How to forget what the media says about hiking
By: Tamera Dandachi
Tags: Life Lessons, Life, Culture, Hiking, Stories

While procrastinating via Google search, I looked up “hiking” with the news filter on. I love hiking, so why not read about some current events on the subject?

Bad idea. The news stories that come up about hiking? They’re all talking about death and murder. Seriously, the number of headlines containing the words, “body found” was astonishing. I was shocked.

Photo by Holly Mandarich on Unsplash

Was that my experience? That’s surely not what I think about hiking. I love hiking, and why would I love something so scary?

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I think these narratives of danger surrounding hiking are problematic, and I’ll explain why.

What do I think about when I think of hiking?

Photo by Ryan Stone on Unsplash

When I think about hiking, I think about the first hike I went on. I was in fifth grade, and my school had the tradition of a fall weekend camping trip for all fifth graders. We stayed in cabins and participated in different outdoor activities. That was my first real taste of being out in the wild (or sort of the wild).

As part of the trip, we went on a hike in small groups. We had to learn to use the compass and follow directions to get to our destination.

I remember walking through wooded areas with trees, trekking through a tall, yellowed meadow, and crossing a small footbridge over a stream. I was surrounded by nature.

It felt magical. It did not feel frightening. Should it have?

All the stories I heard about “the woods”, even growing up, were narratives of danger, urging caution and fear. Kids were kidnapped in the woods. There were murders in the woods. Rape happened in the woods. Even in my small town where almost nothing happened, and the woods surrounded schools and houses.

Then I forgot about the danger

When I was in middle school and high school, I forgot about the danger and the cautionary tales. I had my first taste of geocaching at a State Park and thought it was amazing.

We had an adventure club in my middle school. We went camping, rock climbing, and yes, hiking. I was never worried about my safety.

Throughout high school, I thought venturing into the woods and walking around was the greatest activity. I didn’t care if it was cold and raining, I wanted to be among the trees.

I never thought about the stories I heard years prior, asserting the horrors of the woods.

A little older, not really wiser

I entered college and didn’t spend nearly as much time outdoors as I did when I was young. I had so many other things going on that I didn’t regularly think about heading outdoors. I also lived in Flint, MI, so the opportunities for hiking weren’t really knocking at my door.

But when the opportunity presented itself, I was there in a heartbeat.

I was in San Francisco for a conference and saw that there was a park edging up to the ocean. I was determined to go see the ocean up close and personal, so I took a bus to the park.

The park had some trails that wound through woods, up onto cliffs, and down to the ocean. It was perfect. I dubbed that park my favorite place in the world. I never wanted to leave. For a brief moment, I considered staying and living in that park.

Then I moved to Iowa

Iowa was the opposite of Flint in more ways than I can write in less than 5,000 words. The culture shock was real.

I thought that being surrounded by corn fields was an exaggeration, then I realized that all the highways have corn on either side. Correction: some have soy on one side.

Photo by Joel Drzycimski on Unsplash

There was nothing seemingly dangerous about Iowa. So why was it that I began hearing those cautionary narratives about trails and wooded areas again? I had nearly forgotten the stories from my youth, but here they were, hundreds of miles away from my small hometown.

A paved trail connected Des Moines, Iowa’s capitol, to surrounding small cities. I thought it was amazing. Then I was warned not to go on the trail at night because it was dangerous.

Curious and more critical than when I was young, I asked for more detail. Had something happened on the trail? Was someone murdered?

No, but it’s possible. The trail isn’t well lit.

I chuckled and often told the story to my friends from Flint. We laughed at the naiveté of those statements. Trails couldn’t possibly be more dangerous than walking around our city.

But it stuck with me intrinsically

I didn’t even realize how much the cautionary tales from my youth, the warnings of possible danger, and the plethora of news stories about bodies found on trails impacted me. My subconscious had been bombarded whether I was willing to admit it or not.

This all surfaced on a trip to Portland. I was there alone for a conference, looking for something to do in the evening. I saw a roller derby bout was happening, which was the perfect Friday night activity.

I pulled up my trusty Google Maps app and started the public transportation trek to the bout. I had to walk the last half mile, which was no big deal. It looked like a short neighborhood walk on the map.

Then I got to a park and realized I had to head down an unpaved, wooded hiking trail, then cut through a meadow. Compared to Iowa, the elevation change on the trail was enough to be considered a small mountain.

After the bout, I started my journey back to my hotel room. It was starting to get dark, and Google Maps told me, that the only way to make my journey was from the bus stop up the mountain.

I started through the meadow with the flashlight on, then began sprinting as I approached the mountain. I wanted to get off the dark trail as quickly as possible.

I reached the top of the mountain and a man was standing there with a walking stick. He said he thought I was a bike because he saw the light moving quickly.

I half-joked that I was running so I didn’t get murdered in the woods.

The man said, “Little did you know you would meet an ex-con with a stick at the top.”

Uh, excuse me? What’s that now?

I found out he wasn’t joking. He told me his whole life story as we walked to the bus stop.

Hindsight is 20:20

Photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash

When I saw all those articles in the news, I was taken aback. That’s not what I think about when I think of hiking. I think about the serenity of being in nature. I think of how great hiking makes my body feel. I think about the gorgeous views I’ll be rewarded with upon reaching my destination.

Except, those news articles are what I think about. Not on the surface, but subconsciously.

I make decisions about hiking gear and where I’m going without consciously considering that I make those choices based on narratives of danger. I carry a knife when I hike alone. If the trail is quiet except for one man, I change my route. I slow down or speed up based on my surroundings. I seek safety.

I never consciously make those decisions. They just happen. And unless placed face-to-face with perceived danger, like I was in Portland, I wouldn’t admit that I made those adjustments out of fear.

Why would I keep hiking, then?

My conscious thoughts and memories about my favorite adventures, some of the best days of my life, outweigh all the warnings and news articles that I’ve read.

I love being out on the trail. I love the scenery. I love the serenity.

Of course, we need to be aware of potential dangers while hiking, especially solo hiking. But instead of reading fifteen stories about the dangers of the Appalachian Trail, we should focus on preparedness and hiker safety. Instead of telling our children to avoid the forest, we should teach them how to be safe and what to do in case something bad happens.

We should educate rather than instill fear so that future generations will enjoy the natural beauty of the outdoors.