Out on the Trail: The Joy of Hiking While Queer

Guest post by local writer Laura M. Martin

So honored today to feature a guest post by Laura Martin, who I met through friends at lesbian happy hour at Bar Margaret (it’s so fun). She teaches down the road from me at Lander University in Greenwood. Enjoy, and please read more of her beautiful writing at the links included below. Happy December, all!

LGBTQ+ people don’t necessarily have a lot in common, or rather our commonality is based on something we’re not —heteronormative — rather than something we are. Our community is made up of such a wide variety of people that it can be difficult to find your place. As an introverted, middle-aged, nonbinary, bisexual, non-drinker, I have a limited capacity for drag shows, roller derby, and dance parties — which is why I’m so grateful for Upstate Pride ‘s monthly hikes.

I arrived at my first hike in the Spring of 2021 shortly after I’d arrived in Greenville. At the time I had just turned forty, was straightforwardly femme-presenting and was coming out of a nearly seven-year relationship with a man. In the way that we often do at times of transition, I was taking stock, trying to find who I was when I wasn’t trying to please someone else. After a long period of dormancy in hostile environs, the hospitable habitat of the hikes allowed me to engage with my queerness.

The hikes take place at 10:00 a.m. the second Saturday of each month (with the exception of a brief winter hiatus).  Most of them take place in Conestee Nature Preserve, on a partially paved trail with minimal elevation, chosen for accessibility. The preserve backs up to a city park but is privately owned. It sits just outside the city limits, a lush swampy expanse full of crawdads, persimmons, turtles, oak, deer, witch hazel, and squirrels — protected from decades of toxic runoff from the city’s mill days by a rotting dam. It’s a tenuous place, one striking a difficult balance between self-preservation and community engagement.

Photo credit visitgreenville.com.

We meet mid-morning outside the dog park. Some people arrive in full rainbow regalia others wear more traditional hiking attire or jeans. After quick introductions, we head into the preserve at a leisurely pace, following Sarah Cox, who has been leading the hikes since 2020. Sarah wants to offer the queer community a chance to socialize in an environment that is low stress, calming and rejuvenating. They arrive with snacks and extra water bottles, warmly welcome newcomers, and, once we get moving, keep an eye out for stragglers. When I ask them what the hikes mean to them, they talk about the healing power of nature. “There’s so much going on in the world and having a quiet space to exist in is very important.”

The hikes typically consist of two loops, the first of which takes about an hour before circling back to the park entrance, so people have the option of breaking off before the second leg of the hike which lasts another forty minutes or so. As we stroll, people fall in and out of conversations as they speed up or slow down, pause to examine a leaf or take a photo then rejoin a different part of the group. Even when there’s silence, there’s a sense of community; walking beside someone is its own kind of connection. Conversational lulls are filled with birdsong or the creaking of wooden walkways.

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The most recent hike was on the first rainy day in close to a month. Despite the weather a group of over a dozen people showed up to walk. We took the usual route at a moderate pace. In the last six months or so a group of regulars has developed, and we walk together near the front. We talk about how good it feels to be in nature, how beautiful the trees are. One of the hikers points out his perfectly coordinated hiking outfit. Sarah introduces us to a newcomer who’s just arrived from Texas. We discuss podcasts and TV recommendations. As usual, conversation centers around topics that are accessible to everyone and don’t necessitate any sort of disclosure. A sense of gratitude permeates the walk. One of the regulars comments that, “it’s nice to be with the gays in nature, but the gays are also a draw to get into nature.”

The outdoors belongs to everyone, but there is still a lot of stereotyping around the outdoors. Hiking in the US became popular as a leisure activity in the early 20^th century, as a way for the affluent to experience nature away from the masses making use of public parks. An air of elitism persists around the activity, a sense that one needs to be a certain type of person — one who can afford expensive gear and has the time and resources to develop a high level of fitness — to belong in the outdoors. This isn’t true or course. The natural world belongs to everyone, and there are many well-documented benefits from spending time in it. But for queer people, it can be challenging to feel authentic and safe outdoors, especially at times when our right to exist is under attack. The joy of the Pride Hikes is that they provide a chance for us to be outdoors together. They quietly reclaim our right to exist — not just at night or in designated spaces, but everywhere straight cisgendered people do. They show that our queerness, far from being unnatural, exists in harmony with nature. Each month, as we stroll along the trail, we announce our place in the world.

Laura M. Martin lives in South Carolina where she teaches writing at Lander University. You can find her work online at HuffPost, MARY: A Journal of New Writing, New South, The Smart Set, The Eckleberg Review, Luna Luna and Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood.