine. And despite the dangers, and the heat and freezing rain, I’ve loved every minute of my time on a bike. I don’t count myself lucky when I say I’ve never been seriously injured (run-ins with trees and parked cars excepted), because it hasn’t been about luck, it’s been about education.

When my parents handed me my bike, they also handed me a guide to riding safely and made me read it. And when, after years of riding my bike, I finally bought my own car, I was extra careful to watch for cyclists on the road.

I’m writing this post for two reasons. First, because on Tuesday of this week a cyclist on her way to work in DC was struck and killed by a garbage truck. And second, with the rising cost of gas, and concerns about global warming people in cities around the country are starting to consider, perhaps for the first time, getting on a bike for their commute to work.

DC residents are blessed with a great public transportation system that includes one of the cleanest subways in the country, and buses that seemingly cover every nook and cranny of the city. Add to that miles of bike lanes and sidewalks, and the options for getting to work and play are endless. But there is a lot of work yet to do, both in education and smart growth planning. Alice Swanson was in a bike lane, and obeying traffic laws when she was hit and killed. I make no excuses for the driver of the truck, but it’s probably a safe bet that the driver didn’t see her when he made a right turn into her (this remains to be determined). In this, and in all cases, there are three responsible parties, the cyclist, the driver and the city planners. I've been riding the streets of DC for years, and from my perspective we all have work to do. I have great hope that the city of DC is working to make its streets safer, and with feedback and input from the cycling community I can’t wait to see the future of this city.

So, as some of you out there consider getting on your bike, or buying your first, as a way to escape the rising cost of gas, please remember to educate yourselves about bicycle safety. I’m sure there is a local cycling advocacy group doing good work in your area (in DC its WABA), and they’d be happy to suggest a safe route for your commute.

And for the drivers who can’t ride, for whatever reason, please keep an eye out for us. One less driver on the road doesn’t necessarily mean one less person on the road.

~photo credit: vassieux

On Leaving My Wallet At Home

2007-11-21T03:28:40Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

I am a geek of the worst kind. I am an electronics gadget geek. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a lover of many other geeky things, like comics and video games, but nothing else comes close to my obsession with gadgets. Now I may not be able to afford an iPhone or latest Garmin GPS, but my lack of funds doesn’t stop me from knowing everything there is to know about those two items. If the opportunity to get one at a sweet price should present itself, I will be prepared. This obsession is evidenced by my possession of not one, but four Polar heart rate monitors. I use one of them, and only very, very rarely. I got such amazing prices on them (a savings of over 80%, amazing right?) I could not walk away. I have memory sticks, cell phones, mp3 players, mp3 player accessories, cameras, computer speakers, laptops, enough cords to make a rug, power tools, and I’m not even going to get into the cycling and camping gear because this could go on all day.

When these items become obsolete, I usually box them up and put them away. Every once in a while the stash gets to be too much and I have to get rid of a few items. Recently I disposed of a Sprint cell phone from 1999. That my friends, is not a joke. When the time comes though, I always find myself searching for a way to recycle the product, and when I can’t figure it out I take it to Goodwill. No one will ever buy these items from Goodwill, and deep down I know those items are going to end up in a dumpster. As AP writer Terence Chea pointed out this week in a story highlighting the problem of "e-waste", those items are going to end up in China. My old printer, the one that worked fine, but was an eyesore, is now somehwere in China polluting a river.

This coming Friday is Black Friday. It is a electronic gadget geeks Christmas. The savings are so obscene that an entire world of Black Friday websites have popped up across the internet. Less than $500 for a 32” HD LCD television? Are you kidding me? Break out the lawn chair and sleeping bag, I’m getting in line today! But why? My television works fine. And so does my first generation iPod mini. And my year old Motorola Razor. And yes, even my Polar hear rate monitor.

So this coming Friday, I’ll be joining the growing movement behind Buy Nothing Day. I’m not going to explain Buy Nothing Day, because it is exactly what the name implies. This year marks the 10th year that BND has been positioned on the same day as Black Friday. After finding out that we are sending about 300,000 tons of our unwanted electronics to China every year, I can’t imagine waiting another year to get behind the cause. No matter how badly I want an iPod touch.

From Blacksmith to Environmental Hero

2007-11-02T00:51:20Z

Apollo Gonzales, NRDC Alum, DC

I laced up my first pair of climbing shoes in the fall of 1997. At the time, climbing in Texas was relegated to a few over crowded outdoor spaces, and more than a handful of indoor climbing gyms. After an hour or so of climbing, my arms were so full of lactic acid that my hand actually cramped when I tried to pull my shoes off. I was in love. So in love, that for the next four years I lived my life with my climbing shoes clipped to my backpack, and one climbing book or another under my arm.

The history of rock climbing in the United States is chock full of the sort of adventure I should have been reading about as a kid. In the late 1950’s a bunch of guys who had heard about climbing in the Alps wanted to see if they could climb the expansive granite faces found in the Yosemite Valley in California. El Capitan, The Shield and Half Dome, all seas of untouched granite beckoned the likes of Royal Robbins, Chuck Pratt, Warren Harding and Tom Frost. Together these men, armed with hemp ropes and leather lug soled shoes made the first ascents of these now iconic pieces of rock, often sleeping in their bivy sacks while tied to the rock. At the age of twenty-four I had my first real set of heroes. Their achievements would not have happened if it had not been for the talents of a young climber who was a trained blacksmith, Yvon Chouinard. In a small smith-shop Chouinard forged the pitons and carabineers that provided the basis for the safety systems the climbers used on their ascent, and the predecessors for the equipment I would pack every weekend for my adventures into the southwest. At the time it would have been possible to order the equipment from Europe, but these climbers were innovating and driving change in how climbing was done. Eventually, driven by Couninard’s imagination, the group created the clean climbing technique, which absconded with pitons that damaged the rock. Chouinard saw further into the future than any other climber had, and designed some of the best equipment ever used.

Eventually Chouinard’s smith shop became Black Diamond Equipment, and an industry of climbing innovation was born. Royal Robbins went on to loan his name and experience to a clothing company, and later in his life Tom Frost lent his name and expertise to a small climbing company called Frost Works. But neither changed the world of climbing technology as much as Chouinard.

In my imagination, in 1997 I still saw the Chouinard of a black and white photo taken in the early ‘60’s , young, wearing a blacksmith apron surrounded by my heroes. What I did not know at the time was that Chouinard was still alive, and still innovating. Then one day, a friend of mine handed me Chouinards book entitled Let My People go Surfing. My mind was blown. Chouinard had also started Patagonia, the clothing company I already admired for their environmentally conscious and sustainable business practices. Over the years I have preached the gospel of Patagonia, their business model, and their drive to innovate the manufacturing and procurement process of their products. It only made sense that Couinard was there, at the helm, looking to the future.

On October 24th, 2007, the National Forest Foundation presented Chouinard with its Conservation Leadership award for his tireless and innovative efforts to preserve the wilderness and support of organizations with the same mission. I wanted to write this post because everyone knows the Patagonia brand, but so few know about the man behind the idea. His name is Yvon Chouinard, and he is one of the few people left that I am willing to call a Hero. Congratulations Yvon.

Climb On!