A collection of just a few of my volunteer gigs over the past 50 years with Smithsonian Institution, land trusts, blind children, PTSD veterans, Conservation Commissions, Watershed Associations, etc.; stories about science, conservation, paddling, music festivals, land trusts, rivers, wildlife, and the simple act of showing up to help.
Four Weeks in the Amazon
with the Smithsonian Institution
Probably the most exciting volunteer project of my life was spending four weeks in the Amazon with the Smithsonian Institution, helping conduct a biodiversity assessment in one of the most biologically diverse places on Earth.
The project brought together many of the world's leading experts on birds, reptiles, fish, insects, plants, and other groups of organisms. Scientists would fly in by helicopter to a makeshift field station deep in the jungle and spend a week or more collecting and documenting as many species as possible.
Tim (the gringo), center with green cap, with a four-inch longhorn beetle in my hand.
My primary work was with the insect team since there were tens of thousands of different insect species being cataloged, but I also spent a great deal of time helping the reptile experts. Ever since I was a kid, I had been fascinated by snakes, lizards, frogs, and other reptiles and amphibians, so working alongside some of the world's experts was a dream come true.
My original commitment was for two weeks, but they eventually asked me to stay for another two weeks. Needless to say, I didn't hesitate.
The project itself was remarkable. The first people on site, several months before I arrived, had literally rappelled from a helicopter carrying machetes so they could clear a small landing zone in the rainforest. From that tiny opening in the jungle, a rough field camp slowly developed.
I was there during the early-to-middle stages of the project. Every few days a Black Hawk helicopter would appear overhead, bringing supplies, scientists, equipment, and food while carrying out voucher specimens and other materials for study.
During the course of the project, numerous species new to science were identified. The site, known as Camisea, continues today as a long-term ecological research area that is periodically reassessed.
One of the most memorable moments happened late one night when I was asked to hike about a half mile into the jungle to deliver replacement headlamps to a group of botanists. They were high up in the forest canopy collecting leaf samples, and their lights had failed.
On the hike back to camp, I discovered phosphorescent mushrooms glowing throughout the rainforest. They seemed to be everywhere. Walking alone through the jungle at night, surrounded by glowing fungi, felt almost surreal. It was one of the most magical experiences I've ever had outdoors.
Another huge highlight was accompanying the reptile team on their nighttime surveys. We'd head out after dark and often return carrying bags filled with snakes, frogs, lizards, and other incredible creatures that most people only see in National Geographic magazines.
Every day seemed to bring a new discovery, a new species, or a new adventure. Looking back, it remains one of the most fascinating and exciting months of my life.
The volunteer project that probably had the greatest impact on my life, and led to an incredible career with USGS, began with the Nashua River Watershed Association, an organization that I volunteered with on many different projects over the years.
One project in particular was called the Strategic Watershed Assessment Team, or SWAT. The goal was to walk and assess the tributaries of the Nashua River, following them all the way to their headwaters whenever possible. We were looking for places where streams had become disconnected, such as undersized culverts, perched culverts, small dams, or other barriers that prevented fish and other aquatic organisms from moving upstream and downstream.
Photo placeholder: Nashua River, watershed fieldwork, stream crossings, culverts, maps, canoe work, or USGS early career photos
Throughout the summer, we spent nearly every Saturday in the field while the streams were flowing. Most days involved four to six hours of hiking, wading, measuring, mapping, and documenting conditions.
One Saturday, while we were eating lunch in the middle of a survey, the director of the program mentioned that she had seen an opening with the U.S. Geological Survey. They were looking for a graduate student to help with a six-week habitat assessment project that involved working from a canoe.
To me, it sounded like the perfect job.
That evening I contacted the hydrologist leading the project. The next day we met, and it quickly became clear that I was a great fit for the position.
I spent the next six weeks working from a canoe with the USGS, conducting habitat assessments and collecting field data. I loved every minute of it and knew almost immediately that I wanted to stay if there was any way possible.
As my temporary assignment was winding down, I started knocking on office doors and introducing myself to other hydrologists. I told them I was available for additional work if they had funding for any projects. Since I already had the necessary training, security clearances, and paperwork completed, it was relatively easy for them to bring me onto new projects.
Over the next seven months, I worked on roughly ten different projects throughout the office. Eventually, a permanent position opened for a Hydrologic Technician doing much of the same work I had already been performing. I applied, but as is often the case with desirable federal jobs, there were well over a hundred applicants.
I ended up ranked around seventh on the list of qualified candidates. After the required top candidates were interviewed, the hiring manager, who already knew me from my work in the office, approached me in the parking lot and asked whether I was genuinely interested in the position. When I told him I was, he explained that he was not required to interview every qualified applicant and intended to offer the position to me.
