Two summers ago, I went shopping for a . I鈥檇 just moved to the Lake Tahoe area, and everywhere else I鈥檇 lived, races and group rides were how I鈥檇 made friends. I knew that if I could find a good weekly ride, I would find my new community.

The first ride I checked out had only three participants, including myself. The next was attended by riders who seemed mostly new to one another. Then I went to a ride hosted Wednesday nights by , a bar/restaurant/gear shop in the North Lake Tahoe hub of Truckee. I arrived at 5 p.m. to find thirty or so riders milling around in front of the shop. Everyone seemed to know one another. I was standing alone, wishing for an invisible-鈥檛il-now manhole to open beneath my feet and swallow me when a woman walked up, introduced herself, and offered me a ride to the trailhead. Another rider asked if it was my first time. When I said yes, he replied, 鈥淭hanks for coming.鈥� An hour and a half later, at the bottom of the descent, I watched the group cheer for the last rider, a gray-haired gentleman they called Ben. I noted once more that everyone seemed to know each other. But this time that didn鈥檛 make me want to fall through a trapdoor. It made me want to come back next Wednesday.

Friendship and community are popular topics these days, and the conversation in recent years has often turned to the notion of the third place. According to the late sociologist Ray Oldenburg, who coined the term, a third place is one that鈥檚 outside the home (the first place) and work (second place), where people can meet and socialize with strangers, acquaintances, or friends. Third places are posited as a solution for finding and building community during a time when Americans are increasingly alone. 鈥淒o Yourself a Favor,鈥� the Atlantic advised in 2022, 鈥渁nd Go Find a Third Place.鈥�

What always puzzled me was this: Just because you live near the kinds of establishments that are traditionally identified as third places鈥攍ike bars, coffee shops, parks, and libraries鈥攄oesn鈥檛 mean you鈥檙e going to become friends with your neighbors. My sister and her husband, for example, live two blocks off a charming downtown drag in the Bay Area, but they鈥檝e struggled to make local friends.

Americans who live near amenities like these are more likely to meet new people than those who don鈥檛, according to a 2021 community life survey. But the same survey also found that more than half of Americans who live in 鈥渧ery high-amenity鈥� areas chatted with strangers at most a few times a year.

Outdoor places and spaces like run clubs, group rides, gear shops, trails, ski areas, and others also fit Oldenburg鈥檚 criteria for third places. They鈥檙e free or low-cost to attend (the cost of gear notwithstanding). They bring people together from different backgrounds and put them on equal footing, an effect called 鈥渟ocial leveling.鈥� And they facilitate casual conversations.

But the outdoors may be even better than traditional third places at bringing people together and sparking the lasting connections that form a community.

A third place is less about where people gather and more about what they do together, says Debbie Rudman, a health sciences professor at Toronto鈥檚 Western University who is co-leading a four-year study on third places. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the doing that becomes the point of connection,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he relationships, sense of belonging, and community build from that.鈥�

That鈥檚 in part because a key ingredient to community-building, besides a place, is time. This is one of the biggest barriers to community building in our productivity-oriented culture, says Kathy Giuffre, a professor emerita of sociology at Colorado College. 鈥淲e feel like we can鈥檛 waste our time to go to a coffee shop and just sit around for a couple hours and meet the regulars.鈥� At a third space like a run club, however, the activity itself demands spending time together. Participants also return week after week, becoming regulars and forming bonds, because they enjoy running and its .

Even if someone does find the time to go to a coffee shop, these spaces don鈥檛 necessarily encourage interaction. Starbucks bills itself as a third place, historian Bryant Simon noted in 2009, yet 鈥渙ne learns they do not have to talk at Starbucks. Actually one learns not to talk.鈥� Sharing an activity, by comparison, makes it easy to strike up casual gab: You can bitch about the hill you鈥檙e climbing, or ask which race someone is training for.

Some argue that run clubs don鈥檛 qualify as third places because of their emphasis on exercise, or productivity. The researchers I spoke to disagreed. The guise of productivity may actually work in our favor, says Giuffre. 鈥淚t almost gives people an excuse to do something that鈥檚 actually quite pleasurable, which our society makes us feel really guilty about,鈥� she says. 鈥溾�業鈥檓 exercising, so it鈥檚 OK.鈥欌��

Hedman, who studies what makes sports clubs so effective at building communities, prefers the term 鈥渟hared goal鈥� to productivity. It鈥檚 this goal orientation that gives sports clubs such staying power as third places, and even sets them apart from other 鈥渄oing鈥� spaces like, say, an art class. As members return regularly in pursuit of these goals, relationships develop through friendly interactions and shared experiences, 鈥渂e they fulfilling, terrifying, or triumphant,鈥� he writes in a 2024 paper. People with these kinds of emotional ties, he says, are more willing to contribute to 鈥渃ollective undertakings.鈥�

I鈥檝e seen the power of outdoor sports to create what I call a community鈥攁 diffuse network of people who have bonds both tight and loose, yet nonetheless feel an accountability to one another that supersedes their individual ties. Several years ago, when my then-fianc茅 was hospitalized after being hit and nearly killed on his bike by a careless driver, we received messages, visits, gift cards, meals, flowers, Venmo transfers, and care packages from not only friends and family, but also near-strangers and acquaintances. At the time, the influx was so steady that it felt like our community was performing acts of kindness like cyclists in a paceline, each member taking a turn at the front and then peeling off to let the next rider through. After we left the ICU, his brother said, 鈥淭his was probably the worst thing that鈥檚 ever happened to us, but it wasn’t a negative experience.鈥�

The notion of third places may be evolving from Oldenburg鈥檚 original definition. Considering what people do together, not just where they gather, dispels the idea that third places are static, pre-existing physical spaces that people visit to get their daily dose of connection, Rudman says. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the people who actually create the third place by doing the activity.鈥� We become the regulars, the characters that define a place.

I like this concept of a third place as one you make, not just one you find. I did keep going back to that Wednesday night group ride, and the following summer I started to help lead rides as a shop ambassador. (RMU provides me with a small bar tab and a few items of gear in exchange.) But according to this theory, every rider who comes helps to create the experience I look forward to each Wednesday. Maybe that explains why I often feel compelled to say the same thing whenever I see a new face: 鈥淭hanks for coming.鈥�

This piece first appeared in the summer 2025 print issue of 国产吃瓜黑料 Magazine. Subscribe now for early access to our most captivating storytelling, stunning photography, and deeply reported features on the biggest issues facing the outdoor world.听听

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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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This story update is part of the听国产吃瓜黑料听颁濒补蝉蝉颈肠蝉, a series highlighting the best writing we鈥檝e ever published, along with author interviews and other exclusive bonus materials. Read 鈥淭he Same River Twice,鈥� by David Quammen,听here.

