Donate

Category: Environmental Stewardship

Community Organizations Building Access to Backcountry

por Victoria Rodríguez

Over ten years ago I embarked on my first backpacking trip to Sykes Hot Springs in Big Sur. I was woefully unprepared for the grueling, 10-mile uphill battle in direct sunlight and what felt like 90-degree heat. I went with a girlfriend of mine, who shared my love of hot-springs, and I came only with a daypack and some bungee-cord, awkwardly securing my sleeping bag.

As unprepared as I was, I fell in love. It was so unlike any camping experience I’d ever had and I immediately knew I’d be back. And I was. I visited Sykes every year until the fires burned down the trail. I also began backpacking at least two to four times a year since then, either solo or with one or two friends; Sykes was an experience that really did open the floodgates for me.

What I had become staunchly aware of back then was the lack of diversity in the backcountry. Living in the Bay Area, I was surrounded by all groups of people – even while camping – but while backpacking two things became apparent: 1) It’s a man’s world and; 2) These men are usually white. Homogeneity is weird to me so I’ve dreamed of a world where these experiences are filled with different people with common goals.

Lost Coast Trail - cascading mountains along the pacific ocean cost

It was a few years ago when I went on a backpacking trip to the Lost Coast in Northern California. My friend Vero and I talked about how we were the only POC’s on the trail, and I’m a white-passing, Spanish-learning Latina. I had a dream a couple of days after this trip where I took a group of Latinx women out to Yosemite for their first backpacking experience and it was this that prompted me to reach out to Latino Outdoors to ask if I could volunteer.

Fast-forward to this past June, and my dream came true. My Program Director set me up with a couple of other LO Volunteers to help lead the outing and I couldn’t have asked for a more capable crew to learn from. This outing took *a lot* of planning, including weekly meetings, outreach, and outside partnerships, but LO had all the resources, we just had to reach out and grab them.

When all our hard work finally came to fruition, I found myself so thankful for everything I was given: incredible leadership partners, sweet + thoughtful + eager participants, and a dream that had become a reality. I’m not really sure how to articulate the emotions that passed through me. They can maybe be explained in moments like when we sat at the top of Mt. Hoffman, lovingly referred to as the Heart of Yosemite. One of our group members spoke of how she never even thought that backpacking could be for her; she never saw herself “in it”. It shocked me how perfectly her story fit in with the conception of this trip and her account brought most of us to tears.

Women swimming in lake at Yosemite campsite

So often members of my community are told they don’t belong in the backcountry, in more ways than one: the advertising that’s only now beginning to showcase diverse people in both ethnicity and sizing (sometimes I wonder…authentically?), the gatekeepers of the outdoors who can be completely uninviting and lack diversity themselves, the outdoor industry and its lack of diversity organizationally, and the sheer disparity of access. It was important for me to have this outing be women & non-binary identifying people-only because women and the queer community have more barriers to the backcountry. These barriers typically revolve around safety and an inequitable feeling of belonging, so I wanted to create a safe, supportive space where no one would feel embarrassed for not knowing something, or not having the “right gear”, and everyone would feel safe in numbers.

Women at trailhead in backpacking gear

I know this was a small group in relation to the whole, but I do feel the more we hold this space the more we are making change. However small that change may be, it was meaningful to this group of women.

Access to gear, transportation, permitting systems, and the like, can be huge barriers for this type of recreation, and we were able to provide all of it. None of our participants had been backpacking before, and they now have the knowledge to pitch a tent, pack their gear, choose which gear to leave home, filter water, and so on. Our trip wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. We had a lot of learnings and areas for improvement, (like a system to organize and track the gear we borrowed, ughhh *face-palm*), but I think it’s radical that we’re even holding this space.

As I look back at our pictures through my lens as a marketer, I think to myself – These are the people that should be flooding our media, and they should have from the start. Working in the outdoor industry for most of my career, it’s my job to highlight these faces and their stories, and I plan to move forward with this intention as much as possible. Special thanks to Latino Outdoors, Yosemite NPS, Fresno BHC, Sandy Hernandez, Veronica Miranda, Araceli Hernandez, and Ruby Rodriguez for making this trip possible. Without you all, I’d be going on my backcountry trips, wishing for change – instead, you gave me the power to take action.

Original blog posted on Linkedin. Victoria was born in Los Angeles, CA, and grew up in both upstate New York and Southern California. Yearly camping trips to Yosemite while living in CA and lake cabins in the summer while in NY, ignited her passion for the outdoors. From there she moved to NorCal to attend San Francisco State University and continued to live in the Bay for over 16 years, while familiarizing herself with the local outdoor activities and cultivating a love for backpacking as the Bay Area is home to numerous backcountry recreation areas.

