For too long, wilderness narratives have focused on the lone (often white) male explorer pitting himself against the elements.
Through the Women’s Adventure Scholarship, we sought to elevate and amplify the stories of wild women. The essays written by the three recipients of the 2021 Scholarship set these experiences in stark relief, balancing the fears and challenges of their personal experience with celebration of what it is to be a woman in the wilderness . Take these words and go forth inspired!
Mary Brown was born and raised in Palmer, Alaska but migrated to Seattle in 2010 after attending college on the East Coast. During the workweek, she wrangles mountain guides at Alpine Ascents International and persistently (but unsuccessfully) tries to motivate her lazy golden retriever, Momo, to join her on evening runs around Maple Leaf. Outside of the office, Mary can be found backpacking, trail running, climbing, and dabbling in cyclocross racing.
Mary is the recipient of the stage trip scholarship. We are both excited and honored to share her words here. Read her essay below.
Like a little sailboat leaving the calm water of the harbor, I toss my NW Forest Pass on the dash of my aging Honda Element and jog down the rocky trail into the cool embrace of forest, popping a few gummy bears in my mouth for good measure. The heady bliss of refined sugar and lack of cell coverage washes over me – pure freedom. Open ocean. With my feet clad in trail runners and my running vest stocked with the essentials for the day, I’m living on Mary time and the only thing that could possibly hold me back is a lack of stoke and possibly cougars.
To feel in control of your destiny is a powerful thing, a comfort that has been denied to women, particularly to women of color for what seems like time immemorial. Spending time in the wild is when I get to snatch back the reins of existence and live on my own terms. Particularly when I travel solo in the backcountry, it feels like a powerplay wildly broadcasted to the world. I may have passed endless Trump signs and at least two confederate flags to get to the trailhead, but I’m not one to be dissuaded. Head held high. I have as much right to the trails as anyone else and the unspoken rules that govern life in the city no longer seem to apply. The fast hiker gets the best campsite – it can’t be bought with generational wealth. The most sublime views can only be obtained through the hard work of the climb – no shortcuts to the top out here. It’s true survival of the fittest (no pun intended) and it’s enough to make me want to call in sick from work and spend another day out.
In the city, it can be easy to feel under attack from foes both seen and unseen. Seattle is hardly a concrete jungle on par with the oozing steel expanse of New York, but to me, the streets can certainly feel mean. I live in Maple Leaf, a quaint little neighborhood hamlet teeming with kids and dogs that are treated like kids. Yet, there are flyers peppering the telephone poles, warning of an nondescript man who has attempted to assault several women in the past month. I heard of a similar foiled assault less than a mile away in Sandpoint. I begin to look over my shoulder. My stomach flutters with unease. As much as I love sinking into a podcast while I pound out my long easy runs, I feel the need to be constantly vigilant – alert, primed to escape or fight back, unable to just drift through my neighborhood at night content in the communal myth of civilization. I am a deer and there are wolves unknown.
While the podcast “Park Predators” would have me believe otherwise (why do I willingly listen to such things!?), I feel more at ease on the trail than I do on the pedestrian paths snaking through the city. Out there, I enjoy the cool confidence of the home court advantage. After nearly ten years of tromping around the dense forests and open alpine meadows of the Pacific Northwest, I’ve developed a sort of easy comfort with our particular flavor of outdoors, like I’ve slipped on a cozy sweater. The objective hazards of inclement weather, wild animals, rock fall, and unstable snow seem much more manageable to me than the microaggressions, gender based violence, and staggering income inequality of Seattle. I feel more in control of my fate in the wild, like my actions and pre-trip preparation truly matter.
Don’t get me wrong, some of my most terrifying moments have happened in the mountains. I once got so stressed out on a multi-pitch rock climb that I developed an eye-twitch that lasted nearly a week. However, the feeling of pride and accomplishment I felt after facing my fears (and that exposed traverse – zoinks), still puts a pep in my step even five years later. Those experiences have shown me that I have more guts than I give myself credit for and I can rise to the occasion, even when I’m covered in a clammy stress sweat and I have a serious case of Elvis’ leg.
My everyday life is characterized by tiny pricks of microaggression, the sum total of which can leave me feeling drained by Friday afternoon, like the next unsolicited lecture about smiling more could be my ultimate undoing. More perniculus than the fatigue, are the hits to my self-confidence. I find myself second guessing my every move and decision. Am I an imposter? A long day in the mountains cracks my self-created myth of inadequacy. The proof is in the pudding so to speak. It’s hard to be down on yourself when you’re charging hard down the trail, leaving a steady stream of hikers in your wake. The wide open expense of an alpine meadow is the ultimate salve to a troubled soul plagued by self-doubt.
Whether I’m shouldering a load for a long weekend of backpacking or traveling light and fast on an extended trail run off the I-90 corridor, I feel unstoppable when I’m on the move in the wild. I am my hundreds of past trail miles personified. I am prepared – my GPS track laid, InReach charged, with a first aid kit ready to patch up the scrapes of myself and fellow backcountry travelers. My thighs – maligned just hours earlier are strong and powerful. I don’t second guess my wardrobe selection. I am highly capable of getting myself out any jam I should stumble upon. When I move through wild spaces I feel authentically myself, unburdened by self-doubt, confident, and powerful. A force to be reckoned with.
Read the other Women’s Adventure Scholarship winner’s essays and check out a month’s worth of conversations with badass women on our Women’s History Month 2021 page.