I have a confession to make. I’m a backpacking pusher. A wilderness whisperer. A trail temptress.
To the uninitiated, my passion can look a lot like masochism.
But I knew, deep down, that if I could just get others to try it, they’d love it.
The trick wasn’t to drag them kicking and screaming into the backcountry.
The trick was to be a backpacking concierge, a backcountry Sherpa, and an emotional-support wilderness guide all rolled into one.
If you’re trying to convert your spouse, partner, friend, or even your skeptical kids, here are the seven (okay, eight) tips I used to successfully get my loved one from “Absolutely not” to “So, when’s our next trip?”
Table of Contents
Tip 1: Make Sure They’re Open to the Idea
Let’s get this out of the way first: you cannot waterboard someone into enjoying nature.
The single most important factor is that the person has to be at least open to the idea.
If their response to “Hey, wanna go sleep in the dirt?” is a frantic, trauma-induced eye-twitch, maybe start with a picnic.
My wife, for instance, loves the idea of the woods. She likes day hikes, birds, and the smell of pine.
What she did not love was the idea of being 20 miles from the nearest latte, surrounded by the unseen rustling of… whatever that was.
Pushing her before she was ready would have been a disaster of cinematic proportions.
People will surprise you. I have a friend who looks like she was carved from a mountain and smells perpetually of pine needles.
You’d assume he’s first in line for any trek. Nah. She hates it. His wife, who works in a beautifully air-conditioned office and enjoys manicures, is the one who’s secretly a backcountry beast.
The Takeaway: Gauge their interest. If the door is even slightly ajar, you can gently push it open. If it’s bolted shut, respect the bolt.
You can’t start the journey if they’ve already mentally set up a permanent camp in the “Nope” zone.
Tip 2: Understand Their Hesitations
Once you’ve established a glimmer of interest, the next step is to play therapist. Sit them down, look them in the eye, and ask: “What part of this sounds terrible to you?”
Listen. Actually listen. Don’t just wait for your turn to talk so you can rebut with “But bears are more scared of you!”
Their fears are valid, even if they seem silly to your grizzled, trail-hardened soul.
Common hesitations include:
- “I’m scared of bears/mountain lions/squirrels with a grudge.” (A legitimate concern!)
- “I don’t like being dirty for days on end.” (Also fair.)
- “That sounds… really hard. My knees/back/entire existence hurts just thinking about it.” (A sentiment I often share on Monday mornings.)
My wife’s big one was the wildlife. So, I didn’t dismiss it. I validated it. “You’re right,” I said. “There are animals out there.
So, let’s talk about how we be smart around them. Let’s practice with the bear canister. Let’s choose an area where the biggest threat is a overly curious chipmunk.”
Empathy is the foundation upon which enjoyable first trips are built.
Tip 3: Start Small with Distance
Here is where many seasoned backpackers fail. You’re used to crushing 15-mile days with 4,000 feet of gain.
Your loved one is not. If you try to make them, you will be hiking alone for the rest of your life, and you will deserve it.
For a first trip, think absurdly small. I’m talking 12-15 miles total, spread over 3 or 4 days.
The goal is not to cover ground; the goal is to fall in love with the experience.
The first day should be a mere saunter. Our first successful trip involved a whopping 3.5 miles on day one.
We started after a leisurely lunch and arrived at our first campsite with hours of daylight to spare.
The look on her face was pure magic. It wasn’t exhaustion; it was accomplishment. “We’re here already?” she said, beaming. That’s the feeling you’re going for.
Tip 4: Start Small with Elevation
Closely related to Tip 3 is this gem: avoid the soul-crushing climbs.
Do not, I repeat, DO NOT choose a trail that starts with a vertical wall of switchbacks known locally as “Agony Hill” or “Cardiac Arrest Pass.”
Find a trail with gentle, rolling hills. A short, manageable incline that makes them feel strong, not defeated.
Even if your loved one is a gym rat, a heavy pack changes everything. Muscles they didn’t know they had will sing a chorus of pain.
Low miles and minimal gain are your best tools for ensuring they ask, “When can we do this again?” instead of, “I think I’m dying, leave me for the wolves.”
Tip 5: Plan Flexibly
You must be flexible. You must be a willow, bending in the wind of your loved one’s mood.
Do not get married to a specific campsite, a specific pass, or a specific itinerary.
Have a Plan A, but also have a Plan B (a closer campsite), a Plan C (a different trail altogether), and a Plan D (bail, get pizza, and try again another time).
Be ready to make camp early if they’ve found the perfect spot by a stream. Be willing to take an extra-long lunch break to skip stones on a lake.
The goal is a positive impression, not checking off a route on a map.
If you’re rigid, you will snap, and the trip will break with you.
Tip 6: Prioritize Comfortable Gear
This is non-negotiable. You might be able to sleep on a thin foam pad that feels like a yoga mat over a pile of rocks.
Your loved one cannot. This is where you invest in comfort.
Sleep System: Get them a wide, inflatable sleeping pad that’s genuinely comfortable. Pair it with a sleeping bag or quilt that is rated for temperatures colder than you expect.
Being cold at night is a one-way ticket to Never Backpacking Againville.
Carry the Load: Be prepared to be a Sherpa. You should actively look for ways to take weight out of their pack. “Hey, let me carry the tent. You get the… uh… lighters.”
Frame it as you wanting to maximize their enjoyment, not that you think they’re weak.
It’s a subtle but crucial difference. Comfort on the trail is important, but comfort in camp is where the memories are made.
Tip 7: Protect Their Feet
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to prevent blisters at all costs. A blister isn’t just a blister; it’s the physical manifestation of regret.
The moment they mention a “hot spot” or any rubbing, you must spring into action like a NASCAR pit crew. Stop immediately. Get the boots off. This is not a “power through” situation.
I carry a dedicated roll of Leuco tape (duct tape works in a pinch) and pre-tape common blister areas before we even start hiking.
At the first sign of friction, apply more tape. Do not wait. Do not hesitate. Happy feet make for a happy hiker, and a happy hiker is one who will agree to a second trip.
Tip 8: Provide a Safety Net
This was the secret weapon, the tip that moved my wife from “nervous” to “excited.” Technology.
We invested in a satellite communicator, a little device that lets us send messages and, if the sky truly falls, summon help from anywhere.
I showed her how it worked. We sent a check-in message to her mom from the trailhead. The relief was palpable.
This tip was forged in fire on a later trip. She slipped on a wet rock and took a nasty fall, banging herself up pretty good.
She was shaken, and for a moment, so was I. But then she looked at me and said, “It’s okay. We have the Zoleo.”
Just knowing the SOS button was there, that we had a lifeline, transformed a potentially terrifying situation into a manageable one. It turned fear into simple problem-solving.
Conclusion
So there you have it. My recipe for converting a backcountry skeptic into a willing, and even eager, backpacking companion.
It all boils down to one thing: prioritizing their experience over your ambitions. Start small, be flexible, make them comfortable, and keep them safe.
The reward is priceless. It’s watching someone you love discover the same magic you did: the quiet of a forest, the brilliance of a star-filled sky away from city lights, the simple, profound joy of a warm meal after a day of walking together.
Now I want to hear from you! What are your best tips for getting loved ones into the wilderness?
What hilarious disasters or stunning successes have you had?
Share your stories in the comments below—let’s learn from each other!
