Dispatches from the Field & Project Summaries
New Mexico Tourism: Project Summary III
January 4, 2011
While roughly a fifth of the land in New Mexico is tribal reservation land, much of the open land sprawling across the horizon represents another equally as rooted demographic in the state—ranchers and farmers. A large landowner like Mike Riviera, a board member of the Chama Peak Landowner Alliance, hears offer after offer to purchase 40-acre tracts of his land—for “ranchettes,” as he calls them. But he realizes that parceling off his land into smaller subdivisions hurts not only his long-term economic interests, but also the health and diversity of western wildlife that require the open areas of large landowners to thrive.
Designating some of these tracts of land as wildlife corridors, as suggested by the Wildlife Corridors Initiative in 2008, could be a solution. Conserving land for wildlife protects not only the habitats where animals migrate and mate—crucial to biodiversity and species health—but also creates opportunities to generate revenue through tourism and hunting. Indeed, hunting, fishing, and wildlife watching and recreation contributed $823 million to the state in 2006. Much of this revenue comes in through hunting permits, issued by the state and sold by landowners to visitors and hunters. Maintaining open lands boosts wildlife populations and diversity—more elk to hunt—which attracts tourists to the areas and “creates a revenue stream…around these corridors, knowing that the wildlife is going to be there,” Mike said.
“But you can’t protect something if you don’t know where it is,” he said. In 2009, New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson and Colorado Gov. Bill Ritter pledged to work together to identify the areas crucial to habitat connectivity, and the Western Governors Assoc. has agreed to help provide the technological and scientific support to identify where exactly these corridors are. Wildlife corridors usually span several states as well as private, public, and tribal lands; the goal of the wildlife corridors initiative is to provide incentives for these diverse groups to maintain the open space for both economic and environmental reasons: “to preserve the natural heritage of the west,” Mike said.
The natural heritage of the west is inextricable from the Rio Grande—the great river, the lifeblood of the land and so many of its inhabitants. River-rafting guide Cisco Guevara grew up on the Rio Grande, beginning with teenage mishaps in inner tubes to starting New Mexico’s first commercial rafting company, Los Rios River Runners, in 1978. Cisco has spent his career fighting to preserve not only the river’s rich cultural heritage but also the waters that so many depend on for sustenance. Native Americans have for centuries used its waters for drinking and irrigation; wildlife such as elk, deer, and bighorn sheep live and eat on its banks; and visitors and locals rely on its spiritual hold and healing effects.
“The Rio Grande is the mater of the landscape,” said Steven Harris, another ardent conservationist and river-running outfitter. “Everything in landscape has the signature of the water on it.” Like so many areas in the southwest, water in New Mexico is paramount—how much of it there is, who controls it, who uses it. “Western rivers have all been overdeveloped. You go below the threshold of the river’s flow, and all these natural systems begin to unravel,” said Steve.
For outfitters like Cisco and Steve, river rafting is more than just an opportunity for fun or recreation. When visitors interact with the river on such an intimate level—when they camp under stars and gather around a campfire—they gain a connection to the land. “On the third day of a wilderness trek, something happens to people, to their time sense,” said Steve. “They begin to internalize what’s sacred here.”
On land with so much history, sacred places aren’t hard to find. From the 900s to the 1500s, Puye Cliffs were home to 1,500 Pueblo Indians, the ancestors of today’s Santa Clara people, who now live at Santa Clara Pueblo, 10 miles east of Puye. They built their winter homes directly into the sheer rock face of the cliffs, open to the winter sun. Their summer homes were built on the broad mesa top, and visitors today can see the remains of a multi-dwelling complex of adobe overlooking the Pajarito Plateau. We stood in the sunshine on the mesa on our last day, and ultimately, it seemed, ecotourism was about this vista: the preservation of the land and wildlife before us; the cultural heritage and rich history of Native Americans held in ruins like Puye Cliffs and in living communities like Taos Pueblo; and the adventure of forging a connection to the land in a place where so many cultures, histories, and peoples converge. Ecotourism isn’t just about New Mexico—or Bavarian culture or Native American culture or American culture. “In the end, it isn’t going to be about where we come from, it’s the planet we leave,” said Jamie Rowland.
