A Traveler’s Tale: Fashion designer Haider Ackermann on Churchill, Manitoba—

“In November of 2023, I went to Churchill, Manitoba, in the northern reaches of Canada. Canada Goose had approached me to become their creative director, and I wanted to learn more about the company and their partnership with Polar Bears International, a nonprofit conservation organization based in Churchill. I was immediately seduced by the silence and the immense landscape. There’s something beautiful about it: You feel like a very small person, you’re made vulnerable, and you realize you don’t mean that much in the world. It was the start of winter and the temperature was 20 degrees below zero, but I couldn’t really feel the cold because I was so excited to be part of this journey that I forgot about everything else. The PBI scientists took me out on drives to see the polar bears several times. They’re adorable, yes, but dangerous too, so we rode this thing called a tundra buggy, which was really a giant protective truck. I was excited like a little child, but I was also feeling heartbreak and tenderness. We had the wonder of seeing triplets with their mother. The scientists told me it’s very rare nowadays to see triplets, because the ice is melting and babies often die. We sat in the truck for hours, watching the polar bears and talking about the impact of climate change—the disaster we as humans are provoking. We are part of the problem, but we are also part of the solution. It was a really moving education. I literally broke into tears. Previously, this was not the kind of thing I would have done, because I was too busy with my own little life. But now, when I do get into nature, it calms me down and gives me peace of mind. It’s a very lonely moment to be confronted with the question of yourself. I look forward to going back this year. In that endless white vastness, the air is so pure that it doesn’t smell of anything. It’s silent. It’s absolutely mind-blowing.” —Haider Ackermann, as told to Matt Ortile

Haider Ackermann is the creative director of Canada Goose and Tom Ford. His newest collection for Snow Goose by Canada Goose, the brand’s reintroduced heritage label, is now available.

This article appeared in the September/October 2025 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.

A female jaguar is shrouded by palm fronds just 10 feet away from our safari vehicle. She bites into the hind leg of a cow carcass, sending a loud snap through the thick air. As our car idles, Lucas Nascimento Morgado, a young biologist who works for a jaguar NGO called Onçafari here in the southern Brazilian Pantanal, grins giddily. “This is a special sighting, my friends,” he says. Over the next week he’ll repeat this a lot, and it’s always true.

The Pantanal is the world’s largest tropical wetland, stretching across more than 42 million acres and two states in Brazil, with floodplains that seep into Paraguay and Bolivia. The presence of jaguars here predates the Ice Age, meaning the cats once hunted alongside saber-toothed tigers; they have since coexisted with Indigenous peoples like the Terena and the Guató as well as the cattle ranchers from nearby Paraguay and elsewhere in Brazil who began settling in the region 300 years ago. In the past century, though, the jaguar population has been significantly threatened by hunters and environmental loss, as the Pantanal has become a victim of the changing climate. But in a land that, for many years, has been viewed as a resource from which to wring sellable goods, nascent ecotourism efforts have begun to illuminate a future in which the Pantanal is protected by a tourism infrastructure that puts more food on the tables of local families than ranching alone could, without endangering one of the world’s great floodplains.

A night drive at Caiman Lodge

Graeme Purdy

Early tourism models in the Pantanal were primarily extractive, with big game hunters chasing jaguars and caimans until the practice was outlawed in the late 1960s. In areas like the western Pantanal’s Serra do Amolar mountain range, sport fishing has drawn (and still attracts) Brazilian city slickers more interested in wrestling dorado out of the water than learning about the flora and fauna. Only in the past couple of decades has the idea of ecotourism as a means of safeguarding the landscape taken root, with individual players prioritizing conservation on privately owned lands—meaning they can bypass the government, which hasn’t always encouraged such efforts. The team at the ecolodge Caiman, Pantanal, just outside the dusty town of Miranda, has taken this approach. When I arrive in March, at the end of the wet season, flooded ponds are starting to shrink and green grasses are reaching skyward, making jaguars, tapirs, and crab-eating foxes easier to spot.

