For snow enthusiasts, the holds a mythical power. Published in late summer, these reports detail just how long and how intense the upcoming cold season will be and have become the unofficial gold standard for winter predictions. But long before we started listening to an aging guy with a pitchfork and a weather obsession, we looked to natural indicators for our long-term weather info.

These old wives’ tales prediction methods were likely more entertaining than accurate, ranging from the innocuous to the bizarre. Still, they鈥檝e had some serious staying power. Not sure about throwing all your eggs in the 础濒尘补苍补肠鈥檚 basket? Here鈥檚 a few alternative ways to see what might be in store for the winter months ahead.

1. Mushrooms Galore, Much Snow in Store

A rhyme too good to not accept as hard evidence, this old wives鈥� tale points toward our fungi friends as the ultimate winter weather predictor. Your going a little too well? It might be time to start practicing those mushroom soup recipes, because it鈥檚 about to get real deep out there.

2. Thicker Woolly Caterpillar Bands

These fuzzy are known for their colorful band of red-brown in between its two black ends. Some years, the black bands are thicker than the middle red-brown section, indicating an intense winter to come, or so they say.

3. Fatter Squirrels, Fatter Snowpack

If rabbits and look a little rounder than usual, they could be loading up for a harsh winter ahead. This method doesn鈥檛 necessarily work for humans, but it doesn鈥檛 mean many of us won鈥檛 give it a go.

4. Deeper the Mole Hole鈥�

A popular old adage said that a harsh winter could be predicted by simply measuring your nearest . If it鈥檚 deeper than 2.5 feet, a nasty winter is ahead. Anything shallower points toward a milder cold season. The logic here makes sense, as deep freezes can solidify surfaces and make burrowing more difficult for underground dwellers. Alright, now where鈥檚 the measuring tape?

5. Mo Acorns, Mo Problems

According to popular amateur science, an abundance of fallen means you should probably buy that insulated ski jacket. If you need any more convincing, a thicker-than-normal shell indicates a colder winter. That鈥檚 nuts!

6. November Holds the Key

This might be the strangest of the bunch, while providing the most solid predictions of the winter to come.

鈥淚ce in November to bury a duck, the rest of winter is slush and muck.鈥�

This lyrical ode suggests that November weather is the key for understanding the longterm winter forecast. A cold, icy November is often proceeded by a wet and messy winter. Ask many a backcountry skier and they鈥檒l vouch for this, as early season cold can lead to big headaches in the traditionally snowy months.

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It鈥檚 ultrarunning season, and people around the world are stepping out to do the impossible. Fifty miles feels like a lot, but hey why not double it? These mammoths of mileage have unlocked a new level of human potential, but as heroic as their achievements may be, there is still so much mystery when it comes to going the distance.

After careful consideration, we鈥檝e put together six questions that we want to ask an ultramarathoner but have been too afraid to pursue. Hey folks, there are just some things we need to know.

1. Do You Have Toenails?

Long runs over uneven, rocky trail comes with its share of foot issues, but few sacrifices are greater than those poor keratin creatures attached to your precious foot fingers. Give us the in-shoe scoop: How many of those bad boys do you lose every race and how quick do they grow back? For many ultramarathoners, this seems to be par for the racecourse, but is there a way to strengthen your nails for another round? Anyone out there taking them out for good?

2. What鈥檚 Your Nip Game?

Maximum mileage spells a whole lot of extra friction in those exposed places. For most racers, nipples bear the brunt of it, channeling chafage on a level us normal mile loggers can鈥檛 fully grasp. So how do you prepare for this inevitable rub fest? Are we talking bandages, tape, Vaseline, or something even burlier? When it comes to nipple chafing, are some shirts better than others? How about no shirts? We feel for your chesticles, we really do.

3. Where Does Your Mind Wander?

You鈥檝e got 100 miles (or more) ahead of you鈥攖hat鈥檚 a lot of think time. What are you thinking about? Do you keep it reigned in or let it roam? Counting steps seems like a miserable endeavor, so are there other ways to pass that time instead of one foot in front of the other? It also seems like some prime time for developing a few really hot takes or solving some of the world鈥檚 pressing problems. Give it to us. We need answers!

4. Poo in the Shoe

We鈥檝e all seen the photos: that trickle of not-so-mysterious brown snaking down your leg at mile 75. Poop happens, especially over 100 miles of body-jostling, calorie-evaporating singletrack. So, what goes down when that tummy starts to rumble? Do you have a poo plan? What鈥檚 the strategy when the time is now and your next aid station is miles away? Are there any unwritten rules for in-race relief?

5. Your Best Kept Vest Secret

There are only so many power gels in the world; what鈥檚 an item that makes your running vest unique? Are you bringing trails snacks for your furry mountain friends? A little extra Bag Balm for the undercarriage? Crystals for energetic intervention? We鈥檙e all built a little different, but what’s the secret pocket treasure that gives you a leg up?

6. Do You Ever Fall Asleep Running?

Serious question! The combination of fatigue, meditation, and sheer time on the trail makes for one heck of a backcountry lullaby. Do you ever just鈥od off while running? When things get a little sleepy, what are the best ways to keep your race on track? We鈥檙e aware of the hallucinations and tears, but sometimes being tired goes even further. Are the sleepy scaries ever too much?