New Mexico Tourism: Project Summary II
January 4, 2011
The cultural heart of Taos is the Taos Pueblo, the active community and historical home of the Taos Pueblo Indians. Though about fifty members of Taos Pueblo live year-round in the 1,000-year-old town of adobe buildings—considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the United States—many members of the 2,800-person tribe split their time between adobe and cinderblock, living part of the year in the pueblo and part of the year in the town of Taos. This physical transition is only one example of the convergence between traditional and modern that seems to characterize every aspect of the Taos Pueblo way of life.
These Pueblo Native Americans are one of 19 pueblos still intact throughout New Mexico, of an original 76 when the Spanish arrived. April Winters has guided tours of the pueblo for 15 years, and personifies this balance between traditional and modern. She lives in the town of Taos, though her family still maintains two homes within the pueblo, where she spent four years of her childhood.
Religion guides daily life, but it is a hybrid religion, combining aspects of the nature-based religion of the Pueblo—Mother Earth, for example—with Catholicism—the Virgin Mary, her parallel—which was introduced to (or forced upon) the Pueblo in the 1500s. Every member of Taos Pueblo has an Indian name used within the community as well as a modern, Spanish surname used for legal documents and life outside the pueblo. Food is still gathered in the mountains above the pueblo, and bread is still baked in free-standing adobe ovens outside, but many members buy their food staples at groceries in town. The community’s relationship to nature is at the core of balance. “If you take care of the land, it will take care of you,” said April. She hopes ecotourism will introduce the community’s traditional beliefs about ecological responsibility to a modern audience, to educate them about her culture’s tradition of living in connection with the natural world—and about what it means to live sustainably, as the Taos Pueblo has been doing for thousands of years.
New Mexico Tourism: Project Summary I
January 4, 2011
From Albuquerque, highway 25 sprawls northeast to Santa Fe and Taos, alongside vast mountain ranges, beside pastel-red adobe homes and flashing casino lights, past cholla cacti and ranching supply stores and tribal reservations. The Rio Grande River Gorge cuts through the landscape, quietly winding south under a brilliant blue sky.
New Mexico is a place of converging cultures, a state where ranch lands border Native American reservations; where filmmakers, skiers, and artists flock; where Hispanics and descendants of Spanish conquistadors live together, along with 19 sovereign Native American nations. The topography is just as diverse, from sprawling deserts to high mountain ranges and pine forests.
In 2009, New Mexico launched an EcoTourism initiative, the first of its kind in the United States, and Green Living Project went to New Mexico to check it out. Ecotourism focuses on “responsible travel” in its many forms: cultural education, community building, environmental protection. In other words, natural conservation, both of the outdoor nature and also natural cultures. EcoNewMexico, a safari-outfitting company owned by husband and wife Sandy and Charles Cunningham, received the state-funded contract to launch the initiative and carve out the ecotourism niche in New Mexico. They’ve worked with an array of outfitters, hotels and restaurants to bring together the state’s many disparate ecotourism efforts to not only create an ecotourism network, but also to define what it means, exactly, to be an ecotourism provider.
“We’re harnessing stuff that’s already here,” said Jennifer Hobson, the Deputy Cabinet Secretary of New Mexico Tourism. “Communities are already doing this stuff, and have been for decades. We’re just helping to direct them.”
Taos, a ski town nestled in the Sangre de Cristo mountains, is one of EcoNewMexico’s pilot projects—destinations that already have the capacity, or desire, to accommodate this new type of tourist, one that stays longer and spends money in local communities.
