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!
Once upon a park in the Texas Hill Country. The year was 1987; the location was Garner State Park. The cast of characters was a best friend of mine who was a summer regular with her family at this park and me, with no camping or hiking experience, nada. The only parks I knew of were the city parks and a small local lake or two. I loved adventure and a good road trip. So, when my friend suggested we camp out for the weekend at Garner, I was quick to say YES! She was the first friend to suggest hiking and camping to me. She said her family went every year. That was good enough for a 20-year-old me … vamos afuera. A quick reminder, there was no social media, no Facebook/Instagram/Twitter y menos, el Tik-Tok in the 80’s.
Growing up, I never heard any mention of careers that involved parks. The few magazines, TV shows, or movies I watched or read that involved camping or hiking never had anybody that represented my culture or community. So, I was intrigued by this adventure in nature. What a cool opportunity, I thought. I even remember feeling a sense of empowerment. If I survived this weekend under the stars, then maybe I was stronger than I thought. My friend said the park had no wildlife we had to worry about, (como osos) and that was good enough for me. Little did I know then that this trip would connect me to nature in the most beautiful way. “The star at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of Texas.” These lyrics from a country song I heard growing up, now really meant something to me. My perspective of nature took a whole new meaning.
“Camping and hiking sounded so foreign, yet the connection to La Madre Tierra was even closer than I ever imagined. It wasn’t until that camping trip to Garner that I saw nature in a whole different way.”
I was born and raised in San Antonio. The schools I attended and the community I grew up in were primarily Latino. I never thought I was missing anything growing up. I had a beautiful family, tons of cousins, great friends, and what I felt was a good education. My dad took me to Disneyland Park every summer, and I had a Sweet Sixteen. One set of grandparents had chickens, ducks, roosters, and a horse my dad bought me because he said I asked for one and that it was a good deal, haha. The other set of grandparents had beautiful roses and banana trees in front of their casita and the back was full of cilantro, tomatoes, chili pequin, y cebolla. My mom was the oldest of thirteen and my dad the second to youngest of seven, and here I was, their only child. I never quite felt alone because I had so many cousins close to my age. My parents met in Middle School and married right out of high school. My dad was a migrant worker from the ages of eight to fifteen. The family would travel to Indiana and then Michigan every year “al Norte.”
His love of fruits, vegetables, travel, and the outdoors was a huge part of his youth. The road trips to Disneyland in California were his idea of taking me to a park. My youth was spent outside playing with my friends y familia. My parents divorced by the time I was 5. My mom moved to an apartment complex, and that is where we lived till I started high school. I learned how to roller-skate, ride my bike, and practice cheerleading and dance routines. I met my best friend there, and we are still in touch to this day. My relationship with my Dad stayed strong, and I love my mom dearly for not letting what didn’t work out for them affect my relationship with my dad.
Pictures of Josie during the past ten years.
My first steps were afuera in my abuelitas yard. We celebrated birthday parties, graduations, anniversaries, and even Easter at the local city parks. I learned to speak Spanish, and my culture was celebrated all around me in the food I ate, the music I listened to, and the travels to Mexico, where my grandparents still had family. Camping and hiking sounded so foreign, yet the connection to La Madre Tierra was even closer than I ever imagined. It wasn’t until that camping trip to Garner that I saw nature in a whole different way. It was a combination of my youth and the possibility for my future that left me speechless in the wild. Standing in the middle of the clearest river, surrounded by hills, listening to the birds sing as they flew from one magical cypress tree to another. The sun was shining, and I stood there and listened. This space made me feel vulnerable, happy, strong, silly, naïve, independent, fearless and so much more. My soul stirred, and it was at that exact moment I knew I would be back.
I did return to that park for many years as a friend, mom, daughter, sister, aunt, and grandmother, and in the last seven years, as the Program Coordinator for Latino Outdoors. I wanted everyone I cared about to feel what I felt in nature and to create their own adventures, make beautiful memories and feel the sense of empowerment I felt. I knew they would never forget how they felt. I just had to get them there, afuera.
Josie with the Latino Outdoors flag.
