Latest news with #Havasupai
South China Morning Post
29-05-2025
- Business
- South China Morning Post
Trump slump: As tourists avoid the USA, here are 8 stand-in destinations
If you're reluctant to visit the US in these uncertain times, you're not alone. International visits fell 12 per cent year on year in March, according to Oxford Economics. But the good news is many of the adventures you might seek in the US can be found elsewhere. From epic road trips and national parks to world-class cities, here are a few stand-ins that offer a similar experience. 1. Copper Canyon, Mexico A railway station in the Copper Canyon, Chihuahua, Mexico. Photo: Shutterstock More than 5 million people visit the Grand Canyon each year, to hike, camp and take in those panoramic views. Rock layers reveal nearly 2 billion years of Earth's history and at sunrise and sunset, its walls glow in rich shades of crimson. However, for an equally impressive yawning chasm, look south, to Mexico's Copper Canyon. El Barrancas del Cobre spans more than a quarter of Chihuahua, the country's largest state, and is roughly four times the size of its US counterpart. Where the Grand Canyon owes its magnificence to the Colorado River, Mexico's version was sculpted by six mighty waterways. Both natural wonders offer great hiking – the Havasupai people use remote paths hidden within the Arizona gorge and in the Copper Canyon, trails are still followed by the indigenous Rarámuri. Both also have rail access but whereas the US line stops at the rim, El Chepe, the Copper Canyon's railway, dives deep into the gorge, bringing passengers face to face with sheer cliffs, plunging valleys and isolated villages. 2. Patagonia Adventure tourism on the Perito Moreno Glacier in Los Glaciares National Park in Patagonia in southern Argentina. Photo: Shutterstock Alaska is home to some of the most dramatic scenery in North America, with towering peaks, lumbering glaciers and wildlife ranging from bears to whales. Popular with cruise passengers and hikers alike, its rugged landscapes and remote charm draw lovers of the great outdoors. But at the other end of the American land mass is Patagonia, the sparsely populated region straddling Chile and Argentina With craggy mountains, ancient ice fields and trails that feel as though they lead to the edge of the world, Patagonia's crown jewels include Chile's Torres del Paine National Park, Argentina's Mount Fitz Roy and boat trips to stunningly blue glaciers. Look out for guanacos instead of moose, condors not eagles, but expect the same sense of awe. 3. Rotorua, New Zealand The geothermal Pohutu geyser in Rotorua, on New Zealand's North Island.
Atlantic
07-05-2025
- General
- Atlantic
How the Most Remote Community in America Gets Its Mail
Just after 8 o'clock one spring morning, 2,000 feet below the rim of the Grand Canyon, Nate Chamberlain, wearing chaps and cowboy boots, emerged from the post office in Supai, Arizona, with the last of the morning mail. He tucked a Priority Mail envelope into a plastic U.S. Postal Service crate lashed to one of the six mules waiting outside. Then he climbed into the saddle on the lead mule, gave a kick of his spurs, and set off down the dirt road leading out of the village. It was the beginning of what may be the country's most unusual USPS route—the very last to deliver mail by mule. The mule train would travel eight miles along a creek lined with cottonwoods, through a narrow gorge, and up a switchbacking trail carved into the cliffside to reach a hitching post at the top of the canyon, where a sign reads US MAIL DELIVERY ZONE. There, Chamberlain would drop off the outgoing mail with a driver—who would take it another 68 miles to the next post office, in the town of Peach Springs—and pick up the incoming mail to deliver back to the village. Philip F. Rubio: Save the Postal Service Supai, the only village on the reservation of the Havasupai Tribe, is one of the most remote communities in the country. It is accessible only by foot, and by helicopter when the weather allows. The mule train, which makes the 16-mile, six-hour loop up and down the canyon five days a week, is perhaps the most extreme manifestation of the USPS mandate to 'render postal services to all communities.' Mail delivery in Supai involves a feat of logistics, horsemanship, and carefully placed hooves. It is slow and drudging work—starting at 3 a.m., when Chamberlain rises to feed the pack string, and