Vamos al rio

By Jason Amaro

As a young man growing up in the desert Southwest, the most cherished words I could hear were, “Vamos al rio,” roughly translated into, “Let’s go to the river.” At the time I didn’t know anything about public lands, but I did know that we were set for an adventure.

My dad would dig through old trunks that were scattered in the shed, looking for old tents, cots, lanterns and bedding that had been retired from daily use and maybe an old cast iron pot or two. My mom would make a shopping list of things that we needed to pick up at the local food market. I think her theory was the fish might not be biting, the weather might be terrible or our camping spot might be crummy, but at least we would eat well.

That left the kids scrambling to pack camping clothes--these were clothes that didn’t fit right and were probably from the previous school year. We also were told to pack river shoes-- just an old pair of school shoes that had seen better days. Fancy river shoes hadn’t been invented yet, and even if they had, I have a strong feeling we wouldn’t have owned any.

After all the necessities were packed, we were able to pack the good stuff--you know, the fishing gear. Part of our fishing ritual was to “borrow” a few worms from our neighbors’ worm beds. I say “borrow” but my parents always insisted that we left a few dollars in change in a plastic cup buried in the worm bed. I don’t know if that neighbor ever found the money or ever knew it was us raiding his worms, but I do know that it isn’t good mojo to fish with stolen worms.  

All of our adventures took place on public lands for no other reason than public lands were free and accessible. Looking back, these trips were the seeds of my strong connection to my home state of New Mexico and to our environment. Although my parents never articulated it in such a way, they made sure that my sisters and I understood that public lands were ours and that we were caretakers for future generations. When we would walk along the stream or drive in the mountains, my mother would never miss an opportunity to have us pick up trash. I am not sure if she just liked to see us work or if she was making the point that, this is yours, make sure you take care of it.

For generations, public lands have given me and my family a sense of peace--and more importantly, they have always provided us a place to call home. My parents are now gone, and I have a family of my own. Now it is up to me to pass on the value of our public lands, not only for my children’s sake, but for the sake of family members unborn.