In the grainy Zoom window, I see Quammen鈥檚 walls of shelves, heaving with books, and also a large, empty glass tank.

鈥淚鈥檓 in here with Boots the python,鈥� he says, as if it鈥檚 totally banal to share office space with a large snake. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 his tank.鈥�

Ah, the tank is not empty. That鈥檚 cool. And a little terrifying.

鈥淥h, he鈥檚 a sweetheart,鈥� Quammen says. 鈥淢y wife, Betsy, came downstairs one day about five years ago and said, 鈥楧on鈥檛 get mad at me, but鈥斺�� You know how those conversations begin. Betsy says, 鈥楧on鈥檛 get mad at me, but I鈥檝e adopted a python.鈥� Betsy and I are snake people. I said, 鈥榃hat species?鈥� That鈥檚 kind of what passes for our collaborative decision-making.鈥�

Boots is a 鈥渧ery gentle鈥� ball python, Quammen says. 鈥淗e, like most of our dogs and like the cat, is a rescue.鈥� When Quammen lets Boots crawl around the office, the snake will sometimes slither up and into hidden spaces in the shelves.

鈥淭heir favorite habitat is rocky walls. A ball python can go into a niche in a cliff or a mud bank and wedge itself in there like a ball, and it makes it hard for a leopard or a baboon to pull it out and eat it. Boots wedges himself in my bookshelf, and I have to delicately figure out: Which book do I take out next in a way that does not hurt him, bend any of his scales in the wrong direction, to loosen him up a little bit? Eventually, he just sort of falls into my hands.

鈥淗e鈥檚 only bitten me once, and it was by accident. He was very embarrassed.鈥�

We digress, perhaps. But a conversation with Quammen always contains multitudes: Darwinism, connubial negotiation and bliss, dedication to the literary and the true, and a fierce and gregarious curiosity, with Montana often in the wings. Let鈥檚 digress a bit more: had he not bought a used Volkswagen bus in England, and had George McGovern won the U.S. presidency in 1972, it鈥檚 very possible Quammen might never have ended up in Montana at all.

He grew up in Cincinnati and got into Yale, where he studied literature and wrote a novel, . He then won a Rhodes Scholarship and headed off to Oxford to earn a graduate degree, writing his thesis on the works of William Faulkner. He obtained the VW bus with money earned from the novel. But in May 1972, Quammen recalls, Richard Nixon ordered the mining of Haiphong Harbor in Vietnam, and 鈥渨ithin about 24 hours I left the Rhodes without permission and came back to the U.S. to work for McGovern鈥檚 [anti-war] campaign. After McGovern was squashed in November, I promptly went back to England and found that the head of the Rhodes Scholarships hadn鈥檛 written me off.鈥�

Quammen got his Oxford degree and then convinced his friend Dennis to ship the VW to a dockyard in New York. Following an unsatisfying stint in Berkeley, California, Quammen decided to drive the bus 鈥渢o Montana, filled with Penguin Classics and a portable electric typewriter. And a very cheap fly rod, which I soon ran over and replaced with a better cheap fly rod. I arrived in Missoula on September 12, 1973. A significant day in my life.鈥�

OUTSIDE: I came to work at the magazine the year after you wrote 鈥淭he Same River Twice.鈥� I don鈥檛 know if you remember, I was your fact-checker back in those days. I read this essay, and from that moment on I loved your writing. The bones of the story have everything to do with how you came to 国产吃瓜黑料.
QUAMMEN: In 1981, Steve Byers, E. Jean Carroll, and I were all trying to break into magazine writing from Ennis, Montana, the little town we were living in. I was 33; they were a few years older. We heard that the editor of 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine was coming to Montana to schmooze with writers, and we thought it鈥檇 be great if we could get a shot at meeting that guy and pitch stories to him.

From a phone booth in Bozeman, with a handful of quarters, I cold-called 国产吃瓜黑料 in Chicago and asked for John Rasmus, editor in chief. My heart was racing. I was nervous. My mission was to say, 鈥淚f you come to Ennis, Steve and I will take you fly-fishing on the Madison River.鈥�

This young, casual voice comes on the line: 鈥淗i, this is John.鈥� I say, 鈥淗i, John Rasmus. You don鈥檛 know me.鈥� I do my little spiel, and he says, 鈥淥h, OK. Cool.鈥�

Steve and I taught him to cast a fly line in my side yard. Then we took him fishing, and we made sure that he caught some fish. By about sunset on this stretch of the Madison, he was landing a 16-inch rainbow trout.

We took him back to the farmhouse where Steve and Jean lived, and we cooked steaks and drank whiskey. By the end of the evening, we were all best friends. At some point I said: I got a story idea for you. I want to write a piece about what鈥檚 good about mosquitoes. John said, 鈥淚s anything good?鈥� But in the sober light of day he said, 鈥淚鈥檓 assigning this to you, right?鈥� I mailed the essay off in a manila envelope and thought, What鈥檚 going to happen?

What happened was he accepted it and offered you a job as columnist for a slot already known as Natural Acts.
That was the only time, I think, that I ever actually pitched 国产吃瓜黑料 an idea. After that I鈥檇 just send him a piece, usually on time, but at the last minute: 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on sea cucumbers.鈥� 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on giant Pacific octopus.鈥� 鈥淗ere鈥檚 an essay on why crows get bored.鈥� Which is because they鈥檙e too intelligent for their station in life.

When I was doing the column, I tended always to look for some kind of synergy between elements that were unexpectedly combined, but when you put them together鈥� well, son of a gun. I had taken some courses in zoology at the University of Montana when I lived in Missoula. I had taken a course in entomology, another one in aquatic entomology, and another one in ichthyology. I was interested in how spring creeks worked, the fact that they maintain a constant temperature and therefore have a 12-months-of-the-year growing season and can be very productive. This creek behind Steve and Jean鈥檚 house was a spring creek.

And then Steve and Jean came to an end. I had so revered their union that, when they split, it gutted me. Then, several years later, I was noodling up a column.

I had that spring creek idea, but it was only half of a column. I needed another half. I needed the yang to that yin. That creek that I fished on with Steve, and the end of their marriage and the end of our special moment, the three of us in that town, became the yang of this piece. I always thought of that time as鈥攖here鈥檚 a wonderful sentence at the very end of , Ernest Hemingway鈥檚 memoir of Paris. He says, 鈥淭his is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.鈥�

One thing I enjoy about the essay is that there are no identifiers鈥擨 don鈥檛 know where it is except that it鈥檚 in Montana. As I reread it recently, I thought about how we are now so information saturated. This piece is almost allegorical鈥攖he opposite of online culture.
It鈥檚 a very particular, very personal story, but I wanted it to have some sort of universal dimension. I wanted it to have legs. I want to give myself credit for an instinct that not naming the town, not naming the people, not naming the specifics would give it a little bit of permanence. I was describing science with great care and, I hope, precision, but also connecting it with things that were very unscientific鈥攅ither artistic or simply emotional.