I accepted without hesitation. Even though I was already in my early forties, that job became my career until retirement.
The salary wasn't especially high compared to my education and experience, but the benefits were outstanding. I had flexible work schedules, generous vacation time, excellent retirement benefits, and the opportunity to spend much of my career doing meaningful work outdoors.
Because I was already accustomed to living fairly modestly, I saved much of the money from my raises and promotions over the years. Combined with the federal retirement system and pension, that allowed me to retire at age 62.
When I look back on it, that entire career—and much of what followed in my life—can be traced back to a volunteer project with the Nashua River Watershed Association. I signed up simply because I wanted to help improve local streams and wildlife habitat. I never imagined it would lead to a 21-year career with the U.S. Geological Survey, financial security, early retirement, and countless adventures along the way.
Probably the most valuable volunteer work I've ever done was helping create a land trust around the year 2000 called the Ashburnham Conservation Trust.
A friend and I were both members of the local Conservation Commission, and we were becoming increasingly frustrated as many of the most beautiful natural areas in our region were rapidly being converted into housing developments. We knew that if something wasn't done soon, many of those places would be lost forever.
Photo placeholder: Ashburnham Conservation Trust lands, ski mountain, Midstate Trail, farms, wetlands, forests, or community meetings
We felt there were two important challenges. First, we needed a way to identify the most important remaining lands for protection. Second, we needed to find practical ways to either acquire those properties or preserve them permanently through conservation restrictions and other tools.
For about a year, we met every week in publicly advertised meetings to develop bylaws, establish an organizational structure, and complete all of the work necessary to obtain 501(c)(3) nonprofit status.
Once the land trust was officially established, we began partnering with as many organizations as possible, including Massachusetts Audubon, state environmental agencies, local Conservation Commissions, Departments of Parks and Recreation, and numerous other conservation groups.
In many cases, the only way to protect a property was to purchase it. That meant fundraising, grant writing, partnership agreements, and a tremendous amount of volunteer effort. By combining resources with multiple organizations, we were often able to leverage funding that none of us could have obtained on our own.
The first major project, and really the reason we started the land trust in the first place, involved a local ski mountain that held a special place in many people's hearts. I had learned to ski there years earlier. It was also a favorite hiking destination and included a section of the Midstate Trail. The property had been abandoned and was on the verge of being purchased and redeveloped into a water park.
The land trust partnered with six different organizations to acquire and permanently protect the property. Today, it remains one of the showcase conservation areas in the Ashburnham-Ashby landscape and continues to be enjoyed by hikers, skiers, and outdoor enthusiasts.
Over the years, the Ashburnham Conservation Trust has helped protect thousands of acres of important natural habitat, including forests, wetlands, farms, streams, mountains, and wildlife corridors. Many of the most significant remaining natural landscapes in the region are protected today because of the efforts of the land trust and its many partners.
One thing that was always important to us was that we were never opposed to development itself. Communities need homes, businesses, and economic growth. We simply believed that development should occur in the most appropriate places. We actively identified previously disturbed lands, brownfields, and areas already served by roads and infrastructure as better locations for future development.
Our goal was never to stop growth. It was to ensure that the most important remaining natural landscapes would still be there for future generations to enjoy.
Looking back, helping create the land trust may have been the most meaningful volunteer effort of my life because the results will continue long after I'm gone.
By far, the most demanding volunteer position I’ve ever been involved with was serving on the Conservation Commission in the town of Ashburnham, Massachusetts.
The commission was responsible for permitting any development within 100 feet of wetlands, lakes, rivers, streams, or any other wet areas. Since Ashburnham is loaded with those kinds of places, probably 70 or 80 percent of the projects in town, from backyard additions to major housing developments, had to come before our commission for approval.
Photo placeholder: Ashburnham wetlands, lakes, streams, conservation commission field visits, project plans, or protected open space
Every project had to meet the requirements of the state Wetlands Protection Act and prevent destruction or damage to wetlands and other protected resources. We met every second Monday night from 7 PM until close to midnight, and sometimes well after midnight.
The work was often frustrating, especially when developers tried to squeeze large housing projects onto land that really wasn’t very buildable. Luckily, I already had a background in wetland science, including many college courses, and I also attended additional workshops and conferences to learn more. Over time, I got to know many of the major developers and consultants in town.
Eventually, we realized that we usually couldn’t simply stop projects. What we could do was issue restrictive permits and work with applicants early in the planning process, before the plans were already locked in. That turned out to be much more productive for everyone.
