It Could Always Be Me

A Reflection on High Risk Recreation

As an online member of the outdoor community, I am often exposed to news of accidents and fatalities of outdoor recreationists. Last week alone, a teenager died from a lightning strike atop Mt. Blue Sky in Colorado. A man fell and impaled himself on his trekking pole and hiked out 10 miles on Granite Peak in Montana. Two separate hikers died from falls in the Canadian Rockies. And a Continental Divide Trail thru-hiker fatally fell off a ridge on an alternate route in the Wigwams near Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming.

The internet is a ruthless place for this kind of news. While many respond with kindness, articles like this garner a variety of keyboard warriors who criticize the victims' preparedness, physical capabilities, and decision-making. It is only in our condition to compare ourselves to others. It is easy to say, "Well, I would never have made that mistake." People tend to critique these accidents and fatalities so harshly because the person involved "put themselves in that position" doing something deemed non-essential. And there are almost always important safety lessons you can take away from these situations, and we can "could have, should have, would have" all day long, but you could, should, and would maybe have done the same thing in that moment in their position.

I knew the CDT hiker from my 2024 attempt of the trail. He also had to get off trail that year because of a stress fracture in his foot, and, unlike me, he handled the trail departure with grace and optimism. The best word I have for him is "goofy"; you genuinely could not be in a bad mood around him. He was quick with jokes, witty as all hell, and, if nothing else worked, his Australian accent was often enough to make you smile. My hiking partner and I met him on the first day of the CDT, and we were immediately drawn to his bubbly energy. He wasn't somebody you could ever picture dying because he was so bursting with life.

Being on social media last week was a constant reminder that he did, in fact, die. It still feels weird to say those words out loud or even write them down. It doesn't feel real at all. But it must be, because even the New York Times wrote about it.

Beside the obvious devastation at his passing and the heartbreak for his family, something at the forefront of my mind recently has been how, on any given one of my adventures, no matter how long, it could have easily been me. The truth is, as outdoor recreationists, especially in high-risk and often highly remote areas, we are but one miscalculated decision, one mistimed error, one freak incident away from peril.

I've made the mistake of reading some of the comments on news articles about Will. Some claimed that, because he was from Australia, he could never have known about the dangers of big peaks in the Western U.S. Some have guessed at his experience level, others noted that he was likely unprepared. And that's bullshit. He was an experienced global hiker. He was prepared. It's possible that a weight-bearing rock fell away. It's possible he lost his balance. It makes me sick to think about that last moment of panic, but it's nice to know that it was over on impact.

Anyway, I don't know what I'm trying to accomplish by writing this down. I'm angry at the internet for making assumptions. I'm frustrated that everyone's first instinct isn't empathy. I'm grieving for the loss of a friend, for his family's loss of a member, and for the knowledge that, at any time, it could be any one of my friends, or even myself.

In the thru-hiking community, we have trail angels: people who provide goods or services with no expected return in order to help the trail community. We call it "trail magic." Returning Will's body to Australia and planning a service are massive expenses, and one that no family should have to shoulder alone. If you feel so inclined, you, too, can be a trail angel by donating to this gofundme.

Written in memory of William "Convict" Standish (April 16th, 1998 - July 28th, 2026)