I love that 国产吃瓜黑料 was a place where you could do that, and everybody had the good sense to keep letting you do it.
I did between 152 and 155 columns, something like that. All those wonderful people at 国产吃瓜黑料 just letting me do any damn crazy thing, as long as I could make it work and get it in on time. It was a fool鈥檚 paradise.

But you started out wanting to write fiction, right?
I wanted to be a novelist. I had taken one science course in college, a biology course, and it was not a good biology course. Didn鈥檛 even mention Charles Darwin.

I discovered Faulkner when I was a sophomore at Yale, and I became obsessed with his work. I studied him with a great teacher and a great friend to me, Robert Penn Warren, who knew Faulkner, and who was himself a southerner and a towering American man of letters. When I was a senior, I was rewriting what became my first published novel, To Walk the Line.

But I was a middle-class white male from a happy childhood in Ohio. The world didn鈥檛 need that guy to be a novelist. When I got to Montana I started reading nonfiction. Voraciously.听For the first time.

What prompted you to do that?
I had always been interested in the natural world, but I had been in New Haven and then Oxford鈥攏ot places where the natural world is very strongly present. I got to Montana, and I got back to the natural world. I was interested in feeling the cold and the snow and feeling the flow of the rivers. But also, I was interested in thinking about it. I was interested in ecology and evolutionary biology. I started reading Darwin. I started reading Heraclitus. I started reading Herodotus. I started reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau. I started reading every which way: Loren Eiseley and J.B.S. Haldane and Mary Kingsley and Annie Dillard and others. And I saw people doing things with nonfiction that were every bit as creative and imaginative as fiction, and much more creative and imaginative than 97 percent of novels.

I want to ask about your books on pandemics, which are both highly literary and diligently reported. You were prescient on this topic, having published , your 2012 book about the rise in zoonotic diseases that transmit dangerously from animals to humans. A decade later came Breathless, in which you argue persuasively for the zoonotic theory of COVID-19 and against the theory that the virus escaped from a virology lab in Wuhan, China.听听听
One story is the imagined story of a lab leak, and the other is the inferential story of a zoonotic spillover. There is a lot of empirical evidence to support but not finally prove the idea that COVID originated with a zoonotic spillover. There鈥檚 a whole historical and scientific context for that. There are pieces of immediate evidence that support that idea.

There鈥檚 no empirical evidence to support the lab story. But it is a very, very powerful, enticing story. And that is why it has legs, in my opinion. One of the things that they argue on that side is, 鈥淲ell, if this came from a zoonotic spillover from a bat, why haven鈥檛 we found the original virus in the bat? It鈥檚 been four years now. That鈥檚 very suspicious.鈥�

Well, no. The problem is they don鈥檛 know anything about the history of zoonotic diseases. With the Marburg virus, for example, it took 41 years to find the bat. With Ebola it鈥檚 been 48 years, and we still don鈥檛 have the answer. It is not mysterious that the last section of evidence in the structure of empirical support for zoonotic spillover of COVID hasn鈥檛 been found.

Are you working on a book now?
Yeah. My desk is covered with files, files, files, books, books, and files. I鈥檓 working on a book on cancer as an evolutionary phenomenon. I鈥檝e been incubating this book for 17 years.

How is cancer evolutionary?
There is a school of thought that I stumbled across in 2006 or 2007 that says to understand cancer, you have to understand it from a Darwinian perspective. Every tumor is a population of cells. As a tumor begins, the cells start mutating more and more. As a tumor grows, it鈥檚 a population of cells that vary from one another with genetic variation. And they鈥檙e competing. They鈥檙e competing for space. They鈥檙e competing for blood. They鈥檙e competing for oxygen, for other resources that allow them to grow. And when you have a population of variant individuals competing for resources in order to survive and replicate themselves鈥攄oes that sound familiar? You turn the crank and you have evolution by natural selection.

So why does chemo so often not work? An oncologist prescribes a drug, and I don鈥檛 know how much cancer you鈥檝e experienced in your family or your life鈥�

I had breast cancer, and my husband died of lymphoma.
All right. Ouch. Yes. So an oncologist says, 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to treat this with chemo. This is a good drug.鈥� And the chemo knocks down the cancer for six months or so. You get some improvement. And then the cancer becomes resistant to that drug, so you鈥檙e forced to use a different drug. Why does it become resistant? For the same reason that a field of grasshoppers becomes resistant to the insecticide DDT. You hit the grasshoppers with DDT one year. You kill off 99 percent of the grasshoppers, and 1 percent of the grasshoppers happen to have genetic resistance to DDT. Two years later, your field is filled with grasshoppers again. This is cancer as an evolutionary phenomenon.

If we live long enough and are lucky enough, we鈥檒l all die of cancer. Lucky enough because it is a result of, among other things, but importantly, the cumulative number of cell divisions that you have. But here鈥檚 a question: Why do whales not get cancer?

Whales?
It鈥檚 a mystery. It鈥檚 called . Whales live a long time, and they have lots and lots of cells. Their cells are not larger than ours, they just have more of them. If you trace a linear curve, whales should be dying of cancer in early middle age, all of them, and they鈥檙e not.

Are there any tiny animals that don鈥檛 get cancer?
Yes. The naked mole rat, which lives in burrows in the Middle East. It has hardly any fur. It鈥檚 blind. It lives underground. A naked mole rat lives to be 20 or 30. A mouse lives to be two. There are cancer biologists who have whole colonies of naked mole rats and have been studying them for 40 years.

This conversation makes me want to be huge. Or very small.
Lisa, just remember: 国产吃瓜黑料 in the 1980s, that鈥檚 what it was like, when we were very young and very happy.

The post How David Quammen鈥檚 Writing Career Was Influenced by his Time Fishing in Montana appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

You鈥檙e about to read one of the听国产吃瓜黑料听颁濒补蝉蝉颈肠蝉, a series highlighting the best stories we鈥檝e ever published, along with author interviews, where-are-they-now updates, and other exclusive bonus materials. Read Lisa Chase鈥檚 interview with David Quammen about this feature here.

He never founded a philosophic school, like Plato and Pythagoras did. He didn鈥檛 want followers. He simply wrote his one book and deposited the scroll in a certain sacred building, the temple of Artemis, where the general public couldn鈥檛 get ahold of it. The book itself was eventually lost, and all that survives of it today are about a hundred fragments, which have come down secondhand in the works of other ancient writers. So his ideas are known only by hearsay. He seems to have said a lot of interesting things, some of them cryptic, some of them downright ornery, but this river comment is the one for which Heraclitus is widely remembered. The full translation is: 鈥淵ou cannot step twice into the same river, for other waters are continually flowing on.鈥� To most people it comes across as a nice resonant metaphor, a bit of philosophic poetry. To me it is that and more.

