Introduction

TA

After six years of sharing the outdoors together as friends and as teacher/student, Kim and I submitted a proposal to present at the 18th Conference of the European Institute for Outdoor Adventure Education and Experiential Learning 2019 in Tralee, Ireland. We were accepted, and we then spent the next nine months in a “collaborative research methodology” in which the two of us, “researchers of difference,” explored our outdoor life histories together. This collaboration yielded “multiple understandings of the (outdoor) world,” which we shared at the conference. (Norris & Sawyer, 2012, p.9). We framed this collaboration as duoethnography because this method situates research in life stories, where critical reflection on how events within these stories shape who we are, becomes the data (Norris et al., 2017).

According to Breault (2016), “duoethnography is a relatively new research method in which two participants interrogate the cultural contexts of autobiographical experiences in order to gain insight into their current perspectives on and experience of issues related to personal and professional identities” (p. 777). Duoethnography combines two narrative research forms: “currere” and storytelling. Currere, from the Latin root for curriculum, was initially a directed autobiographical interrogation of the self, used to reflect on one’s educational experiences (Pinar, 1975). Norris and Sawyer (2004) created duoethnography as a dialogically based “mutual and reciprocal” journey between two individuals who are different from each other to understand a phenomenon or experience. We hope to use our “personal curriculums,” to assist ourselves and “others in better understanding the phenomenon under investigation” (Norris & Sawyer, 2012, p. 13). Given that one of the key tenets of duoethnography is reporting the research in both polyvocal and dialogic form, we position our voices throughout the paper in juxtaposition to each other (Norris & Sawyer, 2012). Since “difference between duoethnographers is not only encouraged but also expected” (Norris & Sawyer, 2012, p.17), we now begin the process of introducing ourselves, starting with the looking back (i.e., regressive) phase of Pinar’s (1994) four-step framework of Currere.

TA

My academic dean planted the seeds of this duoethnography six years ago when he noticed a year’s end budgetary surplus and put out a call for spending recommendations. To enable students with physical disabilities to more fully participate in our university outdoor education program, I suggested that we purchase a TrailRider®. I had never used one but had heard stories of their use in providing access to the backcountry. The TrailRider® is a singled-wheeled, human-propelled access device that, with group assistance, enables a person with a mobility disability to ride into a remote outdoor location (Goodwin et al., 2009; James et al., 2018). My dean agreed with the purchase but made me promise that it wouldn’t sit idle if we didn’t have a student who needed it. I had absolutely no idea at that time that the purchase of that TrailRider® would prove to be one of the most potent catalysts for change in my professional praxis as an outdoor educator. I needed to learn to use the TrailRider®, so I asked you, Kim, if you were willing to take a test ride. You answered, “Sure,” and it was the first of many outdoor experiences we shared over the next six years.

Kim

I’m glad I said, “Yes.” Having a physical disability since the age of three and using braces and crutches for mobility, I knew ageing with a disability would be a different process for me. I wanted to be proactive with my health, especially with my changing capacity to be mobile, but I did not know where to begin. People with disabilities are at much greater risk of the serious health problems associated with physical inactivity (Rimmer et al., 2012). Although this offer did not necessarily involve me “being active” (i.e., using my body), it was going to get me out into nature, in which I had a keen interest. I also felt, in my gut, that this could be the first step in a more significant journey to a more active lifestyle for me because of your knowledge and experience.

I am currently the General Manager of a community-based organization in the capital city of Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada. The organization provides employment and education services in social housing neighbourhoods. I identify as a White, middle class, heterosexual female who lives with a mobility disability. Throughout my life, due to my disability, I was not integrated into many physical activities – at home, school or otherwise. For any activities outdoors, my participation would have been “passive” (for example, watching others play a game versus being a player). Even though I was coming late to the game, I wanted to change this.

