I Think I’ve Figured Out How to Save Humanity

That whole “touch grass” thing actually works

It’s been about ten years since I went on a solo hike. It’s not something I regularly do. I want to — I love being alone in nature.

But it can feel scary.

Yes, I’m afraid of bears, even though we don’t have many in this area. I’m afraid of rattlesnakes. Badgers. Ticks. Wasps. I’m absolutely terrified of cougars, which are prolific here.

But more than anything, I’m scared of the biggest predator of them all: men.

I never would have guessed that 2023 would be the year I decided to venture back out into the woods all by myself. After all, I’ve never been exposed to so much violent misogyny as I have these past four years that I’ve worked online. The sheer enormity of it has forced me to face the fact that this isn’t coming from a few angry men — this hate is coming from the majority of them.

I see it everywhere now. What I might have once passed off as a man having a bad day, I now question: Would he talk to me like that or subtly shove past me if I was a man? Would he take such liberties in public places if he wasn’t one? And how far would he go if triggered?

During the pandemic, I witnessed men with handguns strapped to their belts screaming at female grocery store workers that they weren’t going to let anyone force them to wear masks. And I knew they hadn’t brought the gun as a prop.

Since then, I’ve also noticed men screaming at their wives in parking lots, gas station attendants who make jokes about how dumb women are, and I can’t believe how much more often I’m harassed by male drivers when I’m on the road.

So when I went out on my first solo hike in late June, I felt panic rising in me the first time I saw a man ahead on the trail, coming toward me.

Dammit. I realized I had forgotten everything. Honestly, it took me so much effort just to force myself to get into the car and do something new that I had forgotten everything but my protein bar and a bottle of water. I didn’t have my knife. My hiking poles with the conveniently sharp tips. My whistle. I had absolutely nothing with which to defend myself.

I didn’t know what to do. I briefly wondered how long it would take my friend to notice when I didn’t text her at the designated time to let her know I was okay. Would she check on me right away or would it take an hour before she called Search and Rescue? Would he kill me before or after throwing me over the cliff and into the river, I wondered. Fair question, considering recent events. How much would it hurt if he didn’t finish the job before tossing me?

Should I turn and run? Go back the way I came? Duck into the brush and try to descend the steep edge where I would be, perhaps, safer down by the water, where I could jump in and have a better chance of survival?

And as I was thinking all these horrific thoughts, another part of me couldn’t believe that at almost 50, this is still my life. I am still living in a world where a woman can be attacked by a man trying to force himself on her and then throw her off a cliff if he can’t get what he wants.

Don’t we all deserve better than this?

Somewhere deep within me, that voice of frustration turned into determination. I am sick and tired of living my life in fear. I’m sick of living in a world in which men have forced me to shrink my life into something so small. For god’s sake, earlier that day, I’d arrived at the park downtown to discover that our annual Pride Celebration had been moved to a new, contained location and was now requiring attendees to submit to bag searches and pat downs because of the threat of gun violence. All I’d wanted that day was to hang out with my people and then enjoy a relaxing hike, and my morning had already been destroyed by men and their guns.

And now here it was, happening all over again: my happy hike ruined simply because it’s not unreasonable in this world to worry that a man might commit violence upon a passing woman in a remote location when no one is there to witness it.

So what was I going to do? Accept the threat. That’s right, I was literally willing to die on that hill. I was going to have my hike and enjoy the rest of my day without letting the presence of men in the woods terrify me.

And that’s exactly what I did. And that’s how I figured out what will save humanity.

I smiled at him and said hello, but in a strong voice to indicate I would not be an easy target.

He simply said hello and kept on walking.

It’s strange to say that this felt like such a relief. I don’t actually expect all men to be rapists in disguise, believe it or not. But the fact that there is so much violence against women in this world and that the perpetrators don’t exactly come with warning labels…well, you’d be a fool not to be suspicious of everyone.

This is such a norm that there are even dudes out there who make social media content about it.

What a high, though, to be able to keep walking, without harm. My friends constantly warn me not to go hiking alone, absolutely certain rape and murder are inevitable. But look at me, surviving!

