Jade Stevens stands on the edge of a snow-capped cliff taking in the stunning panorama of the mountains.
Peaks more than a mile high form the backdrop to Bear Valley, a kaleidoscope of green pastures mixed with ponderosa pine, fir, cedar and oak.
Stevens, 34, is well aware that some of her fellow black Americans can’t imagine themselves in a place like this. Camping, hiking, mountain biking, snow sports, venturing into places with wildlife names—these are all things white people do.
As co-founder of the 40 Acres Conservation Alliance, California’s first Black-led land conservation organization, she is determined to change that perception.
The nonprofit recently received $3 million in funding from the state Wildlife Conservation Commission and the nonprofit Sierra Nevada Conservancy to purchase 650 acres of former logged forest north of Lake Tahoe. This will be a paradise for experienced black outdoor enthusiasts and novices alike.
Land trusts almost certainly have an environmental and social mission, Stevens said as he led a tour of the property that spans Interstate 80.
The property’s most obvious goal is to help the state meet its goal of protecting 30 percent of open space by 2030 — part of Gov. Gavin Newsom’s overall climate and conservation plan.
The purchase also has tremendous cultural importance, given that African Americans have historically not had equal access to national parks and wilderness recreation areas and have often been denied the opportunity to manage large open spaces due to discriminatory land policies.
The organization’s name comes from Union General William T. Sherman’s unfulfilled promise to provide some freed slaves with “40 acres of land and a mule” to help them rebuild after the Civil War. start.
Stevens, an avid cyclist, is part of a growing movement of environmentalists, outdoorsmen and naturalists who believe protecting ecosystems, promoting health and fighting historical injustices go hand in hand.
While surveys show Black people are as concerned about climate change and protecting the environment as other Americans, these issues are not necessarily top of mind in an era when racial strife, police violence and economic inequality are receiving more attention.
How can you heed the call of the wild when life in your own backyard presents so many challenges? Stevens, a marketing professor at California State University, Dominguez Hills who lives in a historically black community 385 miles south of Los Angeles, can understand why some people feel that way.
The 70-mile drive from the state capital, Sacramento, feels like a journey to another dimension, where black people make up only about 1 percent of the population.
As you leave the suburbs of Sacramento and enter Placer County, a Trump 2024 sign greets you. Winding past Gold Rush-era towns, forests, and rocky outcrops, the elevation quickly rises to 3,000, 4,000, and finally 5,000 feet.
At Emigrant Gap, Stevens sat on the edge of Put Lake, smiling like a woman on top of the world. The lake is the main attraction within the preserve and is the body of water that drivers see on the right as they head toward Nevada.
The water is so calm you can see perfect reflections of the snowy mountain ridges.
It’s also the perfect spot for Stevens to envision everything the 40-acre group wants to do on the land, from helping protect species like the southern long-toed salamander and foothill yellow-legged frog to helping humans who can’t see themselves as Nature or wildlife lovers gain a new appreciation for California’s fragile ecosystems.
“These plants, everything here, they all depend on each other,” she said. “I haven’t brought my family here yet, but whenever they see what I’m doing, it’s already sparking discussion.”
Darryl Lucien trekked alongside Stevens on snowshoes, Attorney at 40 Acre Group, who serves as a liaison between nonprofit organizations and local and state government officials.
Lucian said the land trust is not as disconnected from Black Californians as some may think.
A spillway runs along the lake’s edge into a stream that the Department of Water Resources calls “Blue Canyon Creek.”
Water from Blue Canyon Creek eventually flows into the North Fork of the American River, then into the Sacramento River and finally into the California Delta, where some of the water will be directed to state water projects, “eventually to Los Angeles,” Lucien said.
Lucien, 38, shows racial pride on his face as he ponders where those waters might flow toward the homes of black Angelenos.
“Little do they know that their water comes from the black earth,” he said. “You’re at the source, baby.”
It comes less than a year after Mike Gipson, a Democratic congressman from South Los Angeles County and an early advocate for the nonprofit, presented the group with a check to purchase the land. The planned habitat restoration will take time, but Stevens already has other great ideas.
Looking across the lake to the south shore, Stevens saw a location for a nature center that could host environmental education classes and also serve as a rental cabin for parties.
She dreamed of building a fishing pier, lookouts along the shore, and full-grown treehouses camping among conifers so tall that the viewfinder of her camera didn’t fit.
Just beyond the South Shore are some old timber company clearings that may one day be converted into trails that hikers can use to reach the adjacent Tahoe National Forest.
“This is an area that’s going to be a lot of community building,” Stevens said. “We want everyone to find at least one thing that makes them feel welcome at this property.”
KangJae “Jerry” Lee, a social and environmental justice researcher and assistant professor in the Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism at the University of Utah, said that historically, “welcome” has not been a word used to express welcome to Black people in America’s rural spaces and wilderness parks. .
The irony, Lee noted, is that most black Americans are descendants of enslaved Africans who were stolen from their homeland for their expertise in land management and agriculture. Participating in outdoor activities is by no means a foreign concept.
“Some of them had better skills than the European colonists,” Li said.
Blacks built entire towns across the Plains and West—including Allensworth in Tulare County—though many towns were overrun by white mobs, occupied, or suffered decline due to a lack of equal access to resources such as water.
Lee said some of the first rangers stationed in Yosemite and Sequoia national parks were black, but in fact the national park system was originally designed to allow white visitors to enjoy the splendor of nature.
In response, black-owned resorts catering to an African-American clientele sprang up in the early 20th century, including Val Verde, the “Black Palm Springs” an hour north of Los Angeles; Lake Elsinore; and Manhattan Beach.
Today, these parks ostensibly welcome everyone, but research shows that black Americans are among the least likely of all racial groups to visit the parks.
“Black people have a deep, innate connection to the land,” Lee said, “and that connection has been severed for centuries.”
Stevens recalled this painful history as he discussed the group’s plans to acquire other land throughout California, including open space near Los Angeles
Recreation and conservation are not the only needs of Emigrant Gap.
Stevens pulled out a copy of a handwritten letter she received from a black man in Los Angeles who was an inmate at San Quentin Prison. He saw a television report about the land purchase and was inspired by its mission. He writes about how access to nature and recreation can help black and brown youth stay away from gangs and violence, and stay out of the criminal justice system. Stevens agrees.
The property will also serve as a small business incubator. The nonprofit aims to help Black and brown entrepreneurs grow sustainable, outdoor-oriented businesses like hiking—cultivating generational wealth in the process.
“The story we want to tell is about getting back to the truth of appreciating nature and connecting with the outdoors,” Stevens said.
One local ally is hoping to help the group change the narrative about Black people and nature — Cindy Gustafson, a member of the Placer County Board of Supervisors.
Gustafson also serves on the Sierra Nevada Conservancy, which provided $750,000 to the coalition to help purchase the land.
Gustafson, who is white, appreciates the coalition’s desire to help Northern Californians manage forest lands that have been devastated by deadly and costly wildfires in recent years. As global temperatures rise, fires are becoming more severe, posing greater risks to flora and fauna, as well as residents in urban and rural areas.
“Many of us don’t have the experience or background to understand the nature of these forests and their importance to our climate and environment,” Gustafson said. “It’s important to have new stewards, it’s important to be diverse. In these divisive times, that to me is a sign of hope. … Taking care of this land is going to take all of us.
Stevens seemed unafraid to convince reluctant black Californians to see Settlers Gap as an environment where they could celebrate their culture while learning about the ecosystem.
Her sales pitch is simple:
“Here,” Stevens said, “you’re safe.”