Are you an outdoor snob?

Are you an outdoor snob?

With complex hierarchies, obscure heroes, and incomprehensible jargon, the outdoor community is more intimidating than it should be

Many years ago, before the prospect of camping became a real and constant threat in my life, I was a city girl through and through. I had never slept under the stars, never bathed in a lake, and never answered nature's call in, er, nature.

During this time of high heels and expensive meals, I had a conversation with an outdoor friend of mine before his Three Peaks Challenge. Mike (let's call him) was looking for a driver and noted that "most climbers rely on their girlfriends for transportation."

He rolled his eyes. “We call them ‘rock friends,’” he said with an arrogant smile.

I didn't know what a rock was at the time, but I knew his comment was derogatory. I didn't mind though; Whatever a cliff friend was, I wasn't one of them.

Five years later, I'm doing things like trekking to a glacier at 5,000 m (16,400 feet) on the Cotopaxi volcano or climbing Nevis Peak unguided.

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• alt=“Schlammige Sandalen nach der Besteigung des Nevis Peak“>

Are you an outdoor snob?

I haven't chauffeured Peter at the Three Peaks Challenge yet, but when it comes to the outdoors I'm definitely the least initiated. Yes, I know the difference between a couloir and a col, but when I recently read Touching the Void I kept turning to the glossary.

My status as a not-quite-newbie, certainly not a pro, provides a convenient vantage point from which to observe the outdoor community. The majority of people there are incredibly friendly and welcoming, but there is a sizable minority (15%?) that I'd best avoid. This faction is snarky of newbies, snobby about equipment, and very vocal about what constitutes doing nature the "right" way.

For example, when my friend Mike was preparing for Nepal, I remarked that I had never heard of his jacket brand.

He shrugged dismissively. "You wouldn't have that. That's what die-hard mountain guides wear."

Needless to say, Mike is an outdoors snob. He and his ilk avoid The North Face because apparently no self-respecting outdoorsman would be seen dead wearing it. No. It's much more impressive to fall off a mountain with a brand that no one has heard of.

alt="Kia in the Dolomites wears The North Face">Atlas & BootsKia in the Dolomites wears The North Face

Outdoor snobs often use technical jargon (“beta spray,” “pink flame”) and take particular glee when newbies are overwhelmed.

It's the same snobbery that bemoans the Wild Effect. I adore Outside Magazine, but was disheartened to read a list in its December 2015 issue that wished away trends, tools, and irritations, including "the impact of Wild and A Walk in the Woods on trail traffic."

That a publication intended to promote engagement with nature would scare away young enthusiasts was utterly disappointing.

I accept that newcomers pose dangers and annoyances. They may be ill-prepared, putting themselves and others at risk. Gas-guzzling RVs are trampling the very thing their owners claim to love, while ignorance of outdoor etiquette creates problems for other enthusiasts and the environment - but education, not exclusion, is the answer.

alt="Wild, the movie, was blamed for the increase in trail traffic">PR imageWild actress Reese Witherspoon has been blamed for the increase in trail traffic

The relevant question is not, “How do we discourage newcomers?” but “how can we encourage newcomers to get involved responsibly?”. It's true that national parks, particularly in the US, are under increasing pressure, but this can be managed through tourism caps (which I think is easier said than done).

In a post about diversity in nature, I listed a number of benefits that can be achieved by engaging with nature. To say that these benefits should be reserved for a small (usually privileged) group of people who wouldn't be seen dead in The North Face is snobbery at its worst.

Some call it the “bro-ification of nature,” but I don’t think frat boys and surfing bros are the root of the problem. I think it's closer to the community: the ultra-serious climbers, hikers, and self-appointed arbiters of the outdoor industry.

Logically, we need more than a cabal of haughty experts to guide nature through difficult times. We need new waves of enthusiasts who are actively committed to protecting and preserving nature and wilderness. The more people invest in nature, the more power we have to effect change.

So let's be clear: you don't need a closet full of ice axes, wetsuits and bivvy bags like Peter. A sense of awareness will do good. That and a pair of sturdy boots.

Come out. It's beautiful here.

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Partly to defy the outdoors snobs among us, we recommend Wild, the best-selling memoir chronicling Cheryl Strayed's impulsive decision to hike more than 1,000 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail.

Main image: Aleksandr Grechanyuk/Shutterstock

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