As therapy, herein I describe a taxonomy of the personalities that might rub up against you at such events. This is a first attempt at such a system and much like some bacteria, individuals may blur boundaries by taking up characteristics from multiple species.
- The hyperactive grown-up child - usually a male 30 or less, enthusiastic, bounding about sharing nature facts, but the charm wears thin after five minutes of his racing back and forth around the group to mingle with everyone. He often has questions for the leader; too many questions. There is a subtype where the behavior takes a dark and disgusting turn when it becomes clear he is there to Meet the Ladies, and once all his requests for numbers have been rebuffed he grants us the reprieve of his sullen silence, angrily driving off immediately on arriving back at the trailhead.
- The annoyed endurance athlete - usually male, 20s to 40s - sometimes appears quietly disgruntled that the hike is only five miles, other times making a string of under-the-breath comments about how overprepared some people are for such a weak and wimpy hike.
- People overprepared for such a weak and wimpy hike - it's one mile on flat ground and on a cloudy day in November the couple can't start before applying sunblock, then their camelbacks, then their hats and hiking poles. The gear is usually top-of-the-line. When you talk to them, you discover they’ve only ever hiked in the local parks.
- The friend who has never been outdoors in their lives - "So like, it's not paved? Oh my god was that a bug? There aren’t stores or anything? Guys, there’s zero phone service here! We're supposed to go up that?" A common reaction to this species is annoyance, evolving into concern that they will not survive, evolving further into hope that they will not survive. Frustratingly, often these people are actually in good shape, but the idea of sweating outside of a gym is apparently anathema to them.
- The clueless adolescent - In the same genus as the friend who has never been outdoors (thought by some in fact to be the larval stage), but their lack of experience with nature and indeed groups of unknown adult humans can declare itself in more varied forms. Initially they often seem to have trouble processing the reality that they are in fact outdoors, on a hike. In addition to complaints that nature is too hard, one may also observe constant questions about how soon before we're back to the car, constant laughing and shouting (if a peer is present), or eye-rolling boredom.
- The person who needs you to know how many places they've been - within ten minutes you know how many national parks they've been to (and which ones are frankly overrated) and how many stamps their passport has. They often try to hide their disdain for the current hike, though it's never far below the surface.
- The technophile - they call out GPS coordinates and distances (and might even argue about it with others), they just have to show everyone their infrared camera, and when someone asks them the time they might actually say "three sixteen and twelve seconds - mark!"
- The person who didn't read the instructions, and can't follow directions - They didn't know the hike was that long, or they were supposed to bring their own water, or during night hikes they keep turning their white flashlights on. When they are informed or reminded that YES we told you that you had to bring water, you kind of hope they react with anger (rather than puzzlement) because it makes them easier to dislike; otherwise you wonder if there's, you know, actually something wrong with them.
- The granola family - usually with kids along that are too young for the hike. Despite talking about how wonderful everything is, the best organic products at the local market, etc. at least one of the parents has a look on their face the entire time suggesting that they could, and really want to, murder the rest of their family in the next two minutes.
- The holy fool - they are happy to be there. They are glowing. They radiate a sincere and simple warmth that makes you want to be close to them and talk to them. But attempts at conversation are met with the same fixed smile and vapid pleasantries, and you realize they may not actually be conscious in the way the rest of us are. You wonder if this is an early attempt to test a humanoid robot in naturalistic conditions, or possibly someone who has had a near-death experience and sees the universe for what it truly is and takes every second as a gift, instead of cataloguing the flaws of the people around them, like a bad person would.
- The clumsy person - pleasant, happy to be on the hike if maybe not that experienced, but the world is clearly trying to kill them at every turn. Rocks seem to jump in front of them to trip them. A one degree slope is an occasion for a near-fatal slide. Branches reach out to smack and scratch their face. Gravity obviously warps itself around each of their footsteps. You wonder what their ancestor did to offend the spirits in this place. This person does not belong here, and should not return.
- The anxious but clearly trying very hard guide or host - if the hike is an informal friend group, they can seem like a focus group facilitator. "Wow! That's so interesting! Everyone, Emma says there might be poison oak near the bottom of the canyon. Mason, what do you think about that?" In a more formal (guided) hike setting, they are usually very earnest (grad student, docent - but not park rangers, they're over this shit) and when you ask a question the sense of relief is palpable as they are able to briefly get their mind off group-management and talk about nature facts. As these people are (in a sign of our civilization's misplaced priorities) often sacrificing income and prestige to protect nature and educate us, you may have to fight the urge to hug them and say "It's going to be okay. Thank you for your service."
- The older volunteer who knows nothing about this hike, this park, or indeed the outdoors and life on Earth - That's an oak tree? Mammals are warm-blooded? It's winter? All equally baffling propositions to this well-meaning lost soul, who you learn has been a docent or hiking in this park for thirty years.
- The approach-avoidant person - very friendly at the start of the hike. You make an innocuous comment to them partway through the hike and they react as if you just announced your favorite kitten torture methods. Reasonably concluding they'd rather not talk, you avoid them for the remainder of the hike, only for them to approach you near the end and try to make conversation in an almost pushy way; they are crestfallen or offended that you're not interested.
- Last but not least - the complaining older woman. The glittering empress of annoying group hike personalities. Asking irrelevant questions constantly, implying the inadequacy of the hike, telling uninteresting stories to nobody (as she doesn't notice her lack of an audience.) Goodness forbid there are snacks, because she feels obligated to tell you they have toxins, they're not really organic, that company is run by fascists, the last hike she went on was actually considerate of hikers with eating restrictions, etc. Of course, although she won't give the group a break from her interminable droning, she won't hesitate to tell you to be quiet the minute you speak in private to another hiker. She is, amazingly, always alone, and you find you can't even feel any guilt for the satisfaction you take in noticing this.
And that is why I avoid group hikes.
Addendum: The person who feels qualified to judge and write about all the other people on group hikes - this handsome, brilliant observer of humans in nature is perfect in every way, and no reasonable person can disagree regarding the sublime pleasure of his company. Also, he just bought an infrared camera to look for wildlife.