That first park was just the beginning. I learned more about a Texas state agency, The Texas Parks & Wildlife Department (TPWD). In addition to protecting wildlife and their habitats, their mission is to manage and conserve the natural and cultural resources of Texas and to provide hunting, fishing, and outdoor recreating opportunities for the use of enjoyment of present and future generations. The Texas Parks are celebrating 100 years of Texas State Parks in 2023.
I learned about these parks in 1987. But once I did, I shared this with anyone who would listen. It wasn’t as easy back then; there was no YouTube to show you how to put your tent up, much less Eventbrite to sign up for a how-to class.
“Then one day, I got a message on Twitter asking me if I would like to be an Ambassador for Latino Outdoors in San Antonio. It was a quick YES! There was no way I wasn’t going to be a part of this journey.”
It wasn’t until my girls were young adults that I was blessed with a sweet granddaughter. I had more time to explore and wanted to take her to the parks her mom had enjoyed as a child. The year was 2015, and my granddaughter was four. I was researching the outdoors on social media and discovered Latino Outdoors on Instagram. I saw myself in the images they shared. I noticed they had plenty of beautiful outdoor images of Latinos hiking, camping, backpacking, swimming, fishing y mas. I also noticed none of these images were tagged in Texas. I wanted to be a part of this new community. So, I tagged them every chance I got with outdoor Texas images. Then one day, I got a message on Twitter asking me if I would like to be an Ambassador for Latino Outdoors in San Antonio. It was a quick YES! There was no way I wasn’t going to be a part of this journey.
Latino Outdoors was still in its early stages as an organization in 2015. We had no monthly budget for outings, and at the very beginning, I became very resourceful. I introduced myself to anyone in charge of the outdoor spaces I wanted to visit and learn more about, not just for myself but for possible future outings with the Latino Outdoors-San Antonio Chapter. I tabled at any outdoor event possible, joined in on the ones that were exploring, and was consistent on the new Facebook and Instagram pages I created. No one knew about Latino Outdoors. The organization had just a handful of chapters in California. They had no clue about the outdoors in Texas. This would be my chapter to create, nurture and grow. My daughters were now young adults, and that left me more time to explore. I wasted no time. Just like I made sure my daughters went camping, hiking, and tubing down the Frio River, as part of their youth, I now had a sweet four-year-old granddaughter that I could take along on this Latino Outdoors journey. This year she will be a teenager, and I am so proud of her. She has been a huge part of the San Antonio Chapter and, most recently, even helped me with a LO presentation for the Texas Parks and Wildlife; not kidding. May her love for nature nurture her soul always.
The first few outings were with family, friends, and co-workers. I made sure to take images of these beautiful spaces and share what we saw and learned from our outings. I knew from the beginning that this chapter was going to grow. I just had to make our foundation strong and sprinkle it con amor, authenticity, adventure, and respect for all the places we visited. People often ask me if I have had any negative outdoor experiences with our groups. The answer is no. I never just show up, and I always make sure I contact the parks we will be exploring. I want to share these spaces that belong to us all with my Latino community. I want to ensure that our voices are being heard and that our history y cultura are valued and represented. I want to hear kids say, “When I grow up, I want to be a Park Ranger, Wildlife Biologist, National Park Service Director, the United States Secretary of the Interior.”
I was not getting paid to be an ambassador con Latino Outdoors, but I knew how important the platform I was given a voice and space to shine would be. I am so proud of the last seven-plus years con LO. Our foundation is respect and kindness for each other to create meaningful and lasting relationships that go beyond the outdoors. Juntos, we bring out the best in each other. This is how we learn and grow.
Obstacles will come and go, but I always say to listen to the universe and make sure to have a plan A, B, and C. Always have snacks, hydration, your first aid kit, and great company to laugh with when things don’t go as planned.
“I want to hear kids say, “when I grow up, I want to be a Park Ranger, Wildlife Biologist, National Park Service Director, or the United States Secretary of the Interior.”
Seven years ago, I took a chance on me and in the process, I have become more curious, stronger, daring, bold, gutsy, confident, and so proud and vulnerable to be a Latina Outside. In keeping our cultura alive I want us to fearlessly embrace our individuality as we protect and take space on the land we love and protect.
