Gross Anatomy of the Group Hike

On a scale of one to kill me now, group hikes hover somewhere near self-injury on my to-do list. I used to guide them but now I’d rather pass a Saturday with a box of utility knife refills and a damp wrist than sit in another desolate parking lot at dawn, watching a dubious group gather around my truck with day packs and take out coffees. Yeah, I’m bitter.

By the third or fourth hello, I can usually draw a clear mental chalk outline of the afternoon’s murders. Sometimes it’s an annoying hiker here and there who analyzes all eight seasons of Dexter for me or wants to explain their new relationship with Jesus. Sometimes it’s a lonely quasi-stalker divorcee who sticks to me like wet dog hair all the way to the summit. And sometimes I want to secretly dial 9-1-1 in the parking lot and just let the authorities record the entire trek for the police investigation later.

I’ve learned to keep a weather eye on the usual suspects but never overlook the quiet ones. Those are the ones who pack a six-inch tactical military knife and a Gerber folding shovel on a day hike “just in case.” Some of the more memorable introverts I recall are: The guy who stripped down to his skivvies and hiked naked and barefoot next to me on an icy trail; the fantastically obese woman who cursed out any passing hiker who didn’t say hello back, then described lesbian sex to me in horrid detail (We were talking about the weather, I don’t know what happened); and the guy who threw rocks against occupied port-o-potties and judo kicked dead branches. Then there was the guy with the gun. He only had one ear. I hike solo now.

Consequently, I feel a noblesse oblige to the newbies out there who are contemplating joining one of those advertised hiking groups, you know, for fun. Grab a pen.

Senior Citizen Walking Groups

AMBIANCE: Prepare to be engulfed by a jingling, jangling herd of holiday-themed earrings and beaded sunglasses chains with gallons of Emeraude and Aqua Velva still glistening on crepey necks. It’s often difficult to discern the males from the females due to their matching nylon track suits and unisex New Balance walking shoes. Checking for day-old stubble doesn’t help.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: The first five minutes will be a dozen flip phones ringing at maximum levels, the next twenty will be yelling into the receivers about how they can’t talk right now, and the rest of the hike will break into individual group discussions about surgeries, medications, whether HTML is an STD, conservative politics, ungrateful children, and general perturbation.

HIKING STYLE: Enthusiastic arm pumping and swishing thighs that nevertheless manage to stay below two miles an hour. They will overlook all but the most obvious wildlife, then engage in a vigorous argument about whether that was a raptor or a hawk back there and if thistles are poisonous.

MORAL: If you never hear another word about how handsome John McCain is, it’ll be too soon.

Elite Soccer Mom Social Circles

AMBIANCE: Steaming venti take out cups, eight designer scents fighting it out in the wind, French tips, an awful lot of eye make up for eight o’clock in the morning, yoga pants, pretension, and Xanax.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: Schools, kids, kids’ sports teams, kids throwing tantrums, kids eating gluten, kids and video games, pumpkin spice things, Oprah, Lululemon, kids throwing up in unusual places, kids fighting, and why don’t you have kids?

HIKING STYLE: Their pastel Nike Free Trainers are too pristine to touch anything other than pavement and they are convinced rapists lurk behind every shrub, so their “hikes” happen downtown between the art museum and Starbucks.

MORAL: If you never hear another story about scrubbing Goldfish cracker vomit out of child carrier upholstery, it’ll be too soon.

Membership Only Hiking Clubs

AMBIANCE: You’ll receive an initial rating by the group according to the amount of your REI Member Dividend last year and your fastest time up Dog Mountain. Acceptable labels: North Face, REI, Marmot, Mountain Hardware. Unacceptable: Whatever you’ve got. You must visibly flash every recreation pass, every lift ticket, and every outdoor membership card available in the western United States and your SUV must have a bike rack and Thule cargo carrier. Old Volvo station wagons grandfathered in.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: GPS apps, GPS maps, syncing your Fitbit tracker to GPS, how all other hiking groups are subpar and pedestrian, the 10 Essentials, seasonal Cliff Bar flavors, and narcissism.