TA

I am a middle-aged Full Professor at a Canadian university in Atlantic Canada who identifies as White, gender non-binary, middle class, and lesbian. I teach and research in the areas of outdoor education experience as well as gender and sport. I enjoy the privilege of living in/with an ageing, physically literate body that allows me to do (almost) anything I wish, albeit with increasing aches and pains along the way. Wendell (1996) points out that all bodies are in flux, not just those of the disabled. The rigid binary of disabled-nondisabled is a myth: “We are all disabled eventually. Most of us will live part of our lives with bodies that hurt, that move with difficulty or not at all, that deprive us of activities we once took for granted or that others take for granted, bodies that make daily life a physical struggle” (p. 263).

I started my training as an outdoor educator as a youth by attending summer camps and climbing trees. My family was physically active together, most often outside. As an adolescent, I became an apprentice outdoor leader and progressed to paid employment soon after that. I received further outdoor training at Outward Bound, The National Outdoor Leadership School, Project Adventure, and Wilderness Inquiry, among others. I earned Bachelor’s, Master’s, and Ph.D. degrees in the area of outdoor and experiential education. Except for Wilderness Inquiry, a program that offers integrated outdoor expeditions for persons with and without disabilities, none of my training nor employment has focused on facilitating outdoor experiences for persons living with a disability. I also identify as an outdoor adventurer and explorer. I participate in several backcountry expeditions per year, ranging in length from 3 to 90 days.

Kim

I am also an educator by training–and by heart. I was eager to present at the conference, not only for my benefit but to reflect on my experiences. I hoped, by sharing our “learnings,” we would help others facing barriers to outdoor participation become more active. Working mostly in adult education, prior learning and experiential education are important to me. It made sense that this journey was as much about others, as it was about TA and me. I saw going to the conference as a huge opportunity to share our story with a group of individuals who could change the landscape of outdoor activity for persons with disabilities. As I commented at the conference, outdoor educators are well primed to adapt to changing factors influencing participation – adapting is what they do naturally and continually. Through my work in the community-based sector, I quickly became accustomed to taking on an advocacy and activist type role to further whatever particular field I worked in at any given time. I was 42 before I worked in the field of accessibility and inclusion for persons with disabilities (PwD). After I stopped working directly in this field, I was still very passionate about barrier removal. I felt it was essential to help advance the inclusion agenda in any way I could. Since I have a lived experience of facing many barriers, my voice resonates with people as being authentic and worthy of listening. I wanted to make use of the conference (and this paper) as a way to make our world more accessible and inclusive. I also wanted to gather a broader perspective of the field of outdoor education and hear from other presenters at the conference who have so much to offer in the work that they have done to remove barriers for persons with disabilities – and try out some new adaptive equipment!

TA

Through our conversations, I realized pretty quickly that we were both, simultaneously, teacher and student. I was teaching you about being outdoors–the plants, the trees, trail navigation, how to dress for comfort, etc., while at the same time, you were teaching me about living with a disability, ways to assist you in transfers and seating, language, dignity, and risk. We learned together about using the TrailRider®, GRIT Chair, and Hippocampe: where they could assist us in going, how our experience changed in using each of them, and how to interact with other outdoor users. Like Cartell Johnson and Hineman (2019), our shared stories explore themes of “ableism and hopes of access” (p. 65).

Kim

Beyond doing the actual activity, it was great to learn so much about outdoor recreation that I had never considered. Having you share your vast knowledge and experiences with me was both informative and inspiring. I appreciated that you had such respect for my stories and that you understood the mutual value in our shared storytelling. I am a big supporter of reflection, and I do not think that people typically engage in it enough. In sharing our stories, during both the outdoor activities and while writing this duoethnography, we not only glimpsed into each other’s lives but also back into our own. This mutuality was crucial in shaping our “Where to from here.” It also reframed our dynamic of teacher and student, our relational ethic, to reflect an uncomplicated interconnectedness (Clandinin et al., 2018).