I am so proud of the Texas Chapter and what our Leaders, volunteers, and community have helped create. We somehow all found each other and continue to authentically grow. We are familia celebrating each other, our gente, our tradiciones, y la Madre Tierra.
I have learned to kayak, backpack, not shower for four days, lol (but seriously), make fire, pitch my own tent, sleep in cold weather, travel to National Parks I only dreamed of, and even visit the White House on this journey con Latino Outdoors. I hold space on councils with Texas Parks and Wildlife and National Parks Conservation Association. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this. I just wanted to share my love for the outdoors, one park at a time. I realize now that this was just the beginning of the work that still needs to be done. I know that in my lifetime, I won’t fix every issue in conservation and solve every inequity in representation and beyond. But I do promise to do what I can as I continue to learn and grow with my newest role as “Regional Coordinator for San Antonio, Texas.”
I am not a complainer; I am a doer. I believe in myself, my family, and my community. There is a need for the connection we seek as we are validated and included in these open spaces. It all starts with you. Take a chance and change is ok at any pace.
Sowing Inspiration, Relationships, Compassion, and Healing.
por Cassandra Castillo
September 3, 2020. It is the final morning of a 4-day backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail. I sit quietly amongst the geologic magnificence of the Grand Tetons on a strip of sand along a creek with five other women from my Teton Science School (TSS) grad cohort. I’m taking in the landscape, frigid air, soreness of my body, emotional exhaustion, and attempting to shift my concentration to focus on the activity at hand: formulate a letter to myself. A letter which will be sealed and returned at the commencement of our graduate program nine months later.
The letter that Cassie wrote to herself during her backpacking trip.
It is our third week together after the 2020-21 TSS grad cohort cleared the quarantine time to venture out on a backpacking trip, maskless and emotionally vulnerable. My group began on the southern end of Grand Teton National Park. Within hours of leaving the trailhead, I started to unravel. As our group traversed the steep rocky section of the trail, the wind picked up, and clouds swiftly moved in. It is a far cry from the desert and coastal southern California landscapes I had lived in for forty-two years. I found it almost impossible to catch my breath. The weight of my pack felt unbearable. Other women in the group graciously removed items from my pack, increasing the weight of their own.
My hands became so cold and my mental and physical ability to acclimate increased my disappointment and frustration. I felt miserable and we were not even halfway through our trek for that day. I wiped my tears away and approached my cohort for advice. Dear sweet Lucy offered solace and a moment of sisterly care. I immediately felt the deep rumblings of my vulnerability, the confirmation of being the weakest link, exposed to folks who were mostly still strangers. Pools swelled at the bottom of my eyes,I looked away, but Lucy’s eyes pulled me back, offering yet more of her comforting, “I got you” energy. I sensed the others respectfully turning away, offering us privacy.
“It is a far cry from the desert and coastal southern California landscapes I had lived in for forty-two years. I found it almost impossible to catch my breath. The weight of my pack felt unbearable.”
Cassandra Castillo
Back home, I am known as Mama Cass-a leader, a mother, an organizer, and a provider to my community. On that mountain, I was dependent on everyone else. Trusting and relying on a group of predominantly white folks, who seemed to be genuinely caring and kind, not only challenged my cognitive dissonance, it was a practice of humility and it would come to define my experience living at TSS.
February 21, 2023. Said letter has traveled back and forth between Wyoming and California several times since it was returned to me in June of 2021, and I am only just opening it. It took several minutes for me to gather the motivation to read its contents. In the letter, I search for inspiration to overcome the anxiety of writing a blog as part of Latino Outdoor’s (LO) 10-year anniversary celebrations. The theme is Then and Now and highlights our growth over the last ten years. I feel deeply honored for the opportunity to continue to share my story and gratitude for LO.
