Walks with Wolves

Por Sean Seary

My love for the outdoors is tied, inherently, to my childhood: growing up in the greater New York metropolitan area, I spent a lot of time playing sports outside with my friends, going for walks with my dog, and helping my mom, grandmother, and great-grandmother in the garden. I was very much into wildlife, and was always reading and watching shows about big cats, wolves, chimps, and so many other wild critters.

I looked up to people like Steve Irwin and Jane Goodall, who had helped foster not just curiosity for the wild world, but also love and compassion for its inhabitants. These conservationists taught many young minds, like my own at the time, that we should be doing our best to protect mother earth and all of the plants and animals that call this world home. They inspired me to want to work with animals, and so I made that my dream.

I’ve thankfully been able to make a career out of working in the environmental field, which is a blessing in and of itself. Throughout the various positions I’ve held and workplaces I’ve found myself in, I noticed a glaring lack of diversity in the environmental/outdoor/conservation world. As a mixed-race Latino of Puerto Rican descent, it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized how truly underrepresented our people are in the greater conversation about conservationism and environmentalism. Which explains why popular environmental figures never looked, acted, or spoke like us.

As a mixed-race Latino of Puerto Rican descent, it wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized how truly underrepresented our people are in the greater conversation about conservationism and environmentalism.

After spending many years bouncing around environmental careers; from education to policy, outdoor recreation, and back into education, I was finally able to make my dream a reality. I started working at the Wolf Conservation Center in early 2022, and just like that my childhood dream to work with animals had come true! It took a lot of time, energy, and effort to make it this far, but perseverance and sense of purpose goes a long way.

At the Wolf Conservation Center, I get to work with wolves on a daily basis and teach programs that discuss the history of wolves throughout North America, the ecological role they play in their habitats, in addition to the human role in protecting their future. We’re currently home to 32 wolves, 30 of whom are critically endangered species who belong to a federally managed wild-release program (we’re a nonprofit who help facilitate and administer the program). The other 2 wolves are our Ambassador wolves, who are essentially wolf teachers and allow folks to experience what it’s like to see and be around wolves.

A lot of the work that we do, not just in terms of education and advocacy, but also through conservation efforts, helps change the negative stigmas and stereotypes about wolves. Like people, wolves live in family units (or packs) and they care deeply for their pack members. They are intelligent, beautiful, and emotional beings, and have every right to exist on this earth as we do. I’m incredibly thankful that my work not only allows me to change the perception of Latinos in the environmental field, but also change how people perceive wolves. While I’m getting to live out this childhood dream, I haven’t lost sight of the ambition that took me to this point, and will use it help make learning about wolves more accessible to disenfranchised and underrepresented communities.

Sean Seary is a 30-year-old environmental educator from the NY metro area who loves spending as much time as he possibly can outdoors. Whether it’s reading, running, hiking, or gardening, you can often find him outside living his best life. Currently, he is a Program Educator II at the Wolf Conservation Center, where he teaches about wolves and the human role in protecting their future.

In Your Blood

por Jasmin Antonia Estrada

My uncle came to this country in the bed of a truck. He crossed the desert hidden and hot; nature was not separate and he was connected. To the outdoor industry that I have become part of my uncles’ story is not the typical idea of an experience that builds one’s connection to nature. And though it was not a positive connection, it was potent to his relationship to the desert and to himself as part of nature.

He and many people who don’t have access to interacting with nature as a leisure activity deserve to have moments in nature that are not in passing nor fear. Moments that are not plummeted in the history of the wild and dark being used as a place for violence against themselves and their ancestors, for trauma, or seen as dirty for being in it—but as a place of positive connection, for growth, for home and exploration, a place that can be a refuge.

I was a kid, sitting in a red plastic chair with the words Coca-Cola written on the top, in the heat of Guatemala City.  The chair stuck to me no matter how I sat in it. A small parrot cooed. There was no distance between the outside and the inside; I was inside looking up at the sky heavy with weather. The hallway lead from the “patio” to the kitchen, no doors in between and when it rained you would get wet going from the bathroom to the kitchen. The kitchen would be filled with the smell of wet pavement and flowers bobbing under the weight of the midday shower. I was part of nature deeply, the mix of concrete and potted plants was the beginning of my understanding that there is no right way to be the part of nature that you are. 

“I was part of nature deeply, the mix of concrete and potted plants was the beginning of my understanding that there is no right way to be the part of nature that you are.”

