Let's Go Camping: Post #1 - Fear
If it comes up that I camp “by myself” (aka without a human companion - my dog Amara goes with me) a lot of people, able-bodied or not, say something like “I’d be too scared to do that” or “aren’t you scared?” And the truth is, not really, or at least not enough to keep me from doing it. For one thing, I think when people say this sort of thing, they might be picturing something a lot more extreme than what I do which, so far, has been staying a couple nights at established campgrounds, mostly with hosts and/or cell service, within sight of the car. Even so, I probably would’ve been afraid to do this without having camped with friends first and getting an idea of what might come up or what I can and can’t do. So far, I’ve only ever gone dispersed camping with friends and relied on both their physical strength and prior knowledge of the area to make it possible.
But no matter how you camp, fear is important to consider and to listen to, so I’d like to spend some time on it now, like I do at the start of each camping trip.
Typically out in the woods or nature in general, I feel a peace and quiet in my brain that I really don’t get anywhere else. It feels like the trees, plants, sky, and ground are accepting of me in ways that built environments just aren’t. However, that same unconditional acceptance comes with a certain indifference which combined with the sheer power of natural forces, leads many people to get lost, injured, or worse all the time. Humans, disabled or not, are frail and squishy compared to bears, storms, rockslides, falling trees, etc.; a healthy amount of fear suggests a reasonable assessment of potential hazards. Checking the weather forecast (including wind, which makes a huge difference), wildfire risk, and road conditions before you go and letting somebody know where you’ll be and when you’ll be back are all easy ways to mitigate the squishiness.
Image: Grey, cloudy skies over Cougar Reservoir, Oregon
Author Tom Robbins says “fear is wisdom of the body,” which is why it’s important to listen to - sometimes it’s telling you something you really need to know. Once or twice on a hike I’ve gotten the creeps or Amara has seemed tense or watchful, so I just got out of there. Maybe it’s nothing or just a chipmunk…who cares. Sometimes you turn back for more tangible reasons - too hot/cold, too many bugs, didn’t bring enough water, etc. Bailing on a hike or camping trip is no shame. You’ve added to your outdoor experience and besides, stories of outdoor flops and mishaps are way more entertaining.
But there’s another aspect of fear that’s important to consider and goes deeper than any individual experience. By now you might have heard the trending “man or bear?” question on social media where women are asked which they would rather come across in the woods. The question opens up a necessary conversation about who feels safe out in nature or the woods, let alone welcome and comfortable - these are crucial parts of accessibility. For many historically marginalized people - BIPOC, queer, and disabled people, as well as women - rural and natural areas have been sites of danger and displacement for generations. Eventually this history gets built into the infrastructure.
In the Pacific Northwest where Amara and I live, a lot of the infrastructure in state and national parks such as trails, picnic areas, bridges, as well many of the forests themselves were originally built in the 1930’s and early ‘40’s through the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), a New Deal program that deployed young men to do this kind of manual labor. While I have certainly benefited from this work, it’s also very clear from the lack of railings and benches and dimensions of stairs, among other things, that it wasn’t done by or for people with bodies like mine.
Image: 1930’s Civilian Conservation Corps poster depicting a shirtless, muscular white man with a wide stance and an ax.
Not all CCC members were white, in fact, surprisingly enough for the time, the CCC was initially racially integrated (that didn’t last), but every person I’ve seen depicted on a recruitment poster looks a lot like the one shared here: a young, white man, not only able-bodied but very muscular, and almost always with a powerful pose, active and confident, usually with an ax or saw. This poster doesn't have a landscape background, but the ones that do are devoid of indigenous inhabitants. Generations of images like these and the reality of unequal access to “public” lands have shaped the physical environment and our ideas of who belongs there and how they should relate to it.
Keeping this context and legacy in mind helps me parse out where fears and anxieties about adventuring outdoors are coming from and decide how to respond to them. It also reminds us, as we work towards greater access and diversity in the outdoors, to do so with humility and respect for the land, its indigenous and current inhabitants, and our frail and interconnected squishiness.
Hope to see you out there!
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