The joys and challenges of connecting to nature as a person with disability

Before I became disabled at 16 years old, I took a lot of things for granted — like existing in a pain-free body, running to get the bus, and trekking on uneven hiking trails.

Growing up in WA, my family used to go on frequent trips to walk sections of the Bibbulmun Track, a 1,000km trail stretching from Kalamunda in the Perth Hills on Whadjuk Noongar Boodja all the way to Kinjarling (Albany) on Menang country.

My favourite part was always the Gloucester Tree, with spiral rungs circulating its gigantic trunk allowing people to climb 61 metres to a platform at its top.

I haven’t hiked the entire track yet, though I hope to one day soon. I’m lucky that with my disabilities, a lot of trails are still accessible to me with enough training, forward planning, and zero-days built in.

But the Bibbulmun isn’t accessible for a lot of my disabled friends. The official Bibbulmun Track website outlines its accessibility in this paragraph:

Due to the nature of the facility the Track is not widely used by people with physical disabilities, however, the Track between the Brookton Highway and Brookton campsite is designed to be wheelchair and pram accessible. Additionally, the campsite has wheelchair access, an accessible shelter and accessible toilet.

I reached out to the Bibbulmun Track to ask if they have any solutions currently in place to support disabled people’s access of the trail, or whether there are plans to improve accessibility of other sections, but had not received a response by the time of publication.

I’ve done a lot of solo hiking over the years, but it makes me sad to know I won’t be able to hike the length of the Bibbulmun with some of my favourite people. Or potentially at all as the years fly by, depending on how my physical disability progresses.

Being disabled in nature

2025 AusPlay data reports that 11.8 per cent of Australian adults with disability go for a bush walk at least once a year, compared to 18.5 per cent of people without disability. Additionally, 550,000 people report disability as a barrier to participating in sport and recreation annually.

Getting out into nature has been one of the key protective factors for my mental health and wellbeing over the years, though what that looks like has changed significantly since my teens — less fearlessly flinging my body in the unknown and more deciphering new methods of managing pain.

When I hiked the Larapinta Trail in 2019, it was filled with millions of rocks, dozens of Clif Bars, and innumerable stretch breaks. I’d stop beside every boulder or signpost to perch a leg on, trying to reduce the pressure on my lower back. 

Connection to Country, animals, ourselves, and each other is strengthened when we leave behind built environments and foray into natural spaces. I’m not exaggerating when I say that getting out into nature has saved my life numerous times.

The outdoors helped Claudia Stevenson get through school and the years beyond, as well. Stevenson is the president of Achilles Melbourne, a non-profit that coordinates regular running training sessions for people with disabilities, particularly vision impairments.

Though Stevenson isn’t a runner, they’ve always been active — first with Scouts, then hiking, and now trail running and paddling too.

They say they’ve always been passionate about accessible sports.

“Assumptions about disability that play themselves out in every other aspect of our lives are also there in recreation,” Stevenson said.

Stevenson recounts a time they and a sighted friend joined a mainstream hiking tour for a day hike, paying tour fees and driving the couple of hours together out to the trail.

“I was completely underestimated by the tour guide,” Stevenson said. 

“The first thing she told me was, ‘This is going to be a problem. You’re going to slow everyone else down.’

“But after I had a few words with her, then blazed everyone on the trail, she ate her words and apologised.”

Stories like Stevenson’s are unfortunately common in mainstream spaces, and this is where specialist providers and ally mainstream providers really shine.

When organisations get it right

Achilles Melbourne, in addition to their regular run clubs, also organise hiking and trail running adventures in partnership with Trail Bus. 

The bus solves one of the major issues many disabled people have in accessing nature: transport.

Trail Bus doesn’t just drive people out and back, they also craft bespoke tours that take into account the different abilities and goals of the people involved.

There are options for both walkers and runners, with different routes and challenge levels available for folks in the group to choose from.

“The organisers of Trail Bus tours are great at calculating and mitigating risks without wrapping us in cotton wool,” Stevenson said.

Achilles x Trail Bus tours seem to have found that sweet spot between making things challenging without being impossible.

Stevenson recollected a day trip they went on recently when the tour was so accessible, their sighted guide didn’t have to be with them the entire time.

“Being able to be alone in the bush was amazing,” Stevenson said.

“So much of the time I rely on my hearing and other senses to get around, just having silence and independence in that way was incredible.”

Does living in a regional area make it easier to access the outdoors?

Writer, parent, and disability activist Jasper Peach has also relied on nature a lot over the years.

They moved into their current home in Castlemaine on Dja Dja Wurrung country during lockdown in mid-2021 and soon found the perfect trail for their daily walks.

Traversing the same route day in and day out helped Peach attune to their disabled body — through repetitive witnessing of natural cycles, of bloom and decay.

“This is going to sound morbid,” they said.

“But I really connected with a squashed frog on the side of the road. No one came to clean up the dead frog, but they didn’t need to.

“Its body slowly disintegrated back into the earth. Things change. Our bodies change. It was sad and magical all at once.”

Castlemaine is a regional area about 120 kilometres north-west of Naarm (Melbourne) full of heritage listed sites and stunning hiking trails, but not many of them are accessible.

Due to Peach’s disabilities, their daily dirt-track trail was one of the few nature walks in Castlemaine they could actually access. But since a recent fall, Peach hasn’t even been able to walk that trail because it’s not flat.

“There’s a lot the council needs to do to improve accessibility around here,” Peach said.

“But because it’s largely a heritage area and it seems like the priority is aesthetics, things like uneven trail paths and curb cuts haven’t been updated.”

Mount Alexander Shire Council has information about accessible services and features of the area on their website, including an access map of central Castlemaine.

So how do we make the outdoors more accessible for disabled people?

Disabled people are used to navigating spaces that aren’t designed for us, and making the best of less-than-ideal situations.

We still want to feel the sand between our toes, hear the sulphur-crested cockatoos screeching up a storm at dusk, and see wind swaying the karri tree branches — so we make extensive plans and get out bush.

It takes a lot of mental and emotional labour to arrange outdoors adventures and can be particularly disappointing if all that labour goes to waste because a hiking trail is unexpectedly inaccessible.

That’s why it’s so refreshing to see organisations like Outdoors Victoria and Outdoors WA showcase disability-friendly activities, and even large mainstream organisations like Melbourne Marathon have taken strides to improve the accessibility of their events.

Disabled people deserve to be able to access the benefits of nature, outdoors spaces, and physical recreation, just like everyone else.

“Consider the person, not the disability,” Stevenson said when asked what they would tell mainstream organisations wanting to be more accessible. 

“And don’t underestimate people.”

Eli Sutherland (they/them) is a disabled writer, creative consultant, and director of Trans Book Festival.

This content was produced for the ABC’s International Day of People with Disability coverage which runs from November 19 to December 10, 2025. 

The ABC is partnering with International Day of People with Disability to recognise the contributions and achievements of the 5.5 million Australians with disability.