近距离内射合集

My Italian immigrant family put down roots in Ohio and rarely traveled west of the Mississippi. I descended from blue-collar railroad workers 鈥� not explorers. That changed in 2004. With enough credits to graduate high school early, I scraped together money for a National Outdoor Leadership School trip to the Southwest.

I dropped my 80-pound backpack and entered the Gila Wilderness. The intoxicating smell of ponderosa filled my lungs. I heard the world awaken. I saw the stars. I learned to rock climb 鈥� a sport that has given me 20 years of mental restoration and solitude. The Southwest offered a barren, aching, beautiful loneliness that made my heart physically ache with longing. I found my spiritual awakening. I found my sanctuary.

Upon returning to Ohio, after six months I saved enough for a few tanks of gas and headed west, never looking back.

I vividly remember my first morning: At 6 a.m. I caught the bus for my first-ever emergency room shift. Crossing Lomas, I shivered in the October air and looked toward the mountains, the smell of chile roasting the distance. I was finally home.

I read an opinion piece in High Country 近距离内射合集 regarding a proposed transfer of 10,000 acres on the west face of the Sandia Mountains. The arguments fall into two distinct categories: management and ownership.

Regarding management: Litter, graffiti and 鈥渋llegal鈥� trails are cited. In 2002, the Tu鈥檉 Shur Bien Preservation Trust was painstakingly developed. It protects the Pueblo and explicitly protects existing recreational uses including hiking, meditation, spiritual renewal, biking, rock climbing, dog walking and beyond. The first recorded ascent of the Thumb dates to 1948; the Needle was first climbed in 1959; the 鈥淗ikers and Climbers Guide to the Sandias鈥� was published in 1977.

Litter and graffiti are management problems. Since the Sandias are currently co-managed with the U.S. Forest Service, why not invest in addressing the problem? If the Sandia Pueblo is not adequately managing the land today, how will exclusive ownership yield new results?

That brings us to root cause: ownership.

According to the pueblo, land ownership is being rooted in the 1748 land grant. This deserves a quick note: Please read Stanley Hordes鈥� 鈥淗istory of the Boundaries of the Pueblo of Sandia,鈥� presented during the proceedings leading to the 2002 act. His research shows that the Sandia Mountains were never actually granted by the King of Spain; the grant extended one square league from the center of the pueblo, placing its eastern boundary near modern-day Eubank.

History aside, as I fondly remind my daughter: Two wrongs do not make a right. Taking away land from one group of people does not right the past. Why undo protected wilderness (different than national parks like Chaco), the highest level of federal protection afforded to public land?

Economically speaking, Albuquerque鈥檚 $2 billion annual tourism industry depends heavily on the mountains. Recruitment efforts lean upon the mountains to attract talent to our state where education and healthcare suffer greatly. What else is there?

While pregnant, I often took my beautiful baby girl growing inside my stomach to the Sandias to sit with her in silence. I cradled my pregnant belly, crying with gratitude for an escape, and poured my love into her. Later when postpartum depression hit, I returned to the Sandias for peace and survival.

Sanctuary is defined as a safe or sacred space set apart for protection. The Sandias are my sanctuary. I am not alone. Nature provides profound mental-health benefits, and for countless Burque帽os, the Sandias are a free, accessible refuge.

This land is your land. This land is my land. Please don鈥檛 take our sanctuary away.

Courtney Bryan is the spokesperson for Sandias for All, dedicated to raising awareness of Albuquerque's Sandia Mountains.