Once, for a stretch of years, I lived in a very small town on the bank of a famous Montana river. It was famous mainly for its trout, this river, and for its clear water and abundance of chemical nutrients, and for the seasonal blizzards of emerging insects that made it one of the most rewarding pieces of habitat in North America, arguably in the world, if you happened to be a trout or fly-fisherman. I happened to be a fly-fisherman.

One species of insect in particular鈥攐ne 鈥渉atch,鈥� to use the slightly misleading term that fishermen apply to these impressive entomological events, when a few billion members of some mayfly or stone fly or caddis fly species all emerge simultaneously into adulthood and take flight over a river鈥攇ave this river an unmatched renown. The species was Pteronarcys californica, a monstrous but benign stone fly that grew more than two inches long and carried a pinkish-orange underbelly for which it had gotten the common name salmonfly. These insects, during their three years of development as aquatic larvae, could survive only in a river that was cold, pure, fast-flowing, rich in dissolved oxygen, and covered across its flat bottom with boulders the size of bowling balls, among which the larvae would live and graze. The famous river offered all those conditions extravagantly, and so P. californica flourished there like it did nowhere else. Trout flourished in turn.

When the clouds of P. californica took flight, and mated in air, and then began dropping back onto the water, the fish fed upon them voraciously, recklessly. Wary old brown trout the size of a person鈥檚 thigh, granddaddy animals that would never otherwise condescend to feed by daylight upon floating insects, came up off the bottom for this banquet. Each gulp of P. californica was a nutritional windfall. The trout filled their bellies and their mouths and still continued gorging. Consequently, the so-called salmonfly so-called hatch on this river, occurring annually during two weeks in June, triggered by small changes in water temperature, became a wild and garish national festival in the fly-fishing year. Stockbrokers in New York, corporate lawyers in San Francisco, federal judges and star-quality surgeons and foundation presidents鈥攖he sort of folk who own antique bamboo fly rods and field jackets of Irish tweed鈥�planned their vacations around this event. They packed their gear and then waited for the telephone signal from a guide in a shop on Main Street of the little town where I lived.

The signal would say: It鈥檚 started. Or, in more detail: Yeah, the hatch is on. Passed through town yesterday. Bugs everywhere. By now the head end of it must be halfway to Varney Bridge. Get here as soon as you can. They got here. Cab drivers and schoolteachers came too. People who couldn鈥檛 afford to hire a guide and be chauffeured comfortably in a Mackenzie boat, or who didn鈥檛 want to, arrived with dinghies and johnboats lashed to the roofs of old yellow buses. And if the weather held, and you got yourself to the right stretch of river at the right time, it could indeed be very damn good fishing.

But that wasn鈥檛 why I lived in the town. Truth be known, when P. californica filled the sky and a flotilla of boats filled the river, I usually headed in the opposite direction. I didn鈥檛 care for the crowds. It was almost as bad as the Fourth of July rodeo, when the town suddenly became clogged with college kids from a nearby city, and Main Street was ankle deep in beer cans on the morning of the fifth, and I would find people I didn鈥檛 know sleeping it off in my front yard, under the scraggly elm. The salmonfly hatch was like that, only with stockbrokers and flying hooks. Besides, there were other places and other ways to catch fish. I would take my rod and my waders and disappear to a small spring creek that ran through a stock ranch on the bottomland east of the river.

It was private property. There was no room for guided boats on this little creek, and there was no room for tweed. Instead of tweed there were sheep鈥攗sually about thirty head, bleating in halfhearted annoyance but shuffling out of my way as I hiked from the barn out to the water. There was an old swayback horse named Buck, a buckskin; also a younger one, a hot white-stockinged mare that had once been a queen of the barrel-racing circuit and hadn鈥檛 forgotten her previous station in life. There was a graveyard of rusty car bodies, a string of them, DeSotos and Fords from the Truman years, dumped into the spring creek along one bend to hold the bank in place and save the sheep pasture from turning into an island. Locally this sort of thing is referred to as the 鈥淒etroit riprap鈥� mode of soil conservation; after a while, the derelict cars come to seem a harmonious part of the scenery. There was also an old two-story ranch house of stucco with yellow trim. Inside lived a man and a woman, married then.

Now we have come to the reason I did live in that town. Actually there wasn鈥檛 one reason but three: the spring creek, the man, and the woman. At the time, for a stretch of years, those were three of the closest friends I鈥檇 ever had.

The post Can You Step in the Same River Twice? In Montana, I Learned the Answer. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

My friends have more money than me and always want to take trips that I can’t afford. But I hate missing out on being with them. What should I do?

This is a super frustrating problem, compounded by the fact that the language we use around money (or lack thereof) is often dizzyingly non-specific. When someone says, 鈥淚鈥檓 broke,鈥� they could mean, 鈥淢y bank account is in the negative and I don鈥檛 know how I鈥檒l eat this month,鈥� or they could mean, 鈥淢y next trust fund payment doesn鈥檛 come in until Tuesday.鈥�

Money is precise, of course, but in a group of friends, it鈥檚 also relative. We measure our finances against our peers, but we don鈥檛 actually know how much money they have, so instead we measure against what we think they have, though that estimate may be wildly different from the truth. Add that to issues of shifting employment, debt, and family responsibility, and it鈥檚 no wonder that talking about money can be awkward with even the closest friends.

This is all to say that your experience is, unfortunately, common, because it鈥檚 exceedingly rare for a group of people to be in the exact same financial boat, let alone consistently so. In fact, I wouldn鈥檛 be surprised if someone else in your friend group is in the same situation as you are, but hasn鈥檛 known how to speak up.

And speaking up is exactly what you should do, even if it feels uncomfortable. But first, figure out your budget, so that you can talk specifics. (When it comes to money, people tend to interpret ambiguous statements by projecting their own experience, which isn鈥檛 exactly going to help you here.) What amount can you spend on adventures with your friends? Are you able to afford the occasional bigger trip, as long as it鈥檚 not a regular occurrence? Or is your budget basically zero? What would be a comfortable amount for you to spend? If you come to them with numbers鈥斺�淗ey guys, I really want to do this, but my fun budget this month is a hundred dollars鈥濃�攖hen it鈥檚 going to be much easier for your friends to adjust their plans accordingly.

Remember, your friends want your company. It鈥檚 completely normal (and great) for groups of buddies to adjust to each other鈥檚 limitations. Maybe you plan your hangouts for Saturdays, because someone has to work on Sunday. Or you when you鈥檙e hiking, because someone鈥檚 allergic to peanuts. That鈥檚 not hardship; it鈥檚 friendship. Supporting each other, and making adjustments, is part of what community is all about.

