Below is an article that I wrote for my professional editing class. I'm also submitting it for publication in
Women's Adventure magazine. Cross your fingers they (professor and
WAm editorial board) likes it!
---
Not All Women Who Wander Are Lost
“You can’t get lost in the Shenandoah National Park.” At least that’s what my partner, Brad, told me, but I knew different. More than enough testosterone, six years in the military, and a familiarity with this park, and he thinks he’s a wayfinding expert. Give me break!
“Vicki and her friend got lost,” I proclaimed, proud that I could refute his sweeping generalization. He shot me a confused look as he stopped in the middle of the trail. Vicki is one of my closest friends, and about three or four years ago, she and her hiking partner lost sight of the blue blazes on the trees while trekking to a popular waterfall in the Central District. Three different colored blazes mark trails in the Shenandoah National Park: blue for park hikes, white for the Appalachian Trail, and yellow for horse trails.
Brad started walking again. “Male friend?” he asked, a white blaze on the tree in front of him. Tufts of green grass were popping up on the path, but the trees were still naked. Minus the 65-degree temperature, the trail still had a winter feel.
“Yes, they blazed a trail up to the road and hitchhiked back to the trailhead with some tourists.”
“I get how she got lost,” he said with a smirk, “but how did he get lost?”
I smacked him on the arm. Hard. But that got me thinking, is there truth to this stereotype? Well, yes, according to outdoor enthusiast and wayfinding expert, Bree Kessler. In “Go Your Own Way,” from the Spring 2011 issue of Women’s Adventure magazine, Kessler discussed some theories as to why women may have a less-than-adequate internal GPS. Whether it’s fluctuating estrogen levels during our menstrual cycles or our love of step-by-step instructions with concrete reference points, the studies that Kessler examined illustrated that, in general, a woman’s spatial awareness is inferior to a man’s. Kessler assured us ladies, though, that hope does exist. As women, our inner GPS can do something besides “recalculating.” We just have to update our software with new knowledge, like learning to read the sun or spending a few hours playing a spatial awareness arcade game like the 80’s cult classic Tetris.
I set my pride aside, knowing I couldn’t let it hinder my awareness growth. “What are some wayfinding clues?” I asked Brad. I figured that the year he spent patrolling the mountains of Afghanistan would have provided us with a rich discussion that would have lasted for miles. Instead, I got a two-word answer.
“The trail.”
“No,” I said, “Like clues in nature.”
“The blazes on the trees,” he replied.
“No, I mean things like the sun and north-facing slopes. Help me read those clues.” These were clues Kessler alluded to in her article as ways women could beef-up their possible awareness deficiencies.
“You don’t have to know those clues,” Brad assured me. “You just follow the path and the paint on the trees. We’re not blazing trails up here.”
“Well, what if we were?” I thought to myself. Let’s say, for some reason, Brad and I got separated. What would I do then? The compass in my pack would be worthless. I don’t know how to read it. The whistle I bought would be helpful, but say it fell down a cliff. What if Brad and I got separated, my whistle fell down a cliff, and all of the blazed trees were ripped out of the ground by a freak tornado? How would I find my way then?
I’d ask Mother Nature.
I knew Brad could read the sun. I wanted to learn to read it, too. “What’s the sun tell you?” I said to him eagerly.
“Where you’re going,” he replied, without even looking back at me. He was still marching forward with our other hiking partner, Rex, the mutt we rescued. Rex is a male, and he, too, knows how to follow the trail.
“I get that, but how does the sun tell you that?” I asked.
“What do you mean how?”
“I mean, how does the sun tell me where I’m going?”
We stopped again. Downed trees and crunchy leaves scattered across the forest floor. “Where does the sun rise?”
“East?” I answered in the form of a question. I thought I was right. It was like being asked the capital of Oklahoma. If I was back in fifth grade, I’d be the first to raise my hand, but at that moment my usual confidence evaded me.
“Where does the sun set?”
“West.”
“So there,” he said, “The sun is to the east in the morning and to the west in the afternoon.”
I started spinning in circles pointing in what I assumed was the correct cardinal direction. “Then, that way’s North. No that way.” Dizzy and frustrated, I took a short water break.
I needed something more concrete. I don’t know why, but reading the sun just seemed too abstract. Maybe I would have had better luck with a shadow stick. At least, that would have given me an actual line to work with.
As soon I got home from the hike, I whipped out one of my favorite reference books, The Essential Wilderness Navigator by outdoorsmen David Seidman and Paul Cleveland. In their book, I was relieved to find step-by-step instructions for using a shadow stick. Below is my interpretation of Seidman and Cleveland’s directions:
1. Find a stick that’s at least 3-feet long.
2. Put it in the ground—vertically—on a flat surface.
3. Mark the end of the shadow. If you can’t see a shadow, find a place to put the stick where you can. Otherwise, this exercise won’t work.
Note: This exercise doesn’t work as well in the early morning or late afternoon unless it’s the time of the equinoxes.
4. Wait 15 minutes. Hopefully, you have a watch. If you don’t, count 900 “Mississippis.”
5. Mark the end of the shadow again.
6. Connect the dots.
7. This line runs east to west, but it’s not a terribly accurate reference guide. However, when lost, it can provide you with some comfort.
8. Remember, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. If east is on your left, south is clockwise and north is counterclockwise. If west is on your left, north is clockwise and south is counterclockwise.
Thanks to books and my instincts, this navigational newbie has got potential. I thought back to my hike with Brad. About two miles in, two roads diverged in a wood. Brad and Rex marched straight on, but I had a funny feeling. Something didn’t make sense.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to go that way,” I said. “Look at the cement post. It says we’re supposed to turn right.” I then pointed to the other road—the one less traveled by—at least for that moment.
After hiking back to me, Brad carefully studied the cement post. A smile crept across his face as he tried to explain away his wayfinding boo-boo. “Oh yeah. I was just trying to test you,” he said.
Triumphantly, I took point. Team Female: 1, Team Male: -2.
your fingers they like it!
---
Hope you had fun reading!
Last but not least, here are some pictures that I'm considering submitting along with my article. By the way, the "W" points to water not west. I thought it pointed west. Silly me.
