A walk is not a hike. And there’s a clear difference.

Four dimensions differentiate hikes from walks:

Terrain. On a hike you negotiate natural terrain—dirt, rocks, or sand— on some kind of trail. You frequently have to watch your feet and choose your path, otherwise you’ll trip on rocks or roots. The terrain is usually uneven, necessitating selective footwear. Walks occur on some manmade material or such well trodden pathway it might as well be manmade. You can wear flip flops on walks. Here’s a simple litmus test: did you think about what shoes to wear? If not, it’s not a hike.

Distance. Going for a walk is easy, it’s casual, it’s nonchalant. Spur of the moment you can just decide to go. A hike? Then there are consequences. You’ll likely still be hiking an hour later, and you’ll be exerting effort. Walks can be long, but hikes always are—unless they score excessively high in one of the next two dimensions. People feel a sense of accomplishment when they finish a hike, because a hike isn’t a 1 mile loop around the pond by their house.

Looking toward the Bay atop Windy Hill - June 2023

Elevation. Hikes aren’t flat. We enjoy hiking Windy Hill because it’s relatively short on a clear dirt path. What makes it a hike? The 1,000 foot elevation gain to the top, from where you can view the Pacific Ocean and the San Francisco Bay simultaneously. I’m pouring sweat by the time we reach the summit. Many pursue hikes for views of the surrounds. In order to get those views, you need a hill. Even hikes ending in waterfalls need some type of elevation to exist—the water has to “fall off” something. And that sense of accomplishment? You feel it when you’ve climbed something, instead of “just” walking a couple flat miles.

Nature. A walk can circle a city block. You go on a hike because it’s in nature. You hear the songs of birds, the rustling of squirrels in the underbrush, perhaps the trickling sound of running water. You’re out in the elements, you acutely feel temperature change, even if just from sun to shade. You’re aware of the wind picking up, of the foliage changing. This immersion within nature is a hike prerequisite, but not necessarily a walk.

Say we use a famous waterfall to contextualize these dimensions:

The start of Lower Yosemite Fall Trail - July 2024

In July my wife and I walked the Lower Yosemite Fall Trail. The loop is paved and almost entirely flat, measuring about a mile. You get an amazing view of Yosemite Falls (the tallest waterfall in North America), and experience some forest along the route, but you’re never fully immersed in nature due to the throngs of people and proximity to the main road. The terrain is negligible, the grade is almost nonexistent, and it’s short. The Lower Yosemite Fall Trail is a walk. Yosemite Falls Trail, meanwhile, qualifies as a hike. You must climb 2,700 feet up to the top of the granite cliff where the waterfall begins its plunge. The trail isn’t paved — it’s a root and rocked-filled dirt path that winds its way up from the valley floor. There are switchbacks, and switchbacks, and switchbacks… and you are immersed in nature throughout the hike. There are mesmerizing views of the falls, Half Dome, and the picturesque valley floor far below. Yosemite Falls Trail is a spectacular 7 mile hike.

So hikes are inherently out in nature and involve elevation and long distances on natural terrain. Who cares? Why does this even matter?

Sometimes I wonder if the very simple things can change the world—like getting out in nature and going on a hike. What if more people hiking more often is part of the solution? What if hiking provides the needed respite, the connection with Mother Earth, that empowers us to be better to each other, to be better humans? We are connected to this planet and all life on it. We have been for millennia, since the dawn of our species. Hiking enables us to live that experience, and maybe to understand that we’re all part of one beautiful system, that we are one.