On a Saturday in October of 2021, Carlos Ramirez pushed through a gentle rain towards the summit of New York’s Balsam Lake Mountain. He couldn’t help but smile as he excitedly hopped over the swelling streams that intersected the trail, which meandered through a dense balsam fir forest. Ramirez, 52, was among nearly a dozen hikers on a guided day trip withÌęBrooklyn-based (DBA).

This was Ramirez’s first outing with DBA. Aside from the occasional hike during family visits to Puerto Rico and Costa Rica, the New Yorker had limited experience in the outdoors. Growing up in the city, he had minimal exposure to “outdoorsy” individuals and no transportation to rural areas. But the recent end of New York City’s pandemic restrictions had provided the boost he needed to get outside.

“I felt like I needed something to get me out of the city,” Ramirez says. “When my friend told me about his hike with DBA, I was like, ‘that’s awesome because I don’t have a car and can’t get to the Catskills.’ So I went, and then I just fell in love with it.”

Since then, Ramirez has joined the company on more than a dozen guided hikes in the Catskills. His gear collection and outdoor knowledge has grown with each trip to the mountains.

Why Hiking Guides Are Worth It

Though a major advantage of hiring a guide for city-based adventurers is the transportation, gear and planning many companies offer, guided hikes aren’t only for city-dwellers who lack cars or outdoor experience. Even seasoned hikers can benefit from hiring someone to lead them during a day or overnight adventure.

“A good guide can help you fulfill your intention of going out there,” said Dave DiCerbo, a hiking guide and founder of DBA. “If the intention is healing, a good guide should be able to do that. If the intention is learning or finding a new place, a good guide should be able to do that, too.” For example, if a client is grieving a loss and is hoping to take space and time to reflect, a good guide would organize a quiet, easier hike, pointing out and explaining signs of regeneration in nature along the trail.

“In its simplest form, what guides do is break down barriers to the outdoors,” he adds. “It’s very easy to see why a person who’s never been outdoors before should hire a guide—safety and comfort. But lack of experience is only one specific barrier. There are so many other barriers that guides can help overcome.”

Here are three ways that hiring a guide can make all the difference on your next hiking trip.

łÛŽÇłÜ’l±ô Gain Backcountry Confidence

Unfamiliarity with local hiking trails and how to safely and comfortably execute a day hike is often a barrier to the outdoors. Guides should have a deep knowledge of the terrain they work in, and can organize an itinerary based on a group’s goals, fitness level and time restraints. This knowledge and skill can be passed along to hikers, eventually getting them to a point where they’re comfortable heading out on an unguided trip.

For longer trips, there’s even more to know. Leave No Trace (LNT) principles, how to pick a camping spot, and how to manage food and water in the backcountry are all basic things that many in the outdoor community learn from experienced friends. But guides can fill the gap for those who don’t have anyone to teach them, or don’t want to take the time to find willing mentors. A single guided trip can expedite the learning process, which goes a long way toward giving someone the confidence and knowledge to responsibly head out alone.

“I look back now and think about all the skills I learned through trial and error,” says DiCerbo. “It took me five months of going hiking and adventuring alone to learn through trial and error and discomfort what I probably would’ve learned in a weekend if I had hired a guide.”

łÛŽÇłÜ’l±ô Discover Nature On A New Level

Even experienced hikers and backpackers can gain knowledge about different ecosystems that can only be acquired by reading or going out with someone who already has an understanding of these natural spaces.

When Roxanne Dawson, a Colorado-based adventurer who has been hiking, backpacking and snowboarding in the backcountry for ten years, joined a group of women on a guided hike in southern Utah with and , she learned more than she expected to.

“I really learned so much more about the land as we were traveling through it—the history both geologically and anthropologically,” says Dawson. “It was interesting to sit down at the campsite and have both guides lay down the geological history from 2,000 versus 10,000 versus 200,000 years ago. To be in the land, while speaking and learning about it, was such a different experience than I would’ve been able to have on my own.”

According to DiCerbo, one of the most underappreciated values of guides is their ability to help clients appreciate the ecosystems they travel through.

Seeing how geology, ecosystems, and how different plants and animals interact with one another is a learned skill that enhances the overall outdoor experience.ÌęThis understanding helps outdoor adventurers better connect with nature, maximizing what they are able to get out of each outing.

“It’s kinda cool, especially being an inner city person,” Ramirez says, remembering how his first guided hikes in the Catskills changed his perspective on the natural world. “I didn’t know much about plants except the ones you buy at the store. And now I’m reading books about plants. It’s nice when you’re willing to open up and get into something that’s unique.”