TA

I knew we were doing research, but I also knew it differed significantly from other projects that I had done in the past. As we rolled over trails and paused to talk, stories cultivated stories. We created our data not through interviewing, but rather through “the use of natural, informal, everyday conversational structures” that served as fodder for new stories, providing “rich details to which the Other could connect” (Norris & Sawyer, 2012, p.28). Our dialogue ranged freely; it was sometimes audio-recorded, sometimes video-recorded, almost always photographed, and sometimes lost to wind and gravity. Along with our outdoor conversations, we also met indoors in a heuristic, dialogic process of exploring our differences facilitated by the examination of photographs and videos taken during our times outside (Sawyer, 2016). Even in undertaking a new research methodology, I couldn’t shake my connection to photo elicitation (Harper, 2002; Loeffler, 2004, 2019) and visual anthropology (Collier & Collier, 1986).

Kim

In discussing potential presentation methods for the conference, we agreed that we would like to present our story in a less typical format. We knew we wanted to share the photos and video clips. We wanted to bring the audience into our experiences as much as we could. Both of us had experience with spoken word and doing monologues, so it seemed natural that we explore this methodology. We decided we would each write a monologue and see what emerged from there. After you sent me yours, I clearly remember starting to read it and having to stop because I was in a coffee shop, and it was making me quite emotional. I did not want the other patrons to see me crying in public. Shortly after, we met to chat about where to place the monologues in our presentation. Once we read them aloud to each other, it was quite clear that the monologues were very much a merged story—becoming, from that moment on, an aptly named “duologue.” You began weaving our words together. We then decided that our presentation would open with introductions of who we were and then flow logically into the duologue, which shared our merged story in two voices.

Our duologue

TA: An act of fate. A budget surplus. The TrailRider® rolls into my life. And yours. I promised not to leave it idle. You volunteered to ride. You volunteered to teach me. To teach us. You donned your tiara. You hung your “Princess on Board” sign and found a way to mitigate the inevitable loss of control and dignity that riding means. You brought the snacks. We brought the enthusiasm. You brought the glue that joined our team together to traverse the land in a new way. Together. Rolling, steering, lifting, laughing. Noticing all those rocks in the trail that I have never seen before. Even though they were there before, and I easily stepped over. Oh, the places you will go, that we will go. Together. As a team. Helping you get to places and activities that you have never been to before and helping me get to places of awareness and techniques that I have never been before. It’s a journey of discovering.

Kim: Swish! Swish! ... wheels go round ... Swish! Swish! Water moves by... Swish! Swish! Feathered friends fly ... Squish! Squish! Squish helmet! Squish helmet, you say? ... Crooked helmet ... Crooked? In Newfinese vernacular squish means crooked and crooked means cranky? Squish helmet – cranky Kim ☺

TA: Me so wanting to share the joys and challenges of being outside, in nature, doing some activities that I love (and hope you will too). Of smacking myself on the head when I realize that I haven’t thought of “that!” That being my privilege. That being my lens, that being my view of what and why I do. That other folks go outside for different reasons than I do.

Kim: Yes, I am Kim ... sometimes cranky Kim ☺ I was Kim with the squish helmet as the photos prove ... but now I’ve upgraded. Upgraded helmet ... upgraded mood ☺ “Goooood Moooood” the sticker says on my laptop ... Good Mood describes my days outdoors ☺ Good Mood indeed (well besides the photos TA takes of my squish helmet) ☺ Good mood ... define it please, they say ... what do you mean, they ask ... they want to know ... inquiring minds always want to know ... is it Happiness? Joyfulness? Peacefulness? ... what is it for “people like you” ... ahhh, maybe FREEDOM! Is that the word ....

