Published March 19, 2026 03:23AM<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
This story discusses sexual assault and violence. If you or someone you know is a victim of sexual violence, you can call the National Sexual Assault Hotline toll-free from anywhere in the U.S. at 1-800-656-4673.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cGive me your passcode or I\u2019ll slit your throat, \u201d he threatened, pinning me to the rocky ground. Trying to make space between his knife and my throat, I inhaled. The stench of stale cigarettes and sweat made me want to vomit. But this man didn\u2019t look like a vagrant. His beard was well-manicured. I hated that I thought he was handsome.<\/p>\n As his dark eyes darted left and right, checking for other hikers, I stole a glance at the knife. It looked like a well-used hunting knife. But this man wasn\u2019t dressed like a hunter. He also wasn\u2019t dressed for hiking, as I and the other hikers I\u2019d passed on the trail were.\u00a0In his long khaki pants and hooded jacket, both far too heavy for this warm, sunny morning, the man hovering over me seemed as out of place.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your passcode?\u201d he demanded again, putting pressure on the blade. No numbers left my lips. My brain couldn\u2019t remember the six digits I typed in dozens of times a day. It couldn\u2019t process the scene I\u2019d somehow found myself cast\u00a0in.<\/p>\n As I lay there, frozen, the man started groping me. I felt like I was watching the assault from above. My body didn\u2019t belong to me again until he wrapped his calloused hands around my neck and started strangling me. Reflexively, I screamed.<\/p>\n A dog barked, and someone shouted in the distance. My tormentor bolted, leaving me behind\u2014bloody, battered, and confused. Violent crimes happen at night and in alleys, I thought, not on cloudless, windless mornings on a pristine hiking trail where the victim has postcard-perfect views.<\/p>\n Nature used to be my base. It was where I went when I didn\u2019t want to be bothered. I knew wildlife, weather, and topography could hurt me. But I accepted those risks for the reward of dopamine hits that only hiking could deliver. On the trail, I didn\u2019t consider other humans a threat. Most of us don\u2019t.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s unspoken,\u201d says Danielle LaRock, who hosts the podcast National Park After Dark<\/i><\/a>, a self-described \u201ctrue crime + nature\u201d podcast with 56.5 million downloads, with Cassandra Yahnian. \u201cWe\u2019re all here for the same reason, right? Peace, love, unity, being one with nature.\u201d It\u2019s easy to view hikers, cyclists, and anyone recreating outdoors as off-limits.<\/p>\n According to my friend Katie d\u2019Autremont, who is\u00a0a licensed clinical professional counselor in my home state of Montana, it\u2019s not outdoor enthusiasts who are sacred. It\u2019s the setting.<\/p>\n \u201cOur brains tend to code recreation in nature in a context of restoration and reduced threat,\u201d says d\u2019Autremont. \u201cThat set of cues signals safety to the nervous system, often activating our parasympathetic \u2018rest and digest\u2019 state. Nature is where we downshift.\u201d<\/p>\n Compare that to our commutes, offices, and trips to the grocery store, all places where we expect to encounter hostility from other humans.<\/p>\n When social friction or, in extreme cases, acts of violence\u00a0encroach on the outdoors, it upends our worldview. D\u2019Autremont describes this dynamic\u00a0as a \u201cdouble trauma,\u201d including the primary event plus the shattering of a sanctuary. \u201cIt\u2019s not just an assault on the person, it\u2019s an assault on what the environment is supposed to provide,\u201d she explains.<\/p>\n My attack happened in 2023 on Signal Hill in Table Mountain National Park, which overlooks Cape Town, South Africa. I\u2019d been taking month-long sabbaticals in Cape Town since 2021, when I wrote Travel + Leisure\u2019s<\/i> guide to the city. One of my best friends, a South African named Lian, lived there and introduced me to the trail. By 2023, the route had become a refuge, where I often escaped the hustle of downtown to clear my head. Skirting the city, and boasting sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean, it\u2019s beloved by hikers, mountain bikers, and paragliders. There is one marked trail.<\/p>\n One year after my attack, I walked the trail alongside Senior Inspector Ishmael Bagley, a tourism safety officer with the City of Cape Town, and he pointed\u00a0out the offshoots. \u201cThey\u2019re escape routes,\u201d he tells me when we revisit the scene of the crime a year after my attack. Mine was one of 96 reported muggings in Table Mountain National Park in 2023.<\/p>\n \u201cThe wilderness actually presents a very open and inviting field to target individuals from a criminal perspective,\u201d says Reid Meloy, PhD<\/a>, a forensic psychologist and author of the International Handbook of Threat Assessment<\/i>. In nature, there are few potential eyewitnesses, limited infrastructure, and distance from traditional law enforcement domains. The same elements\u2014lack of lighting, cell phone service, and CCTV\u2014that make a place enticing for outdoor enthusiasts are easily exploited by criminals.<\/p>\n Meloy tells me that the outdoors attracts a physically agile and prepared perpetrator. \u201cWe essentially categorize violence as being either affective or predatory,\u201d he explains. \u201cAffective violence is typically violence that\u2019s a result of intense anger. It\u2019s very reactive.