Amber Winsor: Freedom Beyond the Cubicle

I recently made a trip out to Kings Canyon National Park to see some old friends on the trail crew, and to make some new ones. Amber Winsor was in the latter category, but we quickly bonded over our shared experiences of growing up on the East Coast and going to college in Virginia before transplanting ourselves to California. In this regard, both Amber and I fall into a certain archetype of trailworker commonly encountered in this community: the transplant with a minimally-useful degree who has found deep meaning in an unusual job that friends and family don’t quite understand.

Here, Amber shares her journey to backcountry trails: its challenges and rewards, and where it may lead in the future. I think anyone who has worked in an office or on a trail crew will find some relatable experiences here in Amber’s story.

Joe: How did you end up here?

Amber: The short story is that I graduated from college, wanted to move to California. I moved to San Diego on a bike, actually. I biked from Baltimore to Seattle and then I just came down.

I had no plan. Nowhere to live, no job. I got really lucky that it all fell together. I got a job at a brewery in San Diego. Then I got what I thought was gonna be a cool big girl job as a research assistant at UCSD, and it was cubicles and computers all day. Everybody had headphones in.

We hardly talked, it was sad. I remember feeling like my soul was getting sucked out through the computer and my entire essence was turning the beige of my cubicle. And I was like, I gotta fucking get outta here.

So I just searched for other jobs while I was there. I made an AmeriCorps profile, then I got an email blast from the Backcountry program. Turns out that was technically a breach of privacy, so they can't do that anymore. But yeah, I got that email and then I was like, that's what I gotta do.

But then I waited. I interviewed one year, but I didn't do it that year because my friend had just died and I was kind of scared to be away from my loved ones. But then I did the following year, so then I did CCC Backcountry in Klamath and Stanislaus. And then I went to Texas, then Tahoe, then Kings Canyon, then Golden Gate, then back to Kings Canyon.

Photo courtesy of Amber Winsor

J: What did you study in college?

A: Psychology. I was like, determined not to. But I was reading through all the classes and the ones that sounded cool were the brain ones.

I went more into neuroscience and I liked the research aspect. I helped a professor, we studied her goats and I'd teach them the names of their toys. I'd be like, ‘that's a can. That's chapstick, that's a rock.’ And I would train them and they would touch it with their nose when I would say the word. And if they got it right, they got a raisin. They'd fucking go crazy for raisins. So I was kind of imagining I would do more stuff like that. But it doesn't feel like that's the opportunity in that world. It’s a lot of pharma. So I didn't pursue that at all. That’s why I was excited about the research assistant job. I was like, Oh yeah, I'm into research. And then it was very lame.

J: As somebody who also went to a four year college on the east coast and then came out here, I understand that experience a lot. I'm sure you have a lot of friends and classmates who have pursued very different trajectories. Do you feel like that's the case?

A: Oh yeah, nobody does this. Nobody else that I know lives out of their car or something. I think going to college was like a trauma response. Those couple years feel really disjointed from the rest of my life. I learned a lot and I had a good time, and I have a few friends from back in the day, but it feels like we're just so different now. Definitely different trajectories and just different values.

I feel like the East Coast is just more conservative in general, even though in Connecticut we pride ourselves on being a blue state. We're the good guys. We are in the union. But there's a lot of things out west that are just not a big deal that when I tell my friends back east, they're shocked or something.

Photo courtesy of Amber Winsor

J: Does your family get it?

A: No. no. They don't understand what I do, but they think it's cool. My mom in her own way gets it. You know what I mean? My car had gotten repossessed, but luckily they couldn't get it cuz it was at Sweeney, which is in the middle of nowhere. It was a whole thing, but I was telling my mom and I was just laughing about it because it's kind of funny that something in your life always kind of dissolves while you're out there.

She was like, ‘talking to you reminds me I need to live in the woods. You just sound so free.’

I wouldn't call it that, but yeah, she tries.

Photo courtesy of Amber Winsor

J: What aspects feel freeing and what aspects don’t?