Though it certainly has adobe and chilies, Taos also has Wienerschnitzel, Spaten Optimator beer from Munich, and warm apple strudel. The Bavarian Lodge and Restaurants, a mid-city chalet 10,200 feet above sea level in the Taos Ski Valley, is sort of like Taos itself: a place where Hispanic, Native American, and European influences converge. The Bavarian is owned by German-born Thomas Schulz with his wife, Jamie Rowland, a Native American from Montana. At the Bavarian, “Eco-tourism is an acknowledgement to incorporate going green without doing something major that we couldn’t afford,” Jamie said. “It’s a parallel line of thinking I’ve been raised with—living consciously, watching your steps on this Earth.”
Another tour operator conscious of his steps on this earth—both his steps and those of the llamas he works with—is Stuart Wild, head guide of Wild Earth Adventures. With their leathery two-toed feet and mild demeanor, llamas have a minimal impact on the eco-system—they are “the eco-friendly pack animal,” Stuart said. He rescues abandoned llamas and trains them to carry packs and clomp alongside tourists on summer treks and snowshoe wanderings through the winter forest. Stuart is a long-time advocate for ecotourism, since long before there was a name for it. His goal is to promote conservation and wilderness protection by bringing people into these pristine areas and re-igniting (or simply igniting) their connection to nature so that they realize not only the value of open space, but so that they’ll continue to engage with nature after the vacation ends. “If ecotourism isn’t inspiring people to go back to their communities and get involved, then its not working,” he said. “When people feel a connection to the natural world, that translates to their backyard.”
Down a few thousand feet from the Bavarian, at the Taos Inn, is where you’ll find your chilies and centuries old adobe. Ecotourism isn’t new for the Inn—the oldest hotel in town began their recycling program 15 years ago, and continues to support the local community, most notably through its on-site restaurant, Doc Martin’s. Though Zippy White, the restaurant’s executive chef, cooks a mean chili relleno, what he’s really known for is his commitment to cooking with locally grown foods. He tries to source ingredients exclusively from local farm co-operatives, like Red Willows Growers, a greenhouse-based farm located near Taos Pueblo. Red Willows Growers is part of the Red Willows Community Growers Cooperative, a group of Taos Pueblo farmers and gardeners dedicated to sustainable farming, not only because of the environmental impact of eating local, but also as a way to help revitalize the community-based agricultural heritage central to the Native American way of life. Red Willows Project offers a weekly farmers market all summer, and this December marked their first winter market, full of squash, onions, and garlic. Winter is a tricky time to source locally, said Zippy, as most tourists—indeed, most consumers—are accustomed to having what foods they want, when they want them.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 3, Puye Cliffs
January 3, 2011
The colors at Puye Cliffs were primary colors: an imperturbable blue sky, the dusty white cliffs and pale greens of shrubbery, and the bright red coat of our guide, Porter Swentzell. We shed layers as we ascended towards the sheer rock face in which the Pueblo Indians built their winter homes—cave dwellings cut into the rock, open to the winter sun.
From the 900s to the 1500s, Puye Cliffs were home to 1,500 Pueblo Indians, the ancestors of today’s Santa Clara people, who now live at Santa Clara Pueblo, 10 miles east of Puye. We clambered up a steep ladder to the mesa top where the inhabitants of Puye made their summer homes—a multi-dwelling complex of adobe built around a central plaza. Shedding layers, we turned into the bright mid-day sun and enjoyed the vastness of the view before us.
This expanse of New Mexico land and sky seemed to hold all the components of our trip. Ultimately, it seemed, ecotourism was about this vista: the preservation of the land and wildlife before us; the cultural heritage and rich history of Native Americans held in ruins like Puye Cliffs and in living communities like Taos Pueblo; and the adventure of forging a connection to the land in a place where so many cultures, histories, and peoples converge.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 3, The Rio Grande
December 31, 2010
I think Cisco Guevara was kidding when he suggested we go white-water rafting early on Friday morning—weather forecast: 10 degrees. The wind was the kicker preventing us from our amazing original plan—the only reason I would have been willing to get out of bed at 5 a.m.—a hot air balloon ride over the Rio Grande River Gorge.
