Rewilding, Restoration, and the Evolving Role of People in Conservation

Kris Tompkins and Vasser Seydel share insights in conversation with director Ben Clark following the Los Angeles screening of Preserved.

Photo by Marcelo Mascareno “Being in your 70s is liberating. With our lifestyle, I never assumed I’d last this long. So now things feel very clear: I have nothing to lose except to keep pushing the work forward,” said Kris Tompkins during a conversation following the Los Angeles–area screening of Preserved, capturing the spirit of a discussion that explored what it takes to restore landscapes at scale and why long-term conservation demands persistence, partnership, and a willingness to think beyond traditional boundaries.

Director Ben Clark moderated an intergenerational conversation between Kris Tompkins, president and co-founder of Tompkins Conservation and former CEO of Patagonia, and Vasser Seydel, President of The Oxygen Project and one of Ted Turner’s grandchildren. Ted bought Vermejo, the subject of Preserved in 1996, and his extended family has deep connection to his land and conservation vision.

Kris’s decades of work has helped protect more than 16 million acres across Chile and Argentina and is featured in the documentary Wild Life by Oscar-winning filmmakers Jimmy Chin and Chai Vasarhelyi. Tompkins was awarded the Explorers Club Medal this year for her leadership in large-scale conservation.

Meanwhile Vasser, still in the early chapters of her career, leads international conservation and climate initiatives spanning biodiversity protection, mangrove conservation, and regenerative advocacy.

For this conversation, Ben brought together decades of conservation leadership and a rising generation of environmental advocates, the discussion ranged from ecosystem restoration to mangrove protection in Panama and the growing effort to reconnect wildlife habitats across entire regions.

The panel offered a deeper look at the ideas behind Preserved — how conservation evolves over time, what restoration looks like on the ground, and why protecting nature is ultimately about people as much as landscapes.

Ben Clark: In the film you make a compelling case that we can change the conservation story. Kris, looking back on your work in Chile and Argentina, what has been genuinely fun or joyful in the process?

Kris Tompkins: Flying. Getting to know these territories from the air. It’s hard to understand landscapes at scale from the ground—especially the Andes, the Strait of Magellan, and so many remote places. From the air you can quickly see what’s there, what’s missing, and what needs to be stitched together. Thousands of hours flying gave us the intelligence to move faster and make better decisions about what to protect and how to connect it.

Ben Clark: Vasser, you do conservation work internationally. Why are you working with mangroves?

Vasser Seydel: I grew up with a front‑row seat to conservation in the U.S., and like a lot of people I tried to do something completely different from my family for a while. But in college and especially after graduating, all roads led back to nature and stewardship. Today, a big part of my work is based in Latin America and Central America, where there are extraordinary bioregions and deep ecological knowledge—often held by Indigenous, frequently matriarchal communities that have preserved their ecosystems for generations.One project we’re working on is in Panama. About a quarter of Panama’s mangroves are technically conserved, but in the final week of a prior administration a port was licensed in a protected area. Ports can be devastating to mangrove ecosystems—these are old‑growth systems you cannot replace. Our work sits at the intersection of local communities, local organizations, and government—trying to create an off‑ramp politically so those mangroves can be protected.A lot of climate money is going into tech solutions that don’t address root causes. The best carbon capture technology we have is nature. And it’s not only about carbon—it’s about biodiversity, the water cycle, and people. We’re also seeing a familiar playbook show up: cease‑and‑desist threats and defamation cases used against local groups. In Panama there have been cases filed against excellent organizations, and even asset freezes. That’s part of what these communities are up against when they defend ecosystems. Kris Tompkins:  I’m 75 on my way soon to 76, and I was 40 when I decided I didn’t want to run Patagonia anymore. I was 43 when I finally went with Doug to Chile — and you are a fraction of that age, and I’m so impressed by what you just said. And really I’m asking myself, well, what the hell was I doing when I was probably close to your age? It’s really impressive.

Ben Clark: You’ve spent time at Vermejo and talked about how restoration changes a place. What memory from Vermejo pulls you back and makes you grateful for what it has become?

Vasser Seydel: I’m from Atlanta, Georgia, and growing up, going to Vermejo—and to Montana—felt like going to another country. It shaped my love for the West and for nature. It also shaped how I think about conservation: it evolves. You can’t wait for perfection or you’ll stay paralyzed. You learn, you adapt, and you do.My grandfather had the vision to conserve these ranches and bring back bison. He’d say: tear down fences, remove cattle, and it will rewild itself. In some ways nature comes back quickly—but we’ve also learned humans are part of nature and stewardship matters. With high‑intensity rotational and regenerative grazing, there are practices that can help bring balance back and restore native grasses.We also have to recognize history. In the U.S., bison were slaughtered as part of a genocide against Native American people. We have to name that history first, then ask how we rebuild the right relationship and move forward in a better way.And personally: my cousin, Robert, is one of the bison foremen in the film. I have a big extended family, and we all believe different things, but being shaped by places like Vermejo has mattered for all of us—it’s expressed differently in each person, but it’s real.

