Dr. Suess titled one of his books Oh, the Places You’ll Go! Such a great title, isn’t it? Totally worthy of the exclamation mark. It captures the feeling I get when my boots tire of the linear trail and invite me into the adventure of yet another dirty, nasty, miserable, arduous, omnidirectional bushwhack. Another enlivening, uncertain bushwhack.
Another beautiful bushwhack.
I don’t mean to knock trails. They do an admirable job of localizing and limiting human impacts on the land, and they can be a nice treat if you’re in a hurry—say, trying to outrun a thunderstorm. Of course, they’ll lead you to amazing spots in the backcountry, too. But only a few of them.
I’ve long been obsessed with searching out the other amazing spots, the spots that are accessed accidentally, via random aimless bushwhacks. The goal is to increase my receptivity, to read the nuanced terrain and react, over and over, for an entire day or an entire week. A cliff pushes me left. A swamp pushes me right. Doubt stops me. Curiosity coaxes me onward. Finally, if I’m properly exhausted and frustrated and confused—and if I’m lucky—my head will jerk up, the trance of sweaty focus will dissolve, and I will arrive.
Here.
A vision of the primeval world. A moment beyond the reach of maps.
Each landscape is unique in terms of climate, flora, fauna, topography, challenges, delights, and thus each landscape asks for its own unique style of bushwhacking. Ultimately, there are no rules, no “correct” approaches. The following ideas are a starting point, that’s all. They can be drawn upon and experimented with as needed, in conversation with the actual ground beneath your achy, blistered feet.
Photo: Toa Heftiba
Pursue Game
Believe it or not, humans aren’t the only critters that enjoy moseying around in the woods. Deer and elk go damn near everywhere, and apparently they appreciate a low-angled route—gradual, contouring—just as we two-leggers do. I often enter the underbrush prepared to thrash and cuss, then find myself cruising an ungulate thoroughfare a mere ten minutes later. Granted, the thoroughfare peters out after another ten minutes (game trails have a habit of vanishing into thin air), but soon enough the pattern repeats and I’m again cruising.
Lean On Trees
Class II hiking involves footwork, whereas Class III hiking requires the additional use of hands—for balance, climbing, etc. Bushwhacking, even through gentle, rolling hills, is typically a Class III endeavor, and that’s because vegetation tends to smother your face: You must whack the bushes! Furthermore, you must ease down steep slopes by weighting springy young trees (I call this a “sapling rappel” ) and charge up steep slopes by pulling on branches and trunks. As with suspect rock, test your holds.
Forget Trekking Poles
See above. A bushwhacker’s hands have more important stuff to, well, handle, and strapping the awkward things to your backpack is annoying, likewise unstrapping them. An old-fashioned walking stick scavenged from the forest floor will work in a pinch and can be abandoned spontaneously—for instance, if suddenly you’re frozen with fear on a damp mossy ledge, wanting to press your palms together in prayer.
Stay High
I once spent two weeks backpacking among the rugged peaks of Strathcona Provincial Park, British Columbia—two weeks during which I rarely touched a trail. There weren’t any trails, not many at least, and my committing tour was possible for one reason: alpine ridges, a.k.a. sidewalks in the sky. Valleys tend to jam up with impenetrable mazes of growth, plus labyrinths of blowdowns, while mountains rise above the chaos, offering a clean, spartan alternative. The high country of rock and tundra essentially removes the “bush” from bushwhacking.
Get Wet
Guess what else removes the “bush” from bushwhacking: Lakewhacking! I coined this term in the Adirondacks of New York—a teenage sufferfest. My pals and I were neck-deep, dodging some “mandatory” miles by shortcutting across a lake’s shallow end, packs balanced atop our craniums. Creeks, streams, rivers, and waterfalls also can provide soggy routes (in desert canyons they’re frequently the sole option). Keep your shoes on and laced tight.
Dress For Success
Let’s say you’ve recently purchased a new high-tech raincoat and are excited to test it in the field. Don’t. Wilderness is rough—it is literally abrasive—and will ruin your duds in no time flat. I’ve sported the same crappy outfit for four summers in a row—pants with a gaping hole in the crotch, tattered shirt that a fashionable pirate would wear—and I adamantly refuse to upgrade. Nothing worse than spending a day in the woods stressing about protecting your gear from the woods. Note: A pair of cheapo sunglasses will shield your corneas from twigs and, obviously, get scratched to hell.
Buddy Up
Driving the freeway and gobbling fast food, hunching over a desk and staring into a laptop, seeking fame and fortune—I’m positive that much of what we do on a regular basis is worse for our health than a little innocent vigorous bushwhacking. That said, there’s no denying that an injury or accident in a sees-zero-traffic corner of the wilderness could get ugly. Consider enlisting a friend to join your next excursion. You still might break both ankles in a gully of loose rubble at 13,000 feet (shit happens), but your buddy will be able to initiate a rescue.
