In March 2007, six Frostburg State University students and I set out on a Spring Break Trip through Appalachia. Our goal was to immerse ourselves in the Appalachian region to examine issues of culture, environment and economy. Though cheery pictures of our adventures fill our photo folders, what haunts us are images of a region slowly dying from the effects of Mountaintop Removal.

Our six day journey took us through portions of Maryland, West Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Kentucky. At the Qualla Boundary (Cherokee Indian Reservation) in Cherokee, North Carolina, we were treated to a full immersion course in Cherokee language and dance. Our laughter was contagious as we each struggled to say, "I don't know," in the Cherokee tongue. An evening outing included a trip to the reservation's Casino Hotel, which houses the nation's largest exhibition of contemporary Cherokee art.  (No, I didn't allow my students to gamble).

We sojourned briefly in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, taking a five mile hike to the picturesque Abrams Falls. Along the way, river otters darted across the path, diving into the waterway beside us-- so close that had we reached out, we might have touched them.

A night in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, resulted in new nose ring piercings for two of my students.

The first portion of our trip was filled with jokes and good natured ribbing. We were light hearted-learning much, but enjoying our time away from the classroom immensely. That tone changed sharply when we arrived in Whitesburg, Kentucky, and were exposed to our first real images of Mountain Top Removal.

Our hosts, Sharman Chapman-Crane, of the Mennonite Central Committee and her husband, Jeff, had planned a two day adventure for us. Less than a month earlier, Sharman reached a national audience when she was featured on the PBS Program, Religion and Ethics speaking out against Mountaintop Removal.  She was eager to inspire the same level of advocacy in my students and me.

Our visit began in a protected natural area where we hiked less than a mile up to the spectacular Bad Branch Falls. Our spirits buoyant; we talked about how wonderful it must be to live in such a breathtaking environment.

Images of the natural world filled our cameras as we documented our progress. But visions of the pristine were soon replaced by the stark reality that threatens Whitesburg and the surrounding region today. Nearly two years later, scenes of a ravaged landscape carrying the deep scars of Mountaintop Removal pierce the memories of our journey.

Geographically speaking, the Appalachian Mountain range encompasses the mountainous territory running from the Gaspe' Peninsula in Quebec to northern Alabama, measuring approximately 1500 miles in length and nearly 400 miles broad at its widest part. Its ecosystems are the most diverse on the continent.

A great variety of rare plants are found in the Appalachian highlands and the region provides a thriving habitat for a plethora of wildlife. On our trip we saw four river otters, one gray fox, two wild turkeys, three box turtles, and several deer.

We saw no Cerulean Warblers, though. And future generations are less likely to see them on their outings. Since 1966, their Appalachian population has decreased by more than seventy percent, leading Erik Reece to refer to the Warbler as the "New Canary." In his book, Lost Mountain, Reece argues that, "it is no coincidence that those forty years have also seen the most extensive destruction of Appalachian forests by strip mining."

The demand for electricity in the US has increased by 136 percent since 1970. More than half of the electricity in the US today is generated by coal-fired power plants. And the demand for internal energy sources keeps rising. In 2000, almost 170 million tons of coal was mined in West Virginia alone, with 60 million coming from strip mines. Those numbers are increasing every year.

The US Environmental Protection Agency defines Mountaintop Removal as follows: "Mountaintop removal/valley fill is a mining practice where the tops of mountains are removed, exposing the seams of coal. Mountaintop Removal can involve removing 500 feet or more of the summit to get at buried seams of coal. The earth from the mountaintop is then dumped in the neighboring valleys."

Mountaintop Removal is a six step process which includes clearing, blasting, digging, dumping waste, processing and reclamation. Explanations of each stage are provided at various internet sites. iLoveMountains.org provides a full slate of such facts and figures.

My students and I had read the numbers; we were aware of the process. But nothing had prepared us for facing Mountaintop Removal head-on. Sharman and Jeff gave us that opportunity when they introduced us to Sam Gilbert. Sitting in his living room snacking on milk and cookies, Sam told us how he'd been fighting the mining company for years. Nearby blasting had already cracked his home's windows, and his backyard was slowly disappearing as erosion from a site above his house deposited pounds of mud and runoff onto his property. He worked diligently to keep on top of it, but feared that he would lose the battle.

Weary of playing the victim, Sam and his wife have sought legal recourse bringing charges against Massey Energy. Such legal tactics have won him few friends and several enemies in a region where residents are reluctant to speak out against an industry that continues to supply the majority of the area's jobs. Mountaintop Removal is a contentious issue in many mountain communities. Often, coal workers must sign contracts stating that they will not speak out in opposition to the Coal Industry.  Long time neighbors have become enemies as they feel forced to take sides.

In practice, Mountaintop Removal tactics employ far fewer individuals than traditional deep mining practices. In 1950, West Virginia coalmines employed 143,000 miners; by 2002 that number was down to 13,653. The story is repeated throughout the mining region.  Although coal production rose 32 percent between 1987 and 1997, according to Coal River Mountain Watch, mining jobs dropped 29 percent during that same period. McDowell County, WV has produced more coal than any other county in the US, yet at the time of our trip, it suffered from a 37.7% poverty rate.

