Hiking in Kananaskis Country, Fall 2020.

I didn’t grow up outdoorsy. Heck, up until my early-mid 20s, I detested the idea of going for a hike. I became committed to being active when I started becoming more committed to managing my generalised anxiety disorder, and began seeking a more balanced, intentional and healthy lifestyle. The more active I became, the more I was able to tune into how my body and mind would feel afterwards, and the more I realised that it was key in alleviating and managing my anxiety. I enjoyed being active and being outdoors more and more, and it was this commitment to my wellbeing that helped me to thrive.

In finding myself in active or outdoor spaces on a regular basis, I have noticed how there are fewer people of colour (especially women of colour) sharing these spaces with me, especially in the predominantly white mountain town where I live. Sports like climbing and hiking are not activities where you traditionally expect to people of colour—but there are people of colour in the outdoor community, myself included. Yet, we see so little representation of ourselves in adventure sport marketing or content geared towards the outdoor community (until relatively recently—but even then, we can be subject to tokenism and colourism).

Asian people in particular have never been seen as athletic, strong, muscular or outdoorsy. Males are portrayed to be effeminate and awkward; women are portrayed to be meek and delicate. In Hollywood we are cast into predictable martial arts roles or portrayed as being nimble and agile, but beyond that, our physique is not generally glamourised in Western media or pop culture.

Thinking back on my early years, I saw few examples of active, athletic Asian females in my life, let alone represented in the media. Furthermore, partaking in physical activities that were seen as being “masculine” and/or getting bumps, bruises and scrapes was not deemed particularly “feminine” across Asian and Western cultures alike. Always having been fairly strong-headed, I challenged these ideas; if anything, the lack of representation combined with the expectation I was supposed to be some quiet, prim and proper girl only made me more determined to be anything but what I was expected to be, which is perhaps what drew me to the gritty types of activities I have ended up doing on a regular basis.

I was a small (still am, at only 5ft. tall), uncoordinated, not-overly-confident-at-sports kind of kid. No-one, not even me, would have ever expected me to be who I am today—an Asian woman who collects bruises from skiing, scrapes from hiking and callouses from climbing, all activities that are typically dominated by white males. It’s me, not my white male partner, wanting to do multi-day backcountry camping trips where we hike for hundreds of kilometres, filtering our water by hand and heating our dehydrated food over a camping stove.

These days, I’m happy to see that many others challenge these ideas—there is no longer a place for the idea that looking and being physically strong and muscular makes women any less feminine, beautiful or sexy; there is no longer a place for the idea that women should not be able to work and play in the same spaces men have always been able to; and there is no longer a place for the idea that people of colour don’t play in the outdoors.

I don’t want to allow myself or anyone else to think I am not capable of something based on my race and gender. There are many of us that are living proof that climbing, hiking and camping are activities that women of colour take part in as well—and I want to see more of us represented in these spaces. Not only that, but I want more of us to be able to have access to these spaces that can so easily be taken for granted.

Why aren’t there more people of colour in the outdoors?

More often than not, BIPOC face far more barriers to entering the world of sport or accessing the outdoors. Many of us are migrants who are already at a disadvantage when it comes to accessing these kinds of activities. For my family in particular, my parents built our life from nothing; they didn’t move us to New Zealand & Australia because they received some kind of lucrative job offer, or because other family were here—they moved our family overseas because they wanted us to have opportunities they did not have in our birth country of The Philippines. We didn’t know anyone when we landed, and we were (and still are) unable to rely on intergenerational wealth. So while my parents were working hard to get us settled and stable in our early years as migrants, this meant that extra-curricular activities such as sports, camping trips, and many other experiences both in and out of school were not something we were able to sign up for.

Most outdoor sports like skiing, snowboarding and backcountry camping are far beyond reach for many migrant and disadvantaged families. If you ever catch yourself wondering how it can be possible for someone to have never tried a certain sport or activity before, it may be because they did not have the opportunity or the privilege. A single day pass at the ski hills around Banff National Park can cost over $100—if you factor in the cost of gear and passes for an entire family, it adds up, not to mention the fact an entire family new to the sport would need lessons.

Further to that, many BIPOC simply do not feel safe or comfortable recreating in outdoor spaces where they are surrounded by mostly white people. Many recreational wilderness areas are also home to rural communities that are still racist, sexist or homophobic. Representing diversity of all races, genders, sexual orientations and backgrounds becomes a very important step in creating safe, inclusive outdoor communities where all can feel welcome.

I moved to the mountains in early 2017 to continue exploring this new relationship between myself and nature. Since becoming more physically active and having the mountains as my backyard, I have found that I am less prone to prolonged anxiety attacks and periods of depression; I no longer have insomnia which used to plague me from childhood through to my early adulthood, and I am better able to cope with the stresses of day-to-day life. I moved here to be closer to nature and to have easier access to the sports I had begun to enjoy—but that has come at the cost of living in one of the top 5 most expensive towns in Alberta.

I may have “easier access” geographically, but with the cost of living being so high, it will be a lot more difficult to own a property and raise a family here, especially without family close by. I know full well just how lucky I am to have been able to stay here for the last four years, but if it’s already difficult for educated professionals working a full-time job (or two, or three) to stay here, it’s going to be impossible for someone coming from a disadvantaged background to try and build a life or a relationship with the outdoors here.

Being in nature connects us to ourselves and each other, helping us to develop more environmentally-conscious habits, more compassion and more empathy, all of which we are likely to bring into the wider community for the benefit of all. Everyone deserves equal access to nature and equal opportunity to thrive and play in the outdoors.