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Author: Luisa Vargas

It Started in My Backyard

por Jazzari Taylor, Policy Advocate

Every morning as a child, I could see the San Gabriel Mountains tucked between buildings across the street from my home. Their snow-covered peaks in winter, and more often than not, hazy outlines in smog-filled summers, shaped my view of afuera; what felt like another world beyond my city streets. Despite living just 10 minutes from the foothills, I rarely visited. Barriers like transportation, limited understanding of safe exploration, and a sense of cultural disconnection stood in the way.

Between the ages of 7 and 12, I joined a local summer camp that introduced me to the mountains. Little did I know those same landscapes were an extension of my backyard. As a kid, I didn’t quite grasp that connection to my hometown. It wasn’t until decades later that I returned with Latino Outdoors and Nature for All. Their programming expanded my perspective, highlighting the benefits of the outdoors, the interconnectedness of nature beyond city limits, and the confidence to explore safely.

📸Unceded homelands of the Ancestral Puebloans and the Fremont people –  learn more.

In just the past five years, that confidence has taken me beyond my community to visit and respect public lands across the country. Each place tells its own story, reminding me of the deep connection between nature, identity, and healing. From human-powered recreation like hiking, camping, kayaking, or simply breathing fresh air, I’ve found my purpose. These visits also connected me with local communities and small businesses whose livelihoods are tied directly to the landscapes around them.

 📸Unceded homelands of the Ute and Arapaho people – learn more.

Yet, every time I visited these places, I was reminded how access continues to be a challenge and how there were so many folks back at home who have never experienced these sacred lands and the many benefits they hold, in addition to not feeling safe in unfamiliar areas. Too often, people are profiled, targeted, or made to feel unwelcome based on their appearance, the language they speak, the music they listen to, the color of their skin, or their income level. Safety is a real concern, compounded by underfunded infrastructure, lack of representation, and limited transportation. For many of us, safety comes through solidarity; through group outings and community trust.

  📸 Unceded homelands of the Pit River Tribe and Modoc Peoples – learn more.

As we continue to advocate for equity, conservation, and community-centered stewardship, we must remember that protecting public lands also means protecting our stories, our identities, and our rights. These lands face constant threats, budget cuts, rollbacks, and even sell-offs. If we care about clean air, clean water, cultural survival, and inclusive access to nature, now is the time to act. Our voices and stories matter in shaping the future of conservation.

📸 Unceded homeland of the Gabrielino-Tongva, Chumash, Kitanemuk, Serrano, and Tataviam peoples – learn more.

One of the most powerful tools we have for that protection is the Antiquities Act of 1906. This law has been used for more than a century to safeguard cultural, historic, and natural treasures as national monuments. Defending the Antiquities Act means defending our shared heritage and future access to these lands, but it is currently being targeted at the Federal level of government for private investment and natural resource extraction that will impact the land, animals, and cultural sites. Now more than ever we need to hold the line for conservation and for our future

Last week, we wrapped up Hispanic Access Foundation’s Latino Conservation Week, a national celebration of cultura and community in the outdoors across “community, non-profit, faith-based, and government organizations and agencies”. We are reminded that conservation is not only about protecting landscapes, it’s about ensuring they are safe, accessible, and reflective of all communities. As we celebrate milestones like the 25th anniversary of the National Conservation Lands system, we must also look ahead.

📸 Unceded homeland of the Southern Paiute people – learn more.

Representation in our storytelling and the representatives we elect matters because our country is not a ‘one size fits all’. We are beautifully diverse. That diversity is the dream I hold onto, the hope and beauty of a conscious and changing America… but dreams alone are not enough. We must hold our leaders accountable to that vision, to act with courage, and to ensure policies reflect the voices of all communities. We need their voices to take action, because the future of our gente, conservation, and our democracy depends on it.

Together, we can ensure these breathtaking places remain protected for generations to come, and that every child, no matter where they live, can look to the outdoors and know they are safe and belong there too.

Help us tell Congress to fully fund outdoor access and protect conservation programs, and oppose policies that threaten these vital places with Outdoor Alliance. Our voices, our stories, and our future depend on it!

Advocacy Afuera: ¡Actúa ahora for Public Lands!

Latino Outdoors, alongside local business representatives, recently joined the Conservation Lands Foundation as part of the Protect California Deserts Coalition to advocate for public lands and the communities that depend on them. We began by introducing our organizations and the shared commitment we hold to protecting landscapes that sustain wildlife, provide recreation, and strengthen local economies.  During Congressman Jay Obernolte’s (CA-23) mobile office hours at Big Bear City Hall, we discussed the value of nearby national public lands, which anchor local recreation and small business activity across the region—from the mountains and nearby deserts to their backyards.

At the heart of America’s conservation legacy is the Antiquities Act, a bipartisan law signed in 1906 that has allowed presidents from both parties to protect our nation’s most treasured lands and cultural sites as national monuments. These designations safeguard places like the Sand to Snow and San Jacinto Mountains, which connect to Joshua Tree National Park, the proposed Chuckwalla National Monument, and the San Bernardino Mountains. From desert valleys to high mountain forests, these landscapes are deeply interconnected. Protecting them ensures clean water, thriving ecosystems, and outdoor opportunities for all.

Today, the most pressing concern is the future of the 2001 Roadless Rule (Map), which protects nearly 4 million acres of California’s national forests from harmful industrial activities such as logging, mineral extraction, and oil-and-gas drilling. Rescinding these protections would threaten clean drinking water, animal habitat, and outdoor recreation opportunities. Roads fragment ecosystems, create fire ignition points, and degrade watersheds that supply both rural communities and cities alike. Protecting roadless areas is a bipartisan issue; it ensures that our forests remain intact for current and future generations, while supporting hunting, angling, tourism, and rural economies. Just like the Antiquities Act, the Roadless Rule is about safeguarding irreplaceable lands and the values they hold.

