The Songs of Mountains: Understanding the Value of Adventure Journalism
Smell that? Those fresh scents, consisting of subtle notes of cinnamon and pine, reminiscent of both Christmas Day memories and weeklong camping trips. Boots crunch through fresh layers of snow, leaving behind loud thumps, yet soft footprints. Angry grizzly bear growls are drowned out by the thunderous crash of an icy waterfall nearby — welcome to nature, with no defined location but sensations that feel as real as the chill of the middle of winter.
Is seeing all of this (well, seeing, hearing, smelling, etc.) really believing, though? With so much emphasis on the five senses— the tools we are given to tangibly experience an event — to prove the certainty of something, it’s worth noting that some of the most important things in life are what we can’t experience. Can you see the tales, the trauma, and the triumphs of nature? How do we remember that weeklong camping trip, or those snowboot tracks that nature covered with snow so quickly? If a grizzly bear roars in the woods, with no one there to hear his angst, did it really happen?
A bold few seek those roars during the depths of the night. Dauntless souls track footprints both as an archive to the past and a glimpse into the future. Capturing all of this, and the messages they offer, is the purpose of writers within the outdoors-travel industry. We stray from interviewing individuals and turn to Earth for her stories. You see, there’s value in all of this…more so than we may ever know. These mountains are singing songs of beauty, ferocity, and everything in between — and it’s up to us, adventure journalists, to hear them.
Consider this a feature story that alters from the norm — less of a showcase of an individual and more so of highlighting the meaning of adventure journalism. What’s that? Ah yes…why is it relevant; why should you care about adventure journalism?
Because the stories I, and many others within this industry, tell — they’re for you. They’re stories of immersive videography on ultrarunners cascading through hundred-mile courses, or long-form essays of deep-sea dives — but they’re for you. How? Well, has nature ever directly spoken to you? In the off-chance you’ve had a conversation with a tree (totally fine if you have, no judgment here!), nature is an eloquently silent woman. She takes us along adventures of our wildest dreams, but offers no directions. It’s like receiving a box of legos, but being told, “Sorry pal, we lost the ‘how-to’ book. Build something cool!”
We build the story — we capture her luster — it’s up to our imagination.
That’s why you care — and why you should care. Earth is our precious blue marble, and unbeknownst to many, she’s the only one we got. The industry of adventure journalism exists to not only provide a platform for your creativity to wander, but hopefully drives an appreciation for our planet.
Just as outdoor journalists focus on the unspoken, versus more traditional means of storytelling, I’m zeroing in on the face of this profession: the value, the stories, and the lesson offered in our natural world.
In many writing-based industries, journalism is based out of a corporate office, a newsroom, and seems to have its practitioners writing within a small, localized beat. Tight deadlines, constant criticism from editors, and occasional trips to the local pub to drown out the sorrows of writing another depressing story on the monotony of urban life. Sure, it’s not like this for everyone, and local news is an extremely valuable profession, but we lose creativity, voice, and, perhaps most importantly, a more universal approach to the world. It’s surprisingly easy to become engulfed in local happenings so much so that anything beyond our personal spheres of travel becomes, well, meaningless.
But adventure journalism — what? If that sounds like an oxymoron, well, it somewhat is. The concept of a writer sporting a button-up tee, cigar-in-mouth, and working late hours in the office might be fading, but a writer doing their work amongst trail systems, mountain ranges, and national parks? That seems like a reach — like some counterculture sort of journalist.
Yeah, yeah, I know — this ‘corporate office’ picture of journalism is dated, but it illustrates the changing of times quite well. The overarching industry of journalism has shifted to more remote tendencies, even before the influx of at-home work due to the 2020 coronavirus pandemic. That’s the beauty of storytelling — it’s never going to look the same for any one reader or writer — and it’s always changing. With more and more freelancers operating through blogs, websites, and other third-party sources, adventure journalists don’t just thrive outside of the typical work environment; they were born for this.
Adventure journalism has a defined beat, but an undefined sphere of exploration — giving writers the opportunity to see the world, but dually a commitment to share their expanse with the world. Explained by some as a niche pairing of travel and sports writing, while others tout the career as beneficial to athletes in need of an income spike, the industry has many different interpretations.
Those discrepancies in personal meaning show why there’s incredible value in journalism — and specifically adventure journalism. One set of paragraphs might bore some, while others see a glimpse into an alternative existence — a narrative transportation of sorts, taking readers and writers alike on for the ride. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” in the sense of meaningful stories.
