I’d rather talk about bear arms than bearing arms. But whenever I post about hiking solo, the gun comments start rolling in faster than NRA money to Republican politicians.
“Why don’t you carry a gun?”
“I’d never let my daughter/wife/girlfriend hike alone unarmed.”
“You’re a sheep among wolves. You need to protect yourself.”
I don’t carry a gun while I hike, and I don’t intend to. Here are 5 reasons why.
Number One: I don’t carry a gun while I hike for the same reason I don’t carry a helmet or a bulletproof vest. Because I probably won’t need it.
There’s no evidence than being alone on the trail is riskier than being alone anywhere else. In fact, it’s less risky. You’re less likely to die in a National Park than you are to die of Ebola in the United States. You’re 968 times less likely to be murdered on the Appalachian Trail than in the United States at large. Most violence against women is perpetrated by men they’re close to —in 55% of cases, by a current or ex-romantic partner.
Yep, you read that right. It’s more dangerous to be in a relationship than it is to go on a hike. As someone noted in my comments, if you were serious about women’s safety, you’d tell them to stay single, not to stay home.
Less than 10% of homicides are committed by strangers.
And most stranger-danger crimes are crimes of convenience. Attackers generally target women while they, say, walk home alone from a bar or pump gas by themselves. The wilderness is pretty inconvenient, making it a very unlikely place for random crime.
(It probably helps that men on hikes are less likely to be intoxicated, which accounts for 36% of violent crime. They’re also hopefully experiencing the calming effects of being in nature. To quote Elle Woods, Esq., “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t kill their husbands!” Or, hopefully, their wives or girlfriends.)
I know full well that human predators exist. As I mentioned this week on TikTok, my choice to not carry a gun isn’t made out of naïveté. Most women know the risks better than anyone, because society has trained us to feel unsafe since puberty.
I’ve been followed, harassed, stalked, mugged, masturbated to in public, touched inappropriately in public without my consent. And none of those incidents happened on hikes. They all happened in broad daylight in public places with many other people around, when I was doing everything “right.”
Even if someone wanted to murder me, specifically, they’d have more convenient places to do it than in the wilderness.
Remember: People bury bodies in the woods, but they rarely kill them there. 🙂
Sure, there’s a very small chance that a gun could save my life. But that chance is so small —and the tradeoffs of carrying one so inconvenient— that it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
Number Two: I don’t want to introduce deadly force into a situation without it.
If someone tried to rob me of my expensive backpacking gear, I wouldn’t fight back at all. Things are replaceable, and I don’t want to start a fight that might end in my getting hurt.
If someone tried to rape me, I’d bear spray them in the face and fight back enough with my tiny knife to hopefully make their experience unpleasant enough that they stopped. But I wouldn’t want to point a gun at them if they didn’t have one pointed at me.
Why? Well, I’m a 5’2″, 110-pound woman, easily overpowered by most men. Unless I managed to wound them enough on the first shot (unlikely) that they couldn’t chase me down, there’s a near-certain chance they’d overpower me and take my gun. Then they’d be angry…and they’d have my gun. I don’t like those chances.
“Why don’t you take a self-defense class, then?” I’ve taken several self-defense classes and seen Miss Congeniality at least ten times, so yeah — I know how to SING.
However, women’s self-defense courses usually focus on a) how to attract as much attention as possible in the hopes that someone will help, and b) how to incapacitate your attacker long enough for you to run away.
This strategy works well in urban environments, where “help” and “safety” live just a block or two away. Not so great in the wilderness where help may lie 10 miles of switchbacks away.
Even with self-defense knowledge, it’s pretty likely that a larger attacker could overpower me eventually, which means I’d have one good shot at most before he took my gun. I really don’t like those odds.
And if he surprised me before I could aim my weapon —like by ambushing me or attacking me in my tent while I slept— I’d get zero chances to use my gun before he took control of it.
The data supports me on this. Having a gun in the house doesn’t make a woman safer, because that gun is more likely to be turned on them than it is to be used in their defense.
According to epidemiological research from Harvard, “Victims using a gun were no less likely to be injured after taking protective action than victims using other forms of protective action.”
I’ll stick with my bear spray, thanks.
Number Three: Accidents happen. Accidents with guns can kill you.
Fun fact: if you own a gun, you’re more likely to injure yourself or others accidentally than you are to ever use the gun in self-defense.
The only shot fired in Rocky Mountain National Park in the past decade was when a man accidentally shot himself in the leg with his own gun, on a popular trail where he could have easily hurt (or killed) someone else.
Accidents happen. That’s why they’re called accidents. I’m not vain enough to assume one wouldn’t happen to me.
Number Four: Guns make me feel less safe.
If a stranger approached me on the trail wearing a gun, I would immediately feel uncomfortable and want to get away from them as quickly as possible, no matter who they were. Especially after doing research for this post, I don’t feel safe around guns, even if the person wearing it is a “good guy.”
And from conversations with other hikers, especially women, I know that most people I meet on the trail feel the same way. I want to make friends, so that’s just one more reason —the least important reason, but still— to not carry a gun.
Number Five: I don’t want the responsibility
The only thing heavier than the gun itself —which isn’t exactly ultralight— is the weighty responsibility that comes with it.
I don’t want to overreact to a noise in the middle of the night and accidentally shoot a friend or stranger who wanted my help because I thought they were an attacker.
I don’t want to accidentally shoot myself (or someone else!) because I was stressed out and forgot to lock my gun.
Even if someone had a gun pointed at me, intending to use it, I’m not sure I’d be able to pull the trigger and shoot them first.
You know the phrase, “If it costs you your peace, it’s too expensive?” A gun would cost me my peace, because I’d constantly be worried about the consequences of carrying it.
If you feel safer carrying a gun while hiking, it’s within your rights to do so — on some trails, at least. But it’s not for me.
If you do choose to carry, please make sure you’ve taken a gun safety course. Mere target practice doesn’t count! And make sure to double check the rules of wherever you’re planning to hike. Guns are never allowed in National Park buildings or in state parks leased from the federal government.
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