The True Realities of Women’s Hiking Attire During The Victorian Era

The following is an excerpt from my new book, Ramble On: A History of Hiking.

During the Victorian Era, women's hiking attire was an extremely complicated affair. The subject was frequently discussed and debated throughout the pages of Appalachia during the Appalachian Mountain Club’s first decade or so. The December 1887 issue of the journal ran a lengthy article by Mrs. L. D. Pychowska on the “walking-costume for ladies.” It provided head-to-toe advice on how women should dress for a hike. This included wearing grey flannel trousers beneath two skirts. The underskirt, which reached to just below the knee, was also to be made of grey flannel. The outer skirt, however, was to be made of winsey or Kentucky jean, both of which were considered to be strong enough to resist tearing while walking through briars and undergrowth. The outer skirt was also meant to be worn to ankle length. However, if the hiker was traversing along steep terrain, she could simply pull out a strong clasp pin and raise the skirt higher, “washwomen fashion,” until the difficult section was completed. “Basquines,” or corsets, were optional apparel according to the author. At the end of the detailed piece, the writer assured club members that her recommendations on female attire would be “sufficiently presentable to enter a hotel or a railroad car” after a long tramp “without attracting uncomfortable attention.”

The practicalities of wearing a “costume” such as this, however, weren’t considered or debated in Mrs. Pychowska’s article. Conversely, a passage in an article from the June 1877 issue of Appalachia put an exclamation point on the dangers women faced as a result of the clothing they were forced to wear while tramping. The author related the story of a guided hike on Mt. Washington during the prior year. While descending Tuckerman Ravine, one of the ladies in the group paused momentarily to stand atop a large rock above a 25-foot outcrop. Unbeknownst to the hiker, her tattered dress had become snagged on a sharp protrusion on the rock. When she attempted to jump to another large rock, the snag violently jolted her back and left her dangling upside down above the abyss. Fortunately, the mountain guide was nearby and was able to pull the woman to safety before falling.

Apparently, women’s dresses could be a nuisance to men as well. In a passage on how to pack and dress for an excursion in A Lady’s Tour Round Monte Rosa, published in 1859, Eliza Cole observed that “A lady's dress is inconvenient for mountain travelling, even under the most careful management, and therefore every device which may render it less so should be adopted.” She continued by offering a viable solution, while also highlighting an unusual hazard that resulted from women wearing dresses in the mountains:

Small rings should be sewn inside the seams of the dress, and a cord passed through them, the ends of which should be knotted together in such a way that the whole dress may be drawn up at a moment's notice to the requisite height. If the dress is too long, it catches the stones, especially when coming down hill, and sends them rolling on those below. I have heard more than one gentleman complain of painful blows suffered from such accidents.

In one particular instance, the burdensome attire that women were expected to wear may have been, at the very least, partially responsible for the death of one female hiker. On September 13, 1855, 22-year-old Lizzie Bourne of Kennebunk, Maine became the first woman to perish while climbing Mt. Washington, and quite possibly the first female to die while hiking in America. On that late summer day, Lizzie had planned to hike to the Tip Top House atop Mount Washington with her uncle George and her cousin Lucy. Though early morning rain forced the group to postpone their trek, the weather eventually cleared, and they set out after lunch by proceeding up the partially completed carriage road. As the party climbed higher, however, they encountered another round of foul weather while ascending the Glen House Bridle Path, which continued to worsen with each step forward. In a letter to the Boston Journal, which was intended to provide “a correct account of the whole affair,” George Bourne attested that “Elizabeth began to show signs of weariness, and needed assistance” as they continued towards the summit. With night rapidly falling upon the mountains, darkness and fog conspired to obscure the view of their destination. Extreme fatigue also crept into each of them. Not knowing exactly where they were or how far they were from their objective, the trio made the decision to lie down on the trail and wait out the night. Despite building a windbreak out of nearby rocks, George was convinced that each of them would perish as a result of the extreme cold and violent wind. Indeed, that night, around ten o'clock, Lizzie quietly passed away while lying on the icy trail. In his letter to the Boston Journal, Bourne stated that it was “evident that Elizabeth did not die from the cold alone, but from some organic affection of the heart or lungs, induced by fatigue and exposure.”

