What Does it Mean to be a Hiker?

It’s Time to Redefine Hiking

 
Over the course of our long trek across the Trans Canada Trail - from the Atlantic to the Pacific - we have walked along coastlines, through forests and cities, across farmland, and over mountains. Along the way, we’ve had countless conversations about what it means to be “a hiker.”

It sounds simple. But the farther we walked, the more we realized it wasn’t.  Somewhere along the way, the idea of hiking became less about the act of walking and more about appearances: gear, pace, fitness, and identity. The outdoors - a space that belongs to everyone -  has increasingly been defined in narrow and exclusionary ways. And like birding, hiking has developed an invisible but very real set of expectations that quietly decide who belongs.
 
That needs to change.
 
It’s time to reframe what it means to be a hiker and to reclaim nature as a place where everyone belongs.
 

Shifting Understandings

 
When we grew up in the 1970s and 1980s, camping and hiking were often seen as things “poor families did.” Just as kids who skated on frozen ponds instead of renting ice time were assumed to have no access to “real” activities or “real” vacations.

Yet for us, weekends spent at Lake Simcoe or Algonquin Park or Bruce National Park were simply normal. We had backpacks from MEC, heavy sleeping bags and tents from Canadian Tire, and gear that barely fit in the back of our parents’ cars. There was nothing specialized or expensive about it. We swam in lakes, battled black flies, and toasted marshmallows. And we loved it.  It was in these forests and campgrounds that we both grew up. 

 
Today, the cost of entry has shifted dramatically. Technical clothing can cost hundreds of dollars. Tents and backpacks run well into the thousands. Everything is measured, weighed, optimized - and priced accordingly.  And that is before you factor in the cost of fuel to get to a park or the fees charged to camp. 

 
Somewhere along the way, walking outdoors became an expensive curated activity rather than a simple weekend away from home.
 

Hiking Is About the Journey, Not the Gear

 
The dominant image of a “hiker” today - shaped by marketing, social media, and outdoor branding - is of someone ultra-athletic, affluent, and perpetually selfie and Instagram-ready. The message is subtle but persistent: if you’re not summiting peaks, tracking stats, or wearing the right gear, you’re doing it wrong.

 
But our experience walking across Canada tells a very different story.  A story of a nation of people who want to get into the outdoors but who are being pushed away by high costs and manufactured images.
 
En route, we’ve met hikers in jeans and sandals, elders in sneakers, newcomers wearing hand - me - downs, and pilgrims walking in traditional clothing. We’ve met people carrying everything they own and others walking light for a single afternoon.

 
This diversity of people trekking in a range of ways do this, because hiking isn’t about carbon poles or branded layers. It isn’t about having the newest or lightest gear. It’s about choosing to walk through a provincial park, a city greenway, or your local trail. If you are out there, reasonably prepared, you’re doing it right.
 
The journey matters more than the gear or how it might look online.
 

Social Media and Toxic Positivity

 
Much of outdoor social media feeds us a steady stream of flawless summit selfies and glowing claims that the trail “fixes everything.” While these images can be inspiring, they often come at a cost.
 
They hide the hard days. They erase exhaustion, fear, loneliness, doubt, and financial or social barriers. When only the highlight reels are shared, it quietly reinforces the idea that “real” hikers don’t struggle - and that if your experience doesn’t look a certain way, it isn’t valid.

 
Nature isn’t a photoshoot. The path includes blisters, breakdowns, bad weather, detours, and doubt. These are not failures. They are part of the journey. When we silence the messy, human side of hiking, we create a form of toxic positivity that pushes people out of nature before they even begin.
 

Hiking Is for Everyone – Period.

 
Against this backdrop of curated perfection and quiet judgment, it’s worth saying something plainly.  There is a persistent, often unspoken hierarchy in outdoor spaces - the idea that unless you’ve hiked far enough, carried enough weight, or suffered in the “right” way, your experience doesn’t count.

 
The outdoor industry would have you believe that if you don’t look the part, you don’t belong. But hiking doesn’t have a uniform. It doesn’t have a required body type, background, budget, or political identity. If you walk outside and open yourself to nature, you are a hiker.

 
When we turn hiking into an authenticity test, we miss the point. People walk for healing, for joy, for protest, for curiosity, for survival. All of those walks matter. When we define hiking by credentials instead of connection, we exclude the very people who might benefit most from time outdoors.
 
Nature doesn’t care what gear you own, how far you go, or how many followers you have. And neither should we.
 

Inclusion Means Reimagining the Trail

 
Over the last several years on the Trans Canada Trail, we’ve learned that trails are more than lines on a map. They are stories, connections, and places of healing. They should be safe and welcoming for everyone - regardless of background, body type, budget, or belief.

 
Progress is happening. We see it in accessible boardwalks, Indigenous - led walks, inner - city greenways, and transit - connected trails. But infrastructure alone isn’t enough. We also need a shift in mindset - especially within the outdoor industry and influencer culture.
 
No one should have to earn the right to be in nature.
 

Nature Is for Everyone

 
We’ve said it before on our #Hike4Birds journey and we’ll keep saying it: nature isn’t reserved for experts. It’s for beginners and elders, for newcomers and locals, for the burnt - out, the hopeful, and the healing.
 

If walking across a continent taught us anything, it’s this: walking is one of the most human acts there is. It cuts across class, culture, and time. And when we walk with openness - not just toward nature, but toward each other - something begins to shift.
 
So the next time someone asks, “Are you a real hiker?”
We hope you say yes.
 
Because if you’ve ever taken a step toward nature, you already are.
 
See you on the trail.