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When I was a little kid, I worshipped my dad. He was bigger and stronger than听I was, and much better at catching tiny lizards. So, naturally, I took everything he said as absolute gospel, and happily followed him wherever he went鈥攚hether that was under tangles of rhododendron, through knee-deep mud, or a little too far out into the lake. Much of the time, I had no choice; I was sitting on his shoulders or holding his hand. Where he went, I went. And as long as he was there, I knew nothing could go wrong.

It wasn’t until I got older that I realized what many of us do: Our parents aren’t infallible beings. And their guidance certainly isn’t always right.

Dads seem to be听particularly good at cultivating early hero worship. They pontificate and share even dubious advice with such utter confidence that their children go on to parrot the same facts for years after.

For example: It wasn’t until my teens that I learned that earthworms do not, in fact, survive if you split them with a garden shovel by accident.听Or that egg-crate foam isn’t peak sleeping pad technology. Or that you probably shouldn’t try to nurse a baby squirrel back to health in a shoebox if you find it under a tree outside. (The squirrel’s name was Orville. For a second there, he was my dad’s best friend.)

Many of us at听国产吃瓜黑料听got started in the outdoors with guidance from our parents. We owe to them our mountain sense, our survival skills鈥攁nd many an early misadventure. All of it has turned us into the explorers we are today.

In honors of Father’s Day, we’ve rounded up some of the most memorable advice our dads have ever given us鈥攂oth good and bad.

Our Dads鈥� Best Advice

鈥淲ear a helmet when you go rock climbing. Your mother and I have invested a lot of money in the contents of your brain, and we鈥檇 hate to see it smeared on the side of a rock.”
– Bob, father of Corey Buhay, interim managing editor

鈥淒on鈥檛 walk straight uphill鈥攝igzag your way to the top. And don鈥檛 eat yellow snow.鈥�
– John, father of Frederick Dreier, articles editor

鈥淣ever get between a mom and a baby anything when hiking/camping, unless you want to die. Nothing can be cute in the wilderness.”
– Calvin, father of Emilee Coblentz, packages editor

鈥淔ollow me!鈥� This advice landed me in more tree wells, sketchy climbs, and over-my-head mountain bike trails than I could count, but ultimately turned me into the outdoorswoman I am today.
– Vince, father of Mikaela Ruland, National Park Trips editor-in-chief

鈥淎lways look at where you鈥檙e headed. You should always know what鈥檚 going on at least 50 to 100 feet in front of you so that you can anticipate what might be coming your way.鈥�
– James, father of Ayana Underwood, senior health editor

“Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.” This advice led to some overpacking鈥攍ike carrying a down jacket in the desert in July鈥攂ut growing up in the Colorado Rockies, where the weather can flip fast, it was the right call. And not just for the outdoors. That mindset applies to all aspects of my life: being overprepared gives you the freedom to stay loose, be flexible, and go where the wind blows you.
– father of Sierra Shafer, editorial director, lifestyle

And Their Worst Advice

鈥淵ou don鈥檛 need to wear a head net around the beehive鈥攖hey鈥檒l stop stinging as soon as they get to know you.鈥�
– Bob, father of Corey Buhay, interim managing editor

鈥淩ain fly? We don鈥檛 need the rain fly.鈥�
– John, father of Frederick Dreier, articles editor

鈥淧ack light. Eat bugs for protein.鈥�
– Calvin, father of Emilee Coblentz, packages editor

鈥淚f you don鈥檛 have lighter fluid, you can just put some gasoline in your fire pit.鈥�
– James, father of Ayana Underwood, senior health editor

Has your father bestowed upon you some particularly sage (or terrible) outdoor advice? Share it with us on or .听

The post The Best and Worst Outdoor Advice Our Fathers Have Ever Given Us appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I鈥檝e slept on glaciers, mountains, beaches, and鈥攎ore than once鈥攗nder roadside bushes mid-hitchhike to a trailhead. But few camps have required more preparation than my latest: one night in a backyard in a bougie Chicago suburb.

Let me explain.

In normal times I live deep in the Wisconsin Northwoods with a team of sled dogs. But for the past few months, due to a combo of family illness and my husband running the Iditarod, I鈥檝e been staying in the city with my in-laws鈥攁nd I鈥檓 starting to lose my mind. The place is completely jarring to me. You鈥檝e never seen such perfect grass. There are no bugs (how?!). And while my in-laws are as kind, warm, loving, and funny as people can get (if they weren鈥檛 my family, I鈥檇 be plotting secret ways to make them my family) they鈥檙e also the kind of people who, when I wonder aloud if it鈥檚 stopped raining, turn away from the window to pull out their phones and check an app. Needless to say, I soon started feeling awfully disconnected from the natural world.

Luckily, someone I know well has spent years giving advice on how to connect with nature from the suburbs鈥攁nd that person is me. Yup: over almost a decade of writing an outdoors advice column, I鈥檝e counseled many a letter-writer about accessible ways to get outdoors, and one of my go-to pieces of advice has been to sleep in the backyard. Have I tried it? Well鈥o, actually. Not since childhood. But it鈥檚 not like sleeping outside is hard, right? You just grab some blankets and lay out under the stars. A night like that was exactly what I needed, and anyway I had access to a great yard, shaded with maple and pine. It abutted four other backyards, separated only by a low picket fence, but surely the neighbors wouldn鈥檛 care.

