Reaching nature
Exploring the dilemma of travelling to walk.
My love affair with walking began as a marriage of convenience.
Living in London in my early 30s, money was tight, and I could barely afford a travel card. So, on winter mornings, I'd cross the Thames as the sun sparkled on mist-shrouded water and wander through the back streets of Soho. But walking more than an hour to work was simply a means to an end, not an active choice. As I headed home with aching legs, I would so often dream of hopping on a tube and giving my feet a rest.
It was only when I came home to the woods that the chore of long-distance walking became a source of joy. But my growing appreciation of nature also opened a dilemma.
How could I reach the places I loved to wander without damaging the environment through my travel choices?
Travel dilemmas
I'm not alone in feeling the conflict between the desire to walk in nature and the urgency of wanting to protect the environment from human damage. In my research on people's connection with places in nature, I heard a consistent story about the dilemma of finding balance.
Spending time in nature is good for wellbeing, and developing a sense of connection with the natural world can be transformative. Visiting the same places repeatedly fosters familiarity and intimacy with the more-than-human community. Landscapes stop being mere backdrops to human dramas as people become woven into the web of natural interconnections.
But driving to these nurturing places can feel like cutting through the web of life with a carbon-blackened knife. Road transport contributes around a quarter of the UK’s greenhouse gas emissions. And while a solitary car journey has a negligible impact on climate change, deciding to drive can still feel complicated.
As one person I spoke to in my research put it, "There's a lot of paradox and contradiction in life… getting to remote places, there's not many other options unless you've got a lot of time on your hands. Using a car is a necessary evil, I think. It does make life a lot easier, which I'm grateful for. But I do feel a sense of guilt."
Transport limitations
With some planning, it is possible to visit the UK’s national parks and many areas of outstanding natural beauty by public transport. But the sheer scale of these areas and limitations of route planning means that it can be hard to get beyond the crowds, especially outside of the summer months.
I once spent a magical winter living in a rubble-built tower overlooking Ramsey Sound, at the westernmost point of mainland Wales. I did not have a car at the time, and I was cut off from the world. My nearest neighbour was the warden of the nature reserve on an island across the water. Getting to a shop meant an hour’s walk.
I lived right on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path National Trail. It winds up and down the cliffs, descending to wide sandy beaches and climbing to outcrops above hidden coves. At night, distant lighthouses flash through the fog, and as the sky clears, the Milky Way shines across the expansive heavens.
It is a perfect location for wild winter walking, but it isn't easy to access by public transport. There are occasional buses to St Davids from Haverfordwest, the nearest train station. But the timing never seemed to work out. Sometimes, when travelling home, I'd miss a bus by a few minutes and sit waiting for an eternity. And then, there was the long walk through empty lanes.
I chose to place myself at the end of the world, of course, and I'm grateful for the time I spent walking alone. But with such tenuous public transport connections, it was rare to meet another person on the coastal path. St Davids, like so many places reliant on cars, sleeps during the winter.
Inaccessible wilderness
For all its limitations, the UK’s public transport system puts many beautiful places within reach, if you are willing to put in the time and effort. But in the United States, car-free access to wilderness areas can be impossible.
Several years ago, I had the opportunity to spend time walking and camping in the canyons of Utah. The invitation to travel there was irresistible, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to spend time immersed in the mysteries of nature led by guides I deeply respect. But there was real conflict, too, since visiting the States meant getting on a plane. To lessen my carbon guilt, I determined to travel as much as possible by public transport once I'd landed.
In my European naivety, I believed it might be feasible. But it was only when I started looking at maps and route planners that I understood the roadblocks. There simply is no mass transit network to take people out of US cities to the wild country. The lack of public infrastructure makes every trip personal. Individualised travel pumps unnecessary carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, further upsetting the climate’s balance and imperilling already precarious ecosystems. And it turns the wilderness into a playground for the privileged.
If I wanted to reach my destination, I had no option except to hire a car. To this day, I’m unsure whether I did the right thing. On one hand, I gained so much from my experiences in the American Southwest. I learned a lot about myself in the desert, and I understood my place in nature in a way that was impossible in the leafy, damp greenness of these islands. But on the other hand, I polluted the very world I say that I love, putting my desires before the needs of the earth.
I tell myself that the plane would have taken off anyway, that someone else would have hired the car. But in truth, I was stuck with an impossible compromise.
Impossible compromises
There is a strong argument that pushing responsibility to address the climate crisis onto individuals is a tool for corporations and governments to greenwash their way out of their responsibilities. After all, the very idea of the carbon footprint was co-opted and widely promoted by oil giant BP in the mid-2000s. At the time, I calculated mine and worried about the impact of my actions. I barely stopped to notice that my attention was being wilfully misdirected.
But much as I might be angry about the painfully slow progress in cutting global greenhouse gas emissions, I know that I can’t use my frustration as a smokescreen for personal inaction. The few actions I can take change little, but a little is better than nothing.
All of us who love spending time in nature face the same impossible compromises in a system that’s stacked against us and nature. Whether we try to make public transport connections, car share to reach places we love or decide to limit our adventures entirely, there are no perfect choices. In truth, there is no right balance between our desire to spend time in nature and the urgency of limiting the damage we cause. The only answer would be to stay away entirely. But how diminished would humanity be if we confined ourselves to city streets and never gave ourselves room to breathe?
The jury is out on whether spending time in nature fosters environmental concern or whether those who are motivated by care for the planet want to seek out more-than-human places. But I tend to think that, whichever way around that relationship works, we are better off finding ourselves in the family of beings, even if we arrive full of regret and apology for our intrusion.
Personal choices
The other important learning from my research is that pro-environmental behaviour is complicated. There are so many actions we could take to make our lives more sustainable, and what makes sense for me might not be a priority for you.
We all have different starting points, too. It's easy to make sustainable travel choices if you live in an area well-serviced by public transport. But if you have to walk miles to catch a bus that travels at an inconvenient time to the wrong place, it's harder to see how change is possible.
I'm fortunate to live on the shore of Morecambe Bay, with an abundance of walking on my doorstep. But the practice of exploring my local area is something I've prioritised wherever I’ve lived. I want to get to know my natural neighbours, and exploring on foot helps me deepen my connections. I think the best walks always begin at home. And after all, at the end of a long walk, I'd rather sit in a hot bath than be stuck in traffic for hours.
So, staying local is a good place to start. The Slow Ways initiative is a national network of walking routes between the UK’s cities, towns and villages, and it’s worth checking what’s nearby. You might find a walking route that surprises you.
But there is always more I can do to love the earth beneath my feet. How about you?
Living in Western Canada with woefully rubbish public transport I feel this. Thanks for articulating the challenge of it.
Hi Dru. I’m really curious about this “I understood my place in nature in a way that was impossible in the leafy, damp greenness of these islands” I’d love to hear more… hope you are well.