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. 

This Salvadoran-American Woman Rock Climbs to Combat Parkinson’s

por Clare Bennett

When my mom Teresa was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, rock climbing wasn’t on her radar as a potential intervention. She’d been dealing with mysterious symptoms for nearly a decade at that point — tremors, a stiff left hand, migraines, a dragging left foot. The Parkinson’s diagnosis hit hard. But Teresa doesn’t give up. When her doctor’s office shared a podcast episode about rock climbing for people with Parkinson’s, it planted a seed.

Rock climbing? For someone whose hands shake and who struggles with balance? The more we learned, the more rock climbing made sense for someone living with Parkinson’s. Using harnesses and rope systems keep climbers safe. The problem-solving on each route, big movements, and strength-building could help slow the progression of Parkinson’s symptoms. For Mother’s Day 2021, we gave Teresa some climbing lessons at local climbing gym SportRock with instructor Molly Donelan-Cupka.

Molly had been running a regular climbing meetup for people with Parkinson’s for years. Teresa’s first lesson started on a short, 25-foot wall, and her nerves were high. But by the end of that session, she was tackling a 40-foot wall. She was hooked. The improvements started to shine through fairly immediately. Teresa’s left hand, once stuck in a cupped position, relaxed and got stronger. Her tremors became less noticeable. No more dragging her left foot — she’s walking with confident, big steps again. Teresa’s doctor had been planning to increase her medication, but after seeing how much better her symptoms were from climbing, he decided to wait.

“Before rock climbing, I used to be very scared about my future with Parkinson’s, and now I don’t think about it as much,” Teresa said. “As long as I can rock climb, I will be fine.”

Teresa’s experience is not only inspiring, it’s evidence of how beneficial movement can be in combating disease. “Before rock climbing, I used to be very scared about my future with Parkinson’s, and now I don’t think about it as much,” Teresa said. “As long as I can rock climb, I will be fine.” Teresa joined Molly’s group of climbers with Parkinson’s who meet multiple times a week. Some are in their 80s, some are new parents in their 40s. Some use wheelchairs. All are determined climbers who’ve become a wonderful community. And when Teresa competed in USA Climbing’s Para Climbing Nationals, they were there cheering her on.

The climbing community Teresa found goes beyond recreation. They’re proving that adaptive sports can be challenging, competitive, and transformative. Molly has since formalized the group into a nonprofit called Up Ending Parkinsons, providing climbing for people with Parkinson’s across the country. They even climb outdoors! Four years later, Teresa continues to climb multiple times a week. She’s added swimming and Pilates as cross-training.

This story raises something important about who gets to recreate outdoors. Often, when people think about rock climbing, they picture young people who certainly don’t have Parkinson’s symptoms. But the outdoors are for everyone. Helping people to get moving and get outside can bring healing, community, and adventure — even if it looks different than what’s more commonly portrayed in popular media. When we make outdoor spaces more welcoming, we discover more possibilities for entire communities.