continuing to sundown as fences are fixed and horseshoes are replaced—that belies an era of instant delivery, optimized everything, and 'government efficiency.' It also offers a glimpse into what the Postal Service can mean for rural America, at a moment when the agency's future is uncertain. For centuries, the Havasupai Tribe ranged across the southern rim of the Grand Canyon, hunting and foraging along the plateau in the fall and winter, and descending into the canyon in the spring and summer to grow corn, beans, melons, and sunflowers along Havasu Creek. But that changed as America pushed westward. In 1882, President Chester A. Arthur signed an executive order restricting the tribe to 518 acres at the bottom of the canyon. Just over a decade later, the federal government established a school in the village—aimed, like others of the era, at assimilating Native children. With it grew demand for better connection to the outside world. Rufus Bauer, the first teacher sent to Supai, wrote in an 1896 report to the commissioner of Indian Affairs that getting the mail required the Havasupai to make 'a horseback ride of 60 miles over a stony, grassless desert, where there is not one drop of water for man or horse.' He added, perhaps unnecessarily, 'They do not exactly enjoy the trip.' The Supai post office was established later the same year. At the time, rural postal delivery was expanding across the country. The postal system is older than the Declaration of Independence; it was founded in 1775 to allow consistent communication across the colonies—uniting America even before there was a federal government. As the nation grew, Congress gave the organization a monopoly over letter delivery as a way of ensuring affordable access to mail for all Americans—not just those who lived along profitable urban routes. From the January 1875 issue: The American post-office Over time, Supai would come to depend on the post office. With the loss of the tribe's hunting grounds and much of its farmland, the traditional Havasupai way of life started to disappear, and pretty much everything the village needed—groceries, household goods, medicine—arrived there on the back of a USPS mule. 'That old saying, you ever look that up?' Charlie Chamberlain asked me when we met at a café near the post office in Peach Springs. 'I used to know it by heart, the old saying, that we deliver mail in all kinds of weather.' He pulled out his phone to search for it: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds. 'That's not a false statement, for what we do.' Chamberlain moved to Supai with his wife, a member of the Havasupai Tribe, back in 1973. Her uncle had delivered the mail there for many years, and offered to train Chamberlain. The route involves risks not listed in the unofficial USPS motto. In the winter, ice can accumulate on the narrow switchbacks, which drop 1,000 feet in the first two miles. Temperatures in the summertime can exceed 110 degrees. Mules (and horses, which are sometimes used in the pack string) can get spooked by blowing debris and the occasional rattlesnake. During monsoon season, rainwater rushing down the canyon walls can turn the desert floor into a surging river within minutes. Mail delivery in Supai involves a feat of logistics, horsemanship, and carefully placed hooves. Chamberlain recalled once taking shelter with 11 of his animals at a high point above the trail as floodwater rose below them. He could hear boulders crashing against one another in the water. When he rode back up the trail the next day, the marks left by the water were higher than his head, even on horseback. Staying out of trouble means learning to watch the sky, he told me—and beyond that, having 'a real strong faith in God.' Chamberlain still holds a contract with USPS for delivery to Supai but no longer rides the route himself; after 25 years on the trail, he and his wife, who was ill, left Supai to be closer to a hospital. He now employs Nate—his nephew—and other locals to handle the deliveries. Nate Chamberlain told me he has broken bones and taken spills that have required hundreds of stitches. Last summer, he had to spend the night under a rock overhang with his mules after a severe flash flood raised the creek some seven feet in 15 minutes, washing out the trail. In the worst scenarios, animals have died. (Charlie and the packers who work for him rotate their animals on a regular schedule to prevent them from