Imagine a trail you frequent, whether it’s a trail through the forest, a mountain climb, or a bike path in your neighborhood. You’ve grown to know that trail for its challenges, beauty, and meaning in your life. In a matter of a year, that trail can change. If unmanaged, newly exposed rocks and roots from erosion lead to trickier travel, downed trees obstruct the path, overgrown vegetation masks the trail you had grown so fond of, so comfortable on.
This tale of a trail changing over time, that loss of familiarity, and fear of new challenges can be an analogy for vision loss. After accepting that change however, new perspectives can arise. A downed tree or overgrown trail offers more food and shelter for wildlife, overcoming a difficult segment of a path leads to self-confidence and a sense of achievement, a whole new experience.
In recent years, I’ve noticed a decline in my vision. At the age of two I was diagnosed with a degenerative eye condition known as Retinitis Pigmentosa. For most of my life my vision was stable, but in recent years I’ve noticed changes. Two years ago I could confidently hike an uneven trail on a nice sunny day. I was able to discern ankle-twisting rocks jutting out from the trail, dodge a knot of roots seconds before my hiking partner would call them out, and bound up natural stairs following my dog with ease. Now I won’t hit the trails unless I have my white cane.
Acceptance is a journey and for me, I struggled with accepting that I was losing vision as a young adult. I wanted to appear sighted, not disabled and never thought twice about using my white cane or communicating my needs to whoever I was hiking with. Over the summer of 2021 I finally accepted that I couldn’t hide my visual impairment out in nature any longer. The summer of 2021 was a summer of growth, of acceptance, and of so many beautiful memories of time spent in nature with those close to me.
After a wilderness experience at Isle Royale National Park with a few friends I realized what I was missing. Through communication and using the tools I had, I was able to have an enjoyable nature experience – free of the anxieties that stormed my mind. No longer did I have to overstrain my eyes to see the trail. No longer did I have to worry about what passersby thought of my clumsiness. No longer did I break down after tripping over a rock that I most definitely, did not see.
Another instance of growth happened in South Dakota, hiking a trail at Custer State Park. It was the first hike of the trip out west I took with my partner, his mom, and our dogs. As we ascended, I focused my gaze to the ground, despite having my cane and dog leading the way. I wanted to reach the top, prove to myself that I could do it, but this mindset led to frustration and anxiety. After navigating up the rocky, uneven and narrow trail we took a break and I had a chance to look at the beauty that surrounded us and share how I was feeling. The three of us agreed to turn back, as we were satisfied with the views we got. After I openly shared about how I was feeling, we had a more pleasurable descent, and I was able to relax and enjoy our surroundings.
Three reoccurring themes seem apparent in the experiences I’ve shared and plan to share, and in future posts I’ll revisit these in more detail.
Know your limits
This is the most important piece of advice I can give. Know your vision, your body, your emotions. One of the toughest decisions a hiker must decide is when to turn back, but that is also an essential skill. If you don’t feel comfortable, turn back. That doesn’t make you incapable, lesser, or a bad hiker. You’re capable of measuring risks and that makes you a strong, smart hiker.
Communication
Communication is so essential in any scenario. Discussing your disability to others is a vulnerable act, but so incredibly crucial to you and whoever you are with. Good people want to help and explaining your strengths and weaknesses can lead to a discussion about strategies that will allow everyone to have an enjoyable time.
Tools are made for helping
I’m new to hiking with my white cane. Even though it works for me, it may not work for someone else. Even though it works for me now, it may not work for me in a year. Be open to trying new tools and techniques to see what makes you feel most comfortable. Sometimes what works on one trail may not work on the other, so have a back-up plan. I personally, plan to experiment with hiking poles soon.
These are the three big lessons I learned this past summer, and I hope they can offer those sighted or not, a starting point to begin spending time outdoors. Much like how it takes time to feel comfortable and confident on a new trail, hiking with low vision takes time. It’s trial and error, figuring out what works and doesn’t work, what type of trail you feel comfortable on, and learning strategies and tools that help you feel confident and allow you to enjoy your time in nature.
Change can be daunting, but it can offer us so much. As the seasons change, as we change, as our surroundings change, embrace the all the new. By embracing my changing vision, I’ve been able to learn so much about myself, others, and nature.
Thank you for reading! 🙂
Photo Descriptions
Featured Photo: Shannon faces away from the camera, looking at the vast forest below as she stands on a rocky overlook on Isle Royale. She holds her white cane at her side. Black text says Tranversing Trails and Vision Loss: Accepting Change in a handwritten font.
Photo 1: Shannon walks with her white cane towards the camera on a trail.