\u201d<\/p>\n Criminal acts that occur in the wild tend to be more predatory because they involve more organization. \u201cThese individuals are hunting,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n While not as notorious as the Boston Strangler or the Zodiac Killer, several serial killers preyed on people recreating outdoors. David Joseph Carpenter,\u00a0the <\/span>so-called Trailside Killer, terrorized Northern California trails where he murdered at least seven people in an eight-month span between 1980 and 1981. Now 95 years old, Carpenter is\u00a0the oldest inmate currently serving a death sentence in California.<\/p>\n On the East Coast, Gary Michael Hilton, dubbed the National Forest Serial Killer, was convicted of murdering four people in 2007 and 2008. Yahnian, who researched him for her podcast,\u00a0believes Hilton, who now sits on death row in Florida, is behind more missing persons cases on the Appalachian Trail.<\/p>\n Meanwhile, the Appalachian Trail Killer moniker can refer to Randall Lee Smith or James Jordan. Smith was convicted of murdering two hikers in 1981. Shortly after his release from prison in 2008, he returned to the forest and attempted to kill two fishermen near the original murder scene. Jordan attacked two hikers with a machete in 2019. One survived by playing dead.<\/p>\n And in Western New York, a man named Altemio Sanchez, who had been known as the Bike Path Rapist, became the Bike Path Killer after pleading\u00a0guilty to murdering three women in 2007. Sanchez is thought to have assaulted dozens of women along the path over the course of nearly 40 years.<\/p>\n Here in Montana, where I live, the murder of Dustin Kjersem, who was beaten and axed to death by a stranger while camping in 2024, still haunts the outdoor community. \u201cIf you are a fish or an antelope, the world just became a safer place,\u201d his obituary read.<\/p>\n Of course, close calls are far more common. \u201cWe have people who have written in who have experienced some type of assault on the trails as well,\u201d says Yahnian.<\/p>\n In the minutes before my attack happened, I remember walking toward my assailant. For some reason, my gut told me he was bad news. But not wanting to appear rude, I stayed my course.<\/p>\n Another hiker, Madison \u201cPeg Leg\u201d Blagden<\/a>, had a different response while hiking alone on the Appalachian Trail in April 2025. She approached a stranger who made her feel uneasy, even from afar. \u201cHe started to make statements that were nonsensical,\u201d she recalls. Blagden turned and ran.<\/p>\n \u201cThe game warden told me that the way I responded was exactly what I should have done,\u201d she tells me. \u201cI\u2019m typically not very afraid of people in a public setting and always feel like I can hold my own. But out in the middle of the woods with a strange, screaming man had me feeling very vulnerable.\u201d<\/p>\n Blagden says a blog post she wrote about the incident racked up millions of views. Comments poured in from strangers accusing her of overreacting. But unlike me, she has no regrets. \u201cThe fear was so valid and real that no number of internet people could make me feel ashamed.\u201d<\/p>\n Statistically speaking, you\u2019re about twice as likely to be the victim of a crime within city limits compared to in a rural setting. In 2024, urban areas saw 34 incidents of violent victimization per 1,000 people. Rural areas saw 16.7 incidents. Both figures are slightly up over 2023, but violent crime is far from rampant, especially in nature. A study published in 2025<\/a> found that U.S. national parks are \u201coverwhelmingly safe.\u201d Traffic offenses accounted for two-thirds of tickets issued, and verbal assault and property theft were the most common forms of victimization.<\/p>\n Still, M. Dylan Spencer,<\/a> an assistant professor of criminology at Georgia Southern University and one of the study\u2019s researchers, tells me things could get worse if annual National Park visits continue to climb. \u201cWhen you put more people in these places and convergence spaces, you\u2019re going to have potential issues,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n I asked a National Park Service spokesperson if current funding and staffing levels are sufficient for preventing and investigating crime. \u201cWe remain committed to ensuring that our law-enforcement program has the resources required to protect visitors,\u201d Elizabeth Peace told me over email. \u201cThe National Park Service welcomes well over 330 million annual visitors, and violent crime incidents represent a very small portion of total law-enforcement activity.\u201d<\/p>\n Eight months after he attacked me, the same man and an accomplice assaulted a group of nine hikers on the Pipe Track, another popular trail in Table Mountain National Park. \u201cHe told us to sit down and not \u2018try anything\u2019 as he would slit the woman\u2019s throat,\u201d recalls Matthew Pinker<\/a>, the professional guide leading the group. Still, Pinker took a chance and deployed his pepper spray. My attacker ran, and blinded, fell to his death<\/a>.<\/p>\n Like me, Pinker also suffered from weeks of sleeplessness and anxiety. And his relationship with the outdoors will never be the same. \u201cI\u2019m now extremely cautious whenever I head into the mountains,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n I haven\u2019t given up hiking either, even hiking solo. For me, the rewards\u2014laying the first tracks of the day, smelling the forest after a fresh rain, and making eye contact with a chipmunk\u2014far outweigh the risks.<\/p>\n These days, I always pack a self-defense spray, whether I\u2019m walking my dog in our backyard along the Yellowstone River, or if I\u2019m halfway around the world. I\u2019m no longer playing tag, I\u2019m playing chess. I now know that nature is restorative, but it\u2019s not a refuge. It demands vigilance just as much as it demands reverence.<\/p>\n <\/div>\nNature Is Our Safe Space<\/h2>\n
But Attacks Do Happen in the Wild<\/h2>\n
What the Numbers Say<\/h2>\n
![\"The](\"https:\/\/cdn.outsideonline.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/katie-1.jpg?width=3840&auto=webp&quality=75&fit=cover\"\/)
Nature Is Not a Refuge<\/h2>\n