By: Heidi Kwok, Peak Associate
Pristine towering snow-capped mountains, old-growth forests, and majestic coastal fjords are just a few of the natural wonders we have here on Turtle Island. Outdoor activities are now synonymous with the province’s identity. Summers are for overnight camping trips in the remote BC wilderness, while winters offer skiing or snowboarding in local mountains and resort towns.
Vancouver’s culture is tied to its natural landscapes, landscapes we owe to the caretaking from Indigenous Peoples — and yet, only a subset of the region’s multiracial population is adequately represented in using these outdoor recreational spaces.
The fact that the outdoors remain overwhelmingly white in representation brings us to question: where are all the BIPOC nature enthusiasts?
It’s undeniable that racialized folks are heavily underrepresented in the North American outdoors. In BC, for instance, a 2023 BC Parks visitor satisfaction survey found that an overwhelming 84% of respondents identified as white/Caucasian, while less than 0.1% and 1.1% identified as Black and Indigenous, respectively. These statistics are not exaggerated but experienced tangibly in real-life. As a person of colour, I can’t help but feel alienated in a sea of white people when frequenting Vancouver’s natural spaces. There are deeper reasons for this lack of representation which can be traced back to colonial portrayals of untouched wilderness: an oxymoron which has shaped an outdoors-oriented recreational culture that excludes participation from racialized and low-income folks.
Protected areas and national parks in both Canada and the US are sites of green colonialism, an ongoing form of land grabbing that depends upon the forceful removal and displacement of Indigenous Peoples from their traditional territories in the name of wilderness and ecosystem conservation. Since the establishment of Yellowstone National Park in 1872, national parks were marketed as leisurely retreats and playgrounds which were politically marketed to wealthy white settlers. When recreation became the only acceptable form of use on managed lands that have been reduced to sites of tourism, Indigenous Peoples were then prohibited from living, hunting, and reconnecting with their ancestral spaces. These colonial and state-sanctioned acts of violence continue to reverberate on current generations, as the erasure of Indigenous cultures combined with intergenerational trauma adds to a further detachment from the land. A CBC article summarizes this succinctly by commenting how a “lack of minority representation means some people feel unwelcome in the outdoors,” which adds to further reluctance towards heading out onto the trails.
Paradoxically, the expectations of living in Vancouver are tied to the assumption that nature is right on our doorsteps, free and accessible to all within a blink of an eye — which is not untrue for the most part — the city alone has more than 250 parks. The real issue here are the financial barriers that prevent meaningful engagement with the outdoors. Gear is incredibly expensive. Provincial parks in the Lower Mainland such as Cypress and Mount Seymour Park are both inaccessible by public transit, instead requiring travellers to pay for a private shuttle bus service. Don’t even get me started on winter sports. Ski tickets cost $199 for a two day sky card at Cypress Mountain and $152 at Whistler for a day pass. Local nature spots are either privatized or run like they are, and catered to tourists or people with the means. The Grouse Grind may be a free hike but the gondola down costs $20. Even as a student, the Capilano Suspension Bridge entrance fee still costs between $48–$64, depending if it’s a day or evening visit. As a low-income student without a personal vehicle, the outdoors is simply out of reach.
Outdoor recreation doesn’t just exclude BIPOC and low-income individuals but also people with disabilities. The experience of connecting with nature should be a right that all humans are able to enjoy, however, a lack of accessibility in the built environment of trails means that people with mobility challenges get left behind in the face of expensive specialized gear, lack of information on accessibility features, and steep or poorly maintained trails.
Living in a city with a place identity strongly associated with the outdoors, we must consider how these spaces can be transformed to become more inclusive and accessible for all of its inhabitants.