How to Plan Budget-Friendly Trips

Your friends may be able to help support you on trips they鈥檝e already planned, like by letting you sleep in their hotel room or packing food instead of stopping at restaurants along the way. They might still take the occasional trip you can鈥檛 afford, but overall, if they鈥檙e considerate, they鈥檒l keep your budget in mind.

That said, if you really want group trips that stick to your budget, the best way to ensure they happen is by planning them yourself. This is true for anyone who has limitations that their friends don鈥檛, whether those limitations are financial, physical, or something else. Your friends may not understand your criteria, even if they want to. But if you plan something and invite them, they鈥檒l be delighted鈥攁nd you鈥檒l know that the trip works for you, too.

What are your friends into? What seems fun to you? The great thing about outdoor travel is that it can be dirt cheap (no pun intended) or even free, if you take advantage of public land, shared equipment, or stuff you already have. Keep an eye out for community events, or natural phenomena like migrations or meteor showers that make even a local jaunt feel exciting. Or try something new, like foraging, and do the research yourself ahead of time. Remember that adventures aren鈥檛 fun because they鈥檙e expensive; they鈥檙e fun because of good company, or because you鈥檙e stepping outside your daily life and exploring.

If someone reading this column is the friend with more money, let this be a reminder to be considerate, and to hold off on making assumptions about what your friends can afford. Remember that amounts of money that feel small to you can cause a lot of stress for your friends, which is the last thing you want to do! That鈥檚 not to say that you should stop inviting people on trips that may be out of their budget; it鈥檚 on them to say yes or no, and everyone likes to be invited, even if they don鈥檛 ultimately come along. But try to balance those with cheaper activities鈥攐r better yet, free ones. You want your friends to know that you don鈥檛 love their company because of what they can pay for, or what you get to do together. You love their company because of who they are.

Blair Braverman writes our Tough Love column. Her favorite cheap adventure is river tubing: park one car down-river, then carpool upstream and float your way back down. In her experience, old-school tire inner tubes are often less than $10 and less likely to pop than low- or mid-priced float tubes.

The post I鈥檓 Broke, But My Friends Keep Planning Expensive Group Vacations appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at toughlove@outsideinc.com.

I consider myself pretty easygoing when it comes to lending gear to my friends. I have a lot of niche gear, and I鈥檓 happy for other people to be using it when I鈥檓 not. It鈥檚 not doing any good when it鈥檚 sitting in my garage. However, I am encountering a bit of a problem with a close friend who borrowed my nice skis this winter, when I had an injury and couldn鈥檛 use them.听

He used them all season, which I was glad for, but after the snow melted, I started trying to get them back. The first time I asked him, he said, 鈥淚t doesn鈥檛 matter right now, because you鈥檙e not using them either, right?鈥� When I brought it up again, he said, 鈥淛ust let me know when you want to use them, and I鈥檒l give them back to you then.鈥� I brought it up a third time, and he said the same thing.听

At this point I feel like I鈥檓 nagging him, which I hate doing. I have two questions for you. One: how do I get my darn skis back? And two: how do I keep from being in this situation in the future? I鈥檓 not a very assertive person and it makes me nervous to even think about confronting him.

As a fellow lender鈥攁nd borrower鈥攐f gear, I applaud your generosity and feel your pain. I鈥檓 guessing your friend isn鈥檛 actually trying to steal your skis. It鈥檚 possible that he damaged them in some way and is afraid to tell you, so he鈥檚 punting the problem or saving money to replace them. But the most likely truth is the obvious one: he鈥檚 a procrastinator who genuinely thinks you don鈥檛 need the skis right now, and he doesn鈥檛 realize that by sidestepping your request, he鈥檚 effectively pushing you around.

You could solve the problem in about five minutes by being assertive, but I know that advice may not help; if confrontation isn鈥檛 in your character, then I might as well advise you to make new skis out of thin air. So let鈥檚 take a step back and consider your options, in order from most to least bold.

1. Say, 鈥淐an I have my skis back?鈥� He鈥檒l try to put off returning them. You鈥檒l say, 鈥淣o, I want them right now. Please go get them.鈥�
2. Say, 鈥淐an I have my skis back?鈥� When he tries to put it off, come up with an excuse for why you need them now. Possibilities include: another friend might want to look at them; you鈥檙e organizing your garage; you might travel somewhere with snow.
3. Actually plan a summer ski trip so that you鈥檙e telling the truth about needing your skis back now.
4. Take your friend at his word that he鈥檒l return the skis when you need them. Look on the bright side鈥攕kis are bulky, and he鈥檚 storing them for you.
5. Abandon the skis. They鈥檙e his now.

Technically, any of these will work, although I think that number four is the most practical. You鈥檝e brought up the skis enough times that he should have gotten the hint; clearly he hasn鈥檛, but he hasn鈥檛 gone against his word, either.

It would be reasonable, in this situation, to be a little slower to lend him gear in the future, or (assuming the skis eventually make their way back to you, as promised) make sure that any future lending comes with a firm, agreed-upon return date. A good friend is more important than a piece of gear, but you鈥檙e not betraying your friendship by setting boundaries. You鈥檙e protecting it. You鈥檙e making sure that you don鈥檛 end up with years鈥� worth of unspoken stress and discomfort that comes to mind whenever you see him.

That said, the best thing you can do for your friendship鈥攁nd more importantly, for yourself鈥攊s to work on standing up for yourself. Why is it that you feel so timid about confronting him more directly? Is it because you鈥檙e worried about feeling uncomfortable in the moment, or because you鈥檙e afraid he鈥檒l like you less in the long term? Do you think his feelings should take precedence over yours? I want to remind you that very few people choose their friends based on who they can push around鈥攁nd if they do, that鈥檚 not someone you want to be friends with anyway. You have a million things to contribute that don鈥檛 involve making yourself and your preferences smaller. You also have plenty to contribute that doesn鈥檛 involve lending out your gear. Yes, that鈥檚 great鈥攂ut even if you had nothing to lend, your friends would like you anyway.

Building that kind of confidence is a long journey, and not something that can be fixed over a pair of borrowed skis, but maybe this situation can be a chance for you to practice the kind of forthrightness that challenges you. In fact, I suspect it already has been. You brought up the skis with your friend three times, which probably wasn鈥檛 easy for you. I know it鈥檚 frustrating that your request didn鈥檛 work, at least not immediately. But you successfully asserted yourself, and your friend offered a plan for when he鈥檚 returning the skis. Is it perfect? Not yet. But it鈥檚 a glide in the right direction.

The post My Friend Borrowed My Skis and Won鈥檛 Give Them Back. What Should I Do? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at toughlove@outsideinc.com.

I grew up at my family鈥檚 kayak company, and have been helping to guide trips ever since I could hold a paddle. As I got older, I started bringing my friends along. Two of them got really involved with the company, and this summer, they鈥檙e both working as guides. Now it seems like they think they own the place, and it feels disrespectful. Do you have any advice for handling one鈥檚 own friends in a workplace?

