The sign-up sheet said “No Testicles Allowed.” It was my friend Steffi’s idea. She asked if I’d ever been on an all-female camping trip. I hadn’t.
Whenever I call my dad, he asks about my “marem,” his shorthand for “man harem.” To him, this is a funny joke implying that all the men I hike with are actually fanboys who trot around after me wherever I go. As pleasant a fiction as that might be, reality has the roles reversed — I’m the one who’s been tagging along and inviting myself on trips for the past two years. As such, I’ve gotten used to settling into the comfortable role of clueless tagalong.
“I imagine I am perfectly capable of making a fire, but I don’t know because I’ve never been forced to do it,” Steffi said.
Neither had I. Both of us dream of 2,000-mile trails, of traveling solo over vast stretches of American wilderness. And yet neither of us knew if we were good route planners or map readers. Traveling with guys who tend to take over those tasks, we had never really had the chance to try.
We weren’t the only ones. Seven women signed up for the testicle-free trip. At 7 a.m. on April 3, we set off for the 20-mile coastal Neusiok Trail. We walked at a slow pace, damp with rain, shin-deep in mud and laughing the whole time. I had originally wanted to do double the mileage, but Steffi, in her infinite wisdom, reminded me I was missing the point. Co-ed groups tend to hike fast either because men set the pace and the women of the group don’t want to say anything or because there’s a fast-hiking woman and masculine pride prevents the men from suggesting a gentler pace.
Our aim was to enjoy the scenery and one another’s company. We also wanted enough breath left to converse about literature, theology, vaginas, how diaphragms actually work, the chafing incurred by backpacks against sports bra straps, vaginas, the pros and cons of the technical hiking skirt and vaginas.
It’s hard to talk about vaginas when not everyone on the trip has one. For the same reason, mixed-gender hiking awkwardly renders the question of who will sleep in what tent. There’s usually an awkward sexual tension — which is far more irritating than exciting.
Freed from those distractions, we could relax, be ourselves and focus on our surroundings. We met a pair of older women on the trail who seemed to have the same idea.
The way was wide and straight, and they saw us from far off. Two cheery, weathered faces under full packs and one oversized German Shepherd. All three were excited to meet us.