Vasser Seydel: Ben, you talked about how hard Vermejo is to cover on the ground. Can you share what stood out to you while filming there?

Ben Clark: We really dove into Vermejo starting in 2021, and after more than 130 days filming there I finally felt like I could hold a real conversation about the place. Even then, there was always more to learn. It’s a landscape where so many different pieces come together, and you never stop being fascinated by how the work actually happens on the ground.Vermejo is huge—hundreds of thousands of acres—and you can’t just ‘go find’ someone. Even if you have a location, it can take an hour and a half to get from one area to another. What stood out most was how relentless the work is and how small and efficient the team is.

As Vasser mentioned, one of the people audiences meet in the film is Robert Turner, one of the bison foremen at Vermejo. While we were filming, I didn’t really think of Robert as part of the Turner family — he was the bison foreman first. It’s such a demanding and fascinating job, and that’s what felt important to show.

I used to say, this guy has a 200-pound problem every day. He wakes up trying to figure out where the bison have moved overnight, and they’ve usually torn through something that needs fixing — and he’s often out there by himself.

There were only two bison foremen responsible for a herd that ranged from about 1,200 to 1,600 animals. You could plan to meet Robert somewhere and by mid-morning everything had changed — the herd moved or something unexpected came up. That’s really how the whole property works: a small team doing demanding work around the clock.

Part of the reason we kept the filmmaking crew small was because that’s how Vermejo works — a few people willing to spend the time and really immerse themselves in the landscape.I come from what Kris described earlier as the outdoor-industry misfits — climbers and skiers and people who like working hard outside. So for me, filming at Vermejo just meant leaning into the work and spending the time it takes.

Ben Clark: Kris, in an earlier interview, you said you reached a point where you decided it was time to be fearless. Do you still feel that way—and what would you say to people who want to make change but don’t know where to start?

Kris Tompkins: Yes. I think it’s a combination of things. I met Yvon Chouinard when I was 15; I’ve been part of Patagonia for decades. In our world there wasn’t a traditional “reward”—there was an ethos: do things the way you believe they should be done, even if it’s not typical.Doug—my husband—was an entrepreneur, and so was Yvon. They built what they wanted to build. I’m more of the operator type: I like starting at zero, taking calculated risks, and making things run.Then Doug died in a kayaking accident. And I thought: if I can survive this, it scrapes away whatever hesitation is left. The grief is deep—but it can also be a wild liberation. While I’m still breathing, I have nothing to lose except to go for broke.Also: conservation is never one person’s story. It’s hundreds of people. And in any territory you must rely on local people—what I call the ‘geniuses of the place.’ You can recognize something should be saved, but you don’t truly know the territory without them.Professionally, we work with whoever is in office—right, left, center. The work continues. I worry all the time, but fear is different. The clarity becomes liberating.

Ben Clark: Let’s talk about age and perspective—what does getting older change about how you approach the work?

Kris Tompkins: Being in your seventies is liberating. With our lifestyle, I never assumed I’d last this long. So now things feel very clear: I have nothing to lose except to keep pushing the work forward.

Ben Clark: Kris, what has changed in the last few years in the rewilding work in Chile and Argentina that we didn’t cover in the film?

Kris Tompkins: A major shift is that the teams in Chile and Argentina are now independent organizations. After Doug died, I told them they had to be strong and independent—if something happened to me, the work needed to continue.And strategically, we changed scale. About a year and a half ago we asked: what are we not seeing? External forces are moving faster—climate, social upheaval, accelerating extinctions. We decided we couldn’t only focus on the acres we’d already assembled.Wildlife doesn’t function inside protected “islands.” Jaguars, for example, may be multiplying and dispersing—but the moment they leave a protected wetland, they’re vulnerable. So we began working at a continental scale: thinking in corridors and connected systems. That means looking beyond borders, following rivers, and understanding where species have moved for millennia.In Argentina we’re working with partners across countries to reconnect Northern Patagonia toward the southern edge of the Amazon basin. In Chile, we’re thinking from the Strait of Magellan north toward Colombia. We’re not trying to buy all of that—but we are trying to restore connectivity.

Ben Clark: Let’s talk about private land versus public protection. How do you think about long‑term security for conservation areas?

Kris Tompkins: We chose conservation with a goal of cultural shift—helping people fall in love with the “jewels” of their own country. Anything we amassed, we donated back to the government as national parks.Those donations include a reversion clause: If any territory is ever used outside the original spirit and intent of the gift, it comes back. It’s not a legal battle most governments would want.What worries me—everywhere, not just Chile or Argentina—is the moment conservation is labeled a “luxury.” When that word gets attached to conservation, it signals the possibility that the ethos could change. Chile and Argentina have not tried to flip the status of lands, but the broader risk exists in any country.

Audience question: What’s the current situation in the places you’ve been working—how are things going now?

Kris Tompkins: Broadly, in Chile and Argentina we’ve had no troubles with the status of the lands we helped protect. Do governments invest enough in national parks? Not always. But we haven’t seen attempts to reverse protections. The bigger concern is the long-term cultural and political framing—whether conservation remains seen as essential rather than optional.

Note: Panel responses have been edited for length and clarity.