鈥淛ust wait,鈥� said my cousin-in-law, with something like relish in his voice. 鈥淭hey will call the HOA on you.鈥�

鈥淔or sleeping in your own yard?鈥�

鈥淭his is the suburbs,鈥� he said. 鈥淚t is almost certainly against the rules to sleep in the yard.鈥�

Challenge accepted. I dove into planning the mission like any good adventurer with bad cabin fever. First, I consulted the HOA bylaws, which were 28 pages single-spaced, and felt encouraged by what I found. They mentioned nothing about sleeping outdoors, but I could legally pitch a tent or canopy for 72 hours, after which I鈥檇 receive a written warning and have 14 days to correct the violation. By my calculations, this meant I could actually camp for 17 days before incurring my first $50 fine. That would bring my total cost to $2.94/night鈥攃onsiderably less than the expense of campsite rental at a national park! After the fine, I鈥檇 be invited to attend a violation hearing, which would presumably involve a light chat over free snacks. If the neighbors did call the HOA on me, at least now I was prepared.

As for the actual sleeping arrangements, I didn鈥檛 have overnight gear with me and wanted to keep things cheap, so I had to get creative. It was supposed to rain all week, so I bought an ($11.37) and four ($0.98 each), figuring I鈥檇 lie out on the grass. Temps would drop to the low 50s, so I鈥檇 be fine with household blankets and my fleece pajamas. Just as I was gathering supplies, I looked out the window and saw a plague doctor staring back at me鈥攐r, upon double-take, a green-uniformed man in PPE, spraying pale mist around the house from a stiff hose. The pieces came together: This was why the yard had no bugs.

I went outside and asked which pesticides he used; he didn鈥檛 know. So I called the company and spent almost an hour switching from one customer-service agent to another, all of whom seemed completely baffled as to why I鈥檇 care. I treat my own gear with permethrin鈥擨鈥檓 not completely opposed to insect repellents鈥攂ut I wasn鈥檛 loving the idea of sleeping on grass glistening with fresh toxicants. So, I bought a . I鈥檇 been wanting a hammock anyway, and at least this way I鈥檇 be off the ground.

By then it was early evening, and I was feeling decidedly cranky about the whole endeavor. Even with a ton of outdoors confidence and relatively low standards for comfort, I鈥檇 still put in a few hours鈥� effort and over 60 bucks for my supposedly free and easy campout. Plus, the weather was gray, the kind of endless drizzle that seems to come from nowhere and seep into everything all at once. Sleeping in storms is one thing in an expedition, but leaving a plush guest bed for a damp suburban yard felt entirely less enticing. Anticipating a stiff and soggy night, I trudged to the far corner of the yard to hang the hammock and pitch a quick rain fly. The tarp鈥檚 tie-downs would be at a better angle if I tied them to the shared picket fence, but that seemed like a provocation.

Every campsite has its wildlife, and this one was no exception. No sooner had I wedged myself into the hammock than the neighbors鈥攁 man and woman, mid-50s鈥攃ame out and stood on their deck, just 20 feet away. I popped my head up and said 鈥淗i!鈥� but they didn鈥檛 respond. Abashed, I retreated, pulling the edges of the hammock over myself, peering through the crack with one eye. Were they calling the HOA on me? The man looked at his phone, then dropped it back into his pocket.

鈥淭he woman鈥檚 wearing a long dress that disappears against the beige siding of her house, perfectly camouflaged to her environment,鈥� I texted my cousin-in-law.

鈥淲hy are you like this?鈥� he texted back.

The neighbors seemed to be pointedly gazing at everything except me. They pushed a deck chair several feet to the right, considered, then returned it to its original position. They knew I was there. I knew they knew. They knew I knew. None of us acknowledged it. After a few minutes of angsty silence, they went back inside.

That鈥檚 the thing about most wildlife. They鈥檙e more scared of you than you are of them.

The hammock swayed, and despite my wariness, I felt relaxed. I heard a sound like flapping; it was, I guessed, a kid on a snare drum a few houses down. Nearby, something crackled. Was it insects dying? No, just leaves, blowing gently around me, and the porch lights flickering on next door. The dark sky, peeking through roofs and branches, was the most familiar thing I鈥檇 seen in a long time.

I slept lightly in the hammock, swaying in and out of dreams. There was that snare drum sound again. Maybe it was a bird; maybe it was both. The squirrels, the shifting branches, the windows opening and closing, all melded into one layered sound, and the abutting yards鈥攚hich had struck me at first as structurally enabled nosiness鈥攂egan to seem more like a communal watering hole, the exact kind of shared space I鈥檇 been missing. When the sun rose, through mist, another neighbor came out and stood silently on the grass.

Backyard camping wasn鈥檛 quite as easy or cheap as I鈥檇 preached. And I didn鈥檛 feel connected to wilderness. But I felt like part of a place again, and maybe that mattered even more.