So, we milled on the banks of this great river, the lifeblood of the land. Cisco—in overalls, rubber boots, and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat—perched on one of his inflatable rafts and talked about the river he grew up on, beginning with teenage mishaps in inner tubes to starting New Mexico’s first commercial rafting company, Los Rios River Runners, in 1978.
Cisco has made a career running this river, and a name for himself fighting to preserve not only its rich cultural heritage but also the waters that so many depend on for sustenance. Native Americans have for centuries used its waters for drinking and irrigation; wildlife such as elk, deer, and bighorn sheep live and eat on its banks; and visitors and locals rely on its spiritual hold and healing effects.
“The Rio Grande is the mater of the landscape,” said Steven Harris, another ardent conservationist and river-running outfitter. “Everything in landscape has the signature of the water on it.” Like so many areas in the southwest, water in New Mexico is paramount—how much of it there is, who controls it, who uses it. “Western rivers have all been overdeveloped. You go below the threshold of the river’s flow, and all these natural systems begin to unravel,” said Steve.
For outfitters like Cisco and Steve, river rafting is more than just an opportunity for fun or recreation—though it is that. When visitors interact with the river on such an intimate level—when they camp under stars and gather around a campfire—they gain a connection to the land. “On the third day of a wilderness trek, something happens to people, to their time sense,” said Steve. “They begin to internalize what’s sacred here.”
New Mexico Expedition: Day 2, Wildlife corridors
December 29, 2010
It’s a tricky conundrum for a rancher in the west: how to use your land without damaging its natural resources—how to extract value without forever depleting. A large landowner like Mike Riviera, a board member of the Chama Peak Landowner Alliance, hears offer after offer to purchase 40-acre tracts of his land—for “ranchettes,” as he calls them. But he realizes that parceling off his land into smaller subdivisions hurts not only his long-term economic interests, but also the health and diversity of western wildlife that require these large open areas to thrive.
Designating large tracts of land as wildlife corridors, as suggested by the Wildlife Corridors Initiative in 2008, could be a solution. Conserving land for wildlife protects not only the habitats where animals migrate and mate—crucial to biodiversity and species health—but also creates opportunities to generate revenue through tourism and hunting.
Elk hunting alone brings in $43 million dollars to the state of New Mexico, and its estimated hunting, fishing, and wildlife watching and recreation contributed $823 million to the state in 2006. Much of this revenue comes in through hunting permits, issued by the state and sold by landowners to visitors and hunters. Subdividing large tracts of open land disrupts the natural migration and mating patterns of wildlife, like elk. When there are less elk to hunt, less elk permits are sold, and ranchers like Mike, and the small communities that cater to hunters and tourists, loose money. Maintaining open lands boosts wildlife populations and diversity, which attracts tourists to the areas. “It creates a revenue stream that allows tribes and communities to develop lasting businesses around these corridors, knowing that the wildlife is going to be there,” said Mike.
But, as Mike said, “you can’t protect something if you don’t know where it is.” In 2009, New Mexico Gov. Bill Richardson and Colorado Gov. Bill Ritter pledged to work together to identify the areas crucial to habitat connectivity, and the Western Governors Assoc. has agreed to help provide the technology and scientific support to identify where exactly these corridors are. Wildlife corridors usually span several states as well as private, public, and tribal lands, so they require corporation from various stakeholders. Ultimately, the goal of the wildlife corridors initiative is to provide incentives for these diverse groups to maintain open space, both for scientific and economic reasons, as well as for the preservation of the natural and cultural heritage of the West.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 2, Red Willow Project
December 28, 2010
The first chile relleno—a large Anaheim chili, battered, stuffed with cheese, and sprinkled with pumpkin seeds—went down smoothly. I was lucky enough to be sitting across from executive chef Zippy White at the Taos Inn, who had told us that the restaurant was known for their chili relleno, a recommendation half the table had heeded. I was feeling confident—I had called myself a spice-wuss over of a bowl of red chili soup that afternoon, but maybe I had under-estimated my tolerance. That is, until I started the second stuffed chili. The burn hit slowly, bite by bite—it was too delicious to stop—and didn’t dissipate until a fluffy bite of turtle cheesecake (made in-house) worked its way down the table.
