‘I’m just trying to exist’: Unlikely Hikers trying to change status quo on trails

Sandy • Kelli Stowers believes a good hike has healing properties. Nothing washes away her stress better than moving her body through nature.

But people’s reaction to the nature of the way her body moves can also cause her stress, particularly when others comment on it or give her disapproving glances. Stowers self-identifies as fat, and she said she has to put up with that kind of discomfort on the trails far more often than blisters or bee stings.

“I deal with a lot of unsolicited feedback from people because I’m in a larger body,” the 38-year-old from Provo said. She said people give her a surprised look and then say, “‘Oh, you’re doing great!’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, I know. My body’s doing the same thing your body’s doing. It might be a little slower, but I’m going to get there, too.’”

Still, an aversion to those barbs has kept Stowers away from group hikes. Not even organizations like Fat Girls Hiking and Slow Hikers Unite Utah, both of which she follows on social media, have been able to sway her. Despite their messages of inclusivity, she worries she’d be judged or left behind.

Yet, last Saturday she found herself at the Wrangler Trailhead at Dimple Dell Regional Park surrounded by more than a dozen strangers who, like her, had set aside their anxieties so they could take the first step toward finding a hiking community that would accept them without judgment. That group was Unlikely Hikers, but the name was a misnomer. In many ways, they represent average Americans. Yet in an outdoors culture that has historically been portrayed as being cis, white, fit, competitive and financially well-off, they feel like misfits.

“I consider myself an unlikely hiker,” said South Salt Lake City’s August McCann, a participant in Saturday’s hike who uses they/them pronouns. “I think outdoor industry spaces are not always the most welcoming to LGBT people, and it can be really intimidating. Like especially, I think within my age group and the 20s and 30s, there’s a lot of competition. There’s a lot of influencer pressure to have the gear, look a certain way, be super fit. None of that resonates with me. And I don’t often see other trans hikers out and about. So anytime I go hiking, I know I’m going to be the only one like me.”

Outdoor recreation-oriented social media feeds were saturated with a kind of “one-note, good-vibes-only” imagery when Jenny Bruso picked up the hiking, and that’s what drove her to found Unlikely Hikers six years ago. It started as an Instagram account highlighting the outdoor experiences of Black, Indigenous and people of color and those in LGBTQ communities. That “caught on like wildfire,” she said. Now the account has nearly 150,000 followers and the group has become a full-time job for the Oregon-based Bruso, who advises companies wanting to break into alternative markets and leads hikes around the country.

“I don’t actually believe in any of us being unlikely,” Bruso, 40, said. “It’s just about challenging the status quo of how we perceive and have learned what our outdoor culture is.”

The outdoor industry is adjusting its scope, but change is slow in coming. Kelly Davis, the director of research for the Outdoor Industry Association, noted that many manufacturers of outdoor and athletic gear produce lines in sizes XS to XL. And yet according to at least one study, most women wear size 16-18, which corresponds to a women’s size 2X.

“It’s still a challenge for plus size women to find technical outerwear that fits,” Davis said in an email. “Which takes this from a sizing issue to an access issue.”

Some companies like the Holladay-based Gregory Mountain Products, which sponsored Saturday’s hike and provided swag to participants, have made concerted efforts to buck that trend. When it entered the plus-sized market with its backpacks, it planned to expand to size 2X. At Bruso’s recommendation, however, Gregory now makes packs that fit up to 6X in 14 styles and 16 colors.

Those packs may not be its top sellers, but Gregory spokesperson Lindsay Malone said the company wanted to take an active role in encouraging diversity in the outdoors.

“As a brand, and what we stand for,” Malone said the thought was, “we can’t not do this.”

Unlikely Hikers aren’t exclusively plus-size people, though, which was reflected in Saturday’s participants. Some felt ostracized from outdoor recreation for their age, others for their race or their gender expression. Arawn Billings, who uses they/he pronouns, said he sometimes feels disdain from other trail users for any number of traits when they’re on a hike by himself or with a friend — especially in conservative and body-conscious Utah.

“I don’t shave my face or legs. I have blue hair. And I’m not skinny, so I still get a lot of judgment from people when I’m out on the trails, like when I actually get out,” said Billings, who lives in Provo and identifies as queer. “And I’m like, ‘I’m just trying to exist, guys!’”

In addition, Billings, 33, suffers from a medical condition that causes him to have dizzy spells. Like Stowers, as much as they craved community, he hadn’t sought a hiking group out of fear he’d be left behind or judged.

Bruso takes pains to allay those concerns for her Unlikely Hikers. Before they step foot on the trail, she lays down the ground rules: No talking about diets. No judgments. No phobias. No one gets left behind. Participants also introduce themselves and discuss preferred pronouns. And she reminds them the land they’ll tread was taken from Indigenous peoples.

“People can have their hiking group where they just show up at the trailhead and they motor and it’s fine,” Bruso said. “But we’re just trying to do something different. You know, where more people will maybe actually consider joining the group hike when maybe they’re someone who said they would never join a group hike. I want to reach that person.”

For a day, at least, she reached several of those people, not least of all Stowers.

“Just knowing that it was an inclusive environment and knowing that I wouldn’t have to worry about, like, pushing myself faster than I could go because I had to keep up or I had to, you know, look the part, or whatever,” was refreshing, she said. “I’m just going to hike. That’s really great.”

But one day is not enough the group agreed during a post-hike, pre-happy hour gathering. Local chapters are in the works, including ones in Salt Lake City and Ogden potentially led by some of Saturday’s hikers. In the meantime, some participants made plans to meet up again — and bring a friend.

Because the more people like them that they can get out on the trails, then the less unlikely the Unlikely Hikers will be.