As a Latino Outdoors volunteer, Victoria aspires to bring more members of Latinx community into the outdoors to share her passion for backpacking and camping, all while educating on best practices for safety and conservation.

De Cacería

por Felix Hernández

I remember my father taking our family on rides down the dirt roads in the southeast part of New Mexico. I can remember hearing the chirps of the quail and the sound of insects as we turned the corners and drove into the desert. There would be an abrupt stop at the end of the trail and we would get out and load our .22 rifles. We were rabbit hunting. This is where my father taught us to respect weapons, this is where he taught us to respect the wildlife and nature. This is where my love for the outdoors began.

By profession, I am a high school teacher and coach. I am also a parent and certified hunter ed instructor in the state of New Mexico. Like many of my peers, I am a second-generation immigrant because I was raised in the U.S., although I was born in Mexico. My background and experiences have given me a different outlook on what it means to be a person of color in the hunting community. My father would always share wonderful stories of him and relatives hunting the mountains of Oaxaca back home. He would tell of the struggles they faced as hunters with limited resources, relating challenges such as navigating through the wilderness without maps, or hunting without optics. Everyone gathers around and listens when my father tells and retells stories.

“My father would always share wonderful stories of him and relatives hunting the mountains of Oaxaca back home. He would tell of the struggles they faced as hunters with limited resources, relating challenges such as navigating through the wilderness without maps, or hunting without optics.”

As I grew up in New Mexico, I slowly realized that we were limited to one hunting area because it was a friend’s private land. We had permission to hunt that area, but I wanted to explore, and my dad didn’t have the knowledge of where and how to access public land. I wanted to see what else nature had to offer. I wanted to be able to hunt game in the forest. I realized that if I wanted to also tell my own stories like my father, I would need to find a way to hunt these public lands like everyone else. I was motivated, I was encouraged, and I had the drive. I took the time to educate myself on the rules and regulations in the state, and before I knew it we were all hunting public land. Of course, this was no overnight task. It has taken me years to learn about different units, weapons, restrictions, game, equipment, weather, terrain, and cooking game.

“I realized that if I wanted to also tell my own stories like my father, I would need to find a way to hunt these public lands like everyone else. I was motivated, I was encouraged, and I had the drive.”

The list continues and the learning continues. I created De Cacería back in 2017 because I felt that Latinos are underrepresented in the hunting community. Every hunt tells a story. I’ve found that no two hunts are the same. They might be similar but they are not the same. “De Cacería” directly translates into, “of hunting”. Everything is a product of that hunt. In your journey, you may experience, frustration, joy, defeat, exhaustion, triumph, success, failure, and the list goes on. All these experiences are a product of hunting. De Cacería was created to help the Latino/Hispanic community find something they can relate to in their own journey. The current study from US Fish and Wildlife shows that 3 percent of hunters are of the Latino/Hispanic descent. We are hoping to create a place where our people may feel more comfortable seeking information and or guidance in their journey. It has taken me some time to figure out all the pieces involved in this sport. If sharing our stories and journey can help motivate individuals to get outdoors, then we will gladly help out the community in every way we can.

Imaginary Borders

por Maritza Oropeza

Like many, my family migrated from Michoacán and Nuevo León, Mexico. My great grandparents, Teodolo and Sanjuanita Pérez met at the migrant camps in Texas while eventually settling in Oceano, CA. My Apa and Ama lived the life of migrant workers following the harvest season and living where the work took them. Like many immigrants before them and after. After many years of hard work and struggle, they finally decided to plant roots in Oceano, California.

Growing up as a third-generation Chicana, my family’s story of migration from Mexico through the states has shown me that borders are imaginary lines that we created for unnecessary struggle.

One thing I take away from their struggle is that my Apa and Ama were the same people they were in Michoacán, Nuevo León, Texas, and Oceano, CA. Borders may exist to divide but family ties are indivisible.

My family migrated in search of better opportunities for their descendants. Just like birds that migrate and follow their natural instincts. Whenever I’m out in the natural world, I always take a moment to appreciate the land my ancestors left for us. Of all the birds, the eagle is the greatest sacred bird among most Native Americans. The meaning of the eagle symbol signifies courage, wisdom, and strength, which is very similar to what my family envisioned when they crossed the border into the United States.