My journey over the past decade has been one of healing, growth, surrendering old habits and thoughts, and actualizing new goals and visions. I took a leap and left a 15-year career with a public broadcasting station in San Diego to develop a passion and learn to trust my voice and contribute to redefining the Brown narratives in the outdoors. My participation with Latino Outdoors has influenced and encouraged honing my voice. Experiences gained with LO gave me the courage to apply to TSS. Yet, I was taking a risk, and it was scary. I was an older non-traditional student, a Chicana without a science-based background, in a program where a majority of people held environmental science education training and thrived embracing the great American outdoor culture. I had a serious case of imposter syndrome which would lead me to spend a good portion of my time at TSS navigating between authenticity, belonging, self-preservation, and acknowledging that I was meaningfully contributing to our group’s educational experience. Compassion, empathy, and surrendering to vulnerability soared to new heights during my time at TSS, as my cohort and I went through the scary and messy process of sharing and exchanging intimacies, verbalizing our discomforts and needs. Taking the initiative to become part of a new community expanded my capacity to merge with new ideas, collaborators, create new friendships, and appreciate the very different lived experiences held by us all.
Grand Teton National Park trail map.
“My work with LO, the San Diego community, close-knit compas, and circle of activistas has defined how I approach outdoor education and engage with others in the outdoors.”
Cassandra Castillo
“Dear Cassie.” My letter begins with a set of inquiries. I wonder about the wisdom offered and shared with the Land, who I connected with the most and the challenges I faced. I ask myself if my heart is happy. Halfway through the page, I become emotionally overwhelmed. It speaks of my grandmother Betsy’s memory. She passed three weeks before I departed San Diego for the Tetons. I was not allotted the opportunity to say goodbye to her in person. I yearned for those childhood days when she braided my hair. I wished for the smell of a favorite dish she cooked: creamy white rice with cumin, onions, and tomato. I spoke to her at length that first day on the trail as the wind cracked my skin and the cold rain turned to icy slush, seeping into my boots and every exposed crevice of my layered clothing.
In the next section of the letter I express love and remind myself that I am enough. I write about sharing this knowledge with my community and reciprocating what has been kindly and graciously given to me already: friendship, critical thinking, and communal healing. My work with LO, the San Diego community, close-knit compas, and circle of activistas has defined how I approach outdoor education and engage with others in the outdoors. My personal experiences, the teachings of my maestras, and my formative years in my grandmother’s yard inspire how I relate to the natural and more-than-human world.
“I express love and remind myself that I am enough.”
Cassandra Castillo
September 4, 2020, Day 2. I reorganize my pack and shift items around between my cohorts to provide relief. Our group prepares for our longest hiking day: 10 miles with an elevation gain of 1,700 feet, into the Alaska Basin, where we will set up camp. Our second day is not any easier, but there are fewer tears and more moments for laughter and appreciating the scenery. Moose, pikas, and marmots were spotted. That day, I nervously led a discussion on the cultural limitations of the traditional Leave No Trace practices and challenged our group to think of how they could be expanded to be more inclusive and welcoming of other cultures and ways of engaging with the natural world.
Cassie on the trail.
September 6, 2020 Day 3. Seven miles with a gain of approximately 900 feet and a loss of 1,600. While easier on the lungs, this day is a lot harder on the knees. I try to find markers-a tree, a switchback, another backpacker approaching me–in order to set small but constant destination goals to achieve. At 10,338 feet above sea level, Hurricane Pass offers stunning views. I begin to feel lighter. The fear of not making it through the trek subsides and I am able to be more present and bring forward some of my silly nature, tapping into my inner child joy. I can take a turn leading the group with confidence. I sing and pray with glee as I greet waterfalls, flowers, rivers, and all the new beings living in this lush section of the trail until reaching our day’s destination: South Fork Cascade Canyon Horse Campsite.
September 7, 2020, Day 4. It is all downhill from here! We will need to make our way down 2,117 feet to reach Jenny Lake and catch a boat across to a van waiting in the parking lot. The sun is shining, and we are mentally preparing and placing facemasks in our pockets in anticipation of passing day visitors on one of the more popular trails in Grand Teton National Park. We seal our letters and hand them to our instructors as we bask in the sun and dream of showers and the spread of food that awaits us. Coming down on the trail, I politely say hello to folks, sometimes with the returned acknowledgment and other times completely dismissed. It is challenging to keep from wondering whether I am being ignored because hikers cannot hear me, if it is not in their nature to greet other hikers, or if it is because I am a brown woman in Cowboy Country Wyoming. At times, greetings are directed to my companions behind me, and their hellos are returned. We have different ways of showing support, and throughout my year, I will learn that the people following behind me will have my back. Sometimes it comes naturally, and sometimes we practice verbalizing how we best feel supported and, in return, how we can best offer support. We are, in fact, a community, soon to become a family, just like the familia I share with Latino Outdoors.