TA: Slowly throughout our outings, my awareness grows so that I can spot options before we need them so that your dignity can be left intact, not left at the door. Where I now cringe when the gaze from onlookers passes quickly across me to you and only you. Where folks feel compelled to comment. And comment. And comment. Well-meaning usually but not okay. Either exalting you or encouraging you––never a “Nice day” or “Good to see you out” but a pedestal or pity. Occasionally a verbal blow that stops us cold but indeed tsunamis over you; “A dog and pony show.” Oh my god. I still hang my head and wish the universe could suck that moment from you.

Kim: Freedom from what? from the squish ... the crooked ... the squishiness ... crookedness of the world ... to give way for perfection – imperfectly perfect I would say like a Buddhist – imperfectly perfect perfection of nature ....

TA: I want you to feel the wind on your cheek, smell the sweet nectar of an emerging flower, the thrill of moving fast, and the meditation of moving slow. I want your path to be smooth until you are ready for it to be rough. I want to share my love of adventure and invite you to my world of risk and heights and flowing water. I want to share and teach and explain. And be quiet. And listen. And take the direction of wherever you want to go. We are curious. Inventive. Uncomfortable. We are MacGyvers.

Kim: I have a secret ... I actually removed perfect from my personal dictionary (lexicon) ... somewhat like my squish helmet ... it did not fit. See people don’t often think of Buddhism perfection – they think broken – not quite right – not quite good enough if things aren’t “perfect” so ... I replaced it ... I say words like Good! Great! Excellent! Awesome!

TA: I, too, am afraid sometimes. Afraid to overstep. To over help. To overwhelm. Afraid you will see that I am making this up as we go along. Fearful that my privilege will gnash like a frenzied river or trickle like snow melting in the warmth of spring. How do I begin to give words to the weight of my backpack? How can I share that my abilities change each moment with every breath I take? With every memory that stops me cold and shatters me into a thousand shards of ice? Ice mostly melted now by a warm sun, flowing again as water, and returning me to this moment, to this conversation?

Kim: Awesome! We use that word a lot but don’t often think about its deeper meaning ... full of awe ... Awesome! ... Awe inspiring ... my life? Some would say it “i.e. my life” is for others ... Awe inspiring ... my life!!! It is to me - sometimes ... when I’m out in the imperfectly perfect outdoors – me and nature just as she meant it to be ☺

TA: The eagle soared over, and its wings tickled the wind above. It is clear now why we are here. And we all know it, and we are moved. By the view. By the salt air. By making a big steep hill seem smaller and by rolling down and rolling up. Together. We didn't know how we would. We didn't know the answers. But we made it up. Together. Until the sunset, and we didn't have enough headlamps for the group, so you lit the way holding the leading light, and we made our way out, in growing darkness, using few lights, our enthusiasm, and some luck.

Kim: Freedom ... yeah, I think that’s a good word ... a good mood word ... freedom to enjoy the swish .... More than? Less than? The questions still come .... You see they think about process ... they think “how did we get here to this Freedom?” ... the challenges, the accommodations, the resources, the thinking and planning and of course, the risks ... don’t ever forget the risks! And to what end? A diminished experience, a lesser joy .... They obviously do not understand Freedom ... ‘cause maybe it is not more than, maybe it is not less than .... Maybe ... there is no need for comparison .... Just maybe ... it’s the same.

TA: How do we make space? How do we invite? How do we welcome? How do we assist others in seeing that we are not separate, but instead that we are connected? That the trees in a forest appear to be individual until we see the delicate network of fungi that tie them together – how, like trees, do we become a forest?