Protecting the outdoors is also closely tied to Latino Conservation Week (September 13–21, 2025), a national initiative that highlights the contributions of Latino communities to conservation and ensures Latino voices are centered in protecting our public lands. The week is about building connections to nature, inspiring stewardship, and showing that conservation is inclusive and benefits everyone. Our stories must be shared to show the many ways people of all backgrounds connect to the outdoors.

Now, we need your voice. The U.S. Forest Service is accepting public comments on the Roadless Rule until Friday, September 19 at 11:59 PM. You can submit your own story—why these forests matter to you, families, businesses, and communities directly to the federal register. Sharing a personal perspective about recreation, clean water, cultural connections, or local livelihoods helps decision-makers understand what is at stake. Submissions can be made individually or as part of a group petition from businesses, nonprofits, and organizations across the region.

How to Comment (It takes less than a minute):

  1. Copy 1-2 talking points that resonate with you.
    1. Protect clean water sources that supply California communities.
    2. Support local economies that depend on outdoor recreation and tourism.
    3. Defend animal habitat and migration corridors.
    4. Reduce fire risks by limiting new road construction.
    5. Preserve cultural and community connections to public lands.
  2. Click here to submit directly: Regulations.gov — Comment Portal.
  3. Paste your comment, or type your own story, and hit submit.

Together, we can ensure that public lands remain protected and accessible, for clean water, healthy animal life, vibrant local economies, and outdoor enjoyment for all. Join Latino Outdoors, Conservation Lands Foundation, and community partners in speaking up before the deadline. Let’s keep working toward an outdoors that is protected and open for everyone.

References

This Land is Your Land

Por Vanessa Herrera

There was an ICE raid half a mile from my house the morning we left for our trip. To call it a raid is a misnomer. A group of masked men in uniforms handcuffed and threw a Latino man walking down the street into an unmarked car. I watched this happen live on Instagram, took a deep breath, and put my kids in the car to drive to the Klamath River.

For me, being a third-generation nature-loving Chicana means straddling the space between city streets and the backcountry. I have the privilege to leave the realities of my city behind and get lost floating downstream. I felt conflicted about leaving, but I had been planning this trip for months. 

It took two days to drive from Los Angeles to the Klamath. I was there with my two children, river friends, and friends of friends. The eleven of us traveled in three rafts, roughly 50 river miles. We prepared our rafts to launch at Indian Creek. My boys played in the creek while I rigged my raft, loading it with everything we needed for the next 5 days: drinking water, tents, a stove, sleeping bags, a first aid kit, a cooler, and food. The familiar act of loading dry bags and tying in all our gear set my mind at ease. I was already more relaxed than I had been in months. 

I spent my 20s guiding rafts all across the West, chasing whitewater and honing my skills. I worked hard to excel in a sport that was not made for me. At every company I worked for, I was always the only person of color and one of only a handful of women. It was the early 2000s. There was very little diversity in professional outdoor spaces. I learned to code-switch and carved out a place for myself in this community. I made good friends and formed a deep connection to rivers and water. Rivers were the place I felt the most like myself, but racially and culturally the most out of place.  

But this trip was not about whitewater. This was a kids’ trip; meant to get my boys (ages 4 and 6) comfortable with long multi-day river trips. I want them to know wild places and to feel connected to nature, to take up space and know they belong. 

Just downstream from the put-in, we dropped into the first rapid, a wave train, a series of standing waves. I teed up my boat and pushed on my oars into the waves with my boys and friend sitting in the front of my boat. Waves after wave crashed over them. Silence. “Is this too much for them?” I ask myself. Then squeals of delight, “¡Mamá, otra! ¡Más olas! ¡Somos balseros!” I am relieved. They loved it. My wild boys have grown up in rafts and have already logged more river days than most. They named the rapid olas grandes. Somos balseros. 

We made camp a few miles downstream. Everything came out of our boats. We set up tents and the kitchen. My friends made dinner while my children swam in an eddy, a calm spot in the river. By the time dinner was ready, my boys were covered in sand. I bathed them in the river and put on dry clothes. We ate in a circle, sitting in camp chairs, taking in the canyon walls, debriefing the day.  

As the sun set, a thunderstorm moved in. My boys are scared of thunder. We ran to hide in our tent. My boys asked me for a story. I told them a story my abuela would tell me when I was little. The one where she sends each child one at a time to pick ceresas, but instead of returning with the fruit, the kids climb the tree to laugh and eat. She sends more and more children to bring back what she needs, and soon there is a party in the tree of children eating and singing “Come. Come. Come.”  My boys giggle as I add their names to the story and describe how they climbed the tree, the taste of the fruit, and the sticky juice of the fruit running down their faces. Eventually, they fell asleep. 

The days continued with more rapids between meandering stretches of flat water. We camped on a beach each night. The boys caught tadpoles. The adults took turns cooking. The boys collected sticks and skipped rocks. They learned to identify osprey, Canadian geese, and umbrella plants. They took turns rowing the raft through flat water. With no cell phone reception, the outside world faded. 

We rounded a bend and spotted a bald eagle perched on a rock. “Aguila calva,” my boys whisper. My oldest learned the Pledge of Allegiance in Kindergarten this year and knows it’s our national bird. He asks me to sing an American song, a patriotic song. We float by, and I sing the closest thing to a patriotic song I can stomach, “This Land is Your Land”, to the eagle and my children as I row.  I don’t know if I made the right decision leaving the city while my community is under attack, but these are the experiences I want for my children. This is the type of patriotism I want my boys to know. To know that this land belongs to the birds and them. It is their legacy to protect, steward, and enjoy.