Published September 26, 2025 05:05AM
I Used To Avoid Group Hikes. Here’s Why I Joined A Hiking Club Anyway.
What happens when a lifelong solo backpacker decides to try sharing the trail?
(Photo: Sierra Ducatt )
As a lifelong solo hiker who only occasionally, and very reluctantly, agrees to share the trail with anyone save my wife and dog, I used to scoff at the notion of organized hiking groups.
Matter of fact, I have often remarked that the only reason I pay any attention to the publicized itineraries of the hiking clubs that operate in my neck of the woods is so I can adjust my personal trajectory to put as many miles as possible between us. Visions of 20 people trudging along like a backcountry conga line have always made me wince.
Well, to the shock and dismay of those who know me, a couple months ago, I decided to join two hiking clubs.
I feel compelled to point out that I am hardly misanthropic. I am a gregarious, social individual who enjoys swapping tales with my fellow outdoor enthusiasts, most of whom also are solo hikers. It’s just that I prefer that the venue for that tale-swapping be in a bar or around a campfire.
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My preference for solo hiking is largely based on practicalities: I don’t have to wait at the trailhead for my perpetually tardy friends. I can hike at my own pace and wander as far as I feel like it without having to take into consideration the inclinations of others. More than that, though, trail time in my little world is “me time.” It’s when I exhale life’s various vexations and let my mind wander unfettered, which is more challenging when in the company of others.
So, why did I decide to take the hiking-club leap?
On the most practical level, I have planned a week-long backpacking trip in Africa that, because of a complex web of regulations and logistical challenges, I will do as part of a 16-person guided tour.
But how does hiking with 16 perfect strangers actually work? How do you determine who goes first and who follows in what order in the conga line? How do you conduct chitchat when huffing and puffing and you’ve got your nose rubbing against the pack of the person in front of you? What about when you need to pass gas or take a leak? I need to figure that stuff out—as much as possible in my own backyard—before I head to Africa.
There’s more to my decision to join the conga line. I am reaching a point in life (I turn 70 on my next birthday) where my social circle is rapidly shrinking. People I once met for post-hike beers (and the occasional hike) have moved away, throttled back on their bar visits or, well, died. I have done quite a bit of research on the keys to happy, fulfilling longevity, and near the top of every list is maintaining an active social life.
I know there are many options for a man of my advanced years. I could join a knitting group, but I’d likely have to watch my language as I fumbled with a basic garter stitch. Or I could join not one but two hiking groups, each of which gathers once a week.
As reluctant as I was to take that leap, at least I knew beforehand that I would have something in common with my fellow members: hiking. With any luck, I would meet people who, like me, are inclined to visit the local tavern for a long-winded, post-hike BS session.
I have gone on six group hikes so far, and have been pleasantly surprised. These groups have been together for years and they have their organizational and social-dynamic ducks in a row. Each group has a leader who chooses that week’s destination, some of which are long and arduous, while others short and benign. The members know each other well enough that on-trail stratification is established but not set in stone. Sure, people naturally hike close to those they know best, but there is intermingling, with folks making a concerted effort to get to know their fellow hikers.
Something I had not thought about beforehand was that, when you hike in a group, you get access to the expertise of the individual members. On my very first group hike, we traversed the scarred remains of a recent massive wildfire. Had I been by myself, I would have walked along thinking nothing more profound than, “wow, that’s a lot of scorched trees.” But two of the group members are retired Forest Service employees who described the dynamics of that fire, how it moved along the ridgeline, and how it toasted certain species of trees but passed others by.
On another hike, with wildflowers lining the trail, one of my fellow hikers talked about how different blooms attract certain types of hummingbirds, while other blooms are more likely to be pollinated by bees or bats. I have hiked on that particular trail dozens of times and never once pondered pollination.
The members of both hiking clubs have been a joy to meet. My fellow hikers are active people who have traveled the world, done amazing things, and have a far greater understanding of on-trail group dynamics than I do. They know how to interact while hiking. I have even been shown a couple of trails I did not know about.
Many of the members are inspirational to me—a decade or more older than I am and still taking delight at the notion of carrying a pack up and down mountains for hours on end.
One group usually meets for lunch at a local restaurant after the hike. The other group pulls out camp chairs at the trailhead, pops a few beers, and shoots the breeze for an hour or so. Not exactly the same as gathering post-hike at a watering hole or around a campfire, but close enough.
This is not to say that my inclination toward solo hiking has been waylaid. Not by a long shot. But I will join each group whenever their proposed itineraries interest me. And I will look forward to those forays.
The notion of joining a knitting club is now officially on hold.