Kim: Freedom ... nature ... a freedom for all! Yeah, I like that ... a freedom for all! Yeah, we’ll roll with that! (video of me rolling away and TA walking beside me or alone or more people than just TA and me – not quite sure). Namaste good friends! ☺

The paths are both narrow and wide, circular and straight ahead

TA

Figure one captures our first date—the first time we took the TrailRider® out together in 2012. One of the most remarkable things I remember about the day is how impactful the day was for everyone there. The group was so moved by the comradery of our purpose in using the TrailRider®. I’m confident, that our group, like those in James et al. (2018), came out that day for many reasons (i.e., being outdoors, being active, sharing a love of the outdoors, etc.) but, as the day progressed, we became a community of access in which we all had a significant role to play. During our outdoor journey that day and on many subsequent outings we experienced what Goodwin et al. (2009) identified as “interdependence” (p. 51) (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1
figure 1

Photograph of Kim sitting in the Trailrider®. TA stands beside and points to a yellow triangular sign that says, “Princess on Board.” The photograph was taken at the trailhead before beginning the hike. This was our first experience outdoors together in 2012. Copyright 2012 by Marian Wissink

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Kim

I remember the day so well – how amazing it was to see, smell, touch, and hear so many things I was privy to by way of the TrailRider® and “the team” that I otherwise would not have experienced. Experiencing these sensations was my motivation to get into the TrailRider®, which required me to relinquish all control to others. Although riding was “passive,” and my goal was to be more physically active, I had recently attended a talk about the interplay between nature and health. I felt that any outdoor activity was valuable for me to explore. And, I knew in my gut, connecting with you around adaptive outdoor recreation was going to be an essential part of my journey. Even still, this was psychologically one of the hardest things I have had to do in my lifetime (James et al., 2018). All my life, I had fought long and hard to do things for myself and to have the highest level of independence I could. Not only so I could participate in the world, but as a counter to the dominant view of many people without disabilities that “I could not do things.” Thus, giving up my autonomy that day was very hard, but I talked myself through it – reminding myself that negotiating this tension between dependence and autotomy was important for both me and others (Goodwin et al., 2009).

TA

I know now what a huge risk it was for you to ride that day – to trust the group and to trust me. To trade loss of control and potential loss of dignity for the opportunity to travel outdoors along the East Coast Trail. To experience Torbay Point with an eagle flying overhead. Many position risk and trust in duality, but for us, they seem concentric and layered. Like Huckaby and Weinburgh (2015) and Spencer and Paisley (2013), our outdoor activities, as well as our duoethnographical dialogues over these months and years, required us to both risk and trust resulting in a “spiral of trust” (Norris & Sawyer, 2012, p.24) that has brought us both closer and subsequently, more willing to risk. Similar to James et al.’s (2018) participants, the TrailRider® eased a few of the barriers to your participation in the outdoors, but it also required that you navigate the challenging terrain of loss of independence. What motivated you to be willing to take the above risks, among others?

Kim

It was indeed a risk, but I’ve learned in life (often the hard way) that circumstances will push me into the places I am scared to go. I knew one of my biggest challenges was to make my ability more visible than my “disability.” Sitting in the Trailrider®, being moved by a team of people, was going to make my disability pretty obvious. Therefore, I had to somehow “soften” the psychological impact for me. I decided, as I often do in uncomfortable situations, to use humour. I made a “Princess on Board” sign and wore a tiara. The other pivotal factor for me was you, TA. I did not know you well personally at that point, but I did know enough about you to know you were thoughtful and careful in your approach to people and things. I knew you would take the best care in mitigating all risks. You are a natural leader, and I also personally knew some members of the team who were also of the same character. You and the team made me feel safe. Goodwin et al. (2009) concluded that “the TrailRider® based hiking program presented, not a scenario of dependence based on incompetence or helplessness, but a shared commitment to a common interest in hiking,” however it did “take some reflection for the participants to come to this conclusion, given the social backdrop against which disability is constructed and portrayed (p. 53).”

TA

I remember when we used the climbing wall at Easter Seals in 2014. They had the mechanical advantage belay system, so if you needed some lift while climbing, their system would allow it. You took the risk to leave the ground, and you trusted your belayer. I climbed up beside you to cheer you on as well as take some pictures. When you returned to the ground, I asked if you would belay me (see Fig. 2). While climbing beside you, I’d remembered one of my favourite quotes by bell hooks (1994), “If we are to teach in a manner that empowers students .... That empowerment cannot happen if we refuse to be vulnerable while encouraging students to take risks” (p.21). I didn’t want you to be the only one taking risks in our partnership, and I knew that belaying for another, while climbing, can be empowering.

