The feeling of doing something wrong

Perhaps the most frustrating trend I have noticed in outdoor user experience is how complicated it is to go outside now.

As someone who has worked in the outdoor sphere for a good chunk of my life, I do understand the challenges of working in that space. However, over time, with so many rules, it is difficult for anyone to follow. And now we have created a space not to escape the troubles of the modern world, but to have created the feeling of “Am I doing this wrong?”

Parking in the Cottonwoods, for instance, is a nightmare. White Pine has zones where you can park on the road and others where you can’t. They also made changes to the trailhead fees. (Which is fine, but a lot of changes are fast for people who don’t know.) The permit system was flawed from the start of the ski season. And there isn’t a formal apology—parking Enforcers to check in with, constantly scanning cars. Different parts of the road are now open to residents. This is just parking. And it’s a mess. I can go on.

Recently, I was told that Catherine’s Pass was closed. (Alta can’t close a pass that they don’t own.) In fact, you had to travel uphill outside their stakes. Of course, this is unofficial, as to where their area ends, and public land begins. Because no surveyor is going up there any time soon, meanwhile, it makes it impossible to travel up Catherine’s safely. (By the way, make sure you don’t bring a brown-bag lunch on ski days.)

And on, and on, and on.

No one wants to feel like they’re doing it wrong for recreation and leisure. If we don’t turn things around, we’ll eventually get to a place where people won’t care anymore.

Further, I might add that no one is entitled to anything. Purchasing a ski pass doesn’t guarantee a great ski season. Nor does being paid as ski patrol give us the authority over law enforcement. Police are in the same boat. When we lost the medium where the public meets the rule of law, we now have officers reduced to speed traps and parking violations.

We can all do better.