Por Gianna Haro Vallazza
Most of my memories feel like a dream, shaped by flawless white sand beaches edged with black lava rock, turquoise waters stretching endlessly into the horizon, and a landscape alive with endemic plants and animals. Much of it happened barefoot, in a place many consider the world’s most ideal natural laboratory. For me, it was simply home.
I grew up on Santa Cruz Island in the Galápagos Archipelago. The Galápagos is world renowned for its role in shaping Darwin’s theory of evolution, but as a child, I did not think about scientific legacy. I thought about wonder. I played with wildflowers, hunted lizards, shared my ice cream with sea lions, and chased iguanas along dusty paths. I collected insects in jars, inventing names for them and carefully cataloging them in a makeshift basement inventory. I spent nearly every day at the beach, snorkeling in crystal clear water and investigating what lived beneath the surface. I brought home hermit crabs and pencil sea urchins, not to keep, but to observe, study, and better understand.
Without realizing it, I was practicing science. More importantly, I was forming a deep, intuitive relationship with the outdoors, one rooted in curiosity, respect, and daily interaction rather than formal recreation. The outdoors was not something I visited. It was something I belonged to.
Becoming a Biologist and Learning About Barriers
As I grew older, observation became second nature, and with time came clarity. I wanted to be a biologist. My first internship took place at the Charles Darwin Foundation, where I worked as an assistant on the Galápagos green turtle monitoring program. I spent days on Isabela Island observing nesting behavior and watching these ancient animals haul themselves across the sand to ensure the survival of their species.
It was there that I saw myself reflected in the turtles’ journey. Baby sea turtles face overwhelming odds, predators, distance, and harsh conditions, just to reach the ocean. Even after that, they navigate powerful currents to someday return to the same stretch of beach where they were born. I understood then that my own path would require navigating obstacles as well. Access to higher education, moving away from home, and navigating academic systems not designed with people like me in mind were real barriers, even if they were not always visible.
Still, that internship solidified my purpose. I knew I wanted to work in research, conservation, and eventually return to island and coastal communities like the one that raised me. To do that, I had to leave home and expand my world through education. This is why I personally funded my Biology degree at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and my Environmental Management degree at Cornell University, through a lot of hard work, multiple jobs, and the support of many generous angels along the way.
Working as a biologist in the Galapagos Islands! Showing a dolphin skull.
Redefining Outdoor Engagement
Today, outdoor engagement means something broader to me than traditional recreation narratives often suggest. It is not just about summiting peaks or logging miles. It is about listening, observing, contributing, and caring. It is about community science, stewardship, and making conservation accessible to people who already have deep relationships with place, even if they do not label them as outdoorsy.
That belief is what drew me to Adventure Scientists, and specifically to the Searching for Killer Whales project.
Southern Resident killer whales are critically endangered, with only about 74 individuals remaining. While much attention is paid to their presence in Washington waters, far less is known about their movements along the Oregon coast. This project invites coastal hikers, surfers, kayakers, sailors, and ocean explorers to collect observation data during activities they are already doing, whether or not whales are seen.
That detail matters. It reframes science as something people can participate in, not just observe from a distance.
In partnership with Oregon Shores, the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, and NOAA, volunteers complete a short training, use a simple survey app, and record environmental and observational data from shore or water. Importantly, the training, protocols, and survey app are fully translated into Spanish, an intentional choice I advocated for as a Latina to ensure that more people could access and participate in this work in their primary language. The result is valuable information that supports research and conservation, powered by community members.
My Role and Why Representation Matters
In my role at Adventure Scientists, I support the project management team by leading cross functional planning, coordinating collaboration among diverse stakeholders, and translating complex ideas into actionable, community centered solutions. My background in biology, environmental management, GIS, and bioacoustics allows me to bridge science with lived experience.
But just as important as my technical background is where I come from.
As a Latina conservationist from the Galápagos, I know how powerful it is to see yourself reflected in conservation spaces. Representation matters not just for inspiration, but for effectiveness. When diverse communities are welcomed into environmental work, the solutions become more inclusive, resilient, and grounded in real relationships with land and water.
For many communities, barriers to outdoor engagement are not about interest. They are about access, language, time, safety, and whether spaces feel welcoming. Community science projects like Searching for Killer Whales help lower those barriers by meeting people where they are and honoring the ways they already connect with nature.
Guiding in Alaska, the only Latina in the crew.
An Outdoors for All of Us
My journey, from chasing iguanas in the Galápagos to supporting killer whale conservation along the Oregon coast, has taught me that the outdoors is not a luxury. It is a shared responsibility and a shared inheritance.
When we expand the definition of outdoor engagement, we make room for more stories, more voices, and more solutions. We build an outdoors that reflects the diversity of the people who depend on it and care for it.
The ocean raised me. Science gave me a language to protect it. Community centered conservation gives me hope that we can do this work together, equitably, inclusively, and with joy.