Fig. 2
figure 2

Photograph of Kim belaying TA while she climbed the wall at Easter Seals in 2014

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Kim

To risk is a human condition; we do not exist individually or collectively without taking risks. It was so striking when you shared with me this quote: “A life without risks can erode a person’s dignity” (Marsh & Kelly, 2018, p. 297). It resonated with me so strongly because it explained something I had felt for a long time but did not understand until reading those words. PwD are often sheltered from any risks and placed in a bubble of protection by parents or caregivers. This dynamic creates, once again, the paradigm of “us” and “them,” including the designation of different than or “special.” But PwD want opportunities and options just like every human being does—including the risky ones. Without risk, there is a loss of opportunity for success and exploration of capacity and capability – it is indeed a loss of human dignity. Babies need to fall to learn to walk, and without the opportunity to do so, they will not develop their capacity to be mobile, which in turn will curtail many more opportunities and options. Risk is natural and needed – for everyone (Marsh & Kelly, 2018).

TA

As I’ve said earlier, you were often the teacher. You were kind enough to accept the invitation that my student extended to be the focus of her course project in the summer of 2015. As a student in my therapeutic and inclusive use of the outdoors course, she wanted to work with a local outfitter to offer inclusive ziplining. We discussed in class how, for many PwD, that outdoor activity could be a “perfect storm of risk,” whereby they are limited to watered-down experiences with little or no risk or prevented from participating at all (Burns et al., 2013, p. 1060). People with disabilities often find that the outdoors is labelled as “a very ‘risky place’” for them (Burns et al., 2013, p. 1065). My student found the outfitter to be open and willing, so we set a date for us all to go ziplining. The plan was to use the TrailRider® to move between ziplining stations. After we got into harnesses, helmets, and leather gloves, I took this picture (see Fig. 3).

Fig. 3
figure 3

Photograph of Kim wearing a zipline harness, helmet, and gloves in 2015. Kim is standing with her crutches and holding a sign that says, “Deb – Please forgive TA ☺”

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Kim

I was surprised and impressed when the outfitter was so open to having me try out ziplining. It has led to discussions about when people deal with risk regularly (as a zipliner or mountain adventurer would) there seems to be more openness to having PwD participate in what might be viewed by some as risky activities. I think some of that openness comes from a better understanding of how to identify and mitigate risk. And wherever the outfitter’s attitudes came from, I know it was very refreshing and made for a spectacular experience. As Bell (2019, p. 317) states: “Shared experiences with people who appreciate the dignity of risk often enhance such opportunities, offering valued companionship, cultivating the skills and competencies required to explore a mountain, cave or rock face, or simply offering support, and encouragement.” Risk is something we need more of in the field of recreation for PwD because it does not exist in many other places (Goodwin et al., 2009).

TA

I remember being so angry last summer when I was leading a paddling event for my local paddling club. I hadn’t had an opportunity to examine the waiver of liability form in close detail before, and I noticed that they had a particular section of the form for people with disabilities to sign. The waiver made it sound as though PwD were at higher risk. I ranted and ranted. The risks (i.e., drowning, hypothermia, falling from a boat, etc.) were the same for all participants regardless of ability, and the club didn’t need the special section. Instead, what was required was a deep awareness of all of my participants’ abilities: swimming, paddling, moving, gripping, layering, etc., as well as any physical and mental health needs they might have. With this knowledge, I then set-up whatever safety systems were needed to manage the inherent risks. I know that PwD face numerous, and sometimes insurmountable, barriers to participation in outdoor activities, and I didn’t want a poorly worded risk and liability acknowledgment waiver to add to them (Burns et al., 2013; Marsh & Kelly, 2018; Rimmer & Marques, 2012; Ross, 2001).

