THE SOLO TRAVELLER
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Risk, Readiness and Respect – A Confidence and Safety Series
The Western Arthur Range is a spectacular mountain range located deep within the Southwest National Park of Tasmania, Australia. Photograph courtesy Darren Edwards.
When small decisions matter
Part 1 of a two-part Q&A with Darren Edwards, Founder of Trail Hiking Australia and the author of ‘Small Things Don’t Stay Small: A Practical Guide to Safer Hiking in Australia’.
Briefly …
This is the first part of a two-part conversation with Darren Edwards exploring how hiking incidents develop on the trail. Rather than focusing on dramatic mistakes or simplistic conclusions about solo hiking, Darren examines the small decisions, subtle warning signs, and gradual shifts in awareness that can quietly shape outcomes long before a situation becomes critical.
Darren has walked thousands of kilometres across Australian terrain, from well-marked trails to remote and less-defined environments. Drawing on that experience, his approach to hiking safety is less about fear and more about attentiveness: recognising change early, reassessing honestly, and understanding how small decisions can quietly shape what happens next.
For solo hikers in particular, Darren encourages a slower and more deliberate mindset. Stay curious about what is happening around you rather than relying too heavily on expectation or familiarity. Reassess conditions regularly. Pay attention to subtle changes in energy, terrain, weather, and judgement before they begin to compound. A trail you know well is never exactly the same trail twice.
Hiking alone does not demand fearlessness, he argues, but awareness and honesty. Turning back is not a failure of confidence but an expression of good judgement. Uncertainty is a normal part of moving through wild places, and learning to recognise it early is one of the most valuable skills a solo hiker can develop.
To what extent does the ‘they shouldn’t have been alone’ assessment ignore and/or dismiss the useful and potentially life-saving conversation about how incidents actually develop on the trail?
That conclusion is understandable. It’s simple, it feels decisive, and it arrives quickly. The problem is that it closes down the conversation at exactly the point where the useful thinking needs to begin. Most hiking incidents don’t start with a single catastrophic mistake. They develop through a sequence of smaller things: a navigation decision that seemed reasonable at the time, a slower pace that nobody fully acknowledged, a weather change that was noticed but not acted upon. Those things compound. By the time the situation is clearly serious, several opportunities to reassess, slow down, or turn back have often already passed.
“By the time the situation is clearly serious, several opportunities to reassess, slow down, or turn back have often already passed.”
When the discussion focuses solely on the fact that someone was alone, all of that tends to disappear from view. The more useful questions are about awareness, judgement, timing, and decision-making under pressure. What changed along the way? What signals were missed or rationalised? What might have helped the person recognise the situation earlier?
I’ve seen incidents where people were reasonably equipped and broadly prepared, yet the discussion afterwards focused almost entirely on the fact that they were alone, rather than on the chain of smaller factors that gradually pushed the situation beyond recovery.
It is also worth recognising that groups are not automatically safer. A group of underprepared people can find themselves in serious trouble just as readily as a solo hiker, sometimes more so, because group dynamics can suppress individual concern. The person who feels uneasy may say nothing because everyone else appears comfortable continuing.
Solo hiking does carry a specific set of risks, and those deserve honest discussion. But the most useful safety conversation is not about whether someone should have stayed home. It is about how situations develop, how people recognise deterioration early, and how small decisions shape outcomes long before an emergency occurs.
“It is about how situations develop, how people recognise deterioration early, and how small decisions shape outcomes long before an emergency occurs.”
Your work focuses heavily on small breakdowns rather than dramatic mistakes. What are some of the earliest warning signs solo hikers might ignore before situations begin to compound?
The earliest warning signs are rarely dramatic. That is partly what makes them easy to dismiss. One of the most common is a subtle increase in terrain complexity that the hiker doesn’t consciously acknowledge. They are moving a little slower than planned, navigation is a bit more challenging, stops are lasting a little longer, and the time calculations they made at the trailhead are quietly becoming unrealistic. Nothing feels wrong yet, but the margin is already narrowing.
Another is the small navigation hesitation. Not being genuinely lost but taking slightly longer than expected to confirm a junction or finding that the track isn't quite matching the mental picture they had. That moment of uncertainty often gets rationalised rather than properly resolved. The hiker continues, carrying a low-level doubt that can grow.
Hydration and food are similar. People tend to notice thirst later than they should, and early fatigue is frequently a fuel issue before it becomes anything else. By the time someone recognises they are genuinely tired, they have usually been running on reduced capacity for a while. In Australian conditions, heat and rough terrain can accelerate this process surprisingly quickly.
There is also something I’d describe as decision fatigue arriving earlier than expected. The hiker starts simplifying choices, avoiding the mental effort of reassessing conditions or checking the map again. Small things get waved through rather than considered. That narrowing of attention is itself an important warning sign.
What connects all of these is that they tend to appear gradually and feel manageable individually. No single sign demands an immediate response. But they rarely arrive alone, and each one makes the next one slightly harder to notice.
The Grampians National Park, commonly known as the Grampians, is a national park located in the Grampians region of Victoria, Australia. Photograph courtesy Darren Edwards.
You describe hiking incidents as systems gradually coming under strain. Can you explain what that means in practical terms for a solo walker heading out for a day hike or overnight trek?