getting worn down.) Supai is home to about 200 people, according to the latest census, though some estimates range much higher. (The Havasupai tribal council, which tracks tribal enrollment, declined to participate in this story.) For residents of the small village, the mule train helps set the rhythm of daily life. Lynanne and Scott Palmer told me that when they moved to Supai, in the late 1970s, the arrival of the mail in the afternoons was a social event: Residents would gather outside the post office as their letters and packages were unloaded, along with food and other supplies to restock the small village store. This has changed somewhat over the years, as the tourism industry has grown. Tens of thousands of visitors now pass through Supai each year to see the waterfalls that cascade down Havasu Creek to the confluence with the Colorado River. Helicopters run several days a week during the high season, carrying tourists from the canyon rim to the village. The helicopters also bring in some supplies, and carry residents out of the canyon to go on weekend shopping trips in the cities of Kingman and Flagstaff, hours from the rim. But the helicopter schedule is seasonal, and weather-dependent: High winds can easily blow the aircraft against the sandstone cliffs. Mules are still the most reliable form of transport—bringing with them, as Charlie described it, 'everything that you can put a stamp on.' Besides letters and packages for community members (including lots of Amazon orders), the USPS mule train transports medicine and lab work for the village clinic. Supai doesn't have a traditional bank, so the post office supports an informal financial system, bringing in cash for the tribe's use and letting residents send and receive money orders. The tourism industry, now the main source of income for the tribe, also relies on the mule train: Nate told me that the supplies for the lodge where tourists stay—linens, even mini fridges—come through the mail. Even now in Supai, as Lynanne Palmer put it, 'Life runs around the post office.' In late March, while the mules continued their work in Supai, demonstrators gathered in 150 cities across the United States to speak out against an anticipated 'hostile takeover' of the Postal Service. President Donald Trump has, in recent months, mused about a major reorganization of USPS, which he describes as a 'tremendous loser for this country.' He has said he is considering merging the independent agency with the Commerce Department. Trump suggested that such a move would help the Postal Service—which has been losing billions of dollars a year, amid declining mail volume and rising operating costs—turn around its fortunes. But many see the proposal as a prelude to privatization, an idea Trump floated during his first term and raised again just before taking office a second time. Experts believe that even partially outsourcing delivery to companies such as Amazon and FedEx would disproportionately affect rural America, where longer distances and fewer consumers mean that many postal routes operate at a loss. Brian Renfroe, the president of the National Association of Letter Carriers, told me that without the USPS's universal-service obligation, consumers in rural areas could expect higher prices or even to lose service altogether. 'I can assure you a private delivery company is not going to have any interest in delivering mail by mules,' he said. The reason the mule train has persisted for more than a century, Charlie Chamberlain told me, is that it's the most cost-effective way to deliver the mail to Supai. 'We can do it cheaper than they can in a helicopter,' he said. 'When it's time to bid on a new contract, I can outbid them.' As a contractor, he doesn't collect benefits. 'I never have taken a vacation in all the years I've done this,' Chamberlain said. 'There's no such thing.' The route may seem like the opposite of government efficiency. But that's true only if you don't accept the premise that the post office should be for everyone. The Postal Service reflects the nation's founding vision: to create a country both expansive and united. Supai has seen the worst of that vision. But the mules, unbothered by politics as they trod up and down the canyon, still carry with them a reminder of what America promised to be.
Washington Post
30-04-2025
- Science
- Washington Post
A tiny tribe wanted to shape the future of a famed canyon. Ancient DNA helped.
