Waxing philosophic – Page 2 – Third Coast Hikes

The Outdoors are for Everybody: Accessibility Outside

Marengo Ridge Conservation Area has some of the most accessible trails in the Chicago area.

You know how you feel when you’re walking down the trail and it’s quiet and peaceful and maybe it’s a challenging hike but it’s fine because you’re achieved your zen state? You leave feeling tired and refreshed and renewed. That’s pretty much the same for everybody, regardless of their physical abilities. It’s one of the things that makes us human. Unfortunately, not everyone can get into the outdoors easily. I want to think a little bit on making the outdoors accessible to everyone. While ADA-accessible campgrounds and playgrounds do exist, we’ve got a long way to go before we live in an outdoor space that is welcoming and accessible to every American.

The Americans with Disabilities Act was passed in 1990 and requires that all state and local governments must make any building accessible when designing, building, altering, buying, renting, or leasing it. It also reaffirms that agencies are not required to change the character of a wilderness area to make it accessible, but it does protect the rights of anyone using a wheelchair to access that wilderness area. Since 1990 the Forest Service has focused on creating accessible spaces any time facilities are built or renovated, or programming is created. The intention is that anyone who wants to experience outdoor recreation on America’s public lands should have an equal opportunity to do so.

Why accessibility matters:

Accessibility in the outdoors was on my mind while I was writing up my thoughts on Marengo Ridge Conservation Area Thomas Woods Campground, I remembered how well built the trails were, and that these are some of the most ADA-friendly trails in the Chicago area. That was information I wanted to pass onto my younger sister, who before graduating college spent the summer working at a camp for special needs kids and adults in the Prairie du Chien region of Wisconsin. The camp where she worked caters to individuals of all ages with developmental disabilities who want a quality outdoor recreation experience. The camp offers fun, safe and rewarding outdoors programming in a supportive environment to any person with developmental disabilities.

Camp staff administered this supportive and fun programming while simultaneously providing one-on-one care to individual campers. That’s no small task. Individual counselors could be tasked with caring for the needs of a handful of individuals who each need specialized care that requires a great deal of attention. They provided that care while also escorting people in wheelchairs down the trail, to outdoor events, around camp and the region. Depending on that person’s abilities, they may or may not be able to express their needs easily, and anticipating those needs before they become a problem for the camper isn’t easy. It’s a job for very patient people who are very sensitive to the emotions and needs of others.

If, like myself, you’re a person who does not have a disability it can be tough to understand what barriers to entry exist to getting out into nature. I know what keeps me from getting into nature, and it’s things like having the time to get out or being too far away from expansive park systems. I live in the city, I have a full time job, it can be tough. All those same barriers exist for a person with a disability, but with the added challenge of navigating a difficult landscape, accessing sites that will accommodate their needs and dealing with people who for some reason thinks public lands are not intended for people with disabilities.

One of my sister’s more memorable (and rage-inducing) exchanges occurred when she was hiking in a local state park with a group of campers, one of whom uses a wheelchair. The camper was enamored with the beautiful forests of Southwestern Wisconsin in the summertime, even though this particular park wasn’t really accessible. My sister aided this camper by pushing her wheelchair down the path and helping to navigate the rocky terrain that wasn’t built for wheels. They accommodated other hikers by making sure not to block the trail, to make space for passers by and to be as considerate as they could to their fellow hikers. During the hike my sister helped the camper to use the facilities along the trail. During this time a total stranger apparently felt inconvenienced having to wait a few minutes and as my sister put it “she basically told us we don’t belong here.” The incident left my sister feeling down on herself, and it upset the other hikers in their group that day. I hope that lady left feeling pleased with herself for having bullied a group of disabled hikers on a beautiful summer afternoon for nothing more than the crime of trying to go on a hike.

Beyond that, her argument is nonsense. Ableist, offensive nonsense. America’s public lands are for everyone. (Even that lady, and she sounds insufferable.) Public lands are exactly that – for the public. According to the 2010 census, 54 million people “had a disability that significantly limited one or more major life activities, such as walking, seeing, hearing, breathing, and thinking.” Beyond that, because America’s population is aging rapidly, by 2030 80 million people will be 65 or older. That means day-by-day the number of Americans who live with a disability is increasing.

Almost three million American kids have a disability. That can mean anything from hearing, cognitive, mobility or vision difficulties and probably more beyond that. Just like anyone else, they can reap the benefits we all enjoy from the outdoors and nature. Outdoor recreation has the exact same mental and physical benefits for a non-disabled adult as they do for someone with a disability. It’s our job to make sure everyone has access to the outdoors, regardless of their ability. Does that mean we need to pave the dunes in Ludington, Michigan or lower the grade on Hoosier Hill? No, don’t be ridiculous. When making the decision to construct or alter a building, trail, recreation site that already exists it’s vital to ask “how can we design, purchase or build it to ensure that all people have an equal opportunity to use this facility?” We can make our public lands more accessible to everyone using ecologically sound practices that protect our environment, and allow persons with disabilities to reap the benefits of outdoor recreation.

For folks like me who do not (today, at least) have a disability to contend with, can still help out without being huge jerks. When your local park updates a facility, it will do so in line with the Americans with Disabilities Act, but it can still take public pressure to make sure that new programming is equally accessible. If you know someone who has a disability, invite them on a hike with you and help them to enjoy the outdoors. Have patience when you encounter a fellow hiker who has a disability, and be as courteous as you would with any other hiker you meet. Also, don’t assume that if someone is struggling that they need your help, ask if they want your help first.

