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.

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.

Resources

Me enamoré dos veces

Por Florángel Quintana

Tenía 19 años cuando subí por primera vez a ese cerro que contiene todo el amor de quienes nacimos en Caracas.


Me llevó mi novio y todo era verde, espléndido, feliz. Todo lo que sucedía mientras ascendíamos era perfecto, a pesar de la ruta empinadísima, el terreno irregular y las vueltas sucesivas que serpenteaban la vista de la ciudad empequeñeciéndose.

Casi dos horas para llegar a una explanada que me mostró que el amor sí sucede a primera vista. El viento y sus susurros, los trinos curiosos de los pajaritos y esa llenura de vida que se me metía en el cuerpo a partir de mis ojos serenos. Allí sentí que algo me estaba sucediendo desde adentro. Lo que veía y sentía eran una misma cosa, imprecisa, indescriptible, como la constatación de estar enamorada.

Hoy a mis 60 permanezco junto a mi amor de 62, y seguimos transitando la madre naturaleza desde otras latitudes. El amor por la tierra y sus bellezas diversas solo ha crecido y sigue en expansión.

Florángel Quintana es escritora, licenciada en Letras (Ucab), docente de literatura y Mentora en Escritura Transformadora con más de 20 años de experiencia en el manejo de la expresión escrita con propósito. Autora de 4 libros.

Still Showing Up

Por Raúl Antonio Figueroa

I grew up far from snow.

I’m Mexican. My relationship with winter started late, awkwardly, and without any guarantees that it would make sense. Where I’m from, endurance sports look different. Cold is something you escape, not something you train inside. And biathlon, skiing hard and then trying to shoot accurately while your heart is trying to leave your chest, wasn’t exactly a common career path.

I found the sport almost by accident. What kept me wasn’t talent or early success, but curiosity and stubbornness. I liked how biathlon demanded two opposite things at the same time: intensity and calm. You can be strong and fast, but if your mind is loud, the targets won’t fall.

When Mexico officially joined the International Biathlon Union, it felt historic and fragile at the same time. We were stepping into a world that had decades of tradition, infrastructure, and expectations, none of which were built with us in mind. The first season was rough. We struggled. We learned quickly how unforgiving international sport can be. At one point, we were even sidelined for the rest of the season.

HOCHFILZEN, AUSTRIA – JANUARY 17: Raul Antonio Figueroa of Mexico in action during the Sprint at the FESA Alpencup Biathlon Hochfilzen on January 17, 2026 in Hochfilzen, Austria. (Photo by Benedikt Foidl/VOIGT)

That could have been the end of the story.

Instead, it became the beginning of a different relationship with sport. One built less on results and more on persistence. We came back. Quietly. Without guarantees. Just showing up again and again in places that didn’t quite look like home, but slowly started to feel familiar.

Living and training in the Alps as a Mexican has shaped the way I see performance. I’m always aware that I’m an outsider, and I’ve learned to see that as an advantage. When you don’t fit the mold, you stop trying to impress it. You focus on what actually matters: learning, adapting, staying curious, staying calm under pressure.

That mindset has followed me beyond racing. I’m an engineer and a digital lawyer by training, and a coach by practice. Different worlds, same lesson: clarity matters most when conditions are messy. Whether it’s snow, stress, or uncertainty, the work is the same, reduce noise, focus on the next action, keep moving.

Racing internationally has taken me to places I never imagined. Now, coming to race in the United States, and connecting with Latino Outdoors, feels especially meaningful. It’s a reminder that our stories don’t have to follow straight lines to belong somewhere. Representation doesn’t always look polished or predictable. Sometimes it looks like learning in public, failing, adjusting, and staying anyway.

Outdoor spaces, like high-performance environments, can feel intimidating if you don’t see yourself reflected in them. But they don’t belong to one culture, one passport, or one background. They belong to anyone willing to step into them with respect and patience.

I don’t race to prove that Mexicans belong in winter sports. I race because I enjoy the process of learning how to stay calm when things get hard. If that makes space for someone else to imagine themselves outdoors, in the cold, or in a place they didn’t think was “for them,” then that’s a victory that doesn’t show up on a results sheet.

Some journeys take the long way.
I’m still on mine.

Raúl is a Mexican biathlete, coach, engineer, and digital lawyer living and training in the Austrian Alps. He competes internationally with the Mexico Biathlon Team and works at the intersection of endurance sport, mental performance, and high-pressure decision-making. His work explores clarity, resilience, and learning through sport and outdoor experiences.