Hiking Is Not Just for Able-Bodied White People Anymore

“Hasn’t anybody ever seen a Black hiker before?” said actor Blair Underwood in a cheeky Funny or Die video from 200In the sketch, Underwood plays a hiker determined to take a peaceful stroll through nature. After receiving numerous stares from fellow trekkers, though — some dubious, some supportive, all passersby are white — Underwood realizes he’s an anomaly. He’s a Black man doing the unthinkable. He’s… hikiIn 2021, this sketch still holds up. Hiking is largely seen as a recreational activity enjoyed mostly by a very specific kind of person: white, lean, and able-bodied.

The United States is home to more than 400 national parks and, according to a recent 10-year survey, only 23 percent of the visitors to these premier outdoor spaces were people of color, whereas 77 percent were white. Taking into account that minorities make up roughly 42 percent of the country, it becomes clear why Funny or Die’s sketch is so hilarious. There’s a nugget of truth to Though things are changing, personally, I understand why Black people, my community, are still one of the most dramatically underrepresented groups on the trails.

Growing up in West Michigan, an appreciation for nature was prematurely embedded into my identity. Summers were spent outside. There were family cookouts and graduation celebrations in public parks. We swam in nearby lakes and watering holes. My aunts and uncles hunted deer and fished. The first time I ever baited a fishing hook, I was old enough to be trusted with a sharp object, but young enough to sob over “Mr. Worm’s” death for an houWinters were also spent outside. We played in the snow until our fingers numbed, and we visited local beaches frozen over with ice, simply because they were beautiful. I didn’t realize it as a kid because it was so deeply ingrained in me, but nature was it.

The other side of the storDespite my idyllic memories of growing up in Michigan, we didn’t always feel welcome in the outdooThe first time I heard the N-word — as in really heard the N-word — wasn’t casually from a peer or in a hip-hop song. It was from a white man threatening us after we swam at one of the countless beaches lining Lake Michigan. He didn’t think we belonged at that beachThe incident wasn’t rare. The same members of my family who hunted, fished, and camped also had a license to carry and would often store their handguns nearby when “relaxing” in naturIn particular, hiking was an isolated form of recreation — so foreign in concept that it never seemed like an option. If it was discussed, it was noted as an activity best avoided.

In parts of Michigan, endless acres of jack pines and yellow birch trees harbored hiking trails and racist groups. Shrouded from the public eye, the woods were a hotbed for the Ku Klux Klan’s (KKK’s) infamous Robert “Bob” Miles-led ralliesIt took me till age 30 to go on my first hike, at Mohonk Preserve in New York with a couple of friends, and it made me realize how much I needed nature in my life again. After spending more than a decade living in large cities, like Chicago, London, and New York, I was physically drained. I had begun suffering from a major health issue and had also lost touch with my Great Lakes state roots“My first hike was transformational: the fresh autumn air, the peace, the quiet. I slept easier that night than I had in yeWas this helpfulMy first hike

was transformational: the fresh autumn air, the peace, the quiet. I slept easier that night than I had in years. Despite the KKK gossip that I was aware of in my childhood, my experience was actually pretty normal. I think we had a couple of stares, but, honestly, it was no more uncomfortable than walking into a corporate office space on the first day of a joAnd something amazing came as a result of my experience, besides my newfound love of hiking. After sharing my photos with my then 60-year old mother, something in her awakened. She booked a beginner’s hiking trip through the Grand Canyon the following spring. It was her first time hiking.