Growing up in California’s San Joaquin Valley, I was more familiar with the sight of dairy cows and almond orchards than I was with that of wild deer or redwood groves. My grandparents settled in the region because of its rich agricultural history and abundant jobs for farm laborers. With Spanish as their first language, they felt most at home in the communities of migrant farm workers that inhabited the Valle Central. While nature was something that they both appreciated, it simply could not be the determining factor in their decision about where to live. First and foremost, they needed consistent employment and community.
Even though they lived hours from any state or national park and had little money, my grandparents did not let that stop them from making their way to the outdoors. They would take advantage of their little free time, pack up my grandfather’s old blue pick-up, and head for the ocean. In San Simeon State Park, they passed countless happy days and nights camping under the Monterey Pines, with the sounds of the ocean as the backdrop for their dreams.
On one such camping trip, my grandparents imparted their love of the outdoors to me. At just four years old, I was their Chispita, the little spark, and I took on each new experience in life with fervor. I remember the first time my grandma let me stay up late to sit around the campfire and watch the stars come out. I sat in quiet awe, knowing even at that young age that I was witness to something magical. I would remember that feeling when, fourteen years later, I had my first encounter with trail running.
I was eighteen years old when I graduated high school and moved for college, trading in my small farm town for a small mountain town northeast of Napa. After weeks of watching girls from my dorm lace up their shoes and head into the woods, I decided to try it. I was naive to the concept of running shoes, and I ran that first mile in an old pair of Nike basketball shoes. The fit wasn’t great, but it didn’t matter; I was lost in a paradise of pine trees, lazy creeks, and vibrant green moss. I gasped for air at the crest of each hill before throwing myself into the descent, leaving my worries behind as I ran. Finding my independence on a forest trail was exciting and significant to me, and from then on I was all in.
In the nearly 18 years since that day, I have continued running, hiking, and backpacking along the trails of California’s coastal mountain ranges. The wilderness remains my refuge and a source of endless joy. The redwoods have seen me through my darkest hours as I struggled with postpartum depression, mourned the deaths of loved ones, and grappled to cope with the isolation of the pandemic. The forest has stayed my trusty friend through all these years, and I know with certainty that I can always turn to her.
On December 31, 2019, I decided to start a run streak, hoping to carve out some much-needed alone time for myself. For the next year, I ran outside every day, rain or shine, while allowing myself to focus on my needs alone, even if it was only for ten minutes at a time. The outcome was better than I could have ever imagined; at the end of the year, I felt stronger, happier, and even more in love with the outdoors than when I first began. I have maintained my run streak to this day and am preparing to complete my fourth year in a matter of weeks. While I enjoy the benefits of good fitness and improved health, my primary reason for continuing is keeping my daily “outside” routine alive.
My hope is that others like me will make their way into the wilderness and feel empowered to try new things. Accessibility and affordability remain a barrier for thousands, and my goals through social media are to share the beauty of nature for those who cannot reach it themselves, to inspire others to get outside and explore their world, and to raise awareness about the importance of maintaining public outdoor spaces for everyone. I have made it my practice to invite family, friends, and colleagues to join me outside for a run or hike in the hope that one day they will do the same for someone else, and together, we can spread the love of the outdoors.
Krista was born and raised in the Central Valley of California. She has lived and worked as a Pediatric Nurse in the San Francisco Bay since graduating from nursing school nearly fifteen years ago. Krista began a Run Streak on December 31st, 2019 and has run every day since; she also enjoys hiking, back packing, and exploring coastal tide pools.
It was almost 50 years ago when I became a sea kayaker. Though I had done some hiking, backpacking, and horse riding in my teens in California, I had not been out on the open water before. So how did I end up in México, on a remote beach, with a cluster of date palm trees and a dozen other young people from 16 years old to late 20s? It’s a fun story.
Flipping through a catalog of courses from the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) back in the winter of 1975, none of the snow-camping courses (brrr!) or rock climbing courses (ugh, heavy packs) piqued my interest. But when I got to the page that had a photo of warm, sunny beaches with snorkeling, kayaking, and sailing offered as a 12-day outdoor learning experience, I signed right up. Back then, it was $350 dollars for the 12-day course, so I flew to San Diego and met a girl who was also going on the trip. The next day, her dad drove us to Tijuana to catch a direct flight to somewhere in Baja. The town we were headed to had a funny name, something about mules, maybe, but I had studied Spanish in junior high, high school, and a couple of college classes. I figured I could probably get along okay. Wrong.
