The Great Outdoors and the Great Gender Debate: A Hiker's Perspective
There’s something about the wilderness that strips away pretenses. Out here, you’re not defined by your job title, your social media following, or even your gender—at least, not in the way society expects. But as I lace up my hiking boots (or slip into my floral dress, as the case may be), I can’t help but notice how gender still manages to creep into the narrative. Personally, I think the trail is one of the few places where you can truly challenge societal norms, but it’s also a mirror reflecting how far we still have to go.
The Trail as a Leveler (and a Liberator)
One thing that immediately stands out is how the trail democratizes effort. Whether you’re a man or a woman, the mountains don’t care. The weight of your pack, the steepness of the climb, and the blisters on your feet are universal. Yet, there’s this unspoken assumption that women hikers are somehow ‘less serious’ or ‘more delicate.’ What many people don’t realize is that out here, femininity isn’t a weakness—it’s a choice. I paint my nails, wear lip gloss, and hike in dresses because I want to, not because I’m trying to prove anything. In my opinion, embracing femininity in a space dominated by masculine stereotypes is a quiet rebellion.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Gender Dynamics
Hitchhiking, for instance, is a masterclass in gender dynamics. Boostie and I stood by the road, thumbs up, and within minutes, a mountain biker joked that he’d only take me. It was a harmless comment, but it underscored a truth: women are often seen as the ‘hitch charm.’ What this really suggests is that even in the most liberated of spaces, societal biases linger. From my perspective, it’s both frustrating and fascinating. Frustrating because it reduces women to their appearance, but fascinating because it highlights how deeply ingrained these biases are—even among people who should know better.
The Gear Gap: Function vs. Identity
Gear is another battleground. I’ve been eyeing hiking dresses, specifically Jolly Gear, because after 3,000 miles, my clothes are falling apart. My pants have a hole in the back, my underwear is shredded, and my Jolly Gear shirt is finally showing its age. But here’s the thing: I don’t just want a dress because it’s practical. I want it because it makes me feel good. What makes this particularly fascinating is how gear choices become extensions of identity. For men, it’s often about functionality; for women, it’s a balance between utility and self-expression. If you take a step back and think about it, this says a lot about how society expects women to perform femininity, even in the wilderness.
The Male Gaze on the Trail
Then there’s the male gaze, which somehow finds its way even to the most remote trailheads. Rawhide joked that a driver slowed down to check me out, and while it was meant as a compliment, it left a sour taste. What this really suggests is that even in a space where survival and camaraderie should be the focus, women are still objectified. Personally, I think this is one of the most under-discussed aspects of hiking culture. We talk about blisters, bears, and mileage, but rarely about how women navigate unwanted attention.
The Future of Hiking: A More Inclusive Trail?
If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it’s that the trail is a microcosm of society. It’s beautiful, brutal, and deeply flawed. But it’s also a place where change can happen—if we let it. In my opinion, the hiking community needs to have more conversations about gender, not just in terms of representation but in how we treat one another. A detail that I find especially interesting is how younger hikers, like Frodo, seem more aware of these dynamics. Maybe the next generation will do better.
Final Thoughts: Hiking in Heels (Metaphorically Speaking)
As I prepare for the next leg of our journey—redwoods, Lassen National Park, and Reno—I’m reminded of why I hike. It’s not just about the views or the mileage; it’s about reclaiming space. Whether I’m in a dress or a pair of torn pants, I’m out here because I belong. And if that means challenging stereotypes along the way, so be it. After all, the trail is for everyone—no matter how they choose to walk it.
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