Urban hikes: Februray 9 snowstorm

In Chicago we just had our first major snowfall of the season. We were predicted to receive 8-14 inches over about 24 hours, thankfully it was probably closer to 9. Don’t worry, they’re calling for more over the next couple of days. I worked from home on Friday, rather than clog the transit system with needless ridership, and CPS cancelled schools. Snow days are cool as an adult because everyone is forced to slow down a lot. Strangers help push stuck cars out of parking spots, drone photographers want you to know that the kids are sledding down the hill in Humboldt Park (good!) I grabbed my camera on my lunch break – and again after work – and sought to document the aftermath of the storm. During my lunch hour I walked to Armitage Produce, to pick up provisions so I could be successfully snowed in all weekend. After work, I had planned to walk from my apartment near Humboldt Boulevard to my dry cleaner’s on Western, pick up my dry cleaning, and take the bus back. When I got to the bus stop I had just missed the bus and another one wouldn’t be coming for another 20 minutes. It takes about 20 minutes to walk home from Western, so I wound up walking the whole way and back. Through that much snow, it really did feel like a hike.

Here’s the funny thing about walking down the sidewalk with 7-9 inches of fresh snow on them, it’s treacherous. Most people and businesses where I live in Logan Square are pretty good about keeping the sidewalks shoveled. The auto shop behind my house even contracts with a guy with a fourwheeler to clear the snow in the alley. But lots of sidewalks go unshoveled, whether because the property owners are jerks or too old or too sick, whatever. Curbs don’t drain sufficiently and dark, muddy puddles of mysterious depth are the greatest danger to dry feet out there. You’ve got to pay careful attention to your footing, it’s not fundamentally different than climbing up a rocky terrain (like in Devil’s Lake, Wisconsin!)

Urban hikes are different than nature hikes in obvious ways, but it’s foolish to discount one because it’s not natural or remote. True, the only wildlife you’re likely to see are pigeons, rats, other people, dogs and trains, but they’re wild and lively nonetheless. I like to think of the streetscape as exactly as worthy of discovery as natural landscapes. The Subway in Zion might be the hike of a lifetime (and it probably is) but every day the underside of the L tracks change every day, and every day I get to see those changes. I don’t think it’s a huge stretch to think of the Tastee Freeze as a destination hike in the same sense that Jackson Falls in the Shawnee Forest is a destination. They’re both beautiful, they both welcome everyone, and there is a time of the year when they are the more exciting to see, and a time of the year when they dry up. (Both are best in the spring.)

Urban hikes are great, you just have to learn to appreciate where you are and what’s going on.

How I became a Midwestern backpacker

In May 2017 Dave and I took a road trip around Lake Michigan. We camped for five nights, somehow entirely in Michigan, and saw three Great Lakes and Green Bay in the process. We put 1,000 miles on my 1994 Ford Thunderbird and she performed like the majestic beast of her namesake throughout (minus a loose battery connector and an aging door hinge.) This was both our first big camping trip together and our first overnight backpacking excursion ever. We wanted to strike a balance between a long, unsupported backpacking trip and the security of car camping. It worked out beautifully, honestly.

Dave and I usually try to take a big trip around Memorial Day with just the two of us. We’re both fortunate to have a lot of family and friends spread all over the country, so most vacations end up overlapping with a wedding or a reunion or we wind up running all over while our friends show us their cool city. Don’t get me wrong, that’s all very rad. But the ideal trip is one where we wander into the woods, cell phones are definitely not useful, we can carry everything we need and wildlife is the only thing that can demand our attention. That’s how we came to backpacking.

I grew up directly in the woods. Our house was set at the edge of 100 acres of pristine, second-growth Illinois woodland. I didn’t know until much later that I was growing up in the most beautiful place in the world, but now I live in an urban environment and I realize what I don’t have. Because we lived in the woods we never really went camping as kids. What was the point when I’m already surrounded by the forest all the time anyway? We did have some experience sleeping rough when we loaned the use of our land to the Boy Scouts every year, but mostly camping was not a major part of my childhood.

Fast forward a few years and I’ve been living in Chicago for almost a decade. Urban canyons are cool and all, don’t get me wrong, but there is a real and tangible connection to the earth that I do not have. Day hikes are helpful, but what I really need is a deep immersive experience, and renting a cabin on AirBnB isn’t cutting it anymore. I announced to Dave that we would become backpackers. Confused but amenable, he agreed.

It worked, too. I still try to find a little bit of the natural world in my day-to-day life but I also know that if need be, I can pack everything I need onto my back, wander into the woods and do just fine for a few days. I know that I can have a deep, immersive outdoor experience that will leave me feeling recharged and the mobility that comes along with backpacking allows me to seclude myself from the other campers. Solitude is one of the major reasons to go to nature. Solitude is so important.

That’s how Third Coast Hikes got started, really. I know I am not the only Midwesterner stuck further from the natural world than she would like to be. Out west backpacking is (I understand) a fairly common way of life. Here in the Upper Midwest and across the Great Lakes region, we are limited by winter. Can you go camping when a polar vortex has landed right on top of everything within a 300 mile radius and you won’t see a double digit temperature for two weeks or more? Yeah, probably. But would you enjoy it and is it worth that? For me, it’s a hard pass. I wanted to create a place where I log the day hikes, camping trips, excellent parks and public lands I visit and share them with others. Illinois really is more than flat, vast cornfields as anyone who has visited Starved Rock State Park can tell you. Besides that, the prairies are some of the most beautiful, richest sources of wildlife available in the U.S., so what’s the problem with flat land? If for some reason you associate the outdoors with big water, don’t worry because the Great Lakes are the largest reserves of freshwater available anywhere on this planet. Maybe I’m biased, but the Midwest really is great.