How a California state park is created

When it comes to California’s state parks, everyone has an opinion. That’s by design: There’s nearly no end to the opportunity for the public to voice their opinions — even unconventional ones. 

“There’s public comment in every step of the process,” says Alex Stehl, the deputy director of the Strategic Planning and Recreation Services Division of California State Parks. Her office oversees the creation of new parks in California, a state that leads the nation in the number of state-run parks. 

Creating a new park is process that usually takes at least ten years, and that’s if it doesn’t get waylaid by funding issues or land debates. That’s a lot of time for people to participate in the process. And in that process, anything goes. 

“People can suggest anything they want,” says Stehl. “It’s brainstorming, and you want to hear everything. We get some creative recommendations.” 

Here’s what goes into creating a new state park in California, plus what might put a state park on the chopping block. 

The process starts, logically, with the land. Stehl says her office has about 60 to 75 properties on its list of potential acquisitions, ranging from ones where they know the land is about to become available to aspirational properties it wants to keep an eye on should they ever come up for sale. Suggestions for new park locations usually come from Cal Parks district staff (spanning 21 districts statewide) or from partner organizations, but the process is open to all. Any member of the public can propose a location for consideration, whether they have a personal passion for preserving a specific area or a tip about land likely to enter the market. This acquisitions list is reviewed continuously throughout the year, ensuring the department can move quickly if the right opportunity presents itself.

Sometimes, the land is donated through a partner agency, as in the case of Dos Rios, California’s newest state park, which opened earlier in 2024. 

Once Cal Parks acquires a piece of land, it’s considered a California State Parks property. But before it can be called a state park, it goes through a lengthy process, kicking off with the creation of a general plan driven by core questions. “The department looks at the reason why it was acquired. What was the purpose? Was there a sensitive resource, or was it a gap in a cultural resource?” Stehl says. 

Those general plans go through several rounds of environmental reviews and public comment, but one of the first steps is a public walk-through of the site. During these walk-throughs, the department invites ideas on everything: Cultural resources that need protection, suggestions for hiking trails and proposed campground locations are just a few of many common topics. 

“People are very, very passionate about the resources around their homes,” Stehl says, emphasizing why public feedback is so highly prioritized. Beyond acquiring the land and construction costs, the combination of public engagement and environmental review is the most significant expense in creating a park, totaling roughly $1.2 million per property. 

According to Stehl, most public comments are constructive, coming from individuals who genuinely support the process and want to meaningfully contribute. The department has addressed requests from amateur astronomers to reduce exterior lighting at Pacheco State Park — which prompted the park to use covered light fixtures and collaborate with nearby communities to minimize light pollution — detailed concerns about off-road vehicle noise at Carnegie State Vehicular Recreation Area, as well as concerns about whether the process considered threatened species like the California red-legged and foothill yellow-legged frogs, also at Pacheco State Park.

The department has also gotten plenty of suggestions that may not be feasible but are at least inventive. While some suggestions may be impractical, they at least show that the public is engaged in the process. 

“At one point, it was always zip lines. I haven’t had a zip line request in about a decade, but one good one was a zipline,” says Stehl. That commenter envisioned a zip line spanning the park not as a thrill ride but as a means of transportation to help visitors traverse the property. In Stehl’s analysis, it was “probably not very effective or efficient for transporting people — but it seems like it would be fun.” 

With zip lines and most of the other unconventional comments, it’s clear right away whether officials can move forward or not, as various regulations dictate what types of facilities and activities are allowed in state parks. 

Swimming pools and water features are also a common request, Stehl says. “Sometimes we get requests: ‘Can you make a swimming hole?’” she says. “It’s like, from a conservation standpoint, we don’t really dig giant holes out of the earth. But maybe there’s a water feature already there we can enhance.” 

Like many municipal decisions, the fate of parks, whether that means creating new ones or closing existing ones, often hinges on a practical concern: funding. Revenue generation is always a priority, says Stehl, as it keeps the department sustainable and parks operational. But that doesn’t mean it’s guided by a profit-first mindset. “It’s not a Disneyland mentality where it’s, ‘Oh, this can make us so much money,’” she says. 

The department’s first question when evaluating any park is straightforward: “What was it about this property that needs to be preserved and protected?” Stehl explains. It’s an ongoing question, as all state departments are required to conduct annual surplus property reviews to assess their assets and identify any that may no longer be necessary. These lists are then forwarded to another state agency responsible for managing surplus properties across California. While parks might transfer ownership of a property to another department or occasionally sell an administrative building that’s no longer needed, Stehl says it’s unlikely that a park would go from “open and funded” to “up for sale.” 

“It’s very rare that they’d get removed from the system. They’re places that have been set aside for their value as conservation easements,” she says. “They were acquired for a reason.”

However, parks could potentially be closed to the public if the department lacks enough funding to keep them operations — something that nearly happened between 2011 and 2012 when severe budget cuts threatened the closure of 70 park units. Deciding what parks could be considered for closure is a rigorous process, and Stehl’s office considers everything from annual visitation and which resources it’s protecting to the state of park facilities and operational costs and whether similar parks are nearby, among other factors. From there, the department refines the list to find maximum cost savings balanced with the fewest closures. 

“You don’t want to close only lots of little parks that don’t get as many visitors because then you’re closing 60 parks,” she says. 

Stehl’s department is already thinking about potential operation hiccups in future plans, considering the political shift coming on a federal level in January. Changes in federal policy can disrupt the park creation process, as Cal Parks collaborates closely with federal agencies. Those agencies may face budget cuts, changes to environmental protocols or new priorities that could slow projects already underway.

Even without any structural or budget changes to the country’s environmental management agencies, wider-reaching policy decisions could also shift how Stehl’s department allocates resources. She points to wildfires —  something the majority of scientists believe are becoming larger and hotter as an effect of climate change — noting that fire-related costs have increased in recent years, causing funds to be diverted. 

“It happens,” she says. “I might have all the money I need, but then, well, I just had a park burn down. So guess what? That money’s all gone now.”