In April of 2019, a team of scientific researchers and documentarians arrived at Mount Everest’s southern basecamp in Nepal to measure the impacts of climate change and human activity on the world’s tallest mountain. The pollution team, led by University of Maine Assistant Professor Kimberley Miner, lugged heavy scientific equipment up the most popular ascent route. At each stop, Maine’s team took samples of snow, the same snow climbers were boiling and drinking, the same snow that melted each summer and provided water for people living in the valleys below. They trekked from Khumbu Glacier to Base Camp, on to Camps I and II, and then to Everest Balcony. At 26,000 feet (8,000 meters) elevation, the Balcony marks the beginning of what is called the “death zone,” for the obvious reason.
When the scientists arrived, the mountain was unusually hot and crowded. Hundreds of climbers were hoping to make the ascent during the brief window between winter and the onset of monsoon season. This was complicated by the shifting and increasingly dangerous dynamics of the mountain itself; each year, the Himalayas break temperature records (and their glaciers melt faster), and each spring and fall, the mountain range is inundated with more climbers. Parts of Everest looked more like a slushy parking lot than the gates of heaven. Trails were littered with empty oxygen tanks, plastic wrappers, and old tents that flapped in the wind. Not to mention the thawing corpses of climbers who had died trying to reach the summit.
But the researchers weren’t there to clean up the mountain. They were looking for the presence of pollutants in snow and ice samples, and what Dr. Miner and her team discovered was astounding: Everest was awash in Per and Polyfluoroalkyl Substances, better known as PFAS—a group of synthetic chemicals used in waterproof gear (and other items). The PFAS recorded on the mountain were “three times above background levels,” Miner told me by phone. Notably, the chemicals were concentrated in areas where hikers stayed the longest. In their study, published in ScienceDirect, the researchers concluded that the PFAS particles were being shed by climbers and introduced into the local watershed. In essence, mountaineers were destroying the mountain—poisoning themselves, future hikers, and residents for hundreds of years to come. The culprit was their gear.
The class of chemicals known as PFAS were invented by American scientists during World War II. Their nearly unbreakable chemical bond—a chain of carbon atoms followed by a fluorine—makes them incredibly effective at preventing water (or fats) from passing through a surface. In the 1950s, DuPont, 3M, and other chemical giants began applying this miraculous material to household products, creating non-stick pans (Teflon) and stain-resistant carpets (Scotchgard). Other companies, like Gore-Tex, applied PFAS to clothing.
From the Appalachian Trail to an infamous Seinfeld episode to Paris runways, waterproof outdoor clothes have become surprisingly popular in the past few years, earning the nickname “gorpcore” from the Cut in 2017. (GORP stands for the trail mix “Good old raisins and peanuts.”) The style is defined by an urban/outdoorsy mix you’ll find in apocalypse-proof designs of Arc’teryx, Moncler’s alpine luxury, or even your local REI outlet. No longer confined to polar expeditions, tech-y, outdoor gear has now become the go-to for cool guys trekking from Chinatown across the Williamsburg bridge.
“It's really just the fantasy of the connection to the outdoors,” said fashion casting director Walter Pearce, who spoke to me by Zoom from his plant-filled apartment on the Lower East Side. Dressed in an olive sweatshirt (he wears exclusively earth tones these days), Pearce is also a newly avid hiker and president of the Lower East Side Cactus and Succulent Society. “Realistically, the technology that goes into these things ... I’m not trying to conquer Everest,” Pearce admitted. “That being said, you need a certain type of pants and fleece to go even on a pretty simple hike in the winter, especially if you want to be comfortable. And then you're like, ‘Okay, well, how can I look cool while doing that?’” Besides offering the fantasy of freedom in nature, outdoor gear also promises protection from the elements. During what has arguably been the most unpredictable and stressful year in living memory, Pearce believes weatherproof fashion’s appeal is that “it feels nice to be prepared.”
All that cool comes at a cost. What makes PFAS so effective is also what makes them so hazardous to human health. PFAS are known as “forever chemicals,” which means they do not biodegrade; instead they just accumulate in the environment and our bodies. Fish die off, cows get tumors, the livers of rats exposed to PFAS balloon to three times their normal size. Studies conducted on the community of Parkersburg, West Virginia, where DuPont manufactured Teflon and poisoned 70,000 residents, concluded that prolonged PFAS exposure in humans is linked to cancers, reduced vaccine efficacy, birth defects, and a host of autoimmune diseases. (If you want to descend into a spiral of paranoia, check out Dark Waters with Mark Ruffalo.)
It’s not just the citizens of Parkersburg, West Virginia who need to be concerned. Because the manufacturing process of these chemicals disperses them into the environment through water vapor and groundwater—which evaporates, condenses into clouds, and comes down elsewhere as rain and snow—PFAS can now be found virtually everywhere in the world. 70 years after these chemicals first made their way into our homes, scientists believe nearly every human on the planet has detectable levels of PFAS in our blood.