Jasmin Antonia Estrada

The young people on the trips that I now lead are from wood and concrete structures. They know the taste of tap water and they feel the pollution in their lungs, they are connected. I found my place in connecting them to the trails and the mountains. They knew about the bus stops and the weeds that have the profound ability to break concrete. I wanted them to also see the rivers and the unadulterated morning light. To hear the birds. 

We were in the White Mountains at our campsite on the fourth day of two weeks on the trail with a group of majority youth of color we were debriefing the day late into the night, sitting in a circle recalling the success and learning moments. I remember this night is when we discovered that “together as a team, when we are on the same page, we can do anything.” The revelation of success. These young people who have never been backpacking before deciding that their group was a home they could have, that nature was a house they could thrive in. The rest of us didn’t notice it, but when it was Michael’s time to share he was silent. This look of awe and fear fell on his face, “Is that the moon?” the question fell out of his mouth so loudly as if forced out by his brain. We all looked towards the dark silhouetted mountains. The red sliver of the rising moon was sparkling over the peaks. “Yes, that’s the moon.” Miles responded slowly. We sat there in a contracted silence. Ten minutes passed. “I have never seen anything like this.” Michael had tears in his eyes, Miles put his arm around him, and we sat there, all slowly sharing the moon we all knew. 

I have many narratives of myself in the wilderness. My history as a mixed person, as colonized and colonizer, my experiences as a child being mesmerized by ants, my time as an educator coming to the understanding that there is no “right” way to be in nature. I have exhausted and am exhausted by the way I have presented my narrative to be part of white institutions, to express a difference yet a similarity that they are comfortable with. 

I can see that moon burned into my eyes, that moon for me is the positive connection that we all deserve. Not just the sunny days in a park, but the part of nature that reminds you that you are nature and that that is a beautiful thing.  He deserved this. There is no number of glossy photos or gear that can make you more or less part of it, it is in your blood, and it belongs to you, and that moon, it was Michael’s.

Go. It Will Be Good For You

por Richard “Flaco” Flores

My mom passed away in 2021. We were very close, and losing her broke me. I went through a tough time: depression, loneliness – I felt I was in a deep hole with no way out. I had thought about doing the Tour du Mont Blanc (TMB) earlier that year – a 10-day hike through the French, Italian, and Swiss Alps – but hadn’t made any plans. I didn’t see how I could now, in the state that I was in. A close friend told me, “Flaco, go! It would be good for you.” Still unsure about it, I decided to do it. Last minute. Self-guided. Solo. Just me, my backpack, and a yearning to explore, a yearning to catch myself. I’m so happy I did.

I didn’t grow up hiking or in the outdoors. I grew up in Los Angeles – a concrete jungle. My family wasn’t particularly into nature, so there were no camping trips or hikes planned, not even to the nearby mountains. Possibly because my family had other things to worry about. The outdoors felt out of reach. It wasn’t until I moved to Portland, Oregon, that I started immersing myself in nature. A friend invited me along on hikes, and little by little, I developed an appreciation for it. But even then, I saw hiking mostly as an activity, a challenge, something to do with friends. I never saw it as healing. Not until the TMB.

On the third day of the hike, crossing into Italy over the Col de la Seigne, something happened that I wasn’t expecting. I reached the top of the climb and stopped. There was a huge valley, mountains on both sides as far as I could see. As I started the descent, taking one step in front of the other, immersing myself in all of it – suddenly, looking at the sprinkle of flowers here and there – deep emotions resurfaced. Feelings I’d been carrying for months.

I stopped. I knelt down. And I let some grief out. This huge, breathtaking valley, and I, grieving in the middle of it. It was one of the most healing experiences of my life. And I was able to continue lighter, brighter for the trail ahead.

Nature doesn’t judge. It doesn’t rush you. It just holds the space and lets you feel what you need to feel. That’s when I understood what my friend meant, that it would be good for me. This is what the trail does: it grounds you. It doesn’t fix anything. But it gives you something to hold on to, to stand on.

I finished the TMB ten days later. I walked back into Chamonix lighter than I’d left. Not because my problems had disappeared, they hadn’t. But because I’d been reminded that I was still capable. Still moving. Still here.

Since then, I’ve hiked the Alta Via 1 in the Italian Dolomites. This summer I’m doing the Walker’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt, fourteen days through the Swiss Alps.

I want to share my story to encourage people to get outdoors and experience nature. Because I want to be for someone else what my friend was for me. The voice that says: “Go. It will be good for you”

Nature always has your back. I’m living proof.

¡Vamos!