Gaining an appreciation for the natural environment also helps with executing LNT principles—understanding the value of different plants and why they shouldn’t be trampled on, knowing why it’s important to keep your snacks out of reach of wild animals, and so on.

łÛŽÇłÜ’l±ô Learn to Navigate Foreign Terrain

Hiking and backpacking excursions can take us to far-flung places in search of adventure, which adds an additional layer of unfamiliarity beyond the natural ecosystems.

When Brent Potter started in 2008, the value of his business came from offering a cultural experience.

“You don’t need a big mountain guide for safety on Mount Fuji,” says Luke Cummings, a Tokyo-based guide who co-owns Fuji Mountain Guides and with Potter. “But there are four trails that go up, and we choose the second least climbed trail, which has a more local feel. You have huts run by the same two families for hundreds of years.”

For Cummings, a Japanese mountain guide who caters to international travelers provides value by answering questions about the country and its culture in addition to natural ecosystems, helping clients have an experience they wouldn’t have otherwise.

How to Find a Hiking Guide

Most popular mountain towns and outdoor-focused destinations have an abundance of guide services that can be found with a quick Google Search. There are also sites like , which partners with guide companies to promote excursions that can be filtered by type of trip, location and dates—similar to hotel and airline booking platforms.

Typically, a guided hike can cost between $100 and $300 per person per day, depending on the area and scope of the trip. But there are also various non-profit organizations—like the (AMC) in the Northeast and in the Pacific Northwest—that offer trips, courses and seminars for free or a small fee to members. Many national and state parks also offer similar trips and programs.

REI, which was originally founded as an outfitter in 1935, has also grown its presence in the guiding world in recent years, offering a number of excursions across North America through . A number of REI locations also offer scheduled , like backcountry navigation and wilderness first aid.Ìę

While there are certification programs through organizations like the , there are no required certifications needed to become a guide, aside from what each individual company requires. Often, a guide company’s website will have a section discussing each guide’s experience, background and any certifications they have like Wilderness First Responder (WFR) or Wilderness First Aid (WFA)—at least one of which every guide should have.

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On a weekday morning inÌęJanuaryÌęin New Hampshire’s ,Ìęthe base of the gladed backcountry ski zoneÌęcould have been mistaken for a Walmart parking lot on Black Friday. Some skiers sat anxiously in their cars, waiting for a spot to open up, while others parked at the nearby Ìęand walked the mile up the roadÌęwith their skis slung over their shoulders. After a slow start to the season in New England, there was finally enough snowpackÌęto abandon the groomers for backcountry terrain.

It wasn’t always like this. Unlike the West, backcountryÌęskiing on the East CoastÌęhas distinct challenges. The amount of private property in the region is staggering—only 4Ìępercent of landÌęeast of Mississippi is public, compared withÌę47 percent inÌęthe West—and access to itÌęis hindered by a complex web of private landowners, trusts, and federal and public managers, not to mention denseÌęnew-growth forests. “Historically, because of the East Coast’s tree-density issues, backcountry skiers would either venture to natural alpine areas or were commonly found cutting unapproved lines,” said Tyler Ray, founder of theÌęÌę(łÒ”țŽĄ),Ìęa nonprofit organization based in North Conway, New Hampshire, with nearly a thousand members that advocates for increased access to the sport. “You would often seeÌęthese egregious cuts in the forest, andÌęin some cases, people had to serve jailÌętime. We’ve been able to bridge the gap of opening access to new terrain and educating skiers.”

ButÌęstarting in 2016, Maple Villa and a handful of otherÌęglades in the vicinity—including Ìęin Evan’s Notch, on the Maine–New Hampshire state line, and , part ofÌęthe 10,000-acre —have been among the fewÌęskiable backcountry zonesÌęin a region where they’reÌęincredibly limited. These areas of the White Mountains areÌęa result of five years of advocacy and planning work by the GBA. Prior to their development, out-of-bounds skiing was only possible in above-tree-line terrain, a few natural drainages and old avalanche paths, and a handful of formerÌęski trails built by the Civilian Conservation Corps nearly a centuryÌęago. Since launching five years ago, the GBA has been working with landowners and land managers to obtain approval for public access and to create gladed ski areas, adding significant acreage to the few less-developed local ski spots, like the Ìęand ski trails, that existed prior to its inception.

