The Outdoors is for Everyone; Sexual Assault Awareness is for Everyone – by MJo McCarthy

Below I share my NH48 finishing essay which I submitted in August. I am told it’s affecting and may be difficult to read as a result. I thought long and hard about whether it was appropriate in this forum, in a “read the room” contemplation. I admit I resented the question and the implication that it might be too “difficult.” It is difficult to read because it was difficult to experience. I am far from alone, however, and if I feel that it might not fit this forum, maybe it is because we have been lacking this conversation far too long. For women, the reality of sexual assault is heartbreakingly “normal.” While sexual assault is not a women’s issue, it is an issue of JEDI- which as NH hike leaders we are trained is DEI framed with Justice upfront, because without justice, what value is the rest? We CAN lower barriers to the woods by keeping an ongoing, open conversation between men and women. It will surely not end in April, but that is a start. The AMC states “The outdoors is for everyone.” I almost lost the woods permanently. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else.

MJo McCarthy AMC White Mountain Four Thousand Footers Application Essay 8/15/2024

When I was 16 a much older man at work asked if I wanted to hike Mt. Monadnock with him and his friend. He frequently talked to those of us high schoolers on break in the cafe and shared his outdoor adventures. I grew up loving the woods, and being in a bad situation at home, often escaped to them and longed to discover more. He spoke of books I revered and had a wry sense of humor. This hike was of great interest to me and I eagerly agreed.

November 4th, 1989 was dismally cold. I bought my first car only a few weeks before and my understanding was that I would drive myself to the trailhead, so I was surprised when he arrived in his behemoth of a junk vehicle, expecting to give me a ride. I was already standing next to my own car and very much wanted to drive. A little nervously, I asked where his friend was. “Oh, he’s meeting us at the trailhead.” Okay… I did not feel right about this but did not feel I could say no, so I got in. The front bench seat was filthy and there was an old, half-sucked green lollipop cemented to the dashboard, presumably belonging to his young daughter. When we arrived at the deserted Old Toll Road parking lot, he said flatly with zero concern or contemplation, “I guess he’s not coming.” I knew instantly what was already nagging at me but I was too scared to speak up. I did not trust myself. I thought I was paranoid, having been to this terrible rodeo before so probably seeing it in everything. I wanted this to be better. Whether he picked up on my situation and thus targeted me or I simply reacted the way I did because of it, I will never know. Maybe both. We began to hike. I was scared, cold, and not prepared for the weather. It was lightly blowing snow at the summit. I was shaking and didn’t know how much was from the cold, fear, hunger, or exertion. I biked often but hiking Monadnock is differently strenuous and all combined, I had quivering jelly legs for the never-ending descent. I just needed this to be over; it was not the fun hike I wanted. Back on the Old Toll Road and still unable to exhale but feeling almost in the clear, the conversation grew more uncomfortable. There was a lesser, unfamiliar trail to our left that he wanted to take. My stomach dropped. We were so close but that was the left turn of the experience. It is beyond this essay and was beyond horrible.

The drive back was silent. All I could do was stare at the nasty green lollipop stuck to the dash. It turned far worse when we approached my house and he wordlessly drove by. I watched my unused car in the driveway- my new lifeline- as it simply rolled out of sight. I had thought it was almost over but now a new terror of questioning his next intentions and whether I would ever see home again took hold. This was horrifically less familiar. The enormity of that terror was overwhelming, more so than anything else. He drove to Keene and pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru. He ordered one small French fries and nothing else. It made as little sense then as it does now. I was expected to eat and I tried, but my hands were shaking and I felt like I would vomit. He silently drove back to Marlborough, dropped me off in my driveway, and that was it.

Afterward, I still longed to be in the woods and needed it even more, but it was not the same. I can trace various ways I tried over the next decades but it never worked. I married young, miraculously to the best person ever, but tumbled through struggle upon struggle before clawing my way out of my inner hell with my head mostly on straight. Sometimes I hiked with my husband but he doesn’t have that same drive for connection outdoors. After we had kids we camped as a family and took short hikes together. We visited many gorgeous national parks as we logged all 50 states largely by utilizing long-distance rail, something which provides a similar communion for me. I repeatedly tried to get out by myself but even on the snowmobile trails behind our house, I was afraid to be alone and it never took root. I could not get past the fear. I loved the woods but they were wrecked.

In October of 2020, I had a health scare. I was shaken, significantly overweight, and unfit. I took a giant leap. I changed my eating and began walking on my treadmill. I would walk four minutes and try to run for one. I did that repeatedly for 40 minutes every day, gradually trying to increase my run time. It worked. I regained my health and soon I could even run 10k- but only in my basement. In the spring, I dared to take this outside. I was far too self-conscious to run in public, so I tried our local rail trail with my goldendoodle, Buttercup. It was beautiful! I fell in love. I was often scared by isolated human encounters but I HAD to go. Something about pairing the trail with the pure joy of running tapped an indescribable sense of freedom. It became imperative. I ran through all seasons in any weather and conquered all sections of the trail, nailing not only 10k but my first half marathon distance- exactly 13.1 miles from my door to the trail to the other end, like it was calling. Once mastered, I ran it back- my first personal marathon- in microspikes. The rail trail was flat and even its incredible beauty grew repetitive. The next spring I ventured over to Moose Mountains Reservation, a local conservation area with several small peaks and which abuts even more conservation land. As I tackled elevation I grew stronger and more confident, frequenting more remote areas. My partnership with Buttercup deepened. I signed up for a 5k canicross which soon led to running ultras. The rail trail and Moose Mountains remained my “home” turf.

I wanted more and knew I needed to learn safety practices. Being out there alone came with environmental risks. I was winging it and didn’t know what I didn’t know. I also wanted to connect with others. On vacation I hiked Mt. Washington one-way, an enormous step in overcoming fear, and when reading about it in the 4,000 footers online community, I discovered the AMC’s White Mountain 4,000 Footers quest. Coincidentally, I had signed up for an AMC hike of Mt. Cabot, hoping to learn best practices and meet others with the same passion. This would become my very first official 4,000 footer and it hit the mark tremendously on both counts.

One of the leaders that day planted a seed. He complimented my attitude and love for the outdoors and suggested I might make a good hike leader, myself. That genuine extension worked magic and I reached out. Thus began an adventure of hiking many more requisite peaks on my own, just me and Buttercup, as well as peaks with AMC groups. I enjoyed workshops and training at Cardigan Lodge, a winter “summer camp” I never had when I was young. The more I did the more I loved. I have since made many friends, backpacked on my own, run 24-hour trail races, found enjoyment plodding solo through the dark, and now completed my “NH48.” I even greedily celebrated with a solo, single-day Pemi Loop. The AMC and online groups supplied both community and connection. The woods became a place I am most at ease. This is where I should have been all along. This is home.

My 48 experience is one of reclaiming the credentials to be my own self, even finding credentials to lead others in their own pursuits. It is a transformational accomplishment, not a finish. I am just getting started. From that miserable day in 1989 to completing all 48 NH 4,000 footers solo; having snowshoed 25 of them in winter, to finishing free on Bondcliff while standing tall and shirtless of my own volition… I could be bitter about what was stolen but I am anything but. I almost never found it. How many never do? There are countless women tragically afraid to be in the woods. Yet, many of us are not! We are out there. So many good men are oblivious to the thought processes and calculations women may navigate throughout the lifecycle of a hike. When I ask myself “What now?” one of the many things I’d like to do is lead hikes specifically to raise awareness and empower more women to feel comfortable in their own natural world. It is much too good to miss! I think I will start with Mt. Monadnock.