Richard “Flaco” Flores is a Latino hiker based in Portland, Oregon. He grew up in Los Angeles with no access to the outdoors and discovered hiking as an adult — and eventually as a lifeline. He documents his hikes on YouTube and Instagram at Andar con el Flaco, creating content for the Latino outdoor community in English and Spanish. This summer he’ll be doing the Walker’s Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt through the Swiss Alps.

Doors to the Outdoors

por Yoriko Richards Carreón

“Girls can be what they can see” is such an important concept. By opening up opportunities for ourselves, we also open doors of possibility for others.

I didn’t grow up with a life outdoors. I started exploring more when I was in college and living near the mountains. I fell in love with the wind, water, and tall pines. What started as once-a-month hikes slowly became weekly adventures. The outdoors healed me during a time when I felt a lot of anxiety and uncertainty in my life.

That love eventually led me to a job supporting outdoor programs. In many ways, that work healed something in me that I didn’t even realize needed attention. During my first week, I attended my very first women of color snowshoe hike.

I was scared and intimidated. What if I can’t keep up? What if they realize I don’t know what I’m doing? What if… and the thoughts kept going. I came into the event already imagining reasons to cancel.

Everything changed once we started walking and talking.

Every woman there was experiencing snowshoeing for the first time too. That immediately made me feel more comfortable with my own fears. If I was going to be scared, I could still do it scared. The staff was knowledgeable, encouraging, and made sure we felt safe and supported.

There was so much joy in watching people experience snowshoeing, or even the outdoors in community, for the first time. So much laughter, learning, and warmth. Watching everyone else shifted my mindset. Trying new things didn’t have to feel so intimidating.

That experience inspired me to keep pushing myself to try new outdoor activities. Now I trail run, backpack, and camp. All things that once felt intimidating are now part of my regular yearly rhythm.

A couple of years ago, I shared this story during a Latina meetup. Right away, people started asking me for tips, places to go, and how to get started outdoors. That was the moment I realized how powerful representation can be. By getting past my own fears and opening doors for myself, I could help make the outdoors feel less intimidating for someone else too.

I always say: you never know who is watching, who is being inspired, or who needed to see someone like them in a space they once felt they didn’t belong in.

Sometimes simply showing up is enough to help someone else believe they can too.

The Future of Public Lands Depends on Us

Por Jazzari Taylor

At Latino Outdoors, our stories connect us to land, community, and responsibility. Recently, our staff member Jazzari Taylor participated in a virtual town hall (Time 37:42) with Representative Jay Obernolte (CD23) and asked a question about staffing at Joshua Tree National Park.

In response, the Congressman stated, “We need to support the people who keep our parks running and protect this incredible asset for our community.” That statement reflects a shared understanding that public lands depend on people.

Across the country, public lands are essential to our communities. They support local economies, sustain small businesses, and hold cultural meaning for Latino, Indigenous, and other communities. Places like Joshua Tree National Park are not just destinations. They are part of our collective experience and identity.

Yet these lands require care, and that care requires investment. Staffing shortages at agencies like the National Park Service (NPS) are already affecting visitor safety, resource protection, and basic operations. Proposed federal cuts and policies that open lands to development or sell-offs put additional pressure on systems that are already stretched thin. Ongoing threats, including weakened resource management plans and efforts to roll back protections for places like Grand Staircase–Escalante National Monument in Utah, show how decisions made in one region are connected to the future of public lands nationwide.

Joshua Tree National Park Rally, 2025

Support for public lands must go beyond statements. It must show up in federal budget decisions, in full agency funding, and in protecting lands from short-term exploitation. Investing in stewardship strengthens local economies and protects the places that communities rely on.

We call on Representative Jay Obernolte to publicly uphold these commitments by cosponsoring H.R. 8523, the Public Lands Workforce Stability Act, to stop the firings and protect the public workers who steward our public lands.

Public lands belong to all of us, and so does the responsibility to speak up. Contact your members of Congress and ask where they stand on funding for public land agencies. Urge them to fully fund staffing and protect public lands from harmful policies and sell-offs.

Know who represents you. Stay engaged. Hold them accountable.

Take action:

  1. Find your Representative and Find your Senator
  2. Email or call their office on the Capitol Switchboard: (202) 224-3121

When you call or write, you can say:

“I’m a constituent [city/ town/ area you live], and I’m calling to ask that you fully fund public land agencies like the National Park Service.”

“Please protect our public lands from budget cuts, staffing shortages, and potential sell-offs.”

“Our communities depend on these lands for jobs, culture, and access to the outdoors. I urge you to take action.” 

At Latino Outdoors, we know that telling our stories is only part of the work. Acting on them and holding our elected officials accountable is how we protect the places that connect us all.

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