The post I Tried Camping in My Own Backyard. It Was Way Harder Than I Thought. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When Bre Kanak, an art teacher in northern Wisconsin, was invited to join a nine-day sea expedition to Antarctica, her husband Dan stayed home to watch their snakes and chickens. He felt a bit of FOMO, he admits, but mostly he was excited for her鈥攅specially because he got to follow along vicariously. Dan remembers keeping a close eye on Antarctic weather as Bre鈥檚 ship crossed the infamous Drake Passage, a stretch of circumpolar ocean known for having some of the roughest waves in the world. 鈥淚 remember being so proud when I got a text during the passage,鈥� Dan told me over the phone. 鈥淏re was standing outside in the wind, vlogging for her students. If I鈥檇 been there, I鈥檇 want to be the guy out on deck with a cigar, chatting it up with the crew. And minus the cigar, that was Bre.鈥�

鈥淲hen you choose your person, you think, 鈥楾his is my adventure partner,鈥欌�� Bre told me. 鈥淭he whole trip, I kept thinking how much he would have loved it.鈥� But every adventure partnership has limits, and the more adventurous a couple, the more likely that each partner will have to negotiate doing big things solo鈥攐r, sometimes, being the one left behind. If one person encourages their partner鈥檚 adventures but feels unsupported on their own, that gap can undermine or even end a relationship. But when the support is mutual, it sets up both partners for adventures they never would have managed otherwise.

It鈥檚 a dynamic I know intimately. My husband and I are both long-distance dogsledders, and while we train our team together, we race separately, taking turns embarking on multi-week solo expeditions while the other keeps the home fires burning. This past winter, he raced in the Iditarod while our kids and I stayed with my wonderful in-laws in Chicago. I felt incredibly proud, excited, and worried all at once, and flip-flopped between wishing that I, too, was on the runners in forty below鈥攁nd relishing the joys of eating takeout in a climate-controlled suburban house. More than anything else, I knew he was embarking on something extraordinarily difficult, and I wanted him to feel unequivocally supported and loved.

How do you have your partner鈥檚 back when they鈥檙e doing something big without you, whether it鈥檚 embarking on an expedition, running a marathon, or pursuing some other private dream? What if it鈥檚 a dream you can鈥檛 relate to鈥攁nd what if you wish you were doing it, too?

Put everything else aside: first, you have to believe in them. Believe in their preparation, their dedication, and their ability鈥攅ven if the journey doesn鈥檛 go as planned鈥攖o integrate what they鈥檝e learned and move forward stronger regardless. 国产吃瓜黑料s can go all kinds of ways. Your partner might fare far better than they hoped, or they might get injured, homesick, or caught in a storm. But believing in them doesn鈥檛 mean expecting a certain result; it means trusting their intention, their heart, and their hard work. Let them know you鈥檙e proud to bursting, every step of the way.

If you鈥檙e not familiar with their adventure or their sport, learn the language. You don鈥檛 have to be an expert, but if they鈥檙e, say, attempting the Appalachian Trail, you should know the difference between a thru- and section-hike, and understand terms like zero day, bonus mile, and blaze. Care enough to read a book about what they鈥檙e doing, or watch movies with them, even if it鈥檚 not a passion you share yourself. Is Dan specifically interested in Antarctica? Not really. He鈥檚 more into machinery and heritage apples. But you can bet that after Bre鈥檚 trip, he knows more about penguins than he ever expected to learn.

Part of the beauty of a public adventure鈥攚hether your partner鈥檚 on an expedition they鈥檝e advertised on social media, or running a big-name marathon all their training partners know about鈥攊s that you can be a container for other people to support them, too. If they鈥檙e out training for a race, buy some markers and poster boards and invite friends over for a beer-and-signmaking night. Then hide the signs until race day, when you can stage them along the route. Your partner will get a boost of encouragement from supporters they might not have expected, and you鈥檒l be building your own network of people you can call if you start freaking out over, say, split times. 鈥淏re鈥檚 dad found a website where we could see in real time where the ship was, how many miles out of port, the sea conditions, all of that,鈥� Dan says. 鈥淭hat was definitely a way to feel connected to her trip, and it kept me connected to her family, too.鈥�

The connections that form through a big endeavor can be surprising. After one of my first successful dogsled races, I got a note from a legend in the sport, Lloyd Gilbertson, who said he鈥檇 noticed my win and that I鈥檇 done a great job. I was flying high. I drove out to meet him, and we鈥檝e since become close friends. It took me a few years to realize what should have been obvious: there was nothing exemplary about my race in particular; that wasn鈥檛 why he reached out. He simply had a practice of noting up-and-comers and being generous with encouragement and praise. Lloyd is a dogsledding mentor to me now, but more than that, he鈥檚 a mentor in building and holding community鈥攖wo things that are vital when it comes to big adventures, whether it鈥檚 you or a loved one doing the adventuring. And being the person at home often means you have more time and space for communication, not less. Try to follow along with other athletes or adventurers doing the same thing as your partner, and don鈥檛 be afraid to reach out unsolicited to let them know that you care. Good energy comes around, and putting goodness into their community is a way of looking out for your partner, too.