Here鈥檚 the thing: your friends are insiders at your family鈥檚 company. They鈥檙e not as close as you, of course. No one will ever be. But they work there. They鈥檙e on the inside track.

That changes your relationship with them鈥攁nd your sense of authority鈥攁nd it鈥檚 gotta feel weird and unfamiliar.

For years, you鈥檝e been the one in charge. You鈥檝e welcomed your friends on adventures that they couldn鈥檛 access any other way. You鈥檝e granted coveted invitations. You鈥檝e shared your family鈥檚 gear, and more than that, you鈥檝e shared your world. And what a world it is! The only thing cooler than having a friend with a family kayak company is being the friend with a family kayak company.

Trust me, I know. I grew up with a pal whose dad was a rafting guide (as it turned out, he had guided my parents on their honeymoon) and she invited a small group of us on a multi-day float trip each year. It was incredible. We left school early on Friday. Slept on the shore. Spent hours twirling in the current, cracking open cans of root beer, and leaning back to dip our hair in the water. I remember floating on my back in the brown river, watching my toes breach the surface, and thinking that there was absolutely, definitely, nothing better in the world than this.

My friend, the guide鈥檚 daughter, captained the kids鈥� boat. She knew how to navigate rapids, identify birds and turtles, and set up camp in the evenings. She did this kind of thing all the time.听

She was our queen.

Until now, that monarch has been you.

But now your friends are guides, too, and that鈥檚 destabilizing. You were the cool one because you got them access to kayaks. Now they don鈥檛 need you for that, and it makes your role seem superfluous. Where does that leave you? What do you have to offer? I want to assure you that kayaks are cool, and you鈥檙e cool, but not just because you鈥檙e doling out kayaks. And the fact that your friends are moving up in the kayaking world doesn鈥檛 mean that you鈥檙e moving down.听

You鈥檙e always going to be more of an insider than they are, because this is your family鈥檚 company. Even if your friends start their own kayak companies, you鈥檒l have something they don鈥檛, which is the experience of growing up with this. Seriously! You can be 50 years old and mention that you grew up at a kayak tour company, and people will be impressed and want to hear about it. I know I do.

Although by then, I hope you鈥檒l feel confident enough in your own worth that you won鈥檛 feel the need to measure yourself against the people you care about. I don鈥檛 say this with judgment, truly. It sounds like you鈥檙e young, which means you鈥檙e still negotiating all that you are, and all that you have to offer. That鈥檚 a big journey. It鈥檚 destabilizing by necessity. Your identity, your authority, your passions鈥攁ll of those things will evolve, and the feelings and insecurities you struggle with now will work themselves out with time.

Which is all to say that if your friends鈥� new roles make you uncomfortable, that鈥檚 not necessarily a bad discomfort, but an important one. If it helps, try to find another friend (someone you don鈥檛 work with) who will help you process all the worry and annoyance this brings up. Ideally, this should be someone who鈥檚 not prone to drama, and who can empathize with the ways you鈥檙e feeling challenged without assuming that someone must be at fault.

If the problems with your newly-employed friends shift from the emotional to the practical鈥攊f, for instance, they鈥檙e going places they鈥檙e not supposed to, using equipment that鈥檚 not permitted, and so on鈥攖hen that鈥檚 a different kind of challenge, one that puts you in a tough spot. Your best bet for managing their behavior (while maintaining your bond) isn鈥檛 to issue demands, but to appeal to their friendship: 鈥淗ey guys, this is against the rules, so it puts me in a weird position. Can you not?鈥� Good friends will stop. They鈥檒l value your friendship more than their personal goal of a moonlit naked kayak trek or whatever. And if they don鈥檛, then maybe their friendship wasn鈥檛 that real to begin with.

But it doesn鈥檛 sound like things have come to that, and I doubt that they will. The season is just starting. Pretty soon, you鈥檒l be less startled when your friends bust through STAFF ONLY doors. And by then, I wouldn鈥檛 be surprised if you鈥檙e well on your way to embracing your best summer ever.

The post Help! My Friends Started Working at My Family鈥檚 Kayak Company. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at听toughlove@outsideinc.com.

My friend and I recently went on a three-day backpacking trip together, which involved several sections of alpine terrain. She鈥檚 afraid of lightning to the point where she perseverates about it, even though the risk of being hit by lightning is extremely small. There鈥檚 a reason that 鈥測ou鈥檙e more likely to be hit by lightning鈥� is a common phrase. I promised that we would do everything we could to be below the treeline in the afternoons, when storms tend to come in. The weather ended up being overcast but not stormy for the first two days, which was too bad because we couldn鈥檛 really take in the views.

On our last morning, we slept in, and when we woke up the weather was nicer than it had been the whole time. It seemed like a waste to have come all that way and then hurry back when everything was perfect, so she agreed to add on an extra short hike up to a view point before we started back to the trailhead. It was only two miles so it shouldn鈥檛 have added more than an hour or so to our hiking for the day.听

She kept pulling out her phone while we were hiking to check the time, which irritated me, because one of my pet peeves is people looking at their phones when we鈥檙e trying to be present together. Because I was irritated, I was distracted, and we ended up missing a turn and going on a longer route. This led to us being caught in a brief thunderstorm and she freaked out. It passed in about 15 minutes and we were fine. I tried to explain to her that by obsessing over bad weather, she had actually caused us to be caught in bad weather, and if she could try to let her fears go, we would have a much better time. This was a mistake on my part, because she wasn鈥檛 in the mood for feedback. She鈥檚 mad at me for getting lost, and I鈥檓 annoyed because I think she owes me an apology, too. How do we get past this?

What do you think your friend should apologize for? I鈥檓 serious; take a moment and think about what you鈥檙e expecting, and what would feel fair. Should she apologize for saying that being high on a mountain in stormy weather would make her panic, and then panicking when that exact thing happened? Should she apologize for agreeing to an extra hike on the condition that it was short, then being worried when it stretched longer? Should she apologize for the fact that you blamed her for the missed turn, when it sounds like you were the one who made an error? Sure, she was checking her phone, and that can be totally annoying. If you plan more backpacking trips together, you can have a conversation about how phone-checking in nature stresses you out, and maybe ask if she could check a watch instead. But it would be just as reasonable for her to ask you to try to get over your phone hangup, because traveling together is about compromise, and in the scheme of things, glancing at a phone is not that big of a deal. If that were your biggest challenge when hiking together, I鈥檇 say you were a very compatible pair.