Moreover, accidents in the region's deep mines have increased in recent years.  Local activists argue that in their attempt to compete with Mountain Top Removal sites, mine operators may be skimping on safety practices.

Having shared his story, Sam invited us to follow him up the mountain where we could witness the devastation first-hand. We piled into the van and followed him up the winding dirt road. With both hands on the wheel, I tried my best to avoid looking sideways at the steep mountain face and hoped fervently that we'd not encounter any traffic. Loaded down coal trucks have claimed many lives on treacherous mountain roads. My students held their collective breath on every curve.

As we neared the top-by then a decapitated remnant of what had flourished for centuries, we noted the inconsistency between what we'd read and what we witnessed. Broken and fractured trees littered the landscape, and charred areas attested to the fact that few, if any, of the trees cleared from the mountain had been applied for commercial use. Sharman pointed out that driven by fluctuations in the economy coal companies rarely take the time to harvest trees. Instead, they are burned, or wind up in the fill valleys below.

Surveying the ruin, we gathered around Sam as he gazed over the Mountaintop Removal project on Hale Gap, near Whitesburg. With tears welling up in his eyes, he told us how he'd grown up at the base of this mountain. It was here that he'd learned the ways of the woods. And it was on its multiple game trails that he'd trained hunting dogs, which were always in high demand by hunters-locally and nationally. Mountaintop Removal is destroying more than the mountains; it is jeopardizing a way of life for a people who maintain a strong bond with the natural world, hunting and trapping during the season and gathering herbs, ramps and morels to supplement their incomes in various seasons.

Sam told us of his first visit to the site after Mountaintop Removal had commenced. Jarred by the violence, he felt like a dear friend had been brutally murdered. For three weeks he was barely able to rise from bed as he fought his resultant depression.

As he stood witness to the desecration, Sam pointed to the impoundment pond below. Referred to as Slurry or Sludge, the waste held there contains large amounts of arsenic, mercury, lead, copper, and chromium among other toxins. Residents living near Mountaintop Removal projects worry that the waste will seep into their drinking water supply. Many are already investing in bottled water.

As Mountaintop Removal accelerates, impoundment ponds grow larger, looming perilously over populated valleys below. In 1972, 125 people were killed in West Virginia when the Buffalo Creek pond broke. In 2000 an impoundment broke in Martin County, KY, spilling over 300 million gallons of sludge into the headwaters of Coldwater and Wolf Creek. The Appalashop production, "Sludge" documents the event. After an extensive legal battle, Massey Coal was fined only $5,500 for its negligence.

Today, The Marsh Fork Elementary School in Sundial, West Virginia, is located 400 yards down slope from a Mountaintop Removal mine. The mining site above the school, houses a sludge impoundment. With 2.8 billion gallons of coal sludge held back by a 385-foot-high earthen dam, it is one of West Virginia's largest impoundments. Activists against Mountaintop Removal argue that if the walls break, educators will have merely seconds to evacuate the school. Thus far, residents' impassioned requests to either move the impoundment or relocate the school have fallen on deaf ears.  

With Sharman, we drove to an area reclaimed by the mining company. According to Reece, that in itself is rare; often coal outfits declare bankruptcy prior to beginning reclamation efforts; only to resurface under a different name at its next mining site.

In 1977, President Jimmy Carter signed into law the Surface Mining Control and Reclamation Act (SMCRA), which required coal operators to restore the "approximate original contour" of the land that had been mined. Ostensibly, the land must be, "equal to or better than pre-mining conditions."  Lawmakers, however, added the provision that operators could obtain a variance if they could show that the post-mining landscape would be put to "higher or better uses."

We stood on the site of restored land. After more than ten years, the landscape supports little more than scrub. Even the grass is an exotic species. Indigenous plants are unable to grow in soil suffering such disturbance. Lands that once sprouted lush varieties of vegetation have been reduced to struggling grasslands.

My class returned to Frostburg in a somber state. One student made plans to write a fictional book detailing the potential plight of the Sundial students. Others planned presentations to university classes and student organizations. A few returned determined to petition their state representatives to end Mountaintop Removal.

"If people just saw the reality of Mountaintop removal first-hand," one of my students reflected, "they'd fight to stop it; they'd have to." I remember those words now as I make plans for a class to visit those areas and others like it this spring.

On most days, I am successful in keeping politics out of the classroom-or at least delving into the subject matter in a non-partisan and apolitical manner. But after seeing the shadows cross over Sam's, Sharman's, and Jeff's faces as they spoke of what their mountain homes were compared to what they are today, and after standing atop a mountain that had been so unceremoniously beheaded, I am committed to raising awareness; even if that means that I will be spending every Spring Break for the next decade providing my students with macabre tours of an Appalachian region devastated by the nation's insatiable appetite for energy.