With the arrival of daylight the next morning, to their complete and utter horror, George and Lucy discovered they were within sight of the Tip Top House. Had they known they were that close, they could’ve easily made it to safety, and Lizzie likely would’ve survived. After her death, tourists and hikers began piling rocks on the spot where she succumbed. A stone monument now stands near the site to mark and commemorate her passing.

Did Lizzie’s attire contribute to her death? I think it’s very possible that it did. She wore a heavy skirt, petticoat, pantaloons and stockings. Nicholas Howe, author of Not Without Peril: 150 Years Of Misadventure On The Presidential Range Of New Hampshire, estimates that Lizzie may have worn as much as 45 yards of fabric! After the outfit was soaked in cold rain, there’s no doubt this would’ve weighed her down, resulting in more stress on her heart, and certainly would’ve accelerated the effects of fatigue, exposure and hypothermia.

While Mrs. Pychowska was espousing the benefits of wearing proper “costumes” that would comply with the mores of the Victorian Era, there was a long debate, at least among female members in the Appalachian Mountain Club, about what women should wear while hiking. During the May 9th meeting chronicled in the June 1877 edition of Appalachia, a Miss Whitman suggested that skirts be designed in a manner so that they “could be shortened to any necessary extent by rolling it up.” A Mrs. Nowell discussed the “disadvantage of ladies on mountain excursions on account of their long skirts, and recommended the use of gymnasium dresses or something similar, as an outside garment for such occasions.” In that same edition, Mrs. W.G. Nowell, one of the founding members of the club, and presumably the same Mrs. Nowell who spoke out during the May 9th meeting, contributed an article titled “A Mountain Suit for Women.” In this piece, Harriet (Mrs. W.G. Nowell) once again took issue with the garb women were expected to wear during this era. She also mentioned discussions she had with other women in the club about the impracticalities and dangers of women’s hiking attire. Apparently they had carefully deliberated over what their alternatives were and presented a possible solution: “The only thing we could think of was a good flannel bathing suit.” Mrs. Nowell continued by stating that they “could not see why it should be more improper to wear this” while hiking “than it would be along a crowded and fashionable beach.” She went on to make the point that women would be “relieved of the excessive weight of her ordinary dress,” thus allowing them to carry their own gear. She concluded her piece by declaring that “Our dress has done all the mischief. For years it has kept us away from the glory of the woods and the grandeur of the mountain heights. It is time we should reform.”

An article published on the Tramp & Trail Club of Utica’s website notes that by the 1920s women had solved the problem of impractical skirts by stuffing them in knapsacks once they had reached the trailhead, and then putting them back on before returning to town. Bold and daring women eschewed skirts altogether and simply wore knickers with long socks. Taking the Lead: Women and the White Mountains, an online exhibit on the Museum of the White Mountains at Plymouth State University’s website, notes that skirts had virtually disappeared by the mid-1910s, and by the 1930s, women were basically wearing clothes that are similar to what female hikers wear today, including shorts and halter tops.

Ramble On: A History of Hiking chronicles the evolution of hiking gear and apparel, including many other stories about the attire both men and women wore during the early years of the sport. This new, improved and expanded edition on hiking history is now available on Amazon.


Other excerpts from Ramble On:

* The Etymology of Hiking

* How did hiking become so popular across the globe?

* The Historic Circle Tours of Glacier National Park

* The Evolution of Hiking Boots



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Virtually no one went hiking before the 19th century. What occurred that inspired ordinary people to take a walk through the woods for pleasure? Ramble On: A History of Hiking explores the rich history of hiking, and how it evolved into one of the most popular pastimes in the world.

The Etymology of Hiking

The meaning of the word “hiking” took a rather long path for it to reach the meaning we understand today.