To secure these sites, GBA members spend countless hours building relationships and trust with landowners and managers, educating them on the benefits these zones will have on theirÌęcommunities and addressing their concerns. Once access is approved, the U.S. Forest Service collaborates with the GBA on what trees should and shouldn’t be cut, how to minimize the risk of erosion, and other above-ground vegetation management measures that ensure any cutting is being done in a sustainable way. The organization then hosts “glade days,”Ìęwhere up to 75 volunteers come out to help cut the outdoor spaceÌęthey’ll eventually end up skiing. In five years, the groupÌęhas successfully built eight glades in New Hampshire and western Maine, for a cumulative total ofÌę8,100 vertical feet of skiable terrain, and more are in the works, potentially in the Pemigewasset and Androscoggin districts of White Mountain National Forest.

Rural communities, likeÌęthose near the GBA’s glades, benefit greatly from the development of outdoor recreational venues, a fact that can easily convince private landowners to sign on. A recent economic analysis of Maple Villa, Crescent Ridge, and Baldface revealed that nearly $1 million in revenue was generated within the local community during the 2018–19 ski season alone, according to Ray.

The main concern for most landowners, Ray says, is liability. But in New Hampshire and Maine, protect landowners who allow people to recreate on their property. In New Hampshire, theseÌęlaws ensure that landowners won’t be held accountable for any injuries or damages that occur on their land, provided they don’t charge visitors a fee for access and don’t do anything obviously negligent that results in injury, such as suddenly building a fence across an already established ski zone without properÌęsignage.

Maine has similar protection laws, but landownersÌęare permitted to charge fees for recreational use. It is understood that users of these zones are doing so at their own risk, and that they will be held responsible if they are injured while on someone’s property. If that does occur, local and state organizations, like the , are typically notified by the injured party or another person who is around to help.

While the GBA is the newest organization of this kind, it isn’tÌęthe first one working to expand opportunities for recreation on the East Coast. In Vermont, the (RASTA) was founded after Hurricane Irene’s devastating toll on small communities in 2013. “It was really a way to rebuild these communities that were hit by this storm,” said Zac Freeman, a founding member of the alliance. “We hoped it would give folks something to look forward to and would help some of the struggling businesses. But at the core of it, we’re doing it because we want to create more opportunities to recreate in these small towns.”

RASTA helped grow Vermont’s backcountry ski network significantly. Along with liaising with private landowners, itÌęalso worked with the Forest Service to create the Ìęin 2017, one of the first actively managed backcountry ski zones on Forest ServiceÌęland in the country. TheÌęprojectÌęinitially encompassedÌęfour separate areas, but todayÌęit offers more than 28,000 combined vertical feet across six separate gladed zones aroundÌęthe state, allÌęmanaged by RASTA.

Before the GBA or RASTA, there was the . Founded in 1994 in East Burke, Vermont, the KTAÌęwas one of the first organizations to begin working with private landowners to create outdoor access. After 25 years, it had secured a network of more than 100 miles of cross-country and downhill trailsÌęand is now considered one of New England’s premierÌęsingletrack mountain-biking destinations. These arrangements between the association and the more thanÌę100 private landowners currently signed on were basedÌęprimarily onÌęthe promise that the trails would benefit the community—landowners receive no financial compensation for allowing public access. Fulfilling that promise, it is estimated that the for the surrounding communitiesÌęduring the 2019 fiscal year.

But these contracts, which rely on trust, are nonbinding, and landowners always have the option to revoke their access. In fact, in December 2019, a few landowners informed the KTA that they would no longer permit mountain bikers on their property (although they did continue to allow other forms of recreation, like snowshoeing and trail running), resulting in the loss of nearly 12 miles of trails to cyclists. While the landowners haven’t publicly stated their reasoningÌęand couldn’t be reached for comment, the association speculated that theyÌęfelt their land wasn’t being respected by mountain bikers, a concern that may have been amplified by an extreme increase in trail use in recent years.

Elise Lawson, a KTAÌęlandownerÌęwith property just north of those who revoked access, and a member of the KTA’s board of directors, has noticed an increase in users and trail congestion since purchasing herÌęproperty in 2003. And while her experience with mountain bikers has been overwhelmingly positive, she did note that there are occasional exceptions.

“I feel that some people who come might not be aware that Kingdom Trails is composed of private landowners,” said Lawson. “I think some people may have been getting a sense of entitlement rather than gratitude.”

For the KTA, the landowners’ decision served as a wake-up call.

“We recognize that we should have been more effectively communicating with our landowners,” said Abby Long, Kingdom Trails’ executive director. “But we also needed to be educating our trail users on proper etiquette.”

