McConnell - A woman’s guide to the wild : your complete outdoor handbook

Copyright 2016 by Siobhan McConnell

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published by Sasquatch Books

Editor: Hannah Elnan
Production editor: Emma Reh
Illustrations: Teresa Grasseschi
Design: Anna Goldstein
Copyeditor: Nancy W. Cortelyou

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN: 978-1-63217-005-7

Sasquatch Books
1904 Third Avenue, Suite 710
Seattle, WA 98101
(206) 467-4300
www.sasquatchbooks.com

eBook ISBN: 978-1-63217-006-4

v3.1

For Mom and Dad, whowherever I go, whatever I dohave camped there and left wood for me

Princess and the Pea Bedroll

Do not stop thinking of life as an adventure.

ELEANOR ROOSEVELT

Raised in the urban landscape of Portland, Oregon, I am an unlikely outdoorswoman. I would not characterize my parents as being particularly outdoorsy, although they were avid bird-watchers, fisherpeople, and enjoyers of nature. But my mother had a strict go outside and play policy for her three girls that held even in the cold and rainy winter months in Oregon. And go outside we did, tromping off into the urban wilderness adjacent to our house to gather horse chestnuts in fall, daisies in spring, and caterpillars in summer. We hacked trails through blackberry brambles and dug holes with sticks; stomped puddles and poked at slugs; and were generally encouraged to explore, observe, and get dirty.

When I was nine, my parents sent me off to summer camp. I loved it from the very first moment. Camp was, in my experience, a magical place. I loved that we had to take an old wooden barge, and sometimes canoes, across the broad mouth of the Salmon River to get to the siteall while hoping our luggage wouldnt tumble from the pile as we lurched across the incoming tidal waves. I loved the cabins, with wooden pegs for door handles and no glass in the windows that looked out onto the Pacific Ocean. I thought the counselors were superheroesthey could hike forever, build fires in the worst of rains, cook meals on camp stoves made from coffee cans, and ride the most stubborn of horses. For me, camp made everything a marvel, from the slanted pine trees to the steep-sided dunes and tide pools. At camp I was encouraged to investigate the world around me and find my own place in it, and it was there I discovered that, outdoors, I thrived.

Then, as I grew older, something changed. Regardless of how much time I spent outside, how far into the backcountry I went, or what kinds of challenges I took on, there seemed to be an underlying currenta low hum of voices from the media, the mainstream, and meninsisting that the wilderness was no place for women. Once, in Alaska, two hunters laughed so hard and so long at the idea of my male friends bringing along a girl (but no gun) that I had time to change my clothes and eat a sandwich before they managed to acknowledge me directly. I wasted a lot of time trying to prove I have a place in the outdoors.

For the approval of men, I have gone on trips in places and climates for which I was terribly unsuitedchugging through canyon country, or scrambling the edges of ice fields dressed for an easy day hike. Ia fully competent river canoer and rafterhave nearly drowned on several occasions because I was too timid to assert myself and take the bow, instead letting little more than male bravado steer the boat. I have spent sleepless nights freezing because a male companion forgot the bedding or simply brought a light blanket for temperatures that I require a zero-degree bag in order to tolerate. I have sat and fretted for hours about stray sparks near a campfire being fed dangerous amounts of fuel and wood in the dry days of August. I have worried for days before a trip, hoping I could keep up, hoping the weather would hold out, and worried that expressing my doubts would cast me as unqualified for the adventure. I often wondered why there wasnt a book about being a woman in the outdoors. If it had not been for a steady stream of female mentors and a willingness to learn things the hard way, I might have given up.

It turns out, there are a lot of things that conspire to keep women, in particular, from the outdoors. While learning to backpack, camp, and hunt are considered important rites of passage for our American boys, American girls are more likely to learn an art or craft, how to cook, or even play a sport before they are taught how to pitch a tent or use a compass. And certainly no one goes out of the way to tell us what to do if we have to menstruate in the woods; more likely, were terrified by stories of attracting bears. We might suffer sidelong glances from men, and even some women, who think a womans place is indoors. We may even be flatly told that we arent strong enough, big enough, or tough enough.

Enough.

The truth is, men are no better (or worse) equipped than women to survive in the wilderness. They are not in better shape. They are not better navigators nor do they have an innate sense of the weather. They do not always know how to steer the boat or use the stove either. Moreover, there is no reason to assume that just because men and women are both capable of being in the wilderness, that the way in which they approach the experience will be any more similar than how they approach anything else in life. Sometimes we women will look ridiculous. Sometimes we will fail. At the very least we will pee on our shoes, bring the wrong clothes, burn dinner, and fall off our bikes. (So will men.) Dont let it stop you.

Your experience will greatly improve when you begin to exercise agency over your own outdoor experience. Try new things. Build a skill set. Shrug off doubts, rude remarks, and stereotypes. Surround yourself with people who support you. Know your limits and honor them. Know your ambitions and shoot for them. There is more to gain from your time outside than you can ever lose in trying. And there is a way to avoid peeing on your shoes, I promise. So, let your hair frizz and your nails chip, wear clothing that is comfortable and easily washed, get dirty, get outside, go wild.

How womankind, who are confined to the house still more than men, stand it I do not know; but I have ground to suspect that most of them do not