Kim

Yes, it is something I feel we need to talk about more with providers and practitioners because it is sometimes hard for people to give up their assumptions. We need to step back and ask if our actions are unnecessarily denying PwD choices to participate and have control over how they participate. It can be an awkward conversation because people tend to come with the best of intentions but honestly, have not had the experience or information to understand where PwD’s autonomy fits in the picture.

TA

Through our times together, I’ve “dropped many storylines” about outdoor participation. I’ve broadened my definition of what constitutes outdoor adventure. I’ve slowed down my practice and made much more space for place. We often stop to look at the trees, the birds, the pond that is reflecting the buttery evening light. However, in the past, much of my personal and teaching focus was on seeking peak experiences by overcoming outdoor challenges (Crosbie, 2018). Yet I now see a broader and more vibrant spectrum of outdoor possibilities for both my students and me. I learned to ask all participants what they are seeking when they come to the outdoors. I have seen that folks with disabilities, “participate in outdoor adventure activities, not only for their benefits but for enjoyment, a love of nature, a feeling of accomplishment, and the opportunity to overcome natural obstacles, and thus test their own limits” (Richardson, 1986, p. 45). Now, my outdoor pedagogy engages “in a process of negotiation with [each] learner,” adapting for each “individual’s abilities and skills,” as well as to the needs of the group as a whole (Giese & Ruin, 2018, p 162).

The day we went sea kayaking with my class was also a pivotal experience for us. Once you transferred into the kayak and had the spray skirt on, your disability became temporarily invisible (see Fig. 4). I, like Taylor and McGruder (Taylor & McGruder, 1996, p. 43), saw that “kayakers with or without disabilities experience essentially the same thing – being on the water and paddling. There is no coach, no referee, and no wheelchair.”

Fig. 4
figure 4

Photograph of Kim of sitting in the front of a double sea kayak in 2015. To Kim’s left is a fishing boat with colourful buoys

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Kim

Even though I grew up 20 ft from the ocean, I had never been in a kayak until 2015. Beyond the day I gave birth to my daughter, it was the best experience in my life to be on the ocean and truly experience it so differently and intimately. Being on the sea was so freeing. Being on the saltwater in the kayak provided a place where I was no different than any other kayaker (Taylor & McGruder, 1996). We were experiencing the same sights, sounds, and smells. Nature offered her gifts to me, just as she did to everyone else there. She even let her water make me wet like it made everyone else wet because nature does not discriminate. As TA stated above, my disability became invisible when I was in the kayak. The feeling that that gave me is something even harder to describe, the freedom of directly experiencing the ocean in all its majesty. To be hidden from glaring, judging, or inquisitive eyes was a gift.

TA

You began this journey with me in search of physical activity and access to nature. You, like so many other PwD, have faced “substantial barriers to participating in physical activity (Rimmer & Marques, 2012, p.193).” What have been the rewards and benefits of becoming more physically active outdoors?

Kim

I sleep better. I feel better. It keeps my strength up. I experience it every time I’m active. I feel tired, but I feel energized and powerful as well. It’s sometimes hard to put into words, but it’s incredible (Kim et al., 2018). And I can’t overemphasize how critical using one’s body to its fullest potential is – for everyone. For PwD, we are often behind the eight-ball when it comes to mortality. We can easily find ourselves on the slippery slope of ageing and decreasing physical capacity before we are even “aged.” My father passed away in 2017, and I watched his body decay over the years leading to his death. He lost muscle mass and strength, and he used his body less because of this, and the downward spiral began. I watched this process, and I deeply understood that I needed to be careful not to land on the same slippery slope “before my time.” I want to use my body, and I want to be active, I – like everyone else – want to live. So, because of this wish, I will continue this journey with you and see where it leads us, and we will share whatever we discover along the way (Fig. 5).