The elders of the Picuris Pueblo nation, a 300-person tribe in Northern New Mexico, have passed down their history for centuries. They trace ancestral connections to the famed complex of sandstone dwellings and roads at Chaco Canyon, a World Heritage site about 125 miles to the west. But the small tribe didn't have a 'seat at the table' or much influence when it came to the future of Chaco Canyon and debates about drilling in the area, said Picuris Lt. Gov. Craig Quanchello. Six years ago, the tribe took the unusual step of partnering with an international team of scientists to probe whether analysis of ancient DNA could strengthen their case and more firmly connect them to the community they wanted to shape. The findings, reported Wednesday in the journal Nature, confirm what the Picuris have always known — a continuous genetic thread connects human remains at Chaco Canyon to Picuris ancestors to modern-day people. The work also provides a possible new model for research involving Indigenous people, in which research is driven by the community. 'We steered this ship, in the hopes that using technology in the Western way, they would now listen,' Quanchello said at a news conference. 'We've always known who we are. Our elders [have] always known we've been here. Come to find out, everything we felt and knew [is] just validated on their terms.' The study is novel because research on Indigenous communities has often been exploitative. Scientists drop into a community and take samples — sometimes without proper consent — and publish results without consideration of how they might affect tribal members. The Havasupai tribe in Arizona, for example, sued Arizona State University in 2004 after samples collected for a study of type 2 diabetes were used without permission on other genetic studies. A 2017 genetic study of human remains in Chaco Canyon created a firestorm of criticism, because scientists failed to consult with tribal nations affiliated with the site. The new study offers an alternate way for such studies to occur, guided by the interests of the tribe. 'I truly believe that DNA can be used to help Indigenous people fight for their rights, their claims and their sovereignty,' said Thomaz Pinotti, a geneticist from the University of Copenhagen who led the work. Katrina Claw, a Navajo geneticist at the University of Colorado's Anschutz Medical Campus who was not involved in the study, said the tribe's participation is evident in the paper, which discusses the traditional knowledge of the Picuris alongside genetics. 'I think we're entering an era where ethical standards have changed — from 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 20 years ago. It's changing rapidly, which is very positive,' Claw said. 'I like that scientists and researchers are trying to keep up with these changes.' Picuris is a small tribe today, but this wasn't always the case. Prior to the arrival of European colonizers, there were around 3,000 individuals according to the paper's estimate. Within a century, their population plummeted by 90 percent. Michael Adler, an archaeologist at Southern Methodist University, began working closely with the Picuris in the early 1990s. He said that Western scientists, including himself, knew embarrassingly little about the tribe's history at the time. The traditional 'archaeological worldview,' Adler said, was that the Picuris did not follow the ways of the Chacoan people to the west, who built 'great houses' of masonry with hundreds of rooms. Chaco was the center of the Pueblo world from about 850 to 1150. Nearly two dozen tribes have ancestral claims to the site. But around that same time, the Picaris built subterranean pit houses. Their pottery style was different. 'Even though everyday in class, we tell our students, 'pots aren't people, arrowheads aren't people,' we fall into the same pitfall,' Adler said. Traditional knowledge, however, was clear that Picuris people had a deep connection to Chaco Canyon. Tribal leaders said that line of evidence was often ignored. In 2019, Picuris tribal leaders were faced with a dilemma: what to do with human remains that had been exhumed in archaeological excavations that began in the 1960s. Tribal leaders wondered whether genetic analysis could help reveal their ties to Chaco Canyon. Members of the tribe began meeting with experts in ancient DNA from the University of Copenhagen via Zoom. Undertaking the project was risky, with concerns about how the data and samples might be used. After two years of consultation, they decided to move ahead. Eske Willerslev, an ancient DNA expert at the University of Copenhagen said that the tribe retained the right to call off the research at any point. 'There has unfortunately been a long history of harmful and unethical genomic research with Indigenous communities and Ancestors, and many Indigenous communities have had deep — and justifiable! — concerns about studies of their DNA and the DNA of their Ancestors,' Deborah Bolnick, an anthropological geneticist at the University of Connecticut who was not involved in the research, said in an email. Bolnick said she hoped to see tribal members directly involved in data collection and analysis, but she praised the current study as refreshing and positive. Anne Stone, an anthropological geneticist at Arizona State University, agreed. 'I think it's a very deliberative process when a community decides to participate. And given the politics and impact of colonialism — a very brave process. And I think this is a lovely example of a respectful dialogue between both parties.' In total, scientists analyzed DNA from 16 Picuris individuals who lived 500 to 700 years ago and 13 present-day individuals. They compared those data to the 2017 genetic study of human remains from Chaco Canyon, which had been criticized because tribal communities were not consulted. Scientists said that they were hesitant at first to use the controversial dataset. They brought the question before Picuris leaders. Those leaders said, 'It's not your call, that's our call,' Adler recalled being told. Those genomic data show a throughline, from Chaco Canyon to present day Picuris — reflecting traditional knowledge, and giving the Picuris a new line of evidence when trying to make their voices heard. The research team is quick to say they aren't making an exclusive claim. Other tribes also have genetic ties to Chaco ancestors. But now the Picuris know. 'We have it on their terms, with the science talk,' Quanchello said. 'It not only runs through our land, through our veins, but now through science.'