A: I think for the whole thing in general, the freedom of moving my body all day. I’m sad that people don't have the opportunity to move their body and feel their strength, you know? That is really freeing.

I feel free from some gender constraints that I was raised with, smashing rocks and moving huge boulders and a lot of things that are historically for men or whatever. And I feel like the people who are attracted to trails - not always for sure, but often- celebrate that with me instead of trying to minimize my accomplishments. That's freeing.

And then when we're in the backcountry itself. Not getting news. I'm not encumbered by all the terrible things that are happening across the entire world. It feels like money is a distant issue.

My car got repossessed, I didn't even know. Like what does that have to do with me? The stressors of the rest of your life, you kinda only have to tap into what you want to.

And then what doesn't feel freeing is the financial constraints when I come out. When I do remember that money exists. Or hearing about problematic people in different places and being like, well I don't wanna work there because of my psychological wellbeing. The logistical challenges. Re-registering my car, but I haven't lived anywhere in four years or whatever. Where am I gonna get my driver's license? Where do I register my car? I have no proof of rentership for years if I want to rent something. It's just those things that I don't actually care about, but other people do.

J: Do you think you want to continue the cycle of seasonal work?

A: Oh yeah, that's another thing. Knowing there's an end date every time. I only have to make it six months and then I could just do something else. When I think about a permanent position or just how people spend 10 years in a job, I'm like, Oh my God, that feels trapping. But I don't know. I kind of want a nine month season or a 10 month season or something.

I really like having months off and I can go see my family and my friends, go travel, whatever. Sleep. But it's just annoying to pack up my life all the time and try and find a good spot for Boba, my cat.

I think for a little while I was hoping to find a winter seasonal and a summer seasonal and just bounce between the two. But now I feel it in my body more and I don't know if that's a smart choice.

J: Are there any specific projects or stories that have been particularly impactful for you?

A: A couple come to mind. In my first season with the C’s backcountry we were in the Emigrant Wilderness and it was rutted out, leading up to a stream. All we did was fill it with a bunch of log checks. There were a lot of us, it came together pretty quick and I feel like that was the first time I really saw the impact and how much better it all looked.

That was really rewarding. I feel like that is part of what hooked me. I saw it right before my eyes. I think that was the first time I ever crushed rock. I thought, ‘I am amazing.’

Another one was a less pleasant experience. It was in Texas, on a prairie a hundred degrees, a million ants. Building a bridge. I had never even used a drill, I don't think. We had to build two 50 foot bridges and a 75 foot bridge. Everybody went on vacation, and it was like me and my co-lead who each had one season leading like all these people and something we don't know how to do. I was gonna break, I thought.

But I feel like that project I cut my teeth more or something. It gave me confidence in leadership. I had a really cooperative crew that time, so it was just cool to step back and be like, ‘you teach me.’

“The bridge that almost killed us”

Photo courtesy of Amber Winsor

J: If there's like any one thing you wish the general public knew about trail work, what would it be?

I’ll tell this to the public: A lot of times when they say, ‘Oh, I wish I could do this,’ or ‘This is so cool’, ‘Man, how'd you guys move that rock?’ I wish more people knew that they could do it. Yeah, we're cool, we're special, whatever. But when people are like, ‘Oh my God, look at that rock.’ I'm like, ‘It's mostly leverage and knowing where to put your body and stuff,’ Swinging a pick all day is hard for all of us when we first do it. And it would be hard for you too, and then you would be good at it, probably. People are capable of more things than they think they are. Especially physically, a lot of people.

Also, we need more money. One time we were working in San Francisco and this guy comes up to us and he is like, ‘ah, this must be a great job.What are you making? Like a hundred K?’

We were like, you can't think that. Look at me. My boots are busting. You think I make a hundred K? I'm just trying to picture how much that guy makes if he thinks that we are making $100,000 per year. I'm like, oh my God.

Photo courtesy of Amber Winsor