Hiking Poles: To Do or Not to Do?

So you surely didn’t think this post wasn’t coming, Right? I mean... I did warn you.

Oh yes, friends. It’s happening: The Great Hiking Pole Debate. And let me tell you, it’s as divisive as pineapple on pizza.

Hiking Poles: Essential Gear or Totally Unnecessary

There are the Do-ers and the Don’t-ers. And from what I’ve gathered in those philosophical trail chats —the Don’t-ers all seem to have their own very valid reasons why they don't.

To clarify, I’m a Don’t-er.

Now, before you throw your hiking poles at me, hear me out. I’ve been nudged. I’ve been advised. I’ve been straight-up lambasted for not using poles. But I stand firm (sometimes even upright, thank you very much).

Yes, yes—if your knees scream like banshees on the descents, I totally get it. Poles are lifesavers. Use them. Love them. I respect that.

But me? The only part of my body not currently hosting some kind of ache or drama is everything below the knees. So, aside from one recent stint with some temporarily unhappy toes, now resolved thanks to a glamorous reunion with my beloved cheap Shein shoes—I’m solid from the knees down.

And to all you wonderfully helpful souls who responded to my desperate plea for hiking boot recommendations: please don’t feel unheard. You were heard. You were appreciated. And then... my brain short-circuited from the information overload, and I panicked and just went back to basics - In a man’s shoe. Because why not solve decision fatigue with an ill-fitting, not even for my gender impulse buy?

So, back when my son (and honorary hiking pole), Salt, cruelly abandoned me for a life of his own—the audacity—I panicked. Who was going to physically prop me up when the trail got sketchy?

Naturally, I thought: “Right. Time to buy a hiking pole". Because apparently, using unsuspecting strangers as makeshift crutches is frowned upon in the hiking community. (So sensitive, honestly.)

So, I caved. I bought one. The pole, not another child. Tried it. Lasted… all of two minutes. Packed it away like a shameful impulse purchase (which it absolutely was). Never touched it again.

Before You Buy Hiking Poles: Common Problems No One Tells You About

Problem number one (and yes, it’s exclusively a me problem— I have one hand permanently fused to my phone. Because: photos. Because: priorities, obviously. So now picture me attempting to hike with a pole in one hand and a phone in the other. Honestly, it’s like that old “rub your tummy while pat your head” game—except I’m doing it on the edge of a cliff, mid-hike, while trying to capture the perfect shot of a slightly above-average rock. You’re trying it now, aren’t you? Yes. Exactly.

So no, this is not a coordination-friendly setup for yours truly. And just so we’re clear—the phone? Absolutely non-negotiable. Take the pole. Take my dignity. But you will not take the phone.

Another me problem—because why stop at just one—is that, depending entirely on the mood of the universe, my wrist and/or thumb randomly decide to go full diva: sore, weak, and absolutely not available for pole duty.

Navigating a hiking pole? Virtually impossible. Now, strategically placing my hand on a rock while I’m “all-fouring it” up or down some unnecessarily dramatic section—poleless—only to trigger a full-blown thumb rebellion and a dramatic pain spiral? Oh, that I can do. Flawlessly. Still easier than trying to use a pole.

But what seems to be a fairly common consensus among us Don’t-ers is this: Hiking without poles actually makes us more alert. We pay attention. We stay present.

Honestly, I’m the kind of person who’d get too cocky with a pole. I’d put way too much faith in that glorified tent peg, and next thing you know—I’m face-first in a bush, shocked it didn’t magically rescue me.

And honestly, people with poles fall too. Let's not pretend they’re wielding magical staffs.

So can we all just agree: If I do fall—and everyone dramatically gasps and sprints over, already rehearsing their “I told you so”—…it’s not because I didn’t have a pole.

It’s probably because I was too busy framing the perfect shot - of a patch of sunlight hitting dirt that, in the moment, felt emotionally profound.