I recently returned from an amazing trip with my partner Kevin, casting fly fishing lines over and over again. Although I can't share the river's location (the unspoken code of fly fishing apparently), the experience was magical. I would say I’ve progressed from a beginner to an intermediate (training wheels still on), and I’m now firmly in the camp of hooking a good number of sizeable fish on a very difficult river. Under the tutelage of Kev, it is not uncommon for me to hook the largest fish of the trip among all other anglers. To be fair, getting them in the net is still a challenge so the "largest fish" may still be an...umm..fish tale. Despite my aspirational goals of large fish, each cast offers a new opportunity to practice my skills, and each drift is different from the last. But there’s one common element on every trip—I am the only woman on the river, each and every time. It has become such a joke with my partner that we laugh my hashtag should be #onlywomanontheriver. When fly fishing, there’s a lot of time for self-contemplation and reflection. As I stand there swatting bugs away, I contemplate that while I may be the only female angler on the riverbanks, the most important element doesn’t regard my gender—the river. The river truly doesn’t care that I am a woman.
I come from a long lineage of fiercely independent outdoor women. My mother, the only female sibling in her family, was documented in her local paper with her catches from her pond, archived in my grandfather’s “Morgue Record of Fish” (true story). The pin I’m wearing in this picture on my waders is of a fish hook, originally donned by what we believe to be my grandmother and great-grandmother. They too were drawn to rivers, oceans, ponds, and lakes, often as the only women with a fishing pole in hand. My mother, at 80 years young, can still cast a line as though she were that young girl in Rutland, VT with her brothers.
Despite the long history of women enjoying and recreating bravely in outdoor spaces, we continue to battle another threat—harassment in vulnerable environments. Outside Magazine recently featured a story about female climbers supporting women who reported harassment by a renowned climber, Nims Purja, in “Climbers Weigh In on Nims Purja Following Sexual Abuse Allegations.” This story responded to the shocking New York Times article outlining the alarming trend of women facing threats from their male counterparts in “For Female Climbers, Dangers Go Beyond Avalanches and Storms.” The prevalence of incidents led the American Alpine Club to create #SafeOutside, an independent grassroots initiative designed to combat sexual harassment and assault. In an effort to shed light on this serious threat with a bit of levity, TikTok hypothetically asked users if they would rather meet a man or a bear alone in the woods (Women or Bear TikTok Debate). The overwhelming response was that women would rather run into the big furry mammal (and not the human version). As a woman who often wanders in the woods solo, I would 1,000 times over prefer an encounter with a bear than a man. Both have happened on numerous occasions, and the fright of encountering a wild animal pales compared to the uneasy tension I feel when walking past a man, instantly deciding my exit route and if I could outrun this individual.
Sadly this issue is not new to us. In 2018, Outside Magazine shared the stories of six women in the outdoor industry and their experiences of sexual harassment (Sexual Harassment in the Outdoors: Our Stories). When I read this part of the story from Jenn Lynn Dumas: “I was working as a technical representative for a big apparel company, my first job out of college. One evening after a sales meeting, our team—everyone else was male—went out to dinner, and we were having a good time. Then, out of nowhere, my boss grabbed my breast in front of my peers. I asked him why he did that, and he said his girlfriend had little breasts and he wanted to know what big ones felt like. I was frozen” I had chills. Recently, while conducting interviews for the Women of Patrol mentor session, I had a young female patroller share a similar experience from her sister, a professional river guide. She summarized the experience that women have in the outdoor industry as: “we have been fooled that the first job we get in the outdoor industry is the only one.” This false narrative must be challenged. It’s our responsibility to conquer limiting beliefs and fight for our right to be emotionally and physically safe, believing in our skill set and worth, far more powerful than any misogynist supervisor, lead guide, or boss that attempts to take away our power. Which brings me back to the theme of this post—The River Doesn’t Care.
During this most recent trip, I had to go back to the car for a snack (I love my snacks!) and to enter the woods to pee (another vulnerable challenge women face in the wilderness). Even as a well-traveled woman in my recently sold Sprinter Van with a keen sense of my surroundings and a partner that makes me feel safe, I still felt tingles when encountering a man with a van in the otherwise empty parking lot. Although he was friendly, I still followed my own hard and fast rules:
Stay within eyesight of my partner and have a plan/time of return.
Never turn my back to another person in the parking lot, especially one with a van.
Keep constant eye on other people.
Keep my keys ready as a weapon if needed (FYI Key Fobs are not great tools for this).
Always have an exit plan.
**Added rule for van owners: NEVER EVER let someone outside of your immediate party in your van.
In the end, all was well, and I gave Kevin the “I’m OK” river sign as he couldn’t hear me over the roar of the river. This brings me back to the most important piece—the river, or the mountains, really don’t care. What matters is our connection to the wild areas we love. The magic and power we feel when we immerse ourselves in these places matter. As women, we may feel at times we are at higher risk among our male peers, but we equally have the connection to the elements that we can draw upon in our darkest moments. It’s up to us to take up these spaces and show up as we want to. Somewhere along the way we were convinced, trained, cultured, told, or fibbed to that we didn't belong, let alone prosper and grow amongst the rivers, mountains, and open spaces. If anything we belong more here and it is is a gift to our younger, present ,and future selves to be empowered, emboldened, brave, connected to the wild, and walk or run with fierce finesse. We may always feel the need to protect ourselves in the wilderness environments we love, but without a doubt, we belong in those spaces. The mountains don’t care. The rivers don’t care. They ARE our safety. They ARE our solitude.
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