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Category: Representation Matters

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.

From Seafood Markets To Science

por Melissa Belen-González

My path to where I am now, seemed unreachable from the start. Although I always had an interest in marine biology growing up, my parents continued to discourage this interest as marine biology-based careers don’t make very much money. I attended community college and transferred to my local university due to financial reasons, but continued to pursue marine biology. There was nobody in our entire family who ever pursued a career in any science or research, and my parents lacked the knowledge of higher education to support my interests. I think the first time they realized there was some hope began when I was able to participate in paid internships through the National Science Foundation. I left home for the first time to gain hands-on experience in marine biology on the East Coast. Through this experience, I learned I didn’t want to be in a lab every day, but that I wanted to be outside doing science.

I soon became molded by marine ecology where I was able to connect with the outdoors. Through my undergraduate lab and a change in research interests, I was crawling through the mud of salt marshes. Salt marshes were a type of ecosystem I grew up seeing from the freeway that framed the sun as it set over the ocean, I never knew there was science to be done in them. The remainder of my undergraduate research focused on how predators and prey species interact within the salt marsh. Just like the crabs I used to play with at the seafood markets or help my family boil, the predator I studied was also an aggressive crab. This specific crab, Callinectes bellicosus, although not valued by locals, is an important commercial fishery species in Mexico. It was refreshing to study an animal connected to my culture and one that fellow Mexicans would laugh about when sharing how they had been pinched by the same crab. The site I used to collect or sample crabs had a popular bike trail, which made collecting problematic at times. White American bicyclists would stop and stare, some gave me dirty looks, and other times I’d get anxious that they would call the police on me after prolonged quiet stares. Despite potential setbacks, being in the field makes me happy.

As part of the Society for the Advancement of Chicanx/Hispanics and Native Americans in Science (SACNAS), I was able to bring what I had learned back into my community. With fellow Latine young scientists, we organized outreach events at our local low-income K-12 schools. We also hosted workshops for our university’s Movimiento Estudiantil Chicano de Aztlán and Association of Chicana Activists annual conferences.

“Field work has helped me cope with these difficult times. Being out alone in the middle of an empty forest or salt marsh is where I have been able to reflect.”

Melissa Belen-GonzÁlez

After I graduated from San Diego State University, I moved out to Savannah, Georgia for a year-long fellowship. With the majority of salt marshes removed in California, it can make work difficult to find. Despite the small size of Georgia’s coast, about one-third of all salt marshes on the East Coast are IN Georgia! I teach coastal ecology related classes or labs virtually, indoors, and outdoors. I also had a project that involved making my own traps from re-used materials and walking out in the middle of an empty forest to put the traps in a wetland. However, leaving home was also a difficult decision because in the field of marine ecology I’m often one of the few, if not the only, BIPOC. The lack of overall representation means that even when given the opportunity, BIPOC still struggle. Being on the opposite side of the coast, I also worry about my Abuelita’s Alzheimer’s disease and diabetes.

Field work has helped me cope with these difficult times. Being out alone in the middle of an empty forest or salt marsh is where I have been able to reflect. The beauty of the outdoors is relaxing and something I hope more of our community can have the opportunity to enjoy. Through Latino Outdoors, SACNAS, Latinx in Marine Science, Minorities in Shark Science, and other organizations I hope the future generation is starting to see themselves represented.

I’m the product of Filipino-Mexican first-generation parents. I was born and raised on Kumeyaay Land, specifically San Ysidro and Valencia Park. I faced a childhood of colorism and wasn’t allowed to play outside or enjoy the outdoors. My first introduction to the ocean came from my Abuelita and Lola (Filipino grandma), both who brought me shopping in seafood markets. Ultimately it was the comida of our cultura that gave me the passion to pursue marine ecology and connect with the outdoors.