Yahoo
28-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Why indigenous tribes oppose the use of reclaimed water at Arizona Snowbowl
Flagstaff meteorologist Mark Stubblefield has been riding the San Francisco Peaks' slopes at Arizona Snowbowl almost every winter since 1987. But in 2012, something sparked a little concern in his thoughts. 'One day, I went up there when they were making snow and I was hit by the sprinkles of water that were in the air,' Stubblefield said. 'And I thought, 'Do I really want to be breathing this stuff?'' The 'stuff' that Stubblefield refers to is reclaimed water – partially treated sewage effluent that the city of Flagstaff agreed to supply to Snowbowl for its snowmaking in 2002. Up to 178 million gallons of reclaimed wastewater are blown out into the air to make artificial snow over the course of a skiing season, geologist Richard Hereford said. It's the use of that wastewater that some of the oldest civilizations in North America say is a profound violation of their spirituality and health. The Navajo, Hopi, Hualapai, Havasupai, Yavapai-Apache, White Mountain Apache, Tonto Apache, Zuni and other tribes say it ruins their sacred lands, harms the ecosystem, and continues the genocide of their ancestral culture. 'The Earth, with its air, water, food, soil, and living trees, and this mountain, are my extended family,' Navajo rights activist Cora Maxx-Phillips said. 'We need to protect it.' The Navajo Nation in 2007 sued the U.S. Forest Service, alleging the use of millions of gallons of treated sewage effluent daily to make snow on the western slope of Humphreys Peak violated 1993's Religious Freedom Restoration Act prohibiting the government from 'substantially burdening the free exercise of religion.' The case went to a federal appeals court, which found 'no plants, springs, natural resources, shrines with religious significance, or religious ceremonies that would be physically affected by the use of such artificial snow.' 'Thus, the sole effect of the artificial snow is on the Plaintiffs' subjective spiritual experience,' the court ruled. But tribal members said that finding discounts the range of peaks' status as a life-giving force that tribes hold in their hearts with deep spiritual, cultural and physical meaning. 'These mountains are beacons,' Dianna Sue White Dove Ukualla, said. She's among the last Havasupai still living 3,000 feet below the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Her people are the 'guardians of the Grand Canyon,' she said, having shaped it for more than 800 years. 'These mountains, the peaks, grow a lot of medicine, and these white trees are powerful trees in our ways, of the Supai people,' she said, pointing to the white-barked Aspens bordering the boundary of Snowbowl. She told the story of two twin heroes who were birthed in a spring at San Francisco Peaks by a healer. It highlights the Supai reverence for the peaks' snow melts that fed the aquifers and springs essential to their survival. But as Navajo activist Shawn Mulford points out, there are small signs at Snowbowl that warn people not to ingest the treated wastewater that's now being used on the slopes. The beloved spring where the twins came to life in the legend of the Supai people is now contaminated. 'We can't go there anymore because we don't know what this snowmelt has done to it,' Ukualla said. 'I want this place to restore its harmony with the trees, the animals, all that is on the land.' Those words echo loudly on the subalpine meadows of the San Francisco Peaks. 'We can't go harvest on the peaks anymore,' said Ka-Voka Jackson of the Hualapai Tribe. She's one of the 2,300 'People of the Tall Pines' that inhabit the region along the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. 'And the springs we collected water from, it's not the water it used to be.' she said. Jackson said that when there's pain and destruction going on in the land, the indigenous people can't go there anymore because it's no longer a place of healing. She points to her shirt, which reads, 'No Desecration for Recreation.' The Navajo Nation said in its 2007 lawsuit the research on the environmental impacts of that snowmelt was insufficient. It still is, but tribal advocates are trying to change that. Among the few investigations that have been made, Hereford's stands out. After sampling the stormwater runoff from Snowbowl, he found there is an excess of phosphorus and nitrogen in the soil, which aren't naturally occurring. Hereford said it would take 'a whole new level of treatment' to remove those elements from reclaimed water. 