To keep this from happening again, the organizationÌęhas been soliciting ideas and feedback from landowners and community members. It has also been investing in research and communication through a USDA-funded that addresses and promotes sustainable growth andÌęa new advisory committee that allows landowners to becomeÌęmore involved in planning, as well asÌęuser engagement and education through an expanded ambassador programÌęandÌę campaign, which is a code of ethics directed at the mountain-biking community that wasÌęcreated by the Northern Forest Center’s .

In late January, RASTA dealt with a similar issue. A police report filed by a skierÌęon January 25 stated that two gunshots were heard after the skierÌęaccidentally crossed onto an abuttingÌęproperty, followed by a third approximately 15Ìęminutes later. The organization was notified, and it immediately closed the trail network in an attempt to resolve the issue. RASTA couldn’t confirm the source of the shots, but as a precaution, volunteers helped reroute the trail farther away from the property and add signage to create a quiet zone. The trail reopened a few weeks laterÌęand hasn’t seen any incidents since.

“It’s our responsibility to ensure that we protect the privilege to recreate on private lands,” said RASTA’s Freeman. “Because it isn’t a right. And it’s our job, as GBA, RASTA, and the New England Mountain Bike Association, to promote responsibility, trail ethics, and landowner stewardship.”

To help educate its users, the GBA, in collaboration with , a national nonprofit representing backcountry skiers on public lands, recently introduced , a code of conduct that they will share at their sites moving forward, which involves simple yet effective measures such as respecting closures and packing out garbage.

In a similar effort, over a thousandÌębusinesses, organizations, and influential individuals formed theÌęÌęlast fall, which was born during an uptick in general outdoor recreation during COVID-19 to promote responsible ways to get outside.

Despite the challenges and hurdles to create and bolsterÌęthese recreational spacesÌęin the Northeast, the GBA’s Ray is optimistic. “This outdoor economy is taking over,” he said. “And these organizationsÌęare showing that it can be sustainable and support small towns. It’s really a way of life.”

While the organizations have largely been successful, their continued growth depends on the respect and awareness of the visitors who recreate on these lands. “I feel that every trail user represents the organization,” said Freeman. “Because you never know who you’re gonna pass on the trail. It could be the landowner that allowed you to ski on their land.”

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The sun sank lower as we pushed our way up the steep slabs toward the summit of Mount Chocorua, a prominent 3,500-foot peak in the Sandwich Range of New Hampshire. We had missed our time goal, but the other two guides and I felt confident that we could safely get our team of eight teens to the summit and then back to camp after dark.

As we pushed on, I noticed John (his name has been changed for privacy), an out-of-shape 13-year-old whose program-issued blue T-shirt was drenched in sweat, wearing a pained expression. With each step, his breathing became heavier, and his peers pulled farther ahead. At the trail junction, less than a half-mile from the summit, he collapsed under the weight of his 50-pound pack. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

The rest of the team sat nearby, waiting to be given the OK to move forward. They continued chattering about their favorite video games, the latest trending memes, and how they wished their phones had not been taken away when they arrived here.

Like all of his teammates, John struggled with depression, anxiety, and technology addiction. Before his parents sent him to —a wilderness therapy program based in rural Stow, Maine, where I work as a guide—John would spend hours locked in his bedroom, playing Fortnite, sending Snapchats, and cruising Instagram. Completing daily teen responsibilities, like attending middle school and spending time with his friends and family, eventually became so infrequent that his parents decided to send him to our program, which combines nature outings with clinician visits to address tech addiction, substance abuse, and emotional regulation.

Summit Achievement has been operating as a therapeutic wilderness school for teens ages 13 through 20 since the 1990s, but it’s only recently that we’ve seen such an influx of clients suffering from tech addiction. Parents are handing iPhones to their kids at a younger age. Much like with substance abuse, when adolescents are regularly using alcohol, drugs, or technology before their brains have fully developed, they’re more likely to become addicted.

Technology, like gambling, is understood as a risk for process addiction, where certain behaviors are rewarded with pleasure. People can become fixated on returning for that reward in a way that disrupts daily life. By that definition, says Will White, founder of Summit Achievement and author of , it’s clear that tech addiction is rampant in today’s society.

Technological dependence has been linked to mental health issues. In a 2018 study published by , researchers at the University of San Francisco surveyed 135 students about their smartphone use and its effect on their mental state. The researchers reported that screen time was linked to increased loneliness, anxiety, and depression. Another study, recently published in the , surveyed 15- and 16-year-olds and found a significant association between frequent social media use and symptoms of ADHD.