And what if you get that restless feeling that you wish you were out there yourself? Try to distinguish between jealousy and envy: jealousy means wanting something just for yourself, while envy means that you see what someone else has, and you want it, too. It鈥檚 non-possessive, and luckily, there鈥檚 no scarcity of adventure in the world. Do you feel that your partner supports you, too, when it鈥檚 your turn to do something big? If not, that鈥檚 a bigger conversation鈥攂ut if so, now鈥檚 the time to breathe deep, refocus, and work on your patience. There are journeys enough for all of us, and yours will come, too.

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In February, I joined four strangers on an overnight dogsled expedition for beginners. They ranged in age from their twenties to sixties, and sat long hours around the campfire鈥攍aughing, roasting marshmallows for each other, and petting a yellow dog who squeezed along the snowbanks behind them, nosing for snacks. Each attendee had signed up for the trip alone; they鈥檇 never met each other before. But the mood鈥攁nd the conversation鈥攃ouldn鈥檛 have been better. If you鈥檇 told me right then, sitting around the fire, that we鈥檇 be extending the expedition for a month, I would have looked at my companions鈥� eyes sparkling in the firelight and thought: Yes. Bring it on.

Recently The Atlantic published a , which is caused鈥攊n part鈥攂y what we might call an epidemic of individualism: our own ongoing choices to stay siloed in tiny worlds. We work from home; we eat at home; we stream instead of going to the movies鈥攁nd the problem, as diagnosed in The Atlantic, isn鈥檛 so much that we鈥檙e lonely as that we鈥檙e not. We鈥檙e alone by choice, and we鈥檙e OK with it, in part because of the ways that technology intrudes on what used to be solo time. Let鈥檚 say you choose to take a quiet evening to recharge. But your phone鈥檚 lighting up constantly, and you owe so-and-so a text and so-and-so an email, and you should probably check socials just to see what disasters are happening in the news鈥� and by the end of the night, you haven鈥檛 spent quality time with other people or yourself. So you鈥檙e hungry for quiet, and stay home the next night and do the same, with the same result. As author Annie Dillard says, how we spend our days is how we spend our lives鈥攁nd a life of neither solitude nor companionship can leave us feeling consistently wrong.

The article strikes me partially as hand-wringing (I鈥檓 rarely compelled by arguments that other people are choosing to live their personal lives wrong) and partially as terrifying (it鈥檚 easier to hate people for their differences if you rarely encounter them). But I also wrote an outdoors advice column for almost a decade, long enough to notice deep grooves of recurring themes in the questions that readers sent in. Many readers鈥� problems were steeped, above all, not in solitude but in true loneliness; the theme came up so often that it was sometimes difficult to find questions to answer that weren鈥檛 about being alone. People struggled to make friends as adults, or after a move to a new location; they mourned when relationships drifted apart, and weren鈥檛 sure how to fill the gap. And yes, when you鈥檙e a hammer鈥攐r an outdoors columnist鈥攅verything looks like a nail, but it鈥檚 hard to ignore the degree to which time outdoors can heal these ills, at least when it comes to the particular forms they take in modern life.

When we go outside with someone, whether that means joining a meetup or organizing a trip with friends, we鈥檙e committing to spending time together in bulk: a two-night camping trip with a buddy means logging as many waking hours together as two years鈥� worth of monthly coffee dates. Researchers have found that the closeness of a friendship can, : that it takes roughly 50 hours to build a casual friendship, versus 200 to be in someone鈥檚 inner circle, and 听that involved locking male strangers in a room together for ten days resulted in the men becoming, well, basically besties. If you鈥檝e spent any amount of time traveling or hiking with strangers鈥攐r even sitting around a campfire鈥攁nd experienced the intense bond that results, then this degree of rapid closeness may not surprise you at all.

I spoke to Jenny Baker, the founder of Sheventures, an outdoors camp for women in Tennessee, about how her campers make friends. She tries to make sure that 35 percent of the slots at each camp are saved for people who don鈥檛 know anyone else, so that they can meet and connect with one another. The strategy is so effective that now, nine years on, it can be hard for her to find enough solo travelers: previous years鈥� campers are now friends with each other, and choose to return together as a group.

鈥淚f we want to combat loneliness,鈥� Jenny told me, 鈥渨e can鈥檛 just find the places where people are connecting. We have to build those places intentionally. How do we ease the hurdles that people encounter when they鈥檙e making new outdoor friends? How do we make space for deep connection?鈥�

Jenny鈥檚 found that not all outdoor activities are created equal when it comes to making friends. Paddleboarding and mountain biking require too much solitary focus, even when a group does them together. 鈥淗iking is great for introverts,鈥� she told me, 鈥渂ecause you don鈥檛 have to make eye contact while you鈥檙e talking.鈥� But the best activity she鈥檚 seen for building friendships, by far, is rock climbing. 鈥淵ou鈥檇 think it鈥檚 a solo sport, but it鈥檚 not. At camp, we might have three women on the wall and 20 women on the ground cheering for them. A climber might be scared. Maybe she鈥檚 tried for the next hold a few times, and keeps missing it. As women, we try not to take up space, so she鈥檒l say she鈥檚 done and someone else should go. But the women on the ground will literally not let her off the wall. They鈥檙e calling out, helping her. They鈥檙e completely invested. And when she succeeds, the cheering that erupts in the woods is incredible. It鈥檚 like everyone succeeded together.鈥�

But what about after camp? How can people keep those intense bonds from drifting apart?