“Ten years ago there was more water,” says Mauricio Abib, a São Paulo–raised biologist and naturalist guide, on a game drive at Caiman. “The seasons were more balanced.” Many of the trees here twist around one another as if dancing a tango (“Strangler figs,” he says, identifying the parasitic species). Their trunks all share one defining feature: a char from the ground up, about four feet high. In June 2024 a fire raged across this part of the region. Like many areas in the world that undergo extreme wet and dry seasons, the Pantanal has been experiencing more severe—and more frequent—natural disasters. The 2024 blaze forced Caiman to evacuate guests. Many animals perished, and others were found with their paws melted from walking through the flames; the lucky ones were rehabilitated by Onçafari.

Clothing brand Royal Robbins has been at the forefront of sustainable travel gear for the last 56 years. Its founders—the late Royal Robbins and his wife, Elizabeth Robbins, both renowned climbers whose life work took them to some of the world’s highest points—conceived of the idea, fittingly, on Half Dome. Their goal? To start a clothing line for climbers and adventurers that combined their own adventurous spirit with the clean climbing movement they helped to platform. Both follow a do-no-harm motto—in the case of clean climbing, removable, non-damaging gear like nuts and chocks are used over pitons and bolts, so as not to damage rocks.

The Royal Robbins team has kept that same regard at the forefront of the brand in the decades since, prioritizing transparency in the production process, ethical sourcing, and waste reduction, making them a pioneer of preservation and sustainability, two values that are more important than ever in a world that can no longer ignore the negative impacts of fast fashion. To help counteract the 92 million tons of clothing waste in the world, the brand creates durable adventure clothing with natural benefits that please travelers and the earth.

With two new collections on the horizon ideal for avid outdoorsmen, I sat down with Joanne Steinbauer, Royal Robbins’ senior director of product, to talk through Royal Robbins’ ethos, her favorite products, and how travelers can get involved with the brand’s sustainability efforts.

This story is part of April’s sustainability package, highlighting travel brands that are prioritizing environmental and social responsibilities in a meaningful way.

What was your introduction to the brand?

I started my career in New York, and I’ve worked in all different areas of the industry. I have a background in high fashion, and I’ve done mass market, children’s wear, and athleisure. I was intrigued by Royal Robbins when looking at its amazing history and extensive industry knowledge. As an avid triathlete, Royal Robbins allowed me to combine my passions. I enjoy being outdoors, and it allows me to use my own experiences and adventures to help with designs and new products.

Regarding partnerships, what standards do you hold your partners and suppliers to?

We work with a lot of different vendors when it comes to material, trim vendors, and factories. We have a very strict code of conduct. Everyone we work with adheres to the restricted substance list [Editor’s note: This includes certain mercury, nickel release, and polybrominated biphenyls (a flame retardant).]. We’re part of the broader Fenix group, and they are an industry leader in that area. We’re constantly monitoring the corporate social responsibility reports for all our vendors.

The brand uses a lot of natural fibers such as hemp, Tencel modal, and cotton. What are the practices around cultivating these materials?

Over the years, we’ve created a close bond between our team and the mills we use. Liz and Royal were one of the first brands to use hemp as a clothing material. Traditionally, for outdoor gear, we’ve seen a utilitarian yarn used because we thought it was the most durable and the softest. Now, hemp has made its way into the conversation, and from a sustainable standpoint, less water is used [in its production], and you can offset the need for pesticides when harvesting. Our mills blend the hemp fibers to create the yarn we use in our clothing. You only need 30% hemp in a product to unlock the natural technologies that hemp provides, such as odor-blocking and temperature regulation, which are favorite features among our camping and hiking customers. It’s a strong fixture in our spring and summer collections

At Ol Pejeta, a private conservancy in Kenya where lions and cheetah roam, the Ugandan Ankole cows look a little out of place. It would be easy to think they had wandered away from a nearby village, destined to become unlucky prey for the big game animals. But actually, the cows are supposed to be here: They create biodiversity hot spots for other herbivores by stripping the grass, and they function within a beef enterprise that generates a supplementary source of revenue for Ol Pejeta—money that ultimately goes back into conservation of the land and wildlife.

