Trail Markings: A Love Letter To The Chaos Goblins Who Design Hiking Signage

Trail Markings: That Elephant in the Woods

If you’re new here, I am spectacularly horrendous with directions.

I’m not “takes a wrong turn occasionally” bad -I’m “could be walked down a trail on a leash with glowing arrows and still end up on a completely different mountain” bad.

I’ve made peace with this. Truly.

It’s core to my identity at this point.

But there’s a difference between being directionally challenged and navigating a trail system that feels like it was designed by a cryptic puzzle master who hates hikers.

Stupid Question

People who ask waiters if a dish is “good” confuse me. Why would the waiter know?

Do they really think the waiter has been treated to a full tasting menu in the back between shifts?

Of course not. So why even ask?

And yet, before every hike, I become precisely that person.

I walk up to the desk and ask:

“Is it well marked?”

The person answering - who has usually never ventured further than the parking lot - says:

“Yes.”

With confidence. With gusto. With the innocence of someone who has absolutely no idea.

If they had walked it, the trail would start with an apology note and end with a search party.

When Markings Are Useless

Some trails are over-marked - like a toddler got hold of a paintbrush and enthusiasm but no plan.

You follow loads of signs with confidence until you realize you’re on a trail.

Just not THE trail.

Not lost.

But definitely not not lost.

Gates, Fences, and My Patience

In recent months, gates and I have entered a complicated relationship.

I was raised to respect gates. Gates are serious. Gates mean stop.

So when I see one, I freeze:

Open it?

Climb it?

Wait for it to open via divine command?

Then another hiker breezes by with, “Oh, just go through there.”

Through where, exactly? Through what?

It feels like trespassing in broad daylight - with witnesses.

And don’t get me started on fences. Hiking etiquette basically assumes you’re fine with committing minor property crimes for the sake of “staying on the trail.”

We could solve all of this with a simple sign:

“Step through here.”

“Unlock this. Nobody cares.”

“Crawl under without shame.”

Boom. Clarity.

Instead, we get guesswork, guilt trips and detours in the wilderness.

The Mysterious Vanishing Trail

Then, of course, we reach the point where the trail designer clearly thought:

“You’ve made it this far - you probably know what you’re doing.”

I do not.

By then I’m tired, sweaty, borderline feral, and all I want is to locate my car.

This is not the time for riddles.

Signs: A Hiker’s Best Friend

Here’s a radical thought: let actual hikers place the signs.

(Me. Pick me. I volunteer. Happily. Aggressively.)

Because there is no way some of these markers were put up by anyone who has ever walked the trail. Honestly, half of them feel like they were placed by a committee of meerkats holding a grudge.

A well-marked trail is the difference between an enjoyable adventure and a sweaty panic attack disguised as “fresh air and nature.”

The Takeaway

Next time you hike, pay attention.

Or don’t. Honestly, it won’t save you.

Just bring extra snacks so you can channel your inner Hansel and Gretel and start laying a breadcrumb trail behind you.

Congrats: you are now both hiker and trail marker.