'The nutrient-rich water affects the ecosystem because it acts like a fertilizer in an area that was pristine, so it disrupts it,' he continued. Others are seeking to test for other contaminants that don't break down in treated wastewater. Mulford, the Navajo activist, is planning on testing the water for sucralose, an artificial sweetener with the help of an environmental engineer from Florida. But Mulford's research is still in its early stages, and studies on how that nutrient-loaded water affects the ecosystem long-term are missing. In the meantime, the snow-capped San Francisco Peaks know nothing of the conflict between indigenous reverence and the indifference of progress. 'My ancestors have shed tears, like I do, saying that this place is holy and it's sacred, nobody paid attention, and they left this world with their tears,' Maxx-Phillips said. 'To this day, we're still shedding tears but we will never give up, that's who we are as indigenous Nations.' Natasha Cortinovis is a master's student at the University of Arizona, and is part of a student newsroom led by The Arizona Republic. Coverage of the Society of Environmental Journalists conference is supported by Arizona State University's Cronkite School of Journalism, the University of Arizona and the Arizona Media Association. These stories are published open-source for other news outlets and organizations to share and republish, with credit and links to This article originally appeared on Arizona Republic: Why tribes oppose Arizona Snowbowl's use of reclaimed water
Yahoo
28-03-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
'It belongs to all of us': Advocates rally in support of protecting Arizona's public lands
Environmental groups and public lands advocates rallied at the Arizona Capitol March 27 to call on local, state and national elected officials to protect public lands as concerns grow over Trump administration plans to open those lands to mining and natural resource extraction. Addressing a crowd of about 200 people, the message from organizers was clear: "Keep public lands in public hands." The Arizona Rally for Public Lands and Waters was the work of multiple groups with interest in preserving public lands, including American Hunters and Anglers Action Network, CHISPA AZ and Canyon Coolers. The nonpartisan rally also featured former Havasupai Tribal Council member Carletta Tilousi, a lifelong advocate for the Grand Canyon. "You need to call your congressional people and let them know, do not touch our lands over here, because they were put aside for a reason," Tilousi told the crowd. "It's not just a Havasupai issue, it's not just an Indigenous people issue, it's an Arizona people issue." About 38% of Arizona's land is managed by federal agencies, including the U.S. Forest Service, the National Park Service, the Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and the Department of Defense, according to the Congressional Research Service. In recent weeks, federal actions have targeted Arizona's federal public lands for domestic mining expansion, transfer to private ownership and workforce reductions. A 2024 Grand Canyon Trust poll showed 91% of Arizonans believed that the government has a responsibility to protect public land. The same poll showed 75% of Arizonans disapprove of selling public lands, including a 57% of Republicans. According to a report from the Bureau of Economic Analysis, outdoor recreation contributed over $14 billion to Arizona's economy in 2023 and employed over 100,000 people. "There could be nothing more democratic than our public lands. They're available to all, but only if we keep them that way," said Land Tawney of American Hunters and Anglers Action Network when speaking to the crowd. "It belongs to all of us, it's a shared heritage." Since taking office, President Donald Trump has issued several executive orders calling for increased mining on federal public land, citing economic needs and national security. Trump issued an order March 20 to expedite mining on federal lands to reduce reliance on foreign minerals, and in February, another order called for an investigation into the national security implications of importing copper. Public lands: Copper Creek