The following an excerpt from my new book, Ramble On: A History of Hiking:

During the last decade of John Muir’s life, the term “hiking” was just beginning to see usage as a word to describe the act of tramping through the woods. Muir, however, hated the word. Prior to the 20th century, the expression was a pejorative, or was used to describe walking in a vigorous manner, which Muir absolutely despised. To him, it meant to hurry, thus completely missing the point of immersing oneself in nature. In his book, The Mountain Trail and Its Message, published in 1911, Albert Palmer relayed a conversation he once had with Muir:

One day as I was resting in the shade Mr. Muir overtook me on the trail and began to chat in that friendly way in which he delights to talk with everyone he meets. I said to him: "Mr. Muir, someone told me you did not approve of the word 'hike.' Is that so?" His blue eyes flashed, and with his Scotch accent he replied: "I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike!

Palmer may have provided a definition of what it meant to "hike" at that point. In that same book he asserted that:

There are always some people in the mountains who are known as "hikers." They rush over the trail at high speed and take great delight in being the first to reach camp and in covering the greatest number of miles in the least possible time. They measure the trail in terms of speed and distance.

Perhaps that was an accurate description. On the other hand, it’s possible he may have conveyed a meaning that was already in the process of becoming outdated.

Over the years, many terms have been used to describe the act of walking in nature, such as hiking, rambling, sauntering, tramping, wandering, strolling, ambling, roaming, traipsing, marching and trekking. The first English term to describe this act was likely “rambling.” The word originally meant to wander, or roam aimlessly, but eventually evolved to describe hiking. The expression was widely used in England through the 19th century. It was also used in America for awhile, though much less frequently. While rambling is still occasionally used in the United Kingdom, it’s now mostly viewed as an old fashion term. Walking, hillwalking, fellwalking, and even hiking are more commonly used. Fellwalking, a word used to describe hiking in the mountains, comes from the English word fell or fjall, which is an Old Norse term that means mountain. In Victorian England, during the mid-1800s, wandering vagrants were derogatively known as tramps, a word that would eventually refer to hikers, and is now used by New Zealanders to describe backpacking. While tramping was widely used in America to describe hiking in the late 1800s and early 1900s, both John Muir and Henry David Thoreau were fond of using the term saunter.

Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary, published in 1985, indicates that use of the word "hike" dates back to at least 1809; however, it had a different connotation at that time. It was originally meant "to move, pull or raise with a sudden motion" or “to travel by any means.” The dictionary indicates that by 1865 the word had adopted a new meaning, which they defined as "a long walk esp. for pleasure or exercise." Etymonline.com claims that “hike” comes from the English term “hyke,” which meant "to walk vigorously." The website notes that this word also dates back to 1809. They also quote a definition of the term from the 1830 edition of the Vocabulary of East Anglia: "to go away. It is generally used in a contemptuous sense Ex. 'Come, hike,' i.e. take yourself off; begone." Slang and Its Analogues Past and Present, published in 1893, defined the oldest meaning of the word as, “To move about. Also to carry off; to arrest.” A newer definition, from 1811, was updated to mean, “To hike off; to run away.” The slang dictionary then provided an example of a more contemporary use of the term, citing a quotation from the February 2, 1884, edition of the Daily Telegraph: “We three, not having any regler [sic] homes nor a steady job of work to stick to, HIKE ABOUT for a living, and we live in the cellar of a empty house.”

It appears the meaning of the word “hike” began to evolve during the Philippine-American War. This conflict began shortly after the conclusion of the brief Spanish-American War in 1898, which involved Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. Just weeks after the Spanish were expelled from the Philippines, fighting broke out between U.S. soldiers and Filipino nationalists. An article with the title, “The Vocabulary of the Philippines,” published in the August 19, 1899, edition of The Criterion, a weekly New York-based literary magazine, began with this highly illuminating passage:

Now that the volunteers are returning from the Philippines there is trouble ahead for the dictionary makers. It is a peculiarity of American slang that it is at once so concise, picturesque, and graphic that most new words of this kind eventually force their way, despite dissent, into the lexicon. The volunteers will bring back with them so many brand new expressions of this character that their vocabulary may prove all but incomprehensible. For the convenience of people who have not had the advantage of recent Philippine travel, and also for the future reference of our lexicographers, a short glossary, with comments, may be valuable.