HIKING STYLE: Warm up for their hikes with deep stretches and cocaine. If you fall behind, you are Not of The Body. Landru has spoken.

MORAL: If you never hear another story about how somebody got their 2-person tent for only $699 on sale at REI, it’ll be too soon.

Millennial Weekend Warrior Expeditions

AMBIANCE: Hiking, like bowling, is something millennials often do on a dare, so you’ll witness a lot of contact anxiety about wildlife, soil, and weather. You’ll have to lure them out there in the first place by mapping all the Starbucks on the way to the trailhead and all the pubs on the way back. They’ll look at you like you’re a child molester if you suggest leaving their phone in the car.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: Their favorite barista, their favorite dispensary, their favorite television show that features murder and/or zombies, their favorite craft beers, their past/present/future boyfriend/girlfriend/other/unknown, male facial hair configurations, tats, and equal parts angst and ennui.

HIKING STYLE: Hiking is spirited in twenty minute intervals, punctuated by long hydration breaks, texting, and selfies. They stretch beforehand by holding their smartphones up to the sky and frowning.

MORAL: If you never smell another hoodie soaked in Axe Body Spray and marijuana, it’ll be too soon.

Family Friendly Dog Park Trails

AMBIANCE: The snapping, the snarling, the drooling, the whining…and then there’s the dogs. The ubiquitous aroma of freshly squeezed Labradoodle shit lingers the length of the trail because Jacob and Savanna Millennial didn’t feel like toting that warm little plastic baggy all the way back to the Audi. Surround sound barking renders an utter absence of all wildlife for half a mile in any direction but nobody notices because they’re too busy uploading a picture of Sergeant Pepperpaws doing that cute thing he does with his nose.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: Dog stuff, probably, I don’t know. I usually just let them pass me.

HIKING STYLE: However fast Fido wants to go, minus pooping breaks, sniffing breaks, and breaks to jump up and smear his muddy, unclipped paws all over your new jacket because he’s soooo people-friendly.

MORAL: Cats.

Wildlife Specialist Guided Nature Hikes

AMBIANCE: There is an unnecessary amount of plaid and flannel, often simultaneously. Naturalists are notorious for introversion and repression so intense that you’d need a forklift to drag the needle out of their butt, so don’t make any sudden moves. They are terrified of actual people to the point of verbal paralysis in a Safeway aisle, that’s why they research prairie voles for a living.

TRAIL CONVERSATION: Curb your jokes about animals mating. The taste of eagles versus chicken is also taboo. Admire their enormous spotting scope but don’t attempt to touch it, especially if they are male. Admire their shiny National Park Service badge but don’t attempt to touch it, especially if they are female. When they launch into the inevitable rehearsed saga about how every species you’ve seen today is endangered, suffering, or just plain receiving the stink eye from civilization, look away and think about cupcakes. You came here to relax and enjoy, you can donate to the National Wildlife Federation later.

HIKING STYLE: Pace is glacially slow with frequent pauses to lift binoculars or bend down to inspect tracks and dung. The only time your heart rate will spike is when you spot the empty bald eagle nest around noon.

MORAL: If you never hear another story about eagle chicks ripping apart bunny rabbit intestines, it’ll be too soon.

Conclusions

For those of you out there who are muttering to yourselves, “But if I go alone, the bears…” you can relax. Bears rarely rape, they’re usually too hungry to think about sex. And as far as dirty hippies and dangerous transients are concerned, just stay out of Forest Park* and you’ll be fine. (Just kidding. Lots of hippies in town, too.) Seriously, I’ve been trekking the backwoods solo for 25 years now and the only injuries I’ve ever sustained were on group hikes of two or more. I’m no longer seduced by the words, “I’ll chip in for gas.” Just send me a selfie.

*Photos above were various scenes from Portland’s Forest Park, a common haunt of local hiking groups and bloodthirsty hippies.