Pre-relleno burn, we had also tried Wild Boar Empanadas, as well as Grilled Rattlesnake-Rabbit Sausage. Before I could wonder how it is one cooks a rattlesnake, Zippy informed us that, unlike most menu items, neither the rattlesnake nor rabbit was New Mexico-native (the sausage is from Denver, in case you’re wondering). Rattlesnake aside, what Zippy and the Taos Inn are really known for is their commitment to cooking with locally grown foods and supporting local farm co-operatives.
In the summer months, Zippy says he can create a menu almost exclusively from locally sourced products, from flour for bread to berries for breakfast. Most of his produce comes from the Red Willows Growers, a farm located near Taos Pueblo that focuses on sustainable agriculture and agricultural education for young people. Red Willows Growers is part of the Red Willows Community Growers Cooperative, a group of Taos Pueblo farmers and gardeners dedicated to growing local food not only because of the environmental impact of eating local, but also as a way to help revitalize the community-based agricultural heritage that is a central component of Native American culture in the pueblo.
When we visited their site, four teenage girls were helping cure the fat white onions grown from the rich soil. Red Willows Growers hopes to educate young people in food production, helping them forge a connection to the land and an awareness of where their food comes from. A wood-burning oven heats the four greenhouses on site through water convection, and though the oven was crackling away in the cold afternoon, no smoke curled up from the rooftop chimney. That’s because a ceramic disc in the back of the oven gets hot enough—up to 2000 degrees—to burn many of the volatile gases that would normally be omitted; the oven releases only small amounts of carbon dioxide and water vapor.
Red Willows Project offers a weekly farmers market for almost half the year—the winter market just opened, full of squash the size of watermelon. Zippy commented on the difficulty of sourcing locally in the winter, as many tourists who come to his restaurant are accustomed to having what foods they want, when they want them. He won’t serve berries in the winter—not only are they expensive, but they don’t taste good, he says—and acknowledges that it’s a fight for customers. He hopes that if he can at least get a reluctant eater to try his seasonal items, they might notice the difference in flavor of a squash grown down the road that afternoon from one shipped weeks before and bought in the supermarket.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 2, Taos Pueblo
December 27, 2010
Imagine living in an adobe building on a plateau in the desert, one without electricity or heat. You spend half the year here, and the other half in a modern home, with modern appliances and conveniences. The cultural heart of Taos is the Taos Pueblo, the active community and historical home of the Taos Pueblo Indians. Though about fifty members of Taos Pueblo live year-round in the 1,000-year-old town of adobe buildings—considered the oldest continuously inhabited community in the United States—most members of the 2,800-person tribe split their time between adobe and cinderblock.
These Pueblo Native Americans are one of 19 pueblos still intact throughout New Mexico, of an original 76 when the Spanish arrived. It seems to me that this transition between modern life—electricity, TV, central heat—to life in the quiet pueblo would be jarring, but this physical transition between homes is only one example of the convergence between traditional and modern that seems to characterize every aspect of the Taos Pueblo way of life.
April Winters has guided tours of the pueblo for 15 years, and seems to personify this balance between traditional and modern. She joined us for dinner at The Bavarian and our llama trek into the mountains, and can speak passionately about her culture’s transition into the modern ecotourism market while clomping down a steep hill in snowshoes with a sneezing llama at her side. April lives in the town of Taos, though her family still maintains two homes within the pueblo, where she spent four years of her childhood. April’s grace in integrating these two worlds in her own life speaks to the community’s dedication to balance.