It turns out that the science of friendship can guide us here, too. For one thing, it鈥檚 OK for friendships to drift apart; we benefit from companionship at any level, and just because a friendship is short-lived doesn鈥檛 mean that it鈥檚 not important, or that it won鈥檛 be rekindled later. But if you find yourself making an outdoor friend that you really want to hold onto, just remember to do the opposite of what every true crime podcast tells you and go to a second location. Going from the trail to the pub, or making plans to meet up after camp, helps you to see each other in a different light, and also lets your new pal know that you care about them beyond convenience. And that choice鈥搕hat intention鈥揷an make all the difference between an outdoor friend and a friend for good.

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It鈥檚 a bluebird day at Val Thorens in France, the highest ski resort in Europe, and there鈥檚 still an hour and a half till the lifts close. But unlike your diehard last-chair Rockies skier, we鈥檝e abandoned our skis. We鈥檝e traded the lift lines for the queues at La Folie Douce, a famous outdoor bar above a steep blue run.

To my left, a group of skiers in Hogwarts regalia bops along to house music. Artificial fog engulfs the group on the table in front of me, where a flannel-clad man is dancing in front of the crowd. He and his friends are doing lewd things with a six-liter bottle of ros茅鈥�550 euros鈥攁nd taking turns drinking straight out of it. A woman sways in black sequined pants. In the right lighting, she could be mistaken for a disco ball.

鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower. Champagne鈥� SHOWER,鈥� the DJ starts to chant from a balcony overlooking the wooden deck, slowly building speed and volume. He waves for the crowd to join in.

鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower,鈥� we chant back. 鈥淐hampagne鈥� shower. Champagne鈥� SHOWER. CHAMPAGNE鈥斺�� and then we get what we want: three bottles are popped and fizz rains from the balcony. We scream and duck, but there鈥檚 nowhere to hide from the spray. We鈥檙e packed in tighter than ski bums jockeying for the first tram of the morning.

We鈥檙e above treeline, surrounded by views of sharp, snow-covered peaks, yet the Alps are forgotten. The mountains aren鈥檛 the point鈥攖hey鈥檙e the vehicle.

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My favorite Tough Love question from the last eight years, the one I (somewhat inexplicably) recall most fondly, was from a woman whose boyfriend was grossed out that she used a pee rag鈥攁.k.a. reusable toilet paper鈥攚hile camping. We got a lot of impassioned reader feedback about that one: Pee is sanitary! Pee is gross! Bodies are normal! Women鈥檚 bodies in particular are gross! (OK, dude.) And though I鈥檇 phrase my answer differently now, I stand by the gist of it: If you don鈥檛 want your boyfriend weighing in on your wiping habits, don鈥檛 tell him about them. Wherever that couple is now, together or apart, I hope they鈥檝e figured out how to pee in peace.

The secret about an outdoors advice column, of course, is that it鈥檚 basically a regular advice column with the words 鈥渨hile camping鈥� tacked to the end of each question. Consider:

Should I break up with my boyfriend? He鈥檚 ignoring my boundaries while camping.

How do I stop hating my body while camping?

I鈥檓 desperately lonely. While camping, I mean. Obviously. Right?

鈥淲hile camping鈥� is 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine鈥檚 鈥渁sking for a friend鈥�: a framing that distances us just enough from our problems that we might gather the courage to speak them aloud. The questions that readers sent to Tough Love were almost never uniquely outdoors-specific. Rather, the outdoors served as both backdrop and shared language between asker and reader. A number of thru-hikers, climbers, kayakers, skiers, and runners wrote to me over the years, but their problems weren鈥檛 about, say, the best way to dry long johns over a campfire. They were about grief, illness, heartbreak, anxiety, and love. 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 community, more than anyone, should know that wherever we go, our shadows follow. And it鈥檚 often in the most spectacular places鈥攁 mountaintop at sunrise, a bonfire with friends鈥攖hat our worries are cast in the greatest relief.

At the core, advice columns are gossip.

And yet there is something unique about an outdoors advice column, less in the specifics of individual problems than in the way those problems reveal the contours of bigger, communal ones. By far the most common questions I received, again and again, were variations on two issues. First: I am a man, and I鈥檓 struggling to find and date women who are outdoorsy. Second: I am an outdoorsy woman, and men won鈥檛 date me because I鈥檓 better/stronger/faster than they are. It would be too simple to suggest that the writers of these letters meet, date each other, and thus solve all their problems, because it鈥檚 precisely the contrast between these two categories that reveals the root of the issue. What is it? Misogyny (or to phrase it as generously as possible for individual men: the sexist pressure on them to be more accomplished than their girlfriends or wives). Men, if you want to date outdoorsy women, there are plenty available鈥攂ut you might need to work on your insecurities first. As for women who date men? At least some of us are outta luck.