For example, instead of spreading 100 homes across 100 acres, with roads, driveways, utilities, lawns, and fences covering much of the land, we could suggest concentrating those same 100 homes on 15 or 20 acres. That left the wetlands alone and preserved the remaining land as open space for everyone in the development to enjoy.
We also encouraged smarter stormwater design. The goal was to reduce paved surfaces where possible and design projects so they could treat and retain stormwater on site, using natural low areas or, when necessary, retention and detention basins. Instead of sending warm, dirty runoff straight into the nearest stream or river through pipes and ditches, stormwater could be held on site long enough to soak into the ground.
That groundwater would eventually return to the streams as clean, clear, cold seepage, which is incredibly valuable for the biology of those streams. It is so much better than a surge of surface runoff carrying oils, lawn chemicals, sediment, and whatever else was sitting on the pavement or ground surface.
Somehow or another, we were able to help create a local wetlands bylaw for the community that was twice as restrictive as the state law. It also required permit applicants to provide funds so the commission could hire independent conservation professionals of our choosing to review projects and assess impacts.
Even though that added restrictions and costs for landowners, many people eventually came to understand the benefits it provided for the community, especially with all of the new housing developments and major expansions around the many lakes in town. Protecting the town’s wetlands and water resources helped protect everyone.
The two toughest parts of that volunteer position were the hostility at public meetings and the enforcement work out in the field.
At some meetings, groups of 50 or 70 angry residents would show up, upset that we would not allow them to draw down a lake at the wrong time of year to kill aquatic weeds, because doing so could wipe out many species. We sometimes had to have police present to keep things from getting out of hand. Local newspapers were often there too, so we had to be extremely careful, factual, and professional in everything we said.
The second difficult part was spending so much time driving around town, and sometimes riding my bike around town, checking project sites. I would see violations where hay bales and silt fences had blown out during storms, allowing sediment to flow into streams and wetlands. Too many times, I had to issue cease-and-desist orders, shutting down projects until the applicants came before the commission and explained why they were in violation.
Needless to say, I had my fair share of unhappy customers.
But over time, we got to know many of the developers, engineers, consultants, and residents. We also began holding more informal sessions to work with people before their permits were finalized, which helped make the process smoother, easier, and less frustrating for everyone involved.
I spent countless hours walking property lines, verifying wetland boundaries, checking erosion controls, reviewing project plans, and confirming that projects had been completed properly. For almost five years, especially once I became chairman of the commission, it took up many, many hours of my week.
Still, like so many other volunteer projects, it felt incredibly good to give back to the community and help protect the environment in any way I could.
My very first volunteer project was with Massachusetts Audubon when I was in my late teens. It involved studying the development of salamander larvae in vernal pools, something that fascinated me at the time.
Acid rain was a huge environmental issue back then, and one of the Audubon staff members had noticed something unusual. In many vernal pools, most of the salamander eggs would develop normally until they reached the final stage of development, around 95 to 98 percent complete. Then there would suddenly be a massive die-off. Other pools didn't seem to have that problem.
Photo placeholder: vernal pools, salamander egg masses, field notes, Audubon project photos, or slide projector memories
To help investigate what was happening, we put together a project where I would regularly visit a handful of study ponds. Using photographs and development charts, I would assess the stage of development of the salamander larvae inside the egg masses, record my observations, and track the progress of each pool over time.
I absolutely loved the fieldwork. Spending time outdoors, wading around vernal pools, and collecting data felt more like an adventure than work.
At the end of the project, I was asked to present my findings to a group of volunteers and members of the public. I remember being incredibly nervous about standing up in front of a crowd with a slide projector and sharing what I had learned.
Looking back, that project was more than just my introduction to volunteering. It was also my introduction to field biology, public speaking, and the idea that ordinary people could make meaningful contributions to science and conservation. It was the first of many volunteer experiences that would help shape the direction of my life.
One place where I've done a lot of volunteering over the years is with paddling groups.
I've led dozens of kayaking adventures, always free of charge, through several Facebook groups. While the paddling itself is fun, a big part of what we do is discuss safety, teach safety techniques, and help people develop the skills and confidence they need to enjoy the water safely.
Photo placeholder: kayak group, mangrove tunnels, veterans paddling, safety practice, Lighthouse for the Blind estuary program, or seine netting
These days, one of my main focuses is helping veterans with PTSD get out kayaking. Many of them struggle with being in crowded public places or participating in traditional social activities, but something about being out on the water seems to help.