Be Brave
Deviating from the prescribed course can be intimidating, borderline scary. It’s understandable that people prefer a beaten path, a predetermined destination: We’ll hike 2.1 miles to the beaver pond, then 1.7 miles to the summit, then pause for a snack in the meadow after 3.6 miles. Okay, fine. But the fact of the matter is that this mentality reduces our sprawling mysterious earth to a plan, a limited and limiting human objective. What requires real bravery isn’t stepping from the trail and entering the dark, tangled, treacherous forest, but rather learning to embrace a form of exploration that eschews goals, that celebrates serendipity. So, dear bushwhackers, screw up your courage, gather up your gumption, and in the case of paralyzing doubt (or lassitude), return to Dr. Suess for a shot of inspiration, a reminder of what this is all about: Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
Top photo: Diogo Tavares
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I love a good bushwhack. The Adirondacks make it all the more fun, cripplebush FTW!
One add on?
Leave the billed hat in your pack. Can’t tell you how many times while shwackin’, that I’ve stood up, and not seen the over hanging tree branch that tried to crush my skull….
I am very conflicted by this article. As an avid hiker for over 50 years, I have seen the damage caused by people getting off trail, short cutting switch backs, trampling sensitive vegetation, leaving trash, cutting paths with machetes, etc. Not everyone practices Leave No Trace or are as careful as you are. Once a path is created others tend to follow them. I am not sure it is the best interests of Nature and Wilderness to promote this practice with the overwhelming demands on our parks and wilderness areas. Maybe it is okay in the most remote areas but not the popular destinations.
Anyone willing/able to give a clue as to where either of the feature pictures are from?
The mid-story image is Romania, I don’t remember the header image location.
Great article! I enjoyed the Seuss connection as I own a copy of the book and frequently venture off-trail. We need to keep in mind, however, that bushwhacking and backcountry travel on a whole are allowable because there are rules/guidelines that exist to protect these otherwise wild places. It’s our job as regulars to teach and initiate newcomers that these opportunities exist because of the respect and reverence that’s been shown by those who’ve gone before us. I’m not sure who AJ’s audience is, but I am sure that Leave No Trace deserves at least a mention here–especially with the current explosion in participation.
Often when bushwhacking, you choose your destination and then the countryside determines the route. For thousands of years, humans have been funneled into the same course as their predecessors. This is true in deserts, forests, mountains, marshes; the lay of the land gently pushes you along the most reasonable path. You know this because in the midst of wilderness you suddenly discover a projectile point, a footprint, a Snickers wrapper.
Bushwhacking through the thick woods, it’s good to find even an ill-used game trail. You can often tell by the width which animals use the path – rabbit, deer, elk, up to bear. If you’re really lucky, you discover one so wide and with scat so large that it just had to be created by a moose. This may be the same width as the bear path, but cleared up above your head.
Just watch out for the bear and moose that made the trail…
Sandals-hiking FTW!
It’s spelt Seuss (pron. “syooss”), not Suess (pron. “swess”). Comonn erorr that’s no doubt been giving the Geisel family no end of trouble for years.
I have bushwacked for parts of every packing trip i’ve ever done. It’s a great way to see the country, you just have to be realistic with how many miles you are going to cover.
True about the tech gear getting diced to ribbons too!
There are companies that make tough as nails outdoor clothes. Fjallraven is expensive for sure but i use their pants and parka for years now (the same ones too). They are not waterproof but they are tough as nails and can take anything the brush can dish.
be safe!
I agree with some of the commenters that encouraging off trail travel by the general public is inviting damage to our wilderness. Invasion of areas popular with wildlife, often with dogs that want to run down every scent that they detect, would obviously have a detrimental impact. It is irresponsible to write this article without a discussion of the importance of leave-no-trace and how to travel in the least impactful manner.
I chide my kids for cutting switchbacks, but I encourage more far flung adventures. I teach them how to leave no trace. I believe kids (and maybe all of us) need a non-engineered environment sometimes.
For traveling off trail in central California like the Pinnacles, south-facing slopes are easy because the sun is so harsh, while north-facing slopes are a nightmare.
In the desert southwest, off trail travel is nearly impossible without destroying cryptobiotic crust.
I’m pretty sure this article about bushwacking wasn’t talking about cutting switchbacks …. just saying …
True.
I also found the last paragraph as a good guide to living.
Gloves, durable hand protecting gloves. Heavy duty gardening gloves do a great job of protecting your hands and can make the difference between a tolerable bushswack and a miserable painful one.
So few people are actually willing to venture far off-trail, that I doubt there will ever be an aggregate impact on trails. These true wanderers are few and far between. and often just following game trails.