Opinion: Please Don’t Blast Your Music on the Trail
It’s a bluebird day and the pasque flowers are poking through patches of lingering snow. The crisp crunch of ice under boots juxtaposes the sweet trill of singing birds recently returned from the south.
Earlier in the day, my friend, Karen Cheney, and I had watched in awe as a bear gracefully glided through the recently thawed water of the Canmore Reservoir. We sat quietly in her car as it emerged onto the pebbled beach, shaking droplets of moisture off its tawny coat before lumbering past us and disappearing into the trees.
We parked and began to hike up the trail—cautiously heading in the opposite direction of the bear—energized by the early morning bite of the air, by the meadows slowly revealing themselves green once more and, eventually, by a snowy staircase that takes us up to alpine heaven.
Perhaps if it hadn’t been such a picture-perfect day in the mountains, what happened next wouldn’t have felt so horrifying.
While clambering down from a less populated peak of Mount Rundle, the weekend crowds are almost spilling over a summit known as the East End of Rundle. We suddenly stumble upon a choke point, the most technical part of this easy scramble that has lesser-experienced hikers picking their way slowly down.
No, it wasn’t the wait that ignited my ire. It was a sudden blast of noise that issued from a hidden host of modern technology that decided to ruin our day.
The discordant sound issuing from a Bluetooth speaker, tucked in a hiker’s backpack, split through the air, destroying any semblance of peace I had found earlier in this alpine church. Even more blasphemous was when said hiker heard another similarly inclined individual start to hum along and decided to turn up the volume full blast, subjecting the entire congregation to the unnatural noise.
That was when my ignited ire morphed into an inferno of hellish rage.
I have a dark confession to make: I imagine collecting all the speakers playing music out loud on a busy trail, piling them together and setting them on fire.
But honestly, playing music out loud in the sanctuary of the mountains, without the consent of the individuals around you, should be considered the eighth deadly sin.
Not everyone likes the same music, for one. To subject others, who are out in nature likely to escape artificial noise, to your hip-hop country tracks or upbeat EDM that you love, doesn’t mean it’s a shared joyful experience. In fact, it’s rude to assume everyone has the same music tastes, and even worse to play it out loud in a natural setting when—if you absolutely need your tunes, and can’t listen to birdsong, wind ruffling through trees and water trickling in streams for one afternoon—you could just wear headphones.
When I ask Cheney about the shared experience, she reflects that while she appreciates that people enjoy exercise in different ways, she found the music to be distracting. “I was trying to focus on enjoying the trail and the beauty of the day, “she says. “But the music became the focus instead of the natural surroundings.”
As a Physical Education teacher, Cheney often hikes with her students and employs Indigenous land-based learning while out in nature. “I teach them that this is a space that is calming, and that they should be present in it.”
Over the past few years, it has felt like the number of times I’m subjected to music while hiking or running on trails has been increasing at an alarming rate, and it’s difficult to stay present in the outdoors with this unwelcome disruption. It’s akin to taking a video call or watching Tik Tok without headphones while travelling on public transit or hanging out in public spaces.
Just stop. Don’t do it.
If you are worried about bears, as many people who support playing music out loud claim they are, make noise naturally. Bang your hiking poles together, make conversation or hike in groups of four or more. Sing or talk to yourself if solo adventuring.
I recently polled my Instagram followers (take this with a grain of salt, however, an influencer I am not) about whether playing music out loud while hiking was either completely obnoxious or nobody cares. Eighty-six per cent of responses were in support of the fact that it is abhorrent.
This was followed up by many strongly worded messages that landed in my direct inbox. And when I say strongly worded, I mean I cannot repeat them here. I’m sure the threats directed at individuals who play music while hiking wouldn’t actually ever be carried out, but one can never be too careful with these sorts of things.
This is not to say that I’m completely unsympathetic to playing music out loud in the outdoors. Lacey AuCoin, an avid hiker, told me recently that playing music on the trail depends on the situation.
“I love nothing more than the peace and quiet that comes from sitting in the woods, so I see no reason why I would want music for that kind of situation,” she says. “But there are times that I’ve been alone and felt spooked, for whatever reason, maybe the fear of an animal nearby, and in those cases I’ve played music rather than talking to myself. It’s a useful tool for safety and for my peace of mind.”
Dave Erlandson, a mountain biking enthusiast, says that he plays music when riding downhill alone. “I’m usually coming down fast, and it’s an easy way of shooing away animals or warning any uphill traffic that I’m around the corner,” he says. “I know it may be annoying to others, but I’m gone in a flash. If others are impacted by 30 seconds of noise, they’re being too uptight.”
AuCoin and Erlandson both clarified, however, that they would never play music in a situation where other hikers or bikers were nearby, and they would expect the same courtesy from them in return.
It appears too, while plumbing the dark depths of Reddit, that most public opinion agrees that it’s unacceptable to play music out loud while out on hiking trails.
We should also be open to the reality that not everyone is aware of this segment of hiking etiquette. If no one has (politely) asked an outdoor DJ to turn off their blaring tunes before, perhaps they genuinely think they are doing other hikers a service—allowing others to get pumped up from the beats. Alas, my friend, please listen—we do not like it. Not at all.
I can only hope that this missive of mine may change some stubborn hiker’s mind one day. An article in lieu of a sermon, this magazine my pulpit.
Happy (and music-free) trails everyone.