Ol Pejeta uses its land for both ecotourism and ranching, a mixed-use, holistic approach to conserving wilderness areas in East Africa. It is one of the innovative ways that safari lands have been diversifying their revenue to ensure that the environment is protected. As natural assets shrink due to growing human populations and deforestation, ecotourism leaders are seeking sustainable solutions that help landscapes thrive while benefiting local communities and wildlife.

“What if we change the narrative of conservation?” asks Sue Snyman, director of research at the African Leadership University. Snyman argues that the current Western view of conservation supposes that people and wildlife must be protected from one another, that ecotourism can happen only in “untouched” environments and not on land used for other trades, like ranching and timber. “Conservation must not be about excluding people but about including them,” she says. This is the only way to create a holistic wildlife economy that extends beyond just sightseeing in places traditionally reserved for safari-led conservation. Ol Pejeta’s integrated land-use system is pioneering, but it’s not a new concept. The Maasai in Kenya have been grazing their cattle alongside lions and elephants for centuries. Moses Nampaso does the same at Mattikoko, his tented camp on the Lemek Conservancy, north of the Maasai Mara National Reserve. Like at Ol Pejeta, he uses his land for tourism as well as cattle. His 50 cows graze in the conservancy during the day, then are corralled at night. “This coexistence is better for cattle and wildlife,” he says.

A third, increasingly popular option for property owners is to lease portions of their land, particularly sections on the periphery of sought-after wildlife areas, to tourism partners. It’s mutually beneficial: Landowners generate income without solely needing to sustain agricultural businesses, a fickle endeavor in certain parts of Kenya. Habitats and wildlife flourish. Tourists get to see lions. And employment opportunities surge—tourism in Kenya provides employment for 1.6 million people. These types of leases began in the 1990s; the Mara North Conservancy, established in 2009, is a prominent example, looking after 74,000 acres near the Maasai Mara National Reserve.

The power of ethical food supply chains to unlock positive impact comes into sharp focus at Mashpi Lodge, a design-forward retreat with scores of species of hummingbirds. For me, it is the flower-garnished organic flavors of the forest that leave the sweetest taste. Obsessing about the end products on a plate in front of us has more gravitas when you know how the ingredients came to be, and the role they play in local culture and the economy.

“We wanted to grow all our own food when we opened in 2012, but the soil was too moist,” Luis Fernando Cárdenas Vera, the lodge’s executive chef, tells me. “But the chefs make the most of colorful herbs, such as mountain garlic and coriander-like chillagua, and we buy the rest from nearby growers.” The business is also supporting local farmers to rewild so as to create a much-needed wildlife corridor. Restoring a balance in nature while respecting the need for locals to earn money is dependent on hotels such as Mashpi bringing in international visitors.

The El Panecillo volcanic hill seen from Quito’s historic centre

Getty Images

Only 2% of Chocó Forest (which straddles Ecuador and Colombia) remains, so knowing that funds from stays at Masphi Lodge are helping tackle the loss of these lands to logging and mining is all the more nourishing. Carolina Proaño-Castro, who runs Fundación Futuro—the charity partly funded by Metropolitan Touring’s hospitality, including Mashpi—tells me how the delicious jams at breakfast, labelled La Guapa, play a big part. Fruits of the labor of the Association of Women Entrepreneurs of Guayabillas, La Guapa is a social enterprise kickstarted by the foundation’s community outreach. Its name, meaning pretty in Spanish, is also the portmanteau of two local towns, Guayabillas and Pacto.