I kept walking, kept looking behind me, kept paying attention to my surroundings, but I started to relax. Just a little bit.

I passed more and more people — mostly couples, older women in groups, and…other female solo hikers. Though most of them had dogs (smart), they were alone, just like me, and as far as I could see, not afraid of anything. I’m sure that’s not true, of course, but still, it emboldened me.

I continued to be cautious and ready to sprint every time I passed a man by himself — or worse, men in pairs or trios — but I was absolutely determined to make it to the end of the trail.

It felt good passing by all those capable, competent women. I admired the bravery of the solo female hikers. And I absolutely loved all the women over 60 who were with their besties, still hitting the trails. I aspire to be just like them.

Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was the negative ions coming off the river. Maybe it was the endorphins from walking outdoors.

Whatever it was, I was feeling good. That whole “touch grass” thing is for real.

I revisited the trail a week later, this time with my friend, Ellen. I hiked into the canyon alone, since she was late. I planned to wait by the river for her.

I was shocked by how confident I felt. I made my way through the woods, side-stepping jutting rocks in the trail, bounding up the slopes, waving at hikers as I passed by.

Honestly, just when you’ve spent enough time on social media to believe the world is trash, all you have to do is go out into the woods a couple times and your faith in humanity and life will be restored.

Ellen met me by the river a bit later and together, we trekked out along the almost 3-mile trail. Obviously, I had absolutely no fear of male hikers with my friend by my side, which made for a much easier trip. And several people stopped to chat with us very briefly.

We passed an elderly couple, several solo female hikers, and even teenage boys who were out for a jog who were so nice to us. Honestly, this former high school English teacher about fainted to hear teenage boys say, “Isn’t it a gorgeous day? Have a good one!”

I couldn’t believe how happy I felt when we finished most of the trail and decided to stop and sit by the river for a while.

We chatted in the shade and let the cool air coming off the water sooth our overheated, tired muscles. And after feeling relatively restored, we started to climb our way out of the canyon on a set of steep stairs built into the canyon wall. Despite the effort of the climb, we were feeling chipper and stopped to say hello to everyone.

At one point, Ellen spotted a snake and a passing family stopped to have a look. The family — a presumably single dad, two kids, and a pair of grandparents — stopped for a quick chat and the man looked to me and said, “I love your shirt.”

I looked down, momentarily forgetting that I had worn my “Keep your bans off our bodies” shirt and I said, “Thank you so much. That really means a lot.”

He gave me a thumbs up solidarity gesture and they moved on.

That’s right, ladies. Second time in the woods this summer and I not only didn’t get raped and killed by a passing dude, but I met a feminist dad who stopped to show his support of women’s rights.

It was a good day for the women of the world. Or at least, for this one.

My YouTube feed of late has been filled with homesteaders and solo bush campers. I’m obsessed. They are doing something that feels so subversive, it almost scares me. They balance their incredible feats of physical labor and long working hours not just with rest, but with extended periods of time doing nothing.

That’s right, the whole point of their camping adventures and hard work building off-the-grid homes is to have time to sit by campfires or rivers. That’s it.

You know: touch grass.

I realize more and more that I’m not making enough time for that. Though I’m not ready to make any major pivots in my social media habits, I know I need to work harder to balance them with time “touching grass.”

We all do.

Getting back into hiking has already done a lot to heal my heart. It’s not just connecting with beautiful Mother Nature — it’s looking people in the face, smiling at them, remembering our humanity. And yes, having tangible reminders that there are men in the world who will stop mid-hike and support our pro-choice shirts.

It’s still not easy. I’m still afraid. I still have people constantly warn me against hiking alone.

But I won’t let this world take any more joy and sovereignty from me. And it probably wouldn’t try to if more of us participated in this practice.

So let’s get out there in the woods. Let’s touch grass. Let’s smile at one another and remind each other that we are all people just making our way through this big world.

It would change everything.

© Yael Wolfe 2023

Yael Wolfe is a writer, artist, and photographer. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com. If you want to support my writing, consider using my affiliate link to purchase a Medium membership, or tip me over at Ko-fi.

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