Most people head out with several things working reasonably well at the same time. They have a rough plan, enough water, appropriate clothing, a sense of the route, and the physical capacity to complete what they have set out to do. When those things are functioning reasonably well together, the hike tends to progress smoothly and without much conscious effort. Problems tend to arise not when one thing fails completely, but when several things begin to degrade at the same time.
Think of a straightforward day hike. The walker sets out a little later than planned. The track is rougher than expected, so progress is slower. They are drinking water at a higher rate because conditions are warmer than forecast. By mid-afternoon they are behind schedule, lower on water than they expected to be, and now facing a decision about whether to push on or turn back in fading light. None of those things alone would have been serious. Together, they have created a situation that requires careful judgement at exactly the moment when fatigue is beginning to affect that judgement.
That interaction between systems is where hiking incidents often begin to take shape. Navigation confidence, physical condition, hydration, time, weather, equipment and decision-making are not independent of each other. When one starts to slip, it places additional demand on the others. A solo hiker who is tired makes navigation errors more readily. A hiker who becomes uncertain about their position will often keep moving rather than pause properly to reassess, which accelerates fatigue and increases the likelihood of further errors.
For an overnight hike, the same principles apply but the margins are tighter and the consequences of late recognition are more significant. A decision made poorly on day one carries forward into day two. The practical value of understanding this is not to make hiking feel complicated or threatening. It is simply to encourage walkers to check in across all of those areas periodically, rather than waiting for something to feel obviously wrong. By the time one system is clearly failing, others are usually already under strain.
“By the time one system is clearly failing, others are usually already under strain.”
Mount Barney is located within the Scenic Rim Region, Queensland, Australia. Photograph courtesy Darren Edwards.
Solo hikers are often portrayed as ignorant of the relative dangers of environments in media coverage after accidents, but many experienced walkers would argue that hiking alone can actually sharpen awareness and decision making. How do you see that balance?
There is something to that observation, and I think it deserves to be taken seriously rather than dismissed as self-justification by people who prefer hiking alone. I spent much of my early skill development hiking alone, which forced me to become fully self-reliant. Whether someone hikes solo or in a group, that capacity matters. If conditions change or a group becomes separated, each person still needs to be able to navigate, assess conditions, and manage themselves independently.
When you’re in a group, there is a natural tendency to distribute attention. Someone else is watching the weather. Someone else is tracking the time. Someone else will probably notice if you are moving slower than usual. That distribution can be genuinely useful, but it can also mean that no single person is carrying full situational awareness at any given moment. Responsibility diffuses. A solo hiker carries all of that themselves. There is no one else to defer to, no group consensus to hide behind, and no assumption that someone else has already checked the map. That can produce a sharper and more continuous form of situational awareness. Experienced solo hikers often describe a quality of presence on the trail that is harder to access in company, and that presence is not merely aesthetic. It has practical safety value.
Where it becomes complicated is experience and honesty. A solo hiker whose attention is genuinely sharpened by solitude is in a different situation to someone who simply hasn't considered what solo travel demands of them. The difference is not personality or courage. It is preparation, self-knowledge, and the willingness to make decisions without relying on social reinforcement.
The media portrayal tends to flatten all of this. The solo hiker becomes either reckless or heroic depending on the outcome, when the more honest picture is usually somewhere in between. Most people who hike alone are neither ignorant of risk nor indifferent to it. They have simply chosen to engage with the environment on their own terms, and that choice deserves a more considered response than it typically receives after an incident.
The Du Cane Range is a mountain range in the Central Highlands region of Tasmania, Australia. Photograph courtesy Darren Edwards.
What is the difference between ‘solitude’ and ‘isolation’ on the trail? When does that line start becoming dangerous?
Solitude is chosen and managed. Isolation is what happens when circumstances have narrowed your options without you fully noticing. Some of my clearest thinking and strongest situational awareness has occurred while hiking alone, which is why I think the distinction matters. A hiker can be completely alone on a trail and remain in a state of solitude throughout. They know where they are, they have the capacity to complete what they set out to do, they have communicated their plans to someone, and they retain the ability to make decisions and act on them. The aloneness is intentional and the situation remains within their control.
Isolation tends to arrive gradually rather than all at once. It often begins with something small. A trail that becomes harder to follow. A descent that takes longer than expected, pushing the hiker into fading light. A phone with no signal at a point where checking in was part of the plan. Each of those things shifts the balance slightly. The hiker is still physically alone, but now that aloneness carries a different weight. What makes the distinction practically important is that isolation tends to amplify everything else that is going wrong. Decisions become harder when there is no one to think out loud with. Small injuries feel more serious. Uncertainty about the route becomes more consuming. The mental load increases at exactly the point when physical and emotional reserves may already be depleted.
The line between the two is not always obvious in the moment, which is part of what makes it worth thinking about before you set out rather than during. A solo hiker who has genuinely considered what isolation would feel like and has taken reasonable steps to reduce the likelihood of it is in a fundamentally different position to someone for whom aloneness and isolation have never been distinguished. That preparation need not be complicated. Telling someone your plan, carrying a reliable means of communication, and being realistic about your capacity for the day are all simple habits that keep solitude from drifting quietly into something more difficult to manage.
You can connect with Darren via his Trail Hiking Australia website here https://www.trailhiking.com.au, and find ‘Small Things Don't Stay Small: A Practical Guide to Safer Hiking in Australia’ here https://www.trailhiking.com.au/small-things-field-guide/