Evidently most Americans, particularly of urban origin – are afraid of the out of doors. Heart breaking.
Those of us who grew up on the ranch or on the farm found ourselves outside. In fact, being inside was a distinctly uncomfortable. Things were clean in the house, we generally were not. And getting clean was first on the list of duties upon entering the house. Plus, we got in trouble in the house. Stuff in there breaks, we had to be quiet and not cuss, which we did with relish out of range of adult hearing. Being outside was equivalent to being free of stifling supervision and forced labor. On summer vacations to our the family cabin we and our cousins literally ran wild in the Bob Marshal wilderness.
In the 1960’s fathers and uncles taught us how to fish and hunt. In the 1970’s we taught ourselves how to ski and climb. In the 1980’s College was cover for taking trips to pursue exciting stuff from Canada to Colorado.
I pursued my wife for instance. I learned that she was a Sierra backpacker from San Francisco. I took her on a canoe trip across Shoshone lake and up the Lewis river to Lewis Lake in Yellowstone National Park (the route was a genuine secret then.) Besides avoiding bears in the hot springs at the west end of the lake, we enjoyed nude sunbathing on a beach of black obsidian pebbles. Something clicked between us, but it was a while before we were married. More college in different cities. More goofing off outside mostly.
When we did finally marry, it took place after a camp-out / barbeque ‘rehearsal dinner’ on the Merced river under a September full moon. We pointed out the lamps of climbers on the El Capitan to our uninitiated urban guests, who stared at the bejeweled twinkles in disbelief.
Next morning, hung over of course, my best man and I climbed a few pitches in the golden early fall light in the vicinity of the Royal Arches. He suggested that if we just kept climbing nobody could reach us and I could escape. By 4PM the party in the Solarium of the Ahwahnee hotel was epic. Friends from Camp 4 crashed the scene drank too much and absconded with the leftover food. We heard that it fed those dirtbags for days. The brother of the bride spent the night in the NPS jail. Everything we did was outside, its where we often went over the line.
And so to us, being at ease in the outdoors was natural. It was restful and energizing at the same time.
It never, not once, occurred to me that people might fear being outside. That is until just recently. I was being interviewed for a position with a NPO. A board member asked me “Why don’t people feel safe in the woods?” I was unprepared to answer, frankly. I mumbled stuff, saying I didn’t really know. I guessed: Perhaps many didn’t have fathers that took them fishing.
That question was insightful and compelling. I mean, I could understand being uncomfortable and unfamiliar owing to inexperience, but unmitigated fear? I hadn’t realized that some people fear animals, others weather. Some fear other people. Women, particularly fear men. None of those were ever relevant to my happy experiences outside. Plainly, I missed something about how this has affected members of our communities.
On my reading table this week is author and journalist Kathryn Miles. She’s asking fundamental questions about justice in the national parks and who is safe in the backcountry.
From an Orion Magazine Interview / Article with Kathryn Miles:
“Meanwhile, much of the American outdoor recreation experience was largely born out of a white, hierarchical, masculine model that emerged out of World War II and the military groups like the 10th Mountain Division. … subordinate social groups remain hugely underrepresented not just in those leading outdoor organizations, but also in pop culture depictions of outdoor recreation …”1
Narrow Way Cafe 