As LouAnne and I flew over Scammon’s lagoon, we could see the shadowy forms of whales below in the enclosed bay…then the almost-empty 40-passenger twin-engine plane landed on a dirt strip in the middle of a cactus-covered desert, and the “airport” was a little palm thatch shed with a couple of taxis hoping for someone to disembark. I was glad we were traveling together as we grabbed our bags and hopped into one of the taxis. Here is where my Spanish language would come in handy. The driver asked, “Adónde van?”. “Al Hotel Serenidad, por favor.” And off we went.
Longer story short, LouAnne, the other dozen students, and I became great friends. Something about the outdoors, camping, minimalist lifestyle, and the camaraderie of living together for a couple of weeks in the wilderness and paddling down the coast with our food and gear tucked into the crannies of a sea-worthy kayak, like a floating backpack, well, it was certainly a turning point. There must have been something in the synchronicity of budding Spanish language skills blended with the amazing teachers we had on our NOLS Baja course, the gorgeous coastline, and the simplicity of living day to day in our environment like the local fishermen and farmers in México. Now, 48 years later, the stars overhead, the swish of the sea, and the trails that lead into the desert are truly a comforting home.
Trudi Angell has been a pioneer of adventure travel in Baja California Sur, México since 1983. Leaving a wake of 30 years of sea kayaking, plus exploring the peninsula on mules to ranches and rock art sites. She has ridden mules through Baja from top to bottom, twice, and is planning another 1000-mile mule-pack trip for 2024. She is celebrating 20 years of having dual citizenship. She produced a documentary about mule riding on El Camino Real in Baja, and her Spanish is now really good!
I remember one night watching a team of men climb a snow capped mountain. As grueling as it looked, it ignited something inside me, and with excitement and hope, I told my dad I would do that one day. His response was less than desirable, “You can’t do things like that plus how would you get there?” Doubt masked with sarcasm is something I grew up with but it didn’t stop me from dreaming.
My family and others in my community have historically been told what we can and cannot do because of the color of our skin, the language we speak, our socio-economic status, where we live, and where we have come from. Opportunities to connect to nature have been vital in rebuilding self-confidence, self-reliance, mental and physical well-being, and pushing myself to know what I am capable of and, in turn, what my community is capable of.
Wild Curly Haired Kid
I was the wild curly hair kid who only looked forward to waking up and climbing my tree, playing in the mud, and riding my bike until the street lights came on. When your option was either to stay inside and clean or go outside and play, the decision felt like a no brainer. When I wasn’t outside imagining being in a jungle or on a tall mountain I was watching explorers on Nova with my dad.
I grew up in New Mexico and Southern California, surrounded by mountains, rivers, the ocean and rich culture. Southern California tended to lend itself to warm summer days where we would visit my abuelos house. When we entered the gate my nose was immediately filled with the fragrant sweet smell of pink and red roses in the front yard and we were welcomed by fresh avocados, lemons, and oranges in the backyard. My grandfather worked as a lechero, a milker, on a cow farm. He loved agriculture and shared his passion with his children and grandchildren.
“I loved playing in the dirt, making mud pies, and gardening with my dad. It was always amazing to witness a tiny seed grow and be cooked by my mom into a delicious meal.”
Moving from California–which is gorgeous but often overcast from smog–to New Mexico, a wide open space with clear beautiful mountains and bright stars, was a game changer. We even moved into a house with a backyard. I loved playing in the dirt, making mud pies, and gardening with my dad. It was always amazing to witness a tiny seed grow and be cooked by my mom into a delicious meal. My favorite was calabacitas with onion, tomato, and a little bit of cheese sprinkled on top. More precious than the food, was the time we spent gardening.
Time in the garden almost softened my dad and allowed him to speak freely about his complicated past. In doing so, he’d try to educate me about the hate in this world. Like many other Chicanos of his generation, he was punished for speaking Spanish throughout his education. He would often talk about his family and growing up. Despite not having much, my abuelo would still make time to take him and his siblings outdoors. My dad knew this tradition needed to continue, and for that, I will always be thankful. Sometimes we would be in the garden so long the stars would come out.
When we went camping, it wasn’t fancy. Our gear mostly consisted of the pots and pans we had in the kitchen and the comforters straight from our beds. I would spend hours exploring and chasing after the lizards and toads scampering around the desert floor. When it was time to hike, we put on our chanclas or tennis shoes from Kmart; they got us there just fine.
