Backpacking: What Does It Mean

One Journey, Many Names

I’m caught in a maze of mountain laurel in the Appalachians, branches snagging my pack, my compass guiding me through a forest so thick I can’t see ahead. Is this backpacking? Bushwhacking? Trekking? To me, they’re one journey—hauling a pack into the wild, often where no trail exists. Bushwhacking means off-trail grit, trekking suggests epic distances, but I call it all backpacking: carrying your world through the unknown. Forget the myth that backpacking is just a stroll on a park’s manicured trail. It’s battling tangled thickets, navigating uncharted slopes, and adapting when plans unravel. In the rugged Appalachians and Alleghenies, I’m usually off-trail, chasing lessons and freedom. Two trips—Wildcat Hollow and Morrison/Rimrock—taught me what that truly means.

Trails: A Starting Point

Trails are my foundation. In the East, where dense woods and steep ridges dominate, I study maps for routes like Wildcat Hollow or Morrison/Rimrock, rugged trails in West Virginia’s Monongahela National Forest, marking trailheads and streams. They offer a clear start—a gravel lot, a blaze to follow. They’re also a lifeline; if I’m lost in laurel thickets, I can reconnect with a path.

On Wildcat Hollow, I started with a heavy pack, a distant gunshot echoing eerily. The trail led through hardwoods, but my goal was off-trail—a water drop miles away. On Morrison/Rimrock, I began under a deep blue sky, only to veer into trailless terrain. Trails anchor my plans, but backpacking—bushwhacking, trekking—lives beyond them.

The Heart of Backpacking: Struggle and Solace

Backpacking means grappling with the wild and finding its gifts. On Morrison/Rimrock, I hit a wall of mountain laurel, its tangled branches a brutal trap. “I got myself into a real pickle,” I muttered, fighting through, each step scraping my skin. Exhausted, I navigated a steep descent, emerging into a tranquil valley of emerald moss and trickling streams. There, by a cliff, I strung my hammock, the campfire’s crackle blending with the forest’s hush. That struggle and serenity defined backpacking: a negotiation with the land, revealing secrets only to those who persevere. It’s not just carrying a pack, but facing the wild’s challenges to find its hidden peace.

Wildcat Hollow tested me differently. Low on water, misled by GPS, I missed a water drop and faced exhaustion. My pack—an anchor—had to go. I dropped it near a forest road, trusting my map to reach the trailhead, drive back, and retrieve it. That calculated gamble, born of navigation and resolve, worked. Backpacking, by any name, is this: adapting when plans crumble, trusting your skills, and pushing on.

Facing Challenges

Off-trail in the East is tough—mountain laurel thickets, dry creeks, fog, and steep slopes test you relentlessly. But preparation saves you. I carry a reliable water filter, a satellite phone for emergencies, and plan obsessively, sharing itineraries with family. On Wildcat Hollow, knowing my location despite fatigue kept me safe. Backpacking isn’t reckless; it’s deliberate.

Some think off-trail needs elite skills, but I learned gradually, starting with detours in familiar forests. Anyone can read maps, dodge thickets, and grow. Backpacking, bushwhacking, trekking—it’s about building resilience with every step.

Tips for Off-Trail

Try off-trail: start with a detour near a trail like Wildcat Hollow. Pack a topo map, compass, and satellite communicator. Learn to navigate creeks and dodge laurel thickets. Gear like the Haven hammock tent, which let me camp comfortably above rocky ground on Morrison/Rimrock, is key. Follow Leave No Trace—stick to rocks, not moss. Share your itinerary with family and tell someone your route and return date—off-trail, no one’s coming unless you plan ahead. Take a navigation course from REI or a local outdoor group, or hike with a mentor. Each off-trail step unlocks the East’s wild heart. That’s backpacking’s meaning—finding your own path, one deliberate step at a time.

Your Path, Your Word

Backpacking, bushwhacking, trekking—it’s one thing: carrying your world into the wild. For me, it’s using trails to plan but thriving off-trail, where the Appalachians and Alleghenies teach resilience. It’s fighting laurel on Morrison/Rimrock, finding a mossy haven, or dropping my pack on Wildcat Hollow to beat exhaustion. It’s lessons in solitude and strength. So, what does backpacking mean? Take one bold step off the trail—just once. Call it what you want—backpacking, bushwhacking, trekking. The wild will show you its lessons, from Eastern forests to deserts or peaks.