For nearly 50 years, Patagonia has given a damn about people and the environment.

And through that work, they've learned that knowledge is foundational,

transcending physical space and nodding generations together.

Knowledge invites change and forms the bedrock of communities.

In a new series of stories, Patagonia brings us the voices of elders,

young people, mentors and teachers. Stories grounded in wild places and activism.

Knowledge is a vessel. To be shared, kept, evolved and passed on.

Find more at Patagonia.com slash stories.

You're listening to The Derbacterys, a production of Duck Tape Then Beer,

with additional support from Kuat Racks because you love your bike,

athletic greens, the daily drink for a healthier you, and kicking horse coffee, wake up and kick ass.

Well, so much for that hat. The river claims another soul.

I was bummed to say the least. The hat and question was the Patagonia visor I've had for years.

The green one I take with me everywhere. The one that says climb clean on it.

I like how it sounds like cum clean. Like, let's have the truth out with it.

And yet, after all the years I've owned that visor, I've come to realize that the truth is,

almost nothing is clean. But almost nothing is fully adulterated either.

Everything is somewhere in the middle.

Anyway, I jumped off that boulder into the green blue waters of the Colorado River,

just below the Glen Canyon Dam. Water that's supposed to be chocolatey brown.

And as I jumped, I completely forgot the visor was on my head. But when I surfaced, I realized

immediately it was gone. Shit, I gasped, the frigid chill taking my breath away. My visor.

...