Balance between traditional and modern is felt throughout the pueblo. Religion guides daily life, but it is a hybrid religion, combining aspects of the nature-based religion of the Pueblo—Mother Earth, for example—with Catholicism—the Virgin Mary, her parallel—which was introduced to (or forced upon) the Pueblo in the 1500s. Every member of Taos Pueblo has an Indian name used within the community as well as a modern, Spanish surname used for legal documents and life outside the pueblo. Food is still gathered in the mountains above the pueblo, and bread is still baked in free-standing adobe ovens outside, but many members buy their food staples at groceries in town. As are all the pueblos in the state, Taos Pueblo is a sovereign nation with its own tribal government consisting of a war chief and a tribal governor.
Above all else, the central component of this balance between the modern and traditional can be seen in the community’s relationship to nature. “If you take care of the land, it will take care of you,” said April. She believes ecotourism is a way for the community to introduce their traditional beliefs about ecological responsibility to a modern audience, to educate them about her culture’s tradition of living in connection with the natural world—and about what it means to live sustainably, as the Taos Pueblo has been doing for thousands of years.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 2, Llamas
December 22, 2010
Stuart Wild, head guide of Wild Earth Adventures, does an uncanny impression of a llama whine. Llamas have a precise sort of whine, a cross between a grumble and a neigh, and Zeus, the pack llama I was trekking with on Thursday morning was something of a whiner. Stuart rescues abandoned llamas and brings them on board as the staff of Wild Earth Adventures.
Thirty-one of these rescued llamas accompany tourists on summer treks and snowshoe clomps through the winter forest. According to Stuart, llamas are the “eco-friendly pack animal.” With their soft two-toed feet and mild demeanor, they have a minimal impact on the eco-system. They’re also just plain friendly. “Especially for kids and people who don’t get out,llamas are the perfect introduction to nature,” he said. I’d have to agree. Zeus hovered inches behind me like a furry bobble head leaning over to say hello. He clomped along with a friendly and sort of mundane gaze—I’ve been here before, he seemed to say. We paused, he sneezed on my neck (and apparently farted on Matt, crouched on the ground shooting video footage), whined a bit, and then we were on our merry way once again, a amused expression on his face.
Stuart is a long-time advocate for ecotourism, since long before there was a name for it. His goal is to promote conservation and wilderness protection by bringing people into these pristine areas and re-igniting (or simply igniting) their connection to nature so that they realize not only the value of open space, but so that they’ll continue to engage with nature after the vacation ends. “If ecotourism isn’t inspiring people to go back to their communities and get involved in ecotourism stuff, then its not working, we’re not doing something right,” he said.
New Mexico Expedition: Day 2, The Bavarian
December 21, 2010
Wienerschnitzel, Munich-brewed optimator beer, and warm apple strudel aren’t what you’d expect to find in a southwestern ski lodge (wait, they have skiing in the southwest?). But, The Bavarian Lodge and Restaurants, a mid-city chalet in the Taos Ski Valley, is sort of like Taos itself: a place where Hispanic, Native American, and European influences converge, offering a surprisingly diverse array of cultures in such a remote mountain valley.
The Bavarian is owned by German-born Thomas Schulz with his wife, Jamie Rowland, a Native American from Montana. According to Thomas, not only is The Bavarian “the gateway to the wilderness,” it’s “a convergence of cultures.” Jamie is one of the seven-member EcoTourism steering committee, a group of business owners and tour operators that offers guidelines to business and communities interested to join the initiative (and they’re working to establish an eco-tourism certificate).
For The Bavarian, “Eco-tourism is an acknowledgement to incorporate going green without doing something major that we couldn’t afford,” said Jamie, a bubbly and attentive host. (Indeed, her Indian name means “hospitable one”). For Jamie especially, her Native American culture impacts how she approaches sustainable tourism. “It’s a parallel line of thinking I’ve been raised with—living consciously, watching your steps on this Earth.” In the end, sustainability has nothing to do with Bavarian culture or Native American culture or American culture. “In the end, it isn’t going to be about where we come from, it’s the planet we leave,” she said.