I was very fortunate to grow up in a state that lends itself to the outdoors, but I only became aware of this when I was much older. As time passed, our camping trips became less frequent. I remember people saying there was never anything to do in our state. Suggestions of what to do would vary but were rarely positive. We were surrounded by nature and beauty but were only aware of the glimpses our parents showed us growing up. It was easy to be sucked into negative feelings about where we lived, and oftentimes, it led to negative choices like doing drugs or drinking to entertain ourselves.
One summer, I recall my sister got into a little bit of trouble and was put in a detention center. She was one of the “lucky” youth to be given a rehabilitation rafting trip. Although I agree the outdoors is therapeutic and can change mindsets, I had to ask, why did she have to get in trouble to be introduced to such an amazing outdoor experience? Why were activities like this only reserved for people who could afford them unless court ordered? Her experience initially built a sense of anger and disgust, which then turned into passion. I knew I needed to be more involved in reshaping the outdoors for my community.
The LO Life
One day, scrolling through IG posts, I saw our wedding photographers’ repost of Latino Outdoors (thanks, Ashley)! I was immediately interested. In 2019, LO did not have a program coordinator in the region, and the wonderful Ruby, LO’s Director of Programs and Operations, asked if I would be interested. Honestly, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Since volunteering for LO, I have been extended incredible opportunities like becoming an Environmental Education of New Mexico Fellow, trusted to assist with Outdoor FUTURE Initiative, sitting on the board for Mana de Albuquerque, traveling and meeting other dedicated volunteers from across the country, being Wilderness First Aid trained, and most importantly, hosting purposeful outings for our New Mexico youth. As a bonus, I got to try many outdoor activities for the first time. There were times I was nervous because I did not know everything (who does), but these experiences have helped me slow down, respect the learning process, and reframe my appreciation for the outdoors.
Full Circle
This past year in October 2022, I was asked to hike with a group of indigenous women to Sagarmatha, Mt Everest Base Camp . My son was only one at the time and my daughter was three. I had not been “keeping” up with my cardio for a trip like this.
I had every excuse in the book not to go, but my husband, who always has my back, said, “when will you ever get an opportunity like this again? Go, I will watch the kids. They will be fine. You have to do this!”
Childhood memories flooded my brain, watching those men climb mountain peaks and now knowing I could be doing the same. So I went.
Initially, this trip meant being able to prove to myself that I could do it, but it turned into so much more. Letters from family and friends expressed how much this trip meant to them. I would be the first person in their circle to hike Everest Base Camp! For some, I would be the first person to travel that far or even fly in a plane. Was it scary or hard to leave my family? The short answer is yes, but I knew I had to go.
By going, I knew it would build excitement about traveling for my students. Every day I was asked a new question about Nepal. By going, I felt like I would open a door for women of color, like myself, who are also moms and who might have difficulty navigating the home-work-self-care balance. We don’t have to stop doing the things we love, the things that excite us, or make us who we are. The hike was for my sister who passed away, to promote more options to help people struggling with mental health issues. She would have been the first and last person in my DM’s asking me about the food, the views, and what I was going to bring her back.
“We were all invited from different places and different circles, but we were there for each other.”
The hike itself was remarkable. The empowering women I hiked with came from Arizona, Canada, Colorado, Alaska, and New Mexico, with incredible stories of their own. Each morning we would start with a sage circle and say a personal prayer, and each night my roommate Gabaccia and I would giggle deliriously until we fell asleep. Every day we were given a word to reflect on, and we would share our thoughts each night. There was laughter and oftentimes tears.
On one particular day I remember hiking and feeling the urge to cry. It was like my body had been bottling years of emotions that needed to be released. Initially, I almost felt a sense of shame, but there was no judgment, just hugs and understanding. We were all invited from different places and different circles, but we were there for each other. The seafoam colored river, the views, Dal Bhat Power 24 hours, the piercing wind blowing sand in our faces is something I will always remember, but the lesson learned on the mountain from our guides and each other is something I will always take with me.
The why
Some of my best memories are seeing students and my children smiling from ear to ear, taking in nature, and asking hundreds of questions about the world around them. The benefits of the outdoors have been proven time after time. I will continue to fight and advocate for these safe outdoors spaces. Where our youth and their families can learn and explore. Where our own stories and traditions from our ancestors will continue to be passed down. A space where we all belong, our comunidad.
Laura Flores (she/her) is Chicana with roots in California and New Mexico. She has been an elementary educator for over 12 years. Her desire to share safe, fun, and accessible opportunities is deeply rooted in her community. As the Program Coordinator, she believes by providing outdoor connections to the youth of New Mexico she is creating a love for her state, deeper awareness for local and global conservation, and joyful experiences which will continue for generations.
