By Monet Yelsnick

The Unspoken Custom of the White Owned Wilderness

As I drive out of Seattle heading towards the Hoh Rain forest on the Washington state peninsula I start to see my surroundings change. Suburbs fade to forests, apartment buildings packed like sardines and sitting sky high are suddenly ocean shores. I see fewer and fewer people in general and even less who look like me and before I know it, I’m sticking out like a sore thumb. My hair, my hoops, my lips, my nose, I am an anomaly in these parts of the state and I am an anomaly at the destination I am seeking, but the draw is too strong, the reward too great to be thwarted.

Though hiking is something I couldn’t see myself living without these days, getting into it did not come without its barriers. If you flip through any outdoor magazines or equipment ads I would bet a healthy wager that you will find about 0-2 images of people of color, let alone Black people in those publications. There is the common (but wholly inaccurate) stereotype that Black people just don't like hiking or camping, and the lack of diversity on the trails is taken for granted. But why? What is this unspoken custom that the outdoors are mostly for white folk? If we hop back to that same outdoor equipment ad you will see some price tags that are out of reach for most people in the low income bracket, and at least in Seattle, the median income for a Black family vs a white family is less than half, sitting well below the ‘very low income’ category. Lack of financial resources are one barrier to the beauty and peace of the great outdoors. The gas, the gear we are often told we need, the time off, are not accessible to many people living paycheck to paycheck with a family to support, and it may not seem worth the risk if you think you might come to harm. If you scroll the news on any given day you will see a story of a black person who was seen as being ‘suspicious’ or ‘threatening’ for simply sitting on a bench in their own neighborhood, bird watching, or having a barbeque at a public park which resulted in police being called - and these are just a small fraction of baseless and unwarranted police calls Black people endure for existing in the outdoors. This trifecta of economic constraints, lack of representation, and being targeted for partaking in leisurely outdoor activities while Black sends an overt message: the outdoors are for white people and explicitly not for Black people.

I venture into the wilderness often and try to keep my head up but sometimes I get murmurs and stares when I go into town in Forks to pick up firewood or grab some water or fruit in preparation for a hike or overnight. It makes me think of the interracial family that was stalked by men with guns in this very same town at this very same store last June during a camping trip because some locals assumed they were up to no good. It makes me more hesitant to go alone and usually looking for a white friend to go with me to help ease my anxieties. I take extra care to blend in when I’m on the trail.

For me this means covering my natural hair, making sure I wear neutral colors, being as quiet as I can. When I realized I was holding my breath as I passed people I had to come to terms with the fact that I was not able to get the full healing and rejuvenating experience I was craving. Our behavior is policed in every public space, we are too loud, having too good of a time, anything we are doing is seen with an eye of suspicion because Blackness in itself is the boogeyman of white America. This translates on the trail via stink eyes for laughing out loud, stares if you deviate from the traditional hiking look, subtle signals that you are taking up too much space where you are so graciously being allowed to trek. Despite the fears and constraints, I find myself returning again and again.

I have always felt deeply connected to the land of the Pacific Northwest. I have traveled the globe, sometimes for months on end, and as much as I cherish those experiences, I find myself yearning for the cold rocky beaches, the damp old growth Olympic forest, the rugged mountains, the unforgiving weather of my beloved PNW. I yearn for it in my bones, in the very core of my being. When asked about my relationship to the land here all I can say is that I love it like a person. It is a relationship, a give and take, and it teaches me as much about itself as it does about myself. Just like a person I love there is not much that can keep me away from it, despite the risks. The reward is too great and too profound to give it up, and where I have had the will I have always found a way. My hope is that through sharing the challenges and barriers to outdoor experiences, we can start to knock them down. This land we inhabit has so much to offer us beyond raw materials–there is peace, beauty, comfort, healing to be had by immersing yourself and that is something we should all feel welcomed and encouraged into.

Monet Yelsnick is a musician and outdoor enthusiast in Seattle, WA.