“Hey, Bear!!” We took turns bellowing this phrase as our family of four trekked along the narrow path of the Wild Sculpture Trail in Alberta’s Sundance Provincial Park. While our warning calls were interspersed throughout our adventure, my ears were constantly peeled to the potential guttural response of the resident black bears. Our yells eased my fears of a bear encounter because at least we wouldn’t be surprising it.
Hiking is not my forte—it does not bring me exuberant joy, excitement, or even calm. Hiking is what my husband does and what he’s inviting our kids to do. So why was I also in tow on that holiday Monday expedition? Two reasons. One, it was my five-year-old’s inaugural hike. Two, my darling eight-year-old daughter wanted me to come.
My husband had offered for me to stay home, read books, work on my writing, take a nap, or have a visit—all daily wish-list activities. But, while I am an indoors-loving, book-craving writer, I am also a mother. So, though a day of reprieve was baited so deliciously in front of me, the weight of responsibility and love turned my gaze and produced a response of, “No, I think I’ll come for the hike.”
I want to say that it was a joy-filled decision, after all, it was a promise of exercise (something I’ve been struggling to keep consistent in my daily life—a regular theme in my blog posts) and a promise of quality time with my family (something I am constantly yearning for), but it was not a decision made with eager joy.
I. do. not. like. hiking. I do not like the threat of large predators, the plethoric presence of insects, nor the unpredictable physical exertion. Will I be scrambling up a shaley bank? Will I be expected to hang on desperately to a mountain’s edge? How many ups and downs are in store for me? If it sounds like I’m whining, I am. And I do every time I’m offered the chance to go for a hike. I don’t like doing things that make challenge me.
I often wish I could adopt the Canadian/Albertan mindset of loving nature and craving to be in its undisturbed presence. I see images of women, strong and glowing on the peaks of mountains, some with carriers loaded with 30-pound toddlers. These women amaze me. I have at least two close female friends who take their families on camping adventures, willingly sacrificing the comforts of home to bask in the Creator’s masterpiece. Their being outdoors does something to my perception of them. They become even more super than the super-moms they are in my eyes.
When I watched my daughter scramble up the trail’s sandy hoodoos, I noticed two things. One, she was brave and gave it her all; and two, she knew her limits and was confident enough to make it known when she was uncomfortable. On a particularly steep part of the hoodoo, my daughter tried to climb up to the top ledge but was unable to lift her leg high enough. She didn’t give up right away but rather shifted her weight and position to accommodate the awkward rock as best she could. When she still couldn’t get up, she simply shed a few frustrated tears and then bounded up a different path that would still lead her to the top ledge.
My family on the hoodoos of the Wild Sculpture Trail.
A man and two children dressed for a hike stand with a dog on sandy hoodoos. The man is pointing his hiking stick upwards and the children are following his gaze. The dog stares contentedly in the opposite direction.
If it were me in her position, I would likely have grumbled and spat out my justified distaste towards hiking. My feelings of inadequacy would have veiled the logic of simply trying a different way.
When I see those determined outdoorsy women, I often compare myself to them. If only I liked that activity, I could be fit. I could be cool. I could boast about the benefits to my skin and body after breathing fresh air for more than two hours a day. My kids could look to me as a beacon of health and strength. My distaste for their beloved activity makes me feel like I’ll never measure up to the “fit and healthy” girls. They don’t appear to be afraid of bears, or at least they don’t let that stop them.
Upon reflecting on how my daughter managed in the woods and on the hoodoos, I am reminded that a woman’s strength does not lie in the specific activity she performs. Instead, it lies in the attitude she brings to it. Sure, she enjoys the outdoors, but I think that comes from having an open mind about the trials she is bound to come across. The outdoors is not in fact a determiner of which women have found the most success and which have not. Being or not being afraid of bears does not dictate my worth.
My daughter is determined but also cautious. Hiking is not always predictable. Without comparing herself to other girls and without catering to her fears, my daughter allows herself to enjoy an activity that challenges her.
I also am a cautious person and a determined one in many areas of my life, so why can’t I also accept a challenge every once in a while?
I do not need to fall in love with hiking. I can keep my favourite pastimes. But I will say yes to going on another hike with my children. I will show up and be the example my daughter set for me: if I find myself in a situation where I’m not having fun and doubting my abilities, whether it’s outdoors or not, I can yell “Hey, bear!” at the things that scare me, adapt in ways that allow me to stay true to myself, and step up in confidence to things that challenge me.