Two leading outdoor brands long beloved by fashionable guys, The North Face and Patagonia, made public commitments in 2015 to phase out the use of PFAS in their products, but significant chunks of their respective lines are still made with the stuff. Both brands are serious about reducing the environmental impact of their businesses and have made strides in implementing repair programs, using organic and recycled materials, and offsetting their carbon impacts. The problem with PFAS, they argue, is that suitable alternatives have not yet been invented.
“Fundamentally the challenge with fluorinated DWR is that it’s really good at what it does,” said Julian Lings, Senior Sustainability Manager at VF Corporation, The North Face’s parent company. In their efforts to clean up their supply chain, Ling told me that The North Face has cut out PFAS for much of their mass-market clothing (he couldn’t say exactly how much), but the company hasn’t found a satisfactory alternative for “when individuals go into some of the most inhospitable places on earth.” The textile organization bluesign (which monitors The North Face, Patagonia, and other fashion brands’ chemical usage) calls this policy “best available technologies,” meaning that under certain conditions, it makes sense to use a chemical that might be harmful if it provides superior performance.
Furthermore, Patagonia argues that eliminating PFAS waterproofing could have unintended consequences. In a 2016 report, Patagonia suggests switching to a less effective water repellent could mean a “garment must be replaced more frequently, which constitutes its own environmental problem.” For now, their solution has been to use a slightly altered version of PFAS, with only a six carbon chain, but evidence suggests these chemicals may actually be just as toxic as the ones they’ve replaced.
So what is a conscientious Dime Square hiker to do? Some smaller outdoor brands, like Páramo, have managed to completely eliminate PFAS from their lines. Instead of relying on forever chemicals to create an impermeable membrane, which Páramo founder Nick Brown likens to a “highly engineered plastic bag,” Páramo uses Nikwax, a “palette of compounds” (all food-grade and non-persistent) to coat the surface of gear. You can even wash your old jacket with Nikwax to re-waterproof it. More importantly, Brown explained, Páramo’s garments are “directional.” He didn’t mean avant-garde, but rather that the fabric fibers have been designed to push beaded water off their surface, the way rain slides off a tiled roof.
To test out these claims for myself, I wore Páramo’s Velez Adventure Smock on a long, wet walk with my border collie through Cambridgeshire. Though my dog came home soaked and muddy (much to his chagrin), I remained comfortable, with the rain beading and running off my jacket’s shell. My gorp was literally dripping with swag.
Páramo’s directional system is just as effective in extreme weather. In 2016, the brand sponsored mountaineers David Bacci and Matteo Della Bordella’s climb of the notorious Mount Fitz Roy (in Chile), and in 2017, Páramo became the official outfitter of the British Antarctic survey. Given the company’s success with alternative water repellents in dangerous conditions, Brown believes many outdoor brands are misleading consumers when they talk about needing PFAS for inclement weather. “To put it bluntly,” he said, “that is complete bullshit.”
Brown and Professor Kimberly Miner are part of a growing chorus in the outdoor industry and scientific community pushing for the elimination of dangerous chemicals from outdoor gear. Some European governments are already beginning to restrict production of the PFAS, but without clear government rules in the US, companies will continue to “self-regulate” and slow-walk this process. The challenge for consumers then, is finding gear that doesn’t use PFAS, and taking responsibility for whatever you own that’s already coated in it.
At the end of our conversation about her Everest trip, Professor Miner reminded me of a popular phrase among backpackers and hikers. “The responsibility is not just packing out what you're bringing in,” she said, “but also not leaving this chemical legacy behind.” We go to nature to experience beauty, connect with our world, and recenter ourselves. Mindless overconsumption is never a good thing, especially when the environmental and health costs are so high. (Obviously, making stuff like polyester and nylon out of petrochemicals is a whole other conversation.) In the case of PFAS it may be impossible to completely eliminate these chemicals from the planet-—or our bodies—but we can stop adding to the damage.
The point of gearing up to go outdoors isn’t about preparing for every imaginable calamity or fetishizing hypothetical utility. Like using a V8 pickup as your daily commuter, wearing a PFAS-coated jacket rated for 40 below to grab a bacon egg and cheese is overkill. You may, of course, occasionally need serious, high-tech gear for those rare expeditions into “the death zone.” Just remember that phrase on every trail guide the next time you’re shopping for a new piece of gorpcore: Leave no trace.
https://www.gq.com/story/outdoor-gear-pfas-study
2021-01-22 13:05:51Z
CAIiEBIA9EMnhh2f3VT46hL0VqAqGAgEKg8IACoHCAow2KLyCTDI8XIwxbjsBQ
Bagikan Berita Ini
0 Response to "Is Your Beloved Outdoors Gear Bad for the Planet? - GQ"
Post a Comment