Wiggling our way from Mashpi in a 4×4 through twisting forest lanes, we arrive at an unassuming two story home in the jungle. Downstairs, below the decking, a door opens to a lab-like kitchen. This pristine space is where the cooperative of women work their condiment-making magic. In a macho nation where it’s still mostly men in suits in charge, it is heartwarming to hear how this collective is a lifeline for women and single mothers. “Yo me siento muy emocionada porque estamos haciendo nuestro sueño realidad,” Lilia Lema, tells me (“I am very excited, because we are making our dreams come true”). Lilia proudly shows us jars of marmalades made from borojó, salak (snake fruit), arazá, and dried delights such as fruta chicle, the ‘chewing gum fruit’. Women— particularly those in rural areas—are most affected by economic crises and climate change, so those jams don’t only attest to the big flavors coming out of the Andean Chocó Biosphere Reserve. They’re a delicious reminder of the power of luxury travel to support nature and sustainable livelihoods in remote communities, thanks to the ripple effect of our adventuring.

In an article in The Nation shortly after the news was announced, Tadodaho Sid Hill wrote that the waterways are “more than just a body of water where we traditionally fished and drew other sustenance. It is the cultural linchpin of our very existence—where 1,000 years ago, the Great Peacemaker brought together five warring nations to seal a compact joining together in common cause.” The giveback, Hill continues, “is an opportunity to apply traditional ecological knowledge to renew our stewardship obligations to restore these lands and waters and to preserve them for the future generations yet to come.”

Now, in January 2024, those who read the initial headlines may wonder what came of this monumental decision. It’s a timely question: In December 2023, a decade-long Department of the Interior effort to buy back lands and return them to Tribes concluded, with three million acres, many of which have similar goals for conservation, placed once again in the hands of Tribal communities. So what does a year and change of renewed stewardship look like?

At the time of writing, the Onondaga Nation says it still awaits completion of the transfer of title—but three restoration projects are already underway.

The Nation remains committed to restoring native Brook trout in the stream, according to Joe Heath, legal counsel for the Onondaga Nation. “This is a Brook Trout refuge,” says Neil Patterson, Jr., assistant director of the Center for Native Peoples and the Environment at SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry, of the waterways on the returned land. Before the settlement, the state had been overstocking Brown trout, which drove the Brook out—the Nation has since reached an agreement with the Department of Environmental Conservation (DEC) to stop releasing Brown trout into Onondaga Creek, supporting the return of the fish that have navigated these waters for generations.

A Black Ash restoration project, meanwhile, has both environmental and cultural impacts. Black Ash trees grow in wetlands and riparian areas, and are prized among the six nations, particularly among the Mohawks, for basket making. Yet the Emerald Ash Borer, an invasive species from Asia, has wreaked havoc on forests across Haudenosaunee territory. The Mohawks have been studying the Ash tree to restore the species, and protect them from the insect—a $650,000 grant from the US Department of Agriculture last year has furthered the effort.

A smaller but just as worthy area of focus is an endangered gastropod called the Chittenango Ovate Amber snail. It’s just one inch long, and found in Oneida territory at Chittenango Falls, now a state park. The snails live in the waterfall’s mist, but it’s estimated that mere dozens remain. SUNY’s College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse cultivated a set of snail eggs, and through studying the returned land, have found that a waterfall within the 1,000 acres around Onondaga Creek provide the ideal habitat for the snail. This past July, several were translocated to the falls in an effort to regenerate the population.

Meanwhile, the Onondaga Nation continues their efforts to recover more of their ancestral lands, pushing forward on their centuries-old land-rights case against the US government, in pursuit of the rest of the land taken by New York state since 1788. The federal lawsuit, which has roots in a plea once brought to George Washington himself, was recently dismissed by a US judge who claimed returning the land would disrupt those now settled on it. The Onondaga Nation has since escalated its case to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights and awaits their decision.

Change takes time, and members of the Haudenosaunee Confederacy will continue to restore the land of upstate New York while they pursue greater returns. Elder Oren Lyons of the Onondaga describes the Nation as a “patient people,” and hopes they may teach the rest of the country how to be one with the land, not simply its owners, along the way.