One of the words most commonly used in this new dialect is “hike.” Its derivation is doubtful, but its descriptive power great and swift. “To hike” means to travel with amazing speed. It is generally used to give some idea of how fast the Filipinos can run when defeated in battle. Incidentally, “hiking” is a term applied to the speed which American soldiers are obliged to develop when trying to catch the fleeing Filipino. So, in a more general way, “hiking” is applied to any swift and fatiguing travel, while a “hiker” is obviously a man of hustling and enduring powers.

A review of several military-related publications from this era corroborates these definitions. Moreover, a comment in the March 2, 1901, edition of the Army and Navy Journal confirms that the terms were new to the broader civilian population in America: “Some time ago we referred to ‘hike’ and other expressive words which our boys in the field have added to our vocabulary.” It appears that soldiers used the term “hiking” to distinguish their mode of travel in this foreign land from traditional marching. As the fighting escalated, the Filipinos began engaging U.S. troops in guerrilla-style warfare. As a result, U.S. soldiers were often forced to bushwhack through dense jungles, grasslands, swamps and rice paddy fields. There are also several references to “hiking” along rugged mountain trails. What’s important to note is that both “hike” and “hiking” were scarcely used before the war, but quickly became part of the American lexicon in the years that immediately followed. Within a decade or so, the terms basically took on the meaning that we understand today. You can see how the definition evolved over a very short period of time. The 1903 edition of Supplement To A Standard Dictionary Of The English Language defined “Hike” as “The act of hiking; a weary journey on foot.” The 1911 edition of Webster’s New International Dictionary defined “hike” as the “Act of hiking; a tramp; march.” More importantly, within a few years of the conclusion of the war, references to hiking began to appear in several outdoor publications for the first time. The words “hike” and “hiker” were first used in the Sierra Bulletin, the journal of the Sierra Club, in 1905. The following passage from this edition obviously reflects the sentiment of John Muir:

There is the aristocrat of leg and lung, the “hiker,” so called, who walks up perpendicular cliffs like a fly, never misses the trail, and always reaches camp first. He is harmless, but is not generally loved, for he is a little overbearing and given to much talking of a certain catalogue of hours and distances which he keeps in his mind and calls his record.

We see additional uses of the three hiking-related expressions in subsequent issues of the Sierra Bulletin. Other examples of early usage of the terms include an article about “A Sierra Club Hike” in the August 6, 1909, edition of The California Weekly. One of the earliest uses of the phrase “hiking boots” appeared in an advertisement in the 1912 edition of The Mountaineer, the journal of The Mountaineers club out of Seattle. The October 1911 edition of The American Boy, the October 1912 edition of Boys Life, and The Boy Scout’s Hike Book from 1913 are all sprinkled with several references to hiking. Prior to 1910, most hiking clubs used the word "mountain" or "alpine" in their name. However, in that year, the Wanderlusters Hiking Club out of Washington D.C. became the first organization to use "hiking" in a club name.

The word “hiking” appears to have been adopted along the West Coast first, where it began to evolve into the meaning we understand today. The term and its related expressions were most likely introduced by veterans returning from the war in the Philippines. Indeed, the majority of troops returning from the Philippines passed through San Francisco, not far from the Sierra Club’s original headquarters. It’s fairly easy to speculate that the terms were likely introduced to the local population, and then members of the hiking community began borrowing them to describe the types of excursions they were taking in the nearby mountains. From the West Coast, the expressions spread across the rest of the country, which may have been the result of West Coast clubs sharing articles and correspondence with other clubs.

As the 20th century progressed, the expressions Thoreau and Muir preferred to use have mostly faded from the American lexicon. Nearly everyone in North America now uses the word “hiking.”



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Virtually no one went hiking before the 19th century. What occurred that inspired ordinary people to take a walk through the woods for pleasure? Ramble On: A History of Hiking explores the rich history of hiking, and how it evolved into one of the most popular pastimes in the world. This new edition on the history of hiking is now available on Amazon.