At the core, advice columns are gossip. It鈥檚 a myth鈥攁n excuse we tell ourselves, as part of the writer-columnist-reader triad鈥攖hat their purpose is to deliver wisdom to the letter-writer. Instead, the whole dynamic is a collaboration, an exchange. Readers rubberneck, reassuring themselves that although they make plenty of mistakes, they would never make that one. Alternately, they take comfort in the fact they鈥檙e not alone. And the letter-writer shares something vulnerable, under cover of anonymity, in exchange for being seen.

I never shared letter-writers鈥� identities, even with my editors. A few questions were written by celebrities. Some were sent by my friends. Some people were so cautious that they wrote in under fake names, from fake email addresses. And at least one question was my own. (A great exercise, in a tricky situation, is to imagine that you鈥檙e an advice columnist and someone sent in a letter about your exact situation. How would you reassure them? What would you recommend they do? And if you happened to write an actual advice column, wouldn鈥檛 you be tempted to publish the exchange?) There were questions, too, that I never had a chance to answer, either because they were too similar to ones we鈥檇 already published, or because they lacked context. 鈥淲hat do I do next?鈥� someone once wrote, as the entirety of their email. I just wanted to give them a hug.

I suspect my primary strength as an advice columnist is that I don鈥檛 think I have the answers.

Sometimes readers sent in advice for other letter-writers, pouring their hearts out over shared experiences, and I passed the messages along. Other times, folks corrected my takes, explaining details I鈥檇 missed or ways my response was short-sighted. Regarding a woman with asthma whose boyfriend accused her of abandoning him when she had to leave a campground due to wildfire smoke, I received, to Tough Love鈥檚 email address, this phenomenal piece of reader feedback: 鈥淭he fact that your advice to this poor woman was decent enough does not justify your presuming, as a dogsledder, to answer her deeply concerning plea.鈥�

I texted my friend a screenshot, delighted by the implication that dogsledders are uniquely bad at giving advice. 鈥淒oes she think that advice columnists go to鈥� advice column school?鈥� she texted back.

In fact, at the time I started writing Tough Love, I was just out of grad school, living on $18,000 a year and supporting a fledgling sled dog team. I鈥檇 written an essay鈥攁 love letter, really鈥攖hat went viral, and got passed around 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 editors. When they approached me about writing an outdoors relationship advice column, I felt like I鈥檇 won the lottery, and in a way I had: a steady freelance gig is practically as rare. I was on a road trip when I got the email. To give me practice, my now-husband read letters from Cosmo magazine aloud, tweaking details to make them outdoors-specfic. I still remember: 鈥淲hat do you do if you get cum in your eye,鈥� he asked me, 鈥渋n the woods?鈥�

I had no idea. Stick your face in a river? I googled it. Then I regretted googling it. I probably wouldn鈥檛 get that question, I reassured myself. On the other hand, what if I did? I didn鈥檛 want to guide people wrong. Or make their eyes hurt. I felt then about the column, and always have, an intense pressure to do no harm.

Problems are inherently vulnerable; they invite vulnerability in return.

I suspect my primary strength as an advice columnist is that I don鈥檛 think I have all the answers. For some questions, I dug deeply into my own experience.Those columns are still raw and near to my heart, whether they鈥檙e about grief, being a woman alone in the wilderness, writing a memoir, or the fear of losing a dog. But more often, I used the questions as springboards to approach and interview people鈥攆amily members, friends, even strangers I admired鈥攚hose wisdom I wanted to both learn from and pass on. With particularly puzzling situations, I even brought up the questions at dinner parties, asking folks around the table to weigh in. It was in response to these strangers鈥� questions that people close to me shared some of their most tender truths. For that, I鈥檒l always be grateful.

At the close of the column, I think its greatest lesson, at least for me, is this: we should ask each other for advice more. The questions don鈥檛 even have to be our own. Share situations you鈥檝e read about, or heard about, or even seen on TV, and ask your loved ones what they鈥檇 recommend. Problems are inherently vulnerable; they invite vulnerability in return. You鈥檒l be surprised by how often people will take the invitation to say what they鈥檝e needed to say.

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My wife, Hilary, was essentially handing me a gift, and I didn鈥檛 know what to do with it: She was taking our toddler, Jay, to the Oregon coast for a week, and I was invited to not join them.

Meaning: I had a full week to do anything I wanted, for the first time since Jay was born 14 months prior. No toddler wrangling, no constant vigilance to make sure he didn鈥檛 fall off something, or stick his finger in something, or eat something indigestible. I could stay up late, sleep in, eat takeout, whatever. OR: I could go on a big adventure somewhere, like I used to do: I could fly (by myself!) somewhere for a few days, or take a road trip, or pack a backpack and spend five days in the backcountry. What should I do?

One of my favorite memes of the past five years is the . It started as someone revisiting their childhood memory of asking their mother to take them to McDonald鈥檚, only to have their mother say, 鈥淲e have food at home.鈥� And then the meme of course evolved from there, in incredibly diverse ways.

I鈥檇 lived in Missoula for about five years of my adult life in total (over two stints), and I still felt like I hadn鈥檛 seen that much of it鈥攇rad school, then Covid, then pregnancy, and a new baby kept me around town (or that鈥檚 what I told myself).

And then with an entire week off to go exploring, I got choice paralysis, and finally just decided to stay home. Luckily, we have trails at home.

