hiking – Letters To Earth

Alameda Encinal Sand Dunes Restoration Project

Dear Earth,

When I first started volunteering at the Encinal sand dunes in Alameda four years ago, I didn’t fully understand how much impact a handful of dedicated people, and a lot of patient weed-pulling, could have on a fragile ecosystem. Back then, the dunes looked tired. Ice plant sprawled across the sand like a heavy blanket, choking out the native species that once thrived here. Even walking the site felt like stepping into a long-forgotten corner of the Bay.

But over time, I’ve seen something incredible happen: the dunes have begun to breathe again.

Every Saturday morning, armed with gloves, a bucket, and a slightly questionable amount of optimism, our small group of volunteers gets to work removing invasive plants like ice plant, mustard, and pampas grass. It’s repetitive, slow, and sometimes pretty exhausting, especially on windy days when the sand stings your ankles. Yet with every weed we pull, we make just a little more room for native species like beach sagewort, California poppies, lupine, and beach bur to reclaim their space.

What I didn’t expect was how quickly those small efforts would add up. Over the years, I’ve watched pockets of bare sand turn into islands of native growth. I’ve seen snowy plovers nest in places that were once covered in invasives. Even the wildlife feels more at home now; lizards dart across the path again, and coastal birds return to forage among plants that evolved alongside them.

One of my favorite moments happened earlier this year. I returned to an area where we had cleared ice plant months before, expecting to see empty sand. Instead, I found a patch of silver beach lupine glowing in the morning light. The contrast was striking: a species that had struggled to survive was now returning on its own, simply because we gave it the chance.

These dunes are more than a weekend project. They’re a lesson in resilience. They’ve taught me that restoration isn’t about instant results. It’s about trust. Trust that ecosystems remember how to heal. Trust that consistent care, even when it feels small, matters. And trust that community stewardship can transform a landscape.

Live, Laugh, Love,

Jessica Ngok 🌏

Gulkana Glacier-pH Research

Spending ten days in the vast, icy expanse of Alaska’s Gulkana Glacier was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. During this research expedition, I had the incredible opportunity to study something that might seem simple on the surface—pH levels. Our hypothesis investigated whether elevation influenced shifts in pH levels or not. Reassuringly, our travel route gave direct access to our question as we hiked from trailhead→base camp→ high camp; with a total of more than 5,000 feet incline, the data collected provided enough information to draw a conclusion.

Collecting the data wasn’t easy. Since pH can change quickly after sample collection, we had to test it right away, often while standing in snow with numb fingers and wind cutting across the ice. But despite the discomfort, the urgency of our work felt real and important. It reminded me that science doesn’t always happen in labs—it often starts in the wild, with cold hands and a curious mind.

We wrapped up the last day with research presentations at the University of Fairbanks. The crowd consisted of many glaciologists, donors, scientists, and just so many supporting people. One of the most thought-provoking questions we received during our post-expedition presentation was: “Why do you think pH is important?”

At first glance, pH might just seem like a basic chemistry concept. But out there, standing in freezing temperatures, surrounded by nothing but ice, snow, and silence, it became clear how essential it is. pH helps us detect subtle changes in the environment—changes that can reveal human impact, even in places where it feels like people have never stepped foot.

Glaciers are often thought of as pristine. But our pH results, which mostly fell in the 6–7 range (slightly acidic to neutral), hinted that these ecosystems are not as isolated as they appear. Pollution can travel through the air and settle into glacier ice, altering its chemistry over time. These small shifts in pH can affect everything from microbial life in the meltwater to the long-term health of downstream ecosystems.

This experience taught me that research is not only about the data you collect, but the questions it raises. How much have we already changed remote ecosystems without realizing it? And what responsibility do we have to protect places like the Gulkana Glacier?

Here’s the link to the presentation: Glacial pH Presentation

Love,

Jessica Ngok 🌍

Girls on Ice*Alaska Expedition

Dear Earth,

Long time no see.

I just returned from my expedition in Alaska—and wow, what an adventure it was. I crossed glacial rivers so cold they made my bones ache, climbed over moraines that felt like ancient staircases built by time itself, and carried science gear through terrain that demanded every ounce of strength and curiosity I had. It was raw, intense, and beautiful.

But I won’t lie—the first two days were rough. I felt completely out of my element. No phone, no warm bed, no easy way to talk to my family. The days were long and unfamiliar, the bugs relentless, and I remember lying in my sleeping bag wondering why I’d come at all. I missed home, missed the comfort of a hot meal and a familiar routine. My muscles ached in ways I didn’t know were possible, and I found myself silently counting the days until it would be over.

But slowly, something shifted. I got used to the cold fingers in the morning and the weight of my pack. I began to see the rhythm of this new lifestyle—the simplicity, the quiet, the way everything I needed was on my back or beside me in the team. The discomfort faded, and in its place came awe.

Because beyond the physical challenge, what truly left a mark on me was the community. I met the most incredible people—strong, kind, brilliant individuals who care about you deeply, Earth. We shared stories under a sky that never really got dark, and we laughed in the face of rainstorms and sore muscles. Together, we learned how to observe you with scientific eyes and an open heart. We tested glacial runoff, studied sediment layers, and tried to understand how your ancient rhythms are changing with the warming climate.

There’s something grounding about being so close to your untouched corners. In those moments—whether freezing in a river or journaling by the fire—you reminded me that science is not just data, but connection. It’s feeling the crunch of gravel underfoot and knowing it tells a story that predates us.

I miss the stillness. I miss the wild. I miss you, Earth, in your unfiltered form.

Until the next adventure,
With love and bruised knees,
Jessica Ngok