Cassie and her cohort.
February 21, 2023, In the letter, I continue to ask myself more questions: what was it like to see my first snowfall in the Tetons? I do not recall the first snowfall, but I fondly hold the joy of watching snow delicately fall from the sky from our “Wyoming TV.” I recall many moments of silliness, sticking my tongue out, trying to catch snowflakes. I can still sense the pleasure of silence-the deep silence tripled by inches of snow, untouched by humans, gifting many moments of peaceful joy. I cherish the memories from the first day I arrived in the Tetons to the tearful goodbyes after our graduation ceremony and the many lessons, moco cries, laughter, stumbles, and new friendships along the way.
As I close the letter, I question whether I have reached my goals, surpassed expectations, acknowledged my worth, and whether I have found love. Love manifests itself in many forms. It’s gratitude for the sights and sounds offered by the landscape and the place I was able to temporarily call home. It was the blessing of being able to open my curtains every morning to be greeted by the jagged peaks of the Tetons, the occasional moose grazing, the fox making its morning rounds, and chipmunks scurrying by.
As I wonder about my growth these past 2.5 years in Wyoming, I turn to my longer journey and passion for inclusive outdoor programming. My history with LO began in 2017 when a friend shared the LO Facebook page with me.
“Love manifests itself in many forms. It’s gratitude for the sights and sounds offered by the landscape and the place I could temporarily call home.”
Cassandra Castillo
Later in the year, as I was encouraged by friends to share my love for the outdoors beyond my immediate community, I made a commitment to launch the chapter with the caveat that I would organize a local chapter if my friend, Manuel Belmonte, agreed to partner with me. LO was going through a leadership change and in order to maintain our momentum, we launched an outdoor group early that summer. It eventually flourished into the Latino Outdoors San Diego chapter with our first green day hike in November 2018. Our team hosted a variety of events, and speaker panels. We forged friendships, partnerships, and various collaborations building bridges between knowledge sharers, outdoor enthusiasts, and various organizations wanting to increase accessibility to green spaces and outdoor recreation to a diverse community.
I learned of the Teton Science School’s graduate program through a fellow LO volunteer. I knew of Yellowstone and dreamed of one day visiting to see its many geologic wonders but I had never heard of the Grand Tetons, experienced a “real” winter, or even imagined living away from southern California before retirement years. I graduated from the TSS graduate program and went on to complete a master’s in science at the University of Wyoming. Working on my master’s thesis was a continued journey of healing and practice to validate my experience, voice, and the worth of knowledge I carry from my lifetime and that which flows through my DNA. I conducted an evaluation of Latino Outdoors San Diego for my thesis project and earned my MS degree in Natural Science Education and Environment and Natural Resources.
“Con mucho, mucho amor, La Cassie de hoy.”
Cassandra Castillo
I signed my letter, “Con mucho, mucho amor, La Cassie de hoy.” We are evolving people, an evolving community. I have found new inspiration and motivation for expanding my community. Theoretical teachings help us understand ourselves and the world with more openness, and in my life I have seen that outdoor experiences impact our perspectives with more profundity than I imagined. I look forward to continued growth alongside my LO familia, Wyoming community, and those working on equitable access to the outdoors for all and advocating to protect our planeta.
Cassandra Castillo (she/her) is a Chicana with deep connections to the California borderlands of Calexico and San Diego. In 2018, Cassie co-founded the Latino Outdoors chapter in the San Diego Region. As the Program Coordinator, she spearheaded outdoor experiences through a social and environmental justice perspective to reconnect Latinx communities to land and nature.
As the Development Associate for Latino Outdoors, Cassie maintains and develops LO’s donor stewardship and appreciation program. She provides creativity, vision, and commitment to the mission to support fund development efforts as LO continues to grow.