I picked out some mountains, some close, some a little farther away, some legit rocky peaks and some just really steep tall grassy summits, and asked some friends to join me for different ones. I shot some video every day, put it on a hard drive, and thought 鈥淚鈥檒l make sense of this someday.鈥�

When I finally sat down with all the clips, I found myself digging way back in my own history to figure out a through line. As you鈥檒l see if you watch the video, it goes up.

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When I first started dating my boyfriend, he mentioned that he had a group of friends who went 鈥渃amping鈥� every month to practice skills for the future. I asked for more details and he said that they practice orienteering, tracking, and survival skills like that. He鈥檚 a really sweet, caring guy and nothing seemed like a red flag. Actually, my ex was less social and very clingy, so I remember thinking it was a green flag that he spent time with friends.听

We鈥檝e been together for a year now. In that time, this group has become a bigger part of his life. They meet up almost every week. They also started meeting at a gun club. When I asked why, he talked about social unrest and wanting to make sure that he can protect us. He鈥檚 also been obsessively watching the news about in New Jersey.听

I was looking for something in the basement last week and came across a duffel bag filled with packaged food and ammo boxes. It was upsetting because I鈥檝e asked him before if he鈥檚 a prepper. He told me he isn鈥檛, but that he doesn鈥檛 want to be a frog in boiling water who doesn鈥檛 notice when things start to heat up. But I don鈥檛 want to be a frog in boiling water either. I really love him, but I鈥檓 starting to think there might be more under the surface that he鈥檚 hiding from me. How do I know when it鈥檚 getting to be too much?

Question: Does your boyfriend seem to enjoy all this? Is it fun for him? If so, then I want to hold space for the best possibility here, which is that prepping (and yes, this is prepping, regardless of whether he admits it) is his hobby.

Consider historical reenactment: a broad interest that gathers a lot of different skills and pastimes under one roof. Reenactors don鈥檛 just dress up like people in their chosen era; they also learn crafts, cooking, languages, and so on. Hobby preppers do the same, but in reverse. Instead of focusing on the past, they imagine a future when their skills in self-reliance might be put to good use.

That future probably won鈥檛 come to pass, but there are plenty of realistic scenarios where their skills could come in handy. It鈥檚 not that everyone who buys a zombie apocalypse bug-out kit is actually scared of zombies. It鈥檚 just that prepping for a zombie apocalypse is more fun than packing the exact same supplies so they鈥檙e ready in case of an unusually long power outage.听听

Some people follow end-of-the-world scenarios like other people follow sports. Sometimes a bag of food and bullets is just, uh, a bag of food and bullets.

If that鈥檚 your boyfriend鈥檚 situation鈥攊f he enjoys thinking about possibilities, and trying new things, and he has a good friend group to try them with鈥攖hen there鈥檚 no need to worry. That said, you mentioned a few things that do concern me, and I鈥檇 recommend getting to the bottom of them.

First, your boyfriend said he鈥檚 going to the gun club because he wants to be able to protect your household against social unrest.

To me, that says he鈥檚 imagining a near future in which he might have to shoot people, or at the very least, scare them away with guns. Not zombies; people. He鈥檚 couching the violence of that image under a fantasy of protection, but the point remains the same.

Does that mean that everyone who learns to shoot for self-defense is fantasizing about shooting people? Of course not. And presumably, he鈥檚 practicing at a range that emphasizes gun safety and responsibility.听 But given the anticipatory subtext of prepping in general, and the other details you shared鈥攊ncluding his use of the phrase 鈥渉eat up鈥濃�擨 think this development is concerning.

Secondly, and most important, you鈥檙e worried that there鈥檚 more under the surface.

You know your boyfriend well. You鈥檝e watched his interests change and grow, and you鈥檝e seen how he鈥檚 responding to the news. You saw the look on his face when you found his bag of food and bullets. You don鈥檛 seem like a paranoid or sensational person. If the hairs on the back of your neck are going up, that鈥檚 the most important clue that something is wrong.

aIn fact, even if everything else seemed perfect, that would still tell me that something鈥檚 wrong.

I鈥檓 wondering why your boyfriend denied that he was a prepper, when the term isn鈥檛 derogatory, and it seems so clearly accurate from the outside. Is there another term he uses for his activities, or his identity? If he鈥檚 willing to tell you, it might help clarify his agenda, his priorities, and where his head is at. If he won鈥檛 tell you鈥搃f he鈥檚 convinced that his activities are so practical and universal that they have no name鈥搕hen that鈥檚 illuminating, too.

You haven鈥檛 been together very long, in the grand scheme of things. Do you really want to move into the future with someone whose vision of that future is fundamentally different from yours? If this isn鈥檛 the relationship you want, you don鈥檛 need a specific conflict or fight or reason to break up. Your feelings鈥揳nd your discomfort鈥揳re more than enough.

If you stay together, keep your eyes open. Notice what鈥檚 going on. Remember that you鈥檝e had concerns before, so if something else raises an alarm, it鈥檚 part of a pattern. If you live together, try to have a plan, and some money saved up, in case you decide to leave. After all, it never hurts to be prepared.

Blair Braverman writes our听Tough Love column. Previously, she has given advice on dating a sore loser.

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