mine foes say project would disrupt San Pedro River conservation Arizona is the biggest producer of copper in the U.S., so the orders could mean more mining in the state under an expedited permitting process that advocates fear could damage wildlife, waterways and fragile ecosystems. "Arizona and the Southwest is under threat of existing mining and future mining, which often puts economic interest above indigenous communities and public lands in general," said D.J. Portugal, organizing director of CHISPA AZ, a grassroots environmental justice advocacy group. "It's really important that we make sure that that push and fight for clean energy doesn't directly impact public lands." One of Interior Secretary Doug Burgham's first secretarial orders called for a review of national monuments and other public lands where new national resource extraction is prohibited. Arizona is home to 19 national monuments, including six that have been created since 2000. The Antiquities Act of 1906 gives presidents the power to create national monuments from existing federal lands. Reports have indicated that Trump administration may attempt to rescind two recent National Monument designations in California, leaving advocates for the Baaj Nwaavjo I'tah Kukveni – Ancestral Footprints of the Grand Canyon National Monument concerned that protected area may be next. "This administration doesn't seem to have that knowledge or perspective of leaving something behind for our next generation to enjoy," said Tilousi, who spent years advocating for the monument's designation, in an interview after the rally. "If other monuments are on the chopping block, there's a great chance that all monuments are on the chopping blocks." Public lands cuts: Mass firings halt work, raise safety concerns in Arizona's national parks and forests Among the issues raised at the rally was the Trump administration's recent mass firings of federal employees working for the U.S. Forest Service and National Park Service across the country. Described as a "Valentine's Day Massacre," the mass firings in February saw an estimated 1,000 probationary employees terminated from the National Park Service by the Department of Interior, including interpretive rangers, biology technicians and visitor center staff at Arizona's National Parks. An estimated 3,400 employees were terminated from the Forest Service the same weekend. Protests and rallies in support of the fired employees were organized nationwide, including crowds at Arizona's Grand Canyon and Saguaro National Parks. The sudden loss of employees meant some public land offices struggled with daily activities. Immediately following the terminations, reports of long lines at the south entrance to Grand Canyon National Park gained national attention. On Febr. 20, Saguaro National Park announced that both its visitor centers would be closed on Mondays until further notice. The park's statement did not provide a reason for the closure, but some commenters speculated the reduction in hours was due to the mass firings. Essential news every Tuesday: Sign up for AZ Climate, The Republic's environment and climate newsletter On March 13, a federal judge ordered the Trump administration to reinstate the terminated probationary employees, but advocates worry that the confusion from the firings, resignations and buyout offers are coercing staff to leave of their own will or face an uncertain future. "We're surrounded by public lands all around. I can walk out my back door and be on public lands. It's just been a large guiding part of my life, like exploring trails, being in the Grand Canyon. They're all reasons why I live in Arizona," said Neha Khurana, a Flagstaff resident who attended the rally. "I don't think people realize how much we need our forest and park staff to help maintain access to these places," Khurana said. "Not only are there so many people who have lost their jobs, but we'll see those effects in our parks very soon." John Leos covers environmental issues for The Arizona Republic and azcentral. Send tips or questions to Environmental coverage on and in The Arizona Republic is supported by a grant from the Nina Mason Pulliam Charitable Trust. Follow The Republic environmental reporting team at and @azcenvironment on Facebook and Instagram. This article originally appeared on Arizona Republic: Advocates rally at Capitol to support protecting Arizona's public land