Some of my fondest memories have come at the hands of wilderness adventures, backpacking trips, and peak summits. In fact, the first time my timid, 11-year-old self really looked up from my Nintendo DS during a car ride was when our car passed into Colorado.
I felt something. Those sacred, close-enough-to-touch peaks loomed in the distance, almost beckoning to me. “Come play,” they seemed to say, which has morphed into “Come escape, come adventure along my glorious slopes” as I’ve gotten older. The DS games really lost their luster after that sort of environmental epiphany, to be honest.
To me, adventure journalism has many meanings — I’m a triathlete, a freelancer, and a multimedia content creator — so there’s intersectionality within this profession to my interests and career goals. As I continue my training over the next decade as a professional triathlete, I’ll need a source of income to help fuel that fire…but, come on, there’s much more to it than that. I don’t write so I can adventure — I adventure so I get the chance to write! Journalism has been my passion since the beginning, and I’ll continue to examine myself within this regard — making sure selfishness to adventure doesn’t prevail or curtail my efforts to share my travels with the world.
David Roberts, legendary 60–70s rock climber and pioneer in this industry, spoke in an REI article recently about this cross-examination of adventure and writing.
“The idea that adventure is a good thing — that is a proposition that needs to be critically examined. How do we know it’s a good thing?” Roberts said, then went on to elaborate on how the industry has a rather selfish side. “Maybe adventure is simply useless, and if you really want to make a contribution to the world you are not going to do it by climbing a mountain.”
Sure…cycling up and down mountains, going on long trail runs in the wilderness, all of the long 8–15 hour training weeks…let’s just say there’s a lot of opportunity for appreciation, selfishly so, to develop. My willingness to grow as an athlete is directly correlated with my enjoyment of all of this time outdoors, which might best segway into the true meaning of journalism to me.
There’s something to be said for describing a waterfall few have ever seen, or telling the tale of a five-day trek across the mountain west— there are potential narrative arcs expanding every which way with adventure. I see, smell — I sense that value, and I think I always have — and I want to share my experience of the world with the world. Thus, adventure journalism might better be described as my passions all intertwined together, like the spokes, gears, and chain of a bicycle, intricately relying on one another to complete another revolution.
With such heightened attention on the words that people say…I’m beginning to wonder why we’ve neglected to share the moments that nature says. Society has seemingly prioritized the more mundane aspects of life over the fascinating, unknown happenings with our ecosystems. Shocking to some, there’s much more going on than the entertainment, political, and athletic worlds that humans fantasize over. With adventure journalism, I plan on spreading the stories of nature, my travels within hidden worlds, and hope to cultivate a newfound societal appreciation for our planet.
Thus, I’ve collected information and tips from professionals to delve into my own burrows within the industry. Am I nervous? Yes, and no. My past experiences feel as if they’ve been uniquely shaped to fit the mold of this career, but I know that the world is constantly changing. Who knows what the effects of global warming, social media, or even new political regimes may have on this industry? There’s a lot of uncertainty, a lot of chances for failure, and not a whole lot of job security.
So yeah, I’m nervous. But I also have plans, and nature has a great way of cultivating creativity. I’d much rather format my life around something living, breathing, and inexplicably beautiful, as opposed to any other alternative. I’m starting by pitching my talents and athletic prowess to cycling agencies, magazines, and publications, with hopes of writing in their journals for a study-abroad trip in Ireland this upcoming summer.
In the meantime, I’ll be running up mountains, biking through canyons, and swimming around reservoirs. Sometimes I experience something magical, like drastic, temperature-induced scenes of bewilderment like the one shown below. Other times, I find stories form in my own thoughts during runs, scratching and clawing at my brain to find their way to notepads and pages like this.
I’m didn’t write this to pick the brains of fellow adventure journalists and hear what they think of the career — I’ve already done that. I encourage you to visit this website to see some of my research and work within that area. But, no — while wisdom from industry veterans is always welcome — this article is to feature my take on the industry. This article exists to grow fascination for nature, before the negligence of mankind harms our ecosystems to the point of no return. I’m already beginning my quest to unearth the unknown, verbalize the unspoken, and capture tales of nature, as she quietly offers lessons to muted ears.
Think a little deeper, get a little creative, and open up your mind — and one day, you might begin to hear the songs of mountains — and realize the virtues they hold.
Benjamin Randall is a second-year journalism student, triathlete, and food fanatic, studying at Colorado State University in Fort Collins. A podcaster, Fulbright Scholar, and Instagram influencer, Randall hopes to combine all his passions into a niche career. Read along as stories of the known, unknown, and everything in between are transcribed, and be sure to leave a clap and comment!
