When I first started hiking in the Alps, I didn’t think much about Leave No Trace.
I always took my rubbish home. I wasn’t smashing up plants or carving my name into benches. I figured I was doing enough.
Like plenty of people, I also assumed stepping off the trail for a shortcut or chucking away a banana peel wasn’t really hurting anything.
The longer I’ve spent in the mountains, the more I’ve realised how wrong that was.
Above the tree line, plants can take years to recover from a single boot print. A shortcut that saves thirty seconds today can turn into a permanent scar if enough people follow it. You start noticing things once you’ve spent enough time outdoors, and it’s hard to unsee them.
Leave No Trace isn’t about wrapping the mountains in cotton wool or telling people not to explore. It’s about making sure the next person gets the same experience you did. That’s a pretty reasonable trade.
Stick to the Trail
I’ll admit it. Years ago, if there was an obvious shortcut, I’d probably have taken it.
Now I don’t.
One pair of boots isn’t the problem. Hundreds of people all thinking exactly the same thing is.
That’s how new paths appear. Grass disappears. Soil washes away. Before long you’ve got an ugly scar running straight across the hillside.
I’ve also learned that marked trails usually exist for a reason. They’re often safer, they cause less damage and, more often than not, they’re actually the better route anyway.
If It Comes Up the Mountain, It Comes Back Down
You’d think this wouldn’t need saying, but I still see litter on some of the busiest hiking trails.
The thing that surprised me most wasn’t crisp packets or drinks bottles. It was learning that “natural” rubbish isn’t much better.
A hut warden once mentioned that banana and orange peels can take a surprisingly long time to break down in the Alps because of the colder climate. I’d genuinely never thought about it before.
Since then, everything comes back down with me. Food scraps included.
The same goes for smoking. I’m a smoker myself, so there’s really no excuse. I carry a little pocket ashtray in my backpack. It weighs next to nothing, and it means every cigarette butt comes home with me instead of ending up beside a mountain trail.
You're in Their Home
Some of my favourite mountain memories have nothing to do with summits.
They’re the moments when you suddenly spot an ibex on a ridge or a marmot popping out of its burrow.
The temptation is always to get closer.
I’ve found the opposite usually works better.
If you stay quiet and give wildlife some space, you’ll often end up with a better experience anyway. You might not get the perfect Instagram photo, but you’ll probably get a memory you’ll remember for a lot longer.
The same goes for livestock.
Mountain pastures are part of life in the Alps, and most cows couldn’t care less that you’re walking through. But cows with calves can be protective, and they deserve a bit of respect. I give them plenty of room, keep moving and never feed them.
If you’ve got a dog with you, pay even more attention. Cattle often react very differently to dogs than they do to people.
At the end of the day, we’re the visitors.
Leave the Landscape Alone
I get why people build little cairns.
I’ve probably stacked a few stones myself over the years.
But if every person leaves their own little mark, it doesn’t stay wild for very long.
Those piles also confuse people. In places where navigation is already tricky, it’s surprisingly easy to mistake someone’s photo prop for an actual route marker.
These days I’d rather leave with a camera full of photos than leave anything behind.
You Probably Don't Need a Campfire
After a long day hiking, sitting around a fire sounds pretty good.
The problem is that many Alpine areas either ban open fires completely or only allow them in designated spots. One careless spark during a dry spell is all it takes.
Honestly, I’d rather sit outside a mountain hut with a beer and watch the sun disappear behind the peaks.
The mountains don’t really need improving.
The Boring Stuff Still Matters
Nobody likes talking about toilets, but it’s part of being outdoors.
If there’s a toilet at a trailhead or mountain hut, I’ll use it.
If nature calls out on the trail, I’ll head well away from streams, lakes and springs. And the toilet paper comes home with me.
Mountain water is one of the best things about hiking in places like the Alps. It seems daft to risk spoiling it because carrying a bit of tissue back down feels inconvenient.
People Copy People
One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that people tend to follow whatever everyone else is doing.
Stay on the path, and others often do the same.
Pick your rubbish up, and someone else usually follows.
I’ve even picked up litter that wasn’t mine before. Not because I’m trying to be some sort of outdoor saint, but because I’d appreciate someone doing exactly the same somewhere I care about.
If everyone leaves a place just a little better than they found it, those small things add up surprisingly quickly.
It's Not About Being Perfect
Nobody gets everything right.
I’ve taken shortcuts. I’ve made mistakes. Most people probably have.
Leave No Trace isn’t about guilt or pretending you’re the perfect hiker. It’s just about making slightly better decisions once you know better.
The mountains don’t owe us anything. They’re not theme parks and they’re not there just for our photos.
Every time I head into them, I remind myself I’m only passing through. The views aren’t mine. The wildlife isn’t there for me. The trails were here long before I arrived, and, if we’re lucky, they’ll still be there long after we’re gone.
If carrying my rubbish home, sticking to the path and leaving a few stones where they are helps with that, it feels like a pretty easy trade.