I don鈥檛 think your friend should be mad at you for missing the turn. Part of the unspoken agreement of having outdoor adventures with pals is that you鈥檙e going to try your best, but mistakes happen, and you鈥檒l deal with whatever situations arise together. But I think that by framing her anger as being about the missed turn, you鈥檙e creating a red herring; you鈥檙e using that to downplay the very real other things that I suspect she鈥檚 more annoyed about, like the fact that鈥攂y the sound of it鈥攜ou pressured her to go on an alpine hike later in the day than she was comfortable with, and then held her responsible for a turn that you yourself missed. I鈥檒l add that, while it does sound like your friend struggles with a fear of lightning, her logic isn鈥檛 actually wrong. Getting struck by lightning may be extremely rare, but when you鈥檙e in a high place without shelter during an electrical storm, you鈥檙e putting yourself in the proximate occasion of a big zap.

As for the fact that your friend wasn鈥檛 in the mood for feedback, I鈥檓 not surprised. You were hardly offering her a caring, compassionate insight that might make her life better. You were basically saying, 鈥淗ere鈥檚 what I don鈥檛 like about you. Here鈥檚 what you should change about yourself for me.鈥�

So, speaking of feedback, here鈥檚 my advice for you: instead of waiting for your friend to apologize, try apologizing first. After all, you鈥檙e having a conflict with someone you care about, and apologizing first is a surefire way to de-escalate; it shows that you鈥檙e more invested in repairing the friendship than in protecting your own ego. If you come forward and say something like, 鈥淗ey, I鈥檓 really sorry that I took my irritation out on you, and blamed you for getting caught in the storm. That wasn鈥檛 fair, and it wasn鈥檛 true. The truth is, I was just frustrated, because I care about you having a good time, and the whole reason I wanted to add the hike on the last day was so that our trip could end on a good note. It鈥檚 important to me for you to feel like I have your back,鈥� you鈥檙e making an opening for her to respond with honesty and compassion, too. (Of course, don鈥檛 offer an apology that鈥檚 not true; she鈥檒l see through it, and feel demeaned. But if you sit with your feelings, and try to figure out what went wrong, I wouldn鈥檛 be surprised if you came up with something along those lines.)

At that point, the ball is in your friend鈥檚 court, and I hope she鈥檒l respond with similar grace. Depending on how the conversation goes, you might decide that it鈥檚 better to take a break from backpacking together, at least for a little while. But now that you鈥檙e off the mountain, and far from the threat of lightning, you鈥檒l probably both start feeling better quickly. That鈥檚 part of the nature of backcountry trips: you go, you learn, you change. I know you would both do things differently in the future鈥攁nd I hope that you get that chance.

The post My Friend and I Got Caught in a Storm During a Hike. Who鈥檚 to Blame? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at听toughlove@outsideinc.com.

My friend has told me that she wants to be more outdoorsy, so she鈥檚 asked me to take her on a backpacking trip, since I鈥檓 an avid backpacker. We鈥檙e currently planning a four-day trip for late September. However, I鈥檓 feeling anxious about it for a reason that鈥檚 kind of personal.

My friend is incredibly athletic: she鈥檚 literally a marathon runner. The thing is, I鈥檓 not traditionally athletic at all. I hated gym class, was bad at it, and always found it embarrassing. I鈥檓 also plus size and didn鈥檛 find any exercise that felt good to me until I started hiking and backpacking in my twenties. I discovered that I really enjoyed moving my body when no one else was watching or judging me, and I feel strong and at peace in the woods. For that reason, most of my backpacking trips are solo. The longest I鈥檝e completed was a three-week solo trip two summers ago.听

My friend doesn鈥檛 have any backpacking experience, so I鈥檒l be showing her how to set up camp, cook, filter water, and that kind of thing. But despite the fact that I have a lot of confidence in my backpacking skills, I鈥檝e been feeling like an impostor as we plan the trip. After all, we鈥檙e doing something athletic, and she鈥檚 much more of a natural than I am.听 I鈥檓 worried that I鈥檒l be the one holding her back, and that I鈥檒l feel self-conscious in a way that I usually go into the woods to get away from, which is something that she probably can鈥檛 imagine. How can I have the confidence to lead her on a backpacking trip when, in my mind, she鈥檚 already better at it than me?

Backpacking is a fundamentally physical activity, in the sense that it鈥檚 about using your body in the world鈥攂ut it鈥檚 also fundamentally about self-sufficiency, connecting with nature, learning to sleep in the wilderness, adjusting to weather, and being creative with limited supplies. You know what doesn鈥檛 define backpacking? How far you go, and how fast. You could travel a quarter-mile each day at a naturalist鈥檚 pace (read: stopping constantly, moving from one interesting plant or animal to the next, sketching in your notebook, spying on bugs), and as long as you set up camp and slept outside, you鈥檇 totally be backpacking. Your friend could run an ultramarathon on a mountain, and though it might be an awesome adventure, it wouldn鈥檛 be backpacking at all. That鈥檚 why she approached you鈥攆or your expertise. And it sounds like you have a lot of it.

A three-week solo backpacking trip is a wildly impressive accomplishment. Seriously. Can we take a moment to appreciate that?! You spent almost a month alone, carrying your world on your back, facing solitude, animals, bugs, rain, blisters, cold, and heat鈥攁nd with a trip that long, I imagine you had to do some serious on-the-fly problem-solving, too, with no instincts to lean on but your own. You completed something that only a tiny percentage of people will ever dream of trying. And while I don鈥檛 want to rank achievements against each other, I think it鈥檚 fair to say that if your friend has any sense at all, she鈥檚 as wowed by your backpacking experience as you are by her marathon running鈥攋ust as both of you should be.

I know that gym-class scars and body shame run deep. Much like you, it took me a while to figure out that I liked moving my body, mainly because my California phys-ed classes were outdoors, in 100-degree temperatures, and students weren鈥檛 allowed to shower afterward. I鈥檇 spend the entire hour trying to move鈥攁nd sweat鈥攁s little as possible. (It also didn鈥檛 help that I was also afraid of balls and dismally bad at running the mile. Rather than humiliate myself by coming in last, I preferred to refuse to try). When I figured out that it was heat, not exercise, that I hated, it felt like a revelation. So I can imagine, a little, how you might have felt when you discovered hiking and backpacking. Being deep in nature, away from expectations and judgment, moving through the world on your own power. I鈥檓 so happy for you that you found a place where you feel free.

I in no way want to dismiss the difficulties that come from existing in a larger body in our society, particularly for women. That鈥檚 something that you know acutely, and that your friend may never understand. But I do want to push back on your assumption that she鈥檚 never felt the kind of self-consciousness that the woods can help to heal. Thin women can hate their bodies, sometimes viciously; the suggestion that things are always otherwise seems like an idealization of thinness that鈥檚 rooted more in propaganda than fact. It鈥檚 highly possible that the work you鈥檝e done to find peace and joy in your own body is something that she hasn鈥檛 managed yet. Our greatest skills aren鈥檛 necessarily the ones that come naturally, but the ones we鈥檝e fought for, and earned.

