Hiking advice chliché nr 3 - Leave no trace
A number of the same 'rules' appear in every hiking advice and guideline. They certainly make sense and are a great starting point for beginning hikers, but by virtue of being short and simple they tend to cut out a lot of nuance. In this series of blogs, I'd like to provide a more nuanced view - because from the experience and knowledge I gained over the years, I learnt that the issue of outdoor safety is just not that simple. Today, hiking advice cliché nr 3: 'Leave no trace'.
This 'rule' is all about hiking ethics instead of safety. Leaving no trace, how do you do that? At first glance, it's quite simple. You just follow the principle of leaving the place exactly how you've found it (or even cleaner). So, take all your rubbish with you. Don't build lasting structures like dams or cairns or log cabins. Dig toilet holes. Leave local plantlife and animals and trees undusturbed. Don't build a campfire, or if you do (if permitted), do it in such a way it won't leave a visible mark. The famous saying 'take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints' sums it up nicely.
Now, this is an excellent hiking advice cliché that I wish more people would follow - but I still have some things to say about it. Because what counts as a trace and what not? And do some people maybe take this rule too far, advocating for no human interferance in nature areas at all while certain human traces like established trails help protect that very same nature, and facilities like emergency shelters and satelite phones do in fact save lifes? People dream of heading 'Into the wild', often failing to remember that the real-life protagonist of the hiker classic died a miserable death that was preventable if he had the means to call for help.
The concept of wilderness isn't so straightforward. It makes sense to have terminology to categorize different kind of landscapes - urban, rural, recreation areas, nature, wilderness. But like all categories, definitions are not clear-cut. Take for example the national park Sarek, in the far north of Sweden. People refer often to it as 'Europe's last wilderness', talking about the lack of villages or roads or official hiking infrastructure. Yet, there are trails and shelters within the park, reindeer herds of the Sámi roam there, and I've heard that Sarek can at times become almost busy with all the people looking for that wilderness experience. So, you likely won't be alone. In fact, ancesters of the Sámi people have lived there since the end of the last ice age about 10.000 years ago, hunting reindeer, fishing, building shelters, cutting down trees for firewood. They just happend to leave few traces that are visible to the eye today. Maybe that's the best definition of a wilderness: a landscape with very few visible traces of human activity. By leaving no trace while you're out hiking, we can all work together to preserve that untouched look.
It's still a certain illusion, of course. Humans always leave traces if we travel somewhere, even without meaning to. Obvious route choices become trails. Good tent sites are used and used again and gruadually become bare earth. Certain plants even prefer to grow where our footsteps fall. The result of seeing no visible human traces is that we can imagine we're alone in the world, the first to be there, the first to explore the place. Which begs the question why we give that feeling value. Why does it feel good to feel like you're the first?
I'm reminded of the international race to be the first country to plant a flag on the poles, the many nation-financed expeditions heading up to find a way to the top of mount Everest (both of which could of course only be accomplished with local knowledge, infrastructure and support). Since the time of colonism, to be the first somewhere is to own it, to name it, even when you're in fact not the first there at all (looking at you, my Dutch ancestors).
But we don't - shouldn't - own nature. We can't conquer a mountain top, beat a vertical rock face - we are just there, guests on the land like all the other creatures moving upon it, just one force among all the other forces that shape it.
This turned out a bit more philosophical than I anticipated. In summary: enjoy your time out in nature but take all your trash with you, leave the building of lasting structures like cairns and shelters to the local people in charge, and also don't be too fanatic about the whole thing. Not all traces of human activity are bad. Some are there to protect both us and the environment. Some add an unique charm to the landscape.
I hope that I have given you something to think about, and would love to hear your thoughts.
This 'rule' is all about hiking ethics instead of safety. Leaving no trace, how do you do that? At first glance, it's quite simple. You just follow the principle of leaving the place exactly how you've found it (or even cleaner). So, take all your rubbish with you. Don't build lasting structures like dams or cairns or log cabins. Dig toilet holes. Leave local plantlife and animals and trees undusturbed. Don't build a campfire, or if you do (if permitted), do it in such a way it won't leave a visible mark. The famous saying 'take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints' sums it up nicely.
Now, this is an excellent hiking advice cliché that I wish more people would follow - but I still have some things to say about it. Because what counts as a trace and what not? And do some people maybe take this rule too far, advocating for no human interferance in nature areas at all while certain human traces like established trails help protect that very same nature, and facilities like emergency shelters and satelite phones do in fact save lifes? People dream of heading 'Into the wild', often failing to remember that the real-life protagonist of the hiker classic died a miserable death that was preventable if he had the means to call for help.
 |
| A wilderness hut in northeast Finland - a welcoming sight in a frozen land. |
The concept of wilderness isn't so straightforward. It makes sense to have terminology to categorize different kind of landscapes - urban, rural, recreation areas, nature, wilderness. But like all categories, definitions are not clear-cut. Take for example the national park Sarek, in the far north of Sweden. People refer often to it as 'Europe's last wilderness', talking about the lack of villages or roads or official hiking infrastructure. Yet, there are trails and shelters within the park, reindeer herds of the Sámi roam there, and I've heard that Sarek can at times become almost busy with all the people looking for that wilderness experience. So, you likely won't be alone. In fact, ancesters of the Sámi people have lived there since the end of the last ice age about 10.000 years ago, hunting reindeer, fishing, building shelters, cutting down trees for firewood. They just happend to leave few traces that are visible to the eye today. Maybe that's the best definition of a wilderness: a landscape with very few visible traces of human activity. By leaving no trace while you're out hiking, we can all work together to preserve that untouched look.
 |
| The mountains of Sarek national park. |
It's still a certain illusion, of course. Humans always leave traces if we travel somewhere, even without meaning to. Obvious route choices become trails. Good tent sites are used and used again and gruadually become bare earth. Certain plants even prefer to grow where our footsteps fall. The result of seeing no visible human traces is that we can imagine we're alone in the world, the first to be there, the first to explore the place. Which begs the question why we give that feeling value. Why does it feel good to feel like you're the first?
I'm reminded of the international race to be the first country to plant a flag on the poles, the many nation-financed expeditions heading up to find a way to the top of mount Everest (both of which could of course only be accomplished with local knowledge, infrastructure and support). Since the time of colonism, to be the first somewhere is to own it, to name it, even when you're in fact not the first there at all (looking at you, my Dutch ancestors).
But we don't - shouldn't - own nature. We can't conquer a mountain top, beat a vertical rock face - we are just there, guests on the land like all the other creatures moving upon it, just one force among all the other forces that shape it.
This turned out a bit more philosophical than I anticipated. In summary: enjoy your time out in nature but take all your trash with you, leave the building of lasting structures like cairns and shelters to the local people in charge, and also don't be too fanatic about the whole thing. Not all traces of human activity are bad. Some are there to protect both us and the environment. Some add an unique charm to the landscape.
 |
| Ruins and old stone walls in the Lake District in England - these tell of local history and have grown to be a part of the landscape. |
I hope that I have given you something to think about, and would love to hear your thoughts.
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