The World Health Organization now includes “” as a mental health condition in the 11th edition of International Classification of Diseases, released in June. For an individual diagnosed with a gaming disorder, gaming takes precedence over other daily activities, negatively affecting important aspects of life—social, personal, family, educational, and occupational—for a period of at least 12 months. While the current definition includes only gaming, many clinical social workers speculate that it will eventually be expanded to include other types of tech addiction, such as social media use. Meanwhile, experts are looking into treatments for this modern addiction and its effects.

That’s where nature comes in. The benefits of spending time outside are widely reported. In a 2016 study called , conducted by the University of Derby and the Wildlife Trusts, researchers asked 12,400 participants to engage with nature every day for a month. The results showed that simply spending time in nature has positive impacts on physical health, such as reduced hypertension and respiratory and cardiovascular illnesses, as well as improved mood and reduced anxiety. In Japan, “forest bathing” is increasingly popular. In the United States, some doctors and organizations are already prescribing time in nature.

A lack of physical activity and time spent outdoors has a demonstrable impact on levels of cortisol, the body’s main stress hormone. “Cortisol builds up when you have anxiety and remain inactive,” says Jill Jerome, a clinical social worker in Rockville, Maryland. “Technology contributes to this big-time. When you are on social media, you may feel anxious about someone having a better life than you, not getting enough attention, or getting too much attention. That is when cortisol is building. When you don’t have any way to burn it off, then you’re going to have more anxiety. When you’re out and moving, it starts to burn off.”

Wilderness therapy aims to tackle those compounding side effects by taking away the temptation of technology, increasing movement, and introducing the healing element of nature. While its origins can be traced back to the youth-focused summer camps of the 1800s, it wasn’t until 1922 that New York’s Camp Ramapo opened its doors specifically for emotionally challenged youth. Forty years later, two programs—Outward Bound USA and Brigham Young University’s “BYU 480 Class: Youth Rehabilitation Through Outdoor Survival”—provided a structure upon which many current wilderness therapy programs were built. Today, wilderness therapy generally looks more like camp with licensed clinicians. The clinicians help clients identify what’s driving their behaviors, while guides take clients—often teens and young adults—on multiday backpacking expeditions, boating or climbing trips, and other outdoor activities.

Summit Achievement isn’t the only program of its kind. There are 15 accredited wilderness therapy programs in the nation, plus dozens more wilderness-focused schools and courses. While most programs share a similar approach to address problems such as ADHD, depression, anxiety, and tech addiction, many differ from Summit in that they are considered full wilderness programs—there is no main campus to go back to each week. At Redcliff Ascent, for instance, students spend the entire duration of their stay—approximately ten weeks—sleeping under the stars and working with guides and clinicians in a remote backcountry setting.

At Summit Achievement, teens and young adults embark on a grueling recovery program that consists of a four-day backcountry expedition each week for an average of eight weeks, with three days of school, daily chores after each meal, weekly group and family therapy sessions, a mid-stay family visit, and zero screen time (except for an online academic curriculum catered to each student’s needs).

While enrolled in the program, students spend their time learning how to live without their smartphones and video games—as well as how to be self-sufficient, face anxiety, cope with depression and ADHD, build confidence, and socialize with peers. At the same time, clinicians conduct family therapy sessions, working toward rebuilding relationships back home.

I often watch new students walk onto our main campus in rural western Maine with a somber expression. Like John, many are teens who have rarely left the comfort of home and have just found out they will be spending much of the next six to ten weeks sleeping outdoors, with no access to the technology that has become an essential part of their lives. Their first few weeks are difficult, as they work on reflection of past behaviors and their consequences and towards acceptance of the program and the need for self-growth.

New students often keep to themselves initially, lacking the skills to interact with their peers and unable to fall back on the smartphones and video games they rely on so heavily. As they move through the program, they focus on specific themes of acceptance, commitment, accountability, initiative, empathy, and transition. They also learn hard skills like setting up a tarp, navigating, and cooking on a camp stove.

I watch students discover—with the help of guides and clinicians—healthy coping mechanisms that allow them to push through situations that they could have never imagined before. By the end of their stay, students will often have the confidence to encourage their teammates, teach hard skills, and provide emotional support to newer members of the team.

On Mount Chocorua, we spent 20 minutes with John, practicing the tactical breathing exercises that he’d been learning to use as a coping mechanism. Soon we were able to press forward toward the top. An eruption of celebratory cheers rippled through the group of teens who finally stood atop Chocorua, congratulating John and each other as we watched the sunset.

It was John’s first summit. After months of hardly leaving his house, he was finally surrounded by a view he never thought he’d see beyond his Instagram feed.

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