Speaking of skills, as you noted, you鈥檒l have a ton to teach her: everything from how to pack a backpack to how to make camp and get through a pitch-black night without freaking out about bears and Bigfoot. There is absolutely zero question that you are the expert here鈥攁nd she knows that, which is why she approached you! The only place I鈥檇 anticipate a discrepancy is that, when you鈥檙e actually walking along the trail, her natural pace might be faster. If that brings up fear or shame for you, you might want to talk to her about it beforehand. For all you know, she鈥檚 been anxious about a different element of the trip, and by modeling openness and vulnerability, you鈥檒l make space for her to do the same. Since different paces tend to separate on uphills in particular, you could also seek out a trail that鈥檚 mostly flat, so that any speed differences are less likely to come into play.

Worst-case scenario, you鈥檒l have an awkward four days, and can promptly go back to your solo travels. Best-case scenario, you鈥檒l have a new backpacking buddy鈥攕omeone who appreciates your expertise, loves being outside, and can plan adventures with you. Either way, I know you鈥檒l be giving your friend a powerful and possibly life-changing experience, and I hope you鈥檒l have one too. I鈥檒l be rooting for you both.

The post What if I Introduce My Friend to Backpacking and She鈥檚 Better than Me? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Welcome to Tough Love. We鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of and . Have a question of your own? Write to us at听toughlove@outsideinc.com.

I live in a very outdoorsy town surrounded by beautiful nature, and I love to get out hiking whenever I can. Unfortunately, I don鈥檛 have a car, which means that I either need to rent or borrow one, or go with a friend. I鈥檇 love to go hiking with people more regularly but I鈥檓 fairly new to town and I think the friends I have here already have other hiking buddies, so I don鈥檛 really get invited out much.听

The problem is that I鈥檓 really self-conscious about asking anyone for a ride or to go hiking鈥攊t鈥檚 hard enough for me to ask for things, but I have chronic knee pain so I鈥檓 pretty slow hiking downhill. I can definitely hold my own going up, but even using hiking poles (which help a lot!) I still feel like I just slow people down. I know that I can tell people to go on ahead and I鈥檒l meet them at the bottom鈥攚hich I prefer, to be honest鈥攂ut then that鈥檚 putting them in an uncomfortable position of waiting and/or feeling like they鈥檙e leaving me behind.听

There have been times in the past when I鈥檝e definitely felt like a burden on the group. And what鈥檚 even worse is that I don鈥檛 even have a good reason for my knee pain鈥攖here鈥檚 no obvious injury that people would understand, and I struggle to do the basic physical therapy exercises. (PT is so hard to follow through on!) So it just feels like an ongoing issue that I鈥檓 not even putting in my best effort to fix.听

I don鈥檛 want to make it feel like I鈥檓 just using people for a ride to the woods, and I also don鈥檛 want to burden them with my slow hiking. What do I have to offer in return? I just feel needy and slow. Thanks for your advice about how I can get out hiking more with people.

Yours truly,
Downhill Bummer

If there鈥檚 one thing writing this column has taught me, it鈥檚 that there are a ton of people struggling to find good outdoor buddies鈥攁nd that many of them feel self-conscious about their pace. People worry about being too fast or too slow, too inexperienced, or too prone to stopping and smelling the flowers. And a lot of them are embarrassed about taking time on the uphills, which makes your worry about downhills seem almost refreshing. If you can be patient while a companion hikes up, and they can be patient while you hike down, you鈥檒l be solving two peoples鈥� insecurities at once.

It is absolutely acceptable鈥攁nd normal鈥攖o call a friend (who lives relatively nearby), invite them on a hiking trip, and explain that you don鈥檛 have a car so you鈥檇 need them to pick you up on the way. Most of us know what it鈥檚 like to be car-less, and are only too happy to help out. If someone did this to me, I wouldn鈥檛 bat an eye; if anything, I鈥檇 feel like the drive was a chance to spend a little more time together, and maybe we could grab ice cream or coffee on the way. And even if I couldn鈥檛 go, I鈥檇 be honored to be considered as a hiking buddy.

The thing is, taking the initiative to find a hike and suggest it to someone is a gift, and asking for a ride doesn鈥檛 negate that. It鈥檚 especially nice if you鈥檙e specific with your invitation: 鈥淗ey, I read about a five-mile loop trail around Saddle Mountain that passes some really pretty waterfalls. Would you want to go there together this Saturday or Sunday? The weather鈥檚 supposed to be clear all weekend.鈥� It鈥檚 easy for all of us to settle into routines, and lovely when someone does the research and suggests something new. If you want to give back even more, in appreciation for the ride, you can bring fun snacks along, learn some interesting facts about the area that you can share on the way, or snap pictures of your friend in action and text them after the hike. These are all fun ways to contribute to an excursion鈥攅ven though, by being present and friendly and kind, you鈥檙e already giving the most important contribution of all.

As for feeling awkward about your knee, your best bet is to go for full disclosure up front. 鈥淛ust so you know, I have a knee problem and am slow on the downhills. It鈥檚 totally fine with me if you hike ahead and wait. I just wanted to let you know beforehand because I feel self-conscious about it.鈥� Sometimes acknowledging your self-consciousness aloud is all it takes to diminish it. (Plus, it鈥檚 a good practice for building trust in friendships.) Also, this gives your companion a chance to back out if they hate waiting and their main priority on hikes is, like, going downhill really fast. But I鈥檓 guessing most folks won鈥檛 care in the slightest. Truly. They might even feel relieved, and confide an insecurity of their own.

You can also side-step the issue completely by finding hikes without downhills. This is a long shot, but if you happen to live near a gondola, you can often hike to the top and catch a ride back down for free. Another option would be to choose a one-way hike with road access on both ends, hike the uphill route, and then hitchhike back to the first trailhead. And the simplest solution, of course, is to opt for flatter trails, which might be a good choice for your knee anyway.

Whatever you choose, I suspect that you won鈥檛 be stuck in this situation for long. Once you get a routine going with a compatible pal or two, there will be no need for negotiations. They鈥檒l know that they鈥檙e the driver, and they鈥檒l have a nice stretching routine figured out for when they鈥檙e waiting at the bottom of a hill. You鈥檒l know that they鈥檙e a total sucker for Fig Newtons, so you鈥檒l keep a bag in your pack to bust out at scenic overlooks, and you鈥檒l also know that they鈥檙e obsessed with mushrooms and can鈥檛 pass one without pulling out a field guide (which is a great opportunity for you to squeeze in some PT exercises). This is, after all, how some of the best friendships are made: not by not having quirks, but by learning to look out for each others鈥� as we do for our own. You鈥檙e not a burden. You鈥檙e lifting each other up.

The post I鈥檇 Love to Make New Hiking Friends, but I Feel Like a Burden appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.