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:
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How did hiking become so popular across the globe?
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The Historic Circle Tours of Glacier National Park
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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.