A couple of weeks ago, while out paddling with a group, I overheard two veterans talking. They were discussing how they often spend most of their days sitting at home because of the challenges they face. Yet both of them said that getting out in nature, paddling through mangrove tunnels and exploring quiet waters, had become one of the most positive and meaningful experiences in their lives.
Hearing that was incredibly rewarding.
The same organization also works with children through Lighthouse for the Blind. We take them into local estuaries where they can wade in the shallow water and use seine nets to catch fish, crabs, shrimp, and other marine life.
What makes the experience especially meaningful is that the children aren't just looking at the animals. They are using their hands to explore and identify them. They can feel the shape of a fish, the shell of a crab, or the texture of a shrimp in ways that help them connect with the natural world through senses other than sight.
Watching their excitement and curiosity reminds me why environmental education is so important. I've volunteered in many different ways over the years, but helping people discover nature—whether it's a veteran finding peace on the water or a child experiencing marine life for the first time—has been one of the most rewarding experiences of all.
Whitewater Weekends with the Appalachian Mountain Club
Back in my whitewater paddling days during the 1990s, I went on trips almost every weekend with the Appalachian Mountain Club.
The club organized paddling trips all over New England, including rivers in New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. Since the entire program was run by volunteers, they were always looking for experienced paddlers willing to help out.
Photo placeholder: whitewater paddling, New England rivers, safety boating, Appalachian Mountain Club trips, or old paddling photos
Most of the time, I volunteered as a safety boater. My job was usually to stay near the back of the group and keep an eye on the beginners and newer paddlers. If someone flipped over, got separated from their boat, or found themselves in trouble, I would help get them back on track and safely down the river.
Over the years, I rescued a lot of paddlers and, in the process, made a lot of friends. Spending long days on the river together tends to bring people together pretty quickly.
One of the nice benefits of volunteering was that the instructors and safety boaters had their accommodations and meals covered by the students participating in the courses. Since the entire program was volunteer-run, there were very few administrative costs, and the focus was always on teaching paddling skills and river safety rather than making money.
Of course, the biggest reward wasn't the free lodging or meals. It was the opportunity to paddle rivers all over New England nearly every weekend while continually improving my own skills and learning more about rescue techniques, river reading, and paddling safety.
Looking back, those weekends helped make me a much better paddler and gave me experiences and friendships that I still value today.
Not all of my volunteer work has involved scientific research, conservation projects, or major organizations. Some of the most enjoyable volunteer opportunities I've participated in are things that just about anyone could do.
One place where I frequently volunteer is the Florida Sand Music Ranch. I attend a lot of music festivals there anyway, so from time to time I'll help with general ranch cleanup and maintenance projects. I'll also occasionally volunteer at the concession stand selling beer, soft drinks, and snacks during events.
Photo placeholder: Florida Sand Music Ranch, Blueberry Patch, Boyd Hill Nature Preserve, Weedon Island Preserve, trail work, or volunteer day photos
As a bonus, volunteers who work a four-hour shift receive free admission and camping for the day, which is a pretty nice perk. More importantly, it's a great way to give back to a place that has provided me with so many enjoyable experiences over the years.
I also volunteer occasionally at the Blueberry Patch in Gulfport, which holds volunteer workdays most Saturdays. The work varies from week to week, but generally involves helping maintain the property and supporting the many community activities that take place there.
Another favorite is Boyd Hill Nature Preserve, where I've participated in trail maintenance and other projects that help keep the preserve accessible and enjoyable for visitors.
I've also volunteered at Weedon Island Preserve in a variety of ways over the years, helping support its educational, environmental, and recreational programs.
What I like about these opportunities is that they don't require any special expertise. Almost anyone can show up, lend a hand, meet some interesting people, and make a positive difference in their community.
Sometimes people think volunteering has to involve a major commitment, but many organizations are simply looking for a few hours of help from people who care about their mission. Those small contributions add up, and they often turn out to be surprisingly rewarding.
Looking back, volunteering has shaped my life in ways I never could have predicted. It introduced me to field biology, helped launch my career, connected me with lifelong friends, preserved landscapes that will still be here long after I am gone, and gave me countless opportunities to help other people experience the outdoors.
A lot of my favorite things in life started with simply showing up and offering to help.
Some of the projects were big, like working in the Amazon or helping form a land trust. Others were much smaller, like helping maintain a trail, selling snacks at a music festival, or taking someone paddling for the first time.
But all of them mattered in one way or another.
That is probably the thing I appreciate most about volunteering. You never really know where it will lead. Sometimes you just help out for a few hours. Sometimes you meet wonderful people. Sometimes you learn a new skill. And sometimes, without even realizing it at the time, you step onto a path that changes the rest of your life.
