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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.

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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.