Fig. 5
figure 5

Photograph of Kim skiing using a Hippocampe Chair in 2015. TA stands in front connected to the Hippocampe via a rope to assist. There is white snow on the ground, and green conifer trees and blue sky in the background. Copyright 2015 by Marian Wissink

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Conclusion: moving forward from here

TA

Figure five is one of my favourite photographs from all of our outdoor trips together. It was in 2015 and our first winter excursion, and I loved that we could both participate in moving through the winter landscape. During our lunch break, you shared that this was the first time that you saw beauty and possibility in the winter season because, for most of the snowy season, you face tremendous barriers in navigating your way through our city.

It’s now time that we bring our narratives to a close. Kim, would you share the list of hints you wrote for outdoor practitioners that arose out of our conversations and readings from the literature?

Kim

Any outdoor experience begins with a person. Keep the person first. You are first and foremost working with a person. Focus not on the activity, but on the person inside of that activity. Don’t ever get “outside” of the person. Stay person-centered. To complement this approach, use person-first language as this helps build a respectful relationship. This is intrinsically linked to a person-centered model of outdoor practice.

Now that we have you centered wholly and solely on the person, you need to remember to start where you would “typically” start. We do not use the word ‘normal.’ It is only meant to be a setting on the clothes dryer. Assess any conditions or barriers that you need to adjust or potentially be prepared to adjust.

Start the process by asking the person what they want and need to proceed. Often this means presenting them with information and options. Involve them actively in how to proceed. And listen to what they say! Listen carefully and heed and never assume or take anything for granted.

Then move forward as a team, engaging in the given activity in the manner that best suits the team, the activity, and the conditions and circumstances. Adjust as needed along the way – but never lose the person-centered approach and the active asking and listening process. And then go have fun ....

  • Rinse and repeat ...

  • Rinse and repeat ...

  • Rinse and repeat ...

  • Rinse and repeat.

TA

You, the reader, have witnessed us, the researchers like Norris and Sawyer (2012), “trying to make sense of and transform [our] recalled experiences”; and we acknowledge that our stories have “transformed over time,” as we told, wrote, and re-told them (p. 18). Our duoethnography, therefore, is necessarily fluid and reflexive, and we invite you to examine your beliefs and practices as you interact with our narratives (Norris & Sawyer, 2012). We have not sought to provide generalizable findings; rather, we have woven our life histories and stories together to find meaning in how we shared outdoor activity (Norris & Sawyer, 2017; Spencer & Paisley, 2013).

Like Crosbie (2018, p. 386), we agree that “the inclusion of PwD into outdoor activities has come a long way, [but] there is still a considerable further distance to travel until full inclusion is reached.” Still too often, folks with disabilities feel unwelcome in the outdoors, both in social inclusion and in the accessibility of outdoor recreation places (Burns et al., 2009). We know that PwD have, for decades, “indicated a desire for environmental modifications to accommodate people with disabilities,” while at the same time, being forced to accept less accessibility within more primitive and wilderness environments (Ross, 2001, p. 151).

We, like many others, echo the need for further inclusive research that examines the experiences of PwD participating in outdoor activities across multiple settings and methods. When this research occurs, it is critical that PwD are at the forefront of these inquiries as lead researchers and co-investigators, as well as program administrators, instructors and students (see for example Bell, 2019; Cartell Johnson & Hineman, 2019; Crosbie, 2018). We have answered Howe’s (2009) call for the “use of reflexive ethnography in leisure spaces” (p. 489) as well as Dupuis’ (1999) call for reflexive research methodologies. We hope that this duoethnography adds to “open and honest debate about what we do well, mistakes we make and ways of improving research in this field”; debate that “will help both disabled and non-disabled researchers to better represent the lived experiences of sport and leisure in the lives of disabled research participants” (Macbeth, 2010, p. 484).