Dust puffs up in little clouds beneath my hiking boots. As I pop out of the trees, I can see the town of Stroud unfurl far below me. Falling sunshine whispers through a vineyard; the cloudless blue sky melts me like a popsicle. I’m covered in sweat and dirt, which has caked into mud on my boots and bare legs. I glance at my watch—I left Painswick at 10 a.m. this morning, and by 2:15 p.m., I’ve clocked over 12 kilometres.

This evening, I’ll dine at an Italian restaurant and enjoy a cider at a local pub called The Carpenter’s Arms. I’ll retreat to a cozy B&B with a host who has met the queen and soak my sore muscles in a bubble bath.

Photo by Alison Karlene Hodgins

This is my type of hiking.

Every day, for the past six days, I’ve woken up, eaten a full English breakfast and then walked to my next destination.

But is it a walk—or a hike?

When I started planning my 160-kilometre journey on the Cotswold Way in England, I was surprised to constantly hear it referred to as a “walk.”

It made me wonder: when does a walk become a hike? Are they one in the same, or do they have stark differences?

On the Cotswold Way, I journeyed through fields and farmland, trekked up and down escarpments, ran across busy roads, tiptoed through quiet sheep pastures, listened to birdsong beneath the shade of foliage and worked up a sweat in the blaring gaze of the hot sun—all on my own two feet. I averaged 14 kilometres per day; twice, I travelled over 20 kilometres.

And yet, I continued to find myself saying “I’m walking the Cotswold Way.”

In comparison, I’ve followed routes for “hikes” on AllTrails that are 800 metres long, where the trail requires jumping over logs and avoiding sharp rocks or steep descents into the abyss.

For example, North Vancouver’s Grouse Grind is only 2.5 kilometres long—but it’s also 800 metres up—and I don’t think anyone would call it a “walk.” It’s referred to as Mother Nature’s staircase, and I would argue that it’s more of a fitness test than a hike.

If it’s not about the length, or the elevation gain, then who’s to say what is a hike and what’s a walk? To simplify things, I’ll break it down into some manageable criteria.

So, What Is a Hike?

As always, in writing, reading and defining reality, it’s important to consider whose definition we are going by.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the actual definition of “hiking” is a: to go on a hike; b: to travel by any means. Conversely, “hike” is defined as a: a long walk especially for pleasure or exercise. My favourite: “Take a hike” is to go away: LEAVE.

I wonder who each definition is dictated by: a hiker? An athlete? Or someone who has never stepped foot outdoors? When defining outdoors terms, we need to include people who explore casually or who have limitations. We need to be careful not to exclude people who don’t fit our societally imposed idea of what a “hiker” or “adventurer” is.

World Expeditions, the tour company I booked my Cotswold Way trip with, has a good breakdown of reasonable definitions between a ramble, tramp, pilgrimage and more. Some British people use the word “walking” as an interchangeable term for “hiking, tramping or any other word for putting one foot in front of the other,” according to Alpine Exploratory. Indeed, it seems peak British no-nonsense sensibility to downplay the huffing and puffing of “walking.”

I also asked Google, and the AI summary it spit out is: “A walk is typically a leisurely stroll on a smooth, relatively flat surface, like a paved path or sidewalk, with minimal equipment and little physical strain. A hike is a longer, more challenging trek on natural, often uneven, terrain, in a more remote setting, requiring more physical effort and appropriate gear like sturdy boots and a backpack.”

I agree with some of that. There are, of course, exceptions. For young children, a short waddle around a nearby park might be a grandiose adventure. For people with disabilities, limited mobility and people who use wheelchairs, walkers, strollers and wagons, a paved trail may be a hike—though you’d likely be surprised at the off-road capability of many adapted mobility devices.

There are a few criteria that I believe should be met for something to be called a hike:

• A hike is outdoors. (Treadmills don’t count)
• A hike requires gear. (You could wear high heels, but you probably shouldn’t—unless you’re Pattie Gonia)
• A hike includes strenuous motion—for you. (This is different for everyone)

When Does a Walk Become a Hike?

In my opinion, every walk can be a hike—and conversely, any hike can be a walk—it just depends on one major factor.

You.

You get to decide if the trail you’re rambling down is a walk or a hike. It’s a mental, personal decision.

It depends on your attitude, your physical abilities, your limits and maximums for activities. What is a demanding hike for you might be a frolic in a field for someone else. I’ve been on a trail sweating profusely, struggling to catch my breath, when someone flaunts down with perfect hair only to double back and lap me. Long-distance runners, extreme athletes and fast packers may define a hike based on elevation gain, kilometres and duration—and those numbers would make my dalliance on the bar-splashed and B&B-spotted Cotswold Way look like a pub crawl.

But… Was It a Hike?

Some people may say no. I wasn’t in the true wilderness. I rarely left cell phone service. I wasn’t in company of bears or cougars; I saw livestock and barns, country roads and golden-hue cottages. I didn’t camp; I slept in a bed every night, ended each day with a hot shower and a warm meal enjoyed in a cozy pub.

And yet. Perspiration dripped over my eyebrows. I touched grass and trees and listened to the wind. My right leg screamed in pain and protest due to sudden overuse. Blisters appeared; bigger than the toes they were on. I wore polyester, carried a backpack with a first-aid kit, and laced up my hiking boots.

I walked. I hiked. I adventured.

Does the difference matter?

Photo by Alison Karlene Hodgins

As a writer, I know the importance and power of words. I believe in distinction, but more than that, I believe in trusting people’s own perspectives and opinions about the adventures they experienced. I’ve called my multi-day, long-distance trek both a walk and a hike. To me, what matters most is that I did it. I’m so proud of myself for embarking on this solo adventure.

So, maybe the lesson here is this: don’t tell someone that their “walk” isn’t a hike, or vice versa. Let them decide and live their own adventure. You go live yours.

Whether you’re “walking” or “hiking,” the overall goal is the same: to get out there. Don’t listen to anyone else’s judgment—you’re doing amazing, however you choose to get outside.

READ MORE: Editors’ Picks, Hiking, Opinion

Alison Karlene Hodgins

Alison Karlene Hodgins is the Managing Editor, Content & Community for explore magazine. As a freelance writer, she has been published by The Globe and Mail, CBC, Paddling Magazine, HI Hostels, Insider, Fodor’s and The Huffington Post. She has a Writing and Publishing Diploma, a Bachelor of Journalism and a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Nonfiction. You can find her on the top of a mountain, reading travel literature on the beach or sipping a coffee in a quirky cafe, especially if there’s a band with a banjo playing. She is passionate about ethical tourism, outdoor adventure and learning to appreciate your own backyard. Follow her adventures on Instagram: @alisonkarlenehodgins

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