Loving a Place to Death: The Responsibility of Outdoor Influencers
How influence and digital responsibility affect natural places
“Social media didn’t influence this”
One day earlier this year, I was scrolling through Instagram and came across a thought-provoking post from an outdoor influencer that I follow on my hiking account. This particular post was a video with evocative imagery of a popular fire tower in the Appalachian Mountains—covered from the ground up in graffiti.
The message was powerful. The video panned the fire tower, revealing a before-and-after of the graffitied site, with a caption pleading with the audience not to vandalize places we love. It also asked if anyone would be willing to volunteer to clean up the careless streaks of paint that covered the walls and windows—so thickly coated that you could no longer see the expansive Appalachian views beyond the glass panes.
I, like most people following an outdoor account, was disgusted by the mistreatment of the tower. Anyone with a heart for nature would be. It would be easy to let out a guttural “THOSE DARNED KIDS!” and mutter unsavory things about the whole situation. And believe me, I was annoyed and angry at the state of the old tower, a relic of Appalachian history, left to the hands of vandals and other folks with neanderthal brains and careless intentions. However, that wasn’t the only thing that annoyed me about the post.
“And before you tell me that ‘social media did this,’ I truly believe this kind of thing happens often without social media influence.”
The influencer, already on the defence, was here to make a case. Social media had nothing to do with this, you see. People will mistreat natural places with or without social media pointing them to this exact spot.
However, I disagree. I think that shining a light on specific trails, overlooks, waterfalls, and peaks on social media directly results in higher visitation to those areas—including visitors who may not care about treating natural places the way they should be. You cannot simultaneously understand that you have enough influence to tell people where to visit, and at the same time, remove yourself from the conversation when those people arrive and behave badly.
You cannot simultaneously understand that you have enough influence to tell people where to visit, and at the same time, remove yourself from the conversation when those people arrive and behave badly.
It’s important to note that the fire tower post is an anomaly for this outdoor content creator. She regularly posts videos and carousels highlighting specific hiking and camping spots throughout southern Appalachia, with captions that read “Save this one for your next trip”, “Your ‘insert season here’ itinerary”, and “Places I would take you in the Carolinas.” The wanderlust imagery is peppered with sponsored posts promoting different products. It’s the usual content cadence for an influencer.
To the influencer’s credit, she was making a plea to clean up the tower in her video. And out of respect for her, I’m not going to add her handle here or name her specifically. I don’t know her personally. I’m using this instance as an example of what I view as a larger problem with outdoor influencers. That is, “loving” a place to death. Sharing a special spot in nature far and wide with an audience that cannot handle the responsibility of recreating outdoors, and doing all of this without sharing any information about land stewardship or responsible recreation.
Digital Engagement with Real World Consequence
When we as a species love a place so much, there can often be unintended, though largely predictable consequences. Take Max Patch, for example. I remember hiking to the summit of Max Patch in late summer 2019, looking in awe at the peaks and ridges that sprawled out in endless glory in all directions. How had I not been here before? Why did it take me so long to make my pilgrimage to this sacred spot? It was heavenly. I imagined how the stars must glitter at night. I knew then that at some point, I had to come back and camp here.
Then, I noticed the trash.
There was used toilet paper, egg cartons, wrappers, and an unkempt fire ring where smoke still swirled from a live ember. Others had camped here, too. . . many others. Other humans with no regard for, or perhaps even no knowledge of Leave No Trace principles, had left a trail of garbage in their wake. And worse, they left a seed of potential destruction that could have scarred the landscape permanently.
I wondered then in 2019 (what feels like eons ago now) how people could be so careless. As of writing this in 2026, I still have not made it back to Max Patch to camp.
Then, in July 2021, Pisgah National Forest issued a two-year camping ban on Max Patch. In June 2023, the ban was extended for another three years through June 2026. In a press release detailing the news, District Ranger Jen Barnhart said that “in addition to the trails recovering, we have seen a large decrease in fire ring scars and litter across the bald. We have also seen less congestion due to the reduced illegal parking in the area.”
It’s heartening to know that, given time, nature does heal itself. Without the crunch of humanity, loving the land to the point of smothering and smoldering it, there are silver linings on the horizon.
But, why were there so many people out at Max Patch in the first place?
A recent article from Smoky Mountain News offers an answer here. They said as Max Patch “. . .gained popularity regionally, it also started to catch on nationally, as it was included in numerous magazines and other publications, including “best hikes” lists. It was also the subject of popular social media posts, which themselves can draw visitors.” The article also cites the inundation of outdoor exploration during the pandemic.
And, what other activities saw an uptick during that tumultuous time? Social media usage.
A research article by Franco Delogu from May 2025 concluded that passive social media consumption “general increase in social media use, particularly among full-time employees, driven by increased free time and social isolation.” And, along with the increased social media usage, there was also a measurable increase in outdoor visitation.
A study from Georgia Tech’s School of Economics in 2024 found that National Parks with a high social media exposure had a 16 to 22% increase in visitors The article goes on to say that “The increase in visitation due to social media is a double-edged sword. . .More visitors can result in overcrowding, frustrating traffic jams, and difficulty accessing campsites or other amenities. More traffic also means more pollution.” An individual influencer might not cause that level of visitation increase, but they certainly contribute to the overall trend.
An individual influencer might not cause that level of visitation increase, but they certainly contribute to the overall trend.
For those of us who knew that there was a natural world to explore pre-COVID, we also know anecdotally that trails are simply more crowded now than they used to be. We have to get to our favorite spots earlier to beat the crowds. In our search for solitude, many of us travel further and are ever on the hunt for trails that haven’t been exploited by online personalities.
Some might argue that “exploit” is too strong a word for this instance. I disagree. Whether the intentions of these content creators are inherently benevolent or self-serving doesn’t matter—the result is the same. Posting a picture of a waterfall isn’t in itself exploitation, but the consequences of sending lots of people to a place that can’t handle the traffic certainly could be.
The Responsibility of Influence
Can an outdoor content creator be, at once, someone who loves the landscapes they explore, while also promoting a place responsibly?
I can’t speak for every outdoor influencer (especially because I am not one), but I would venture to think that not everyone starts an account to gain a massive following. At least, this hasn’t always been the case. But then again, there has not always been a monetary incentive to post on social media.
But, once you gain an audience, intentions seem to change.
An influencer, as defined by the Cambridge Dictionary, is “a person active on social media who is able to influence people's opinions or to persuade them to follow a particular lifestyle or buy a particular product.” Though the definition does not include the monetary aspect, if an influencer has sponsored content, ads, or affiliate links—it’s reasonable to assume that they’re getting paid.
People aren’t just posting for their close friends anymore, or for their friends at all. The content is tailored specifically to grow an audience through each platform’s specific algorithm with dopamine-inducing hooks (remember the “save this one for your next trip” line?). They want to grow their numbers. A post with a beautiful view that encourages people to save for their upcoming itinerary is a lot more appealing than a post about Leave No Trace, and that creates some tension.
This, I believe, is how some outdoor influencers end up prioritize their online presence ahead of the natural landscapes that they claim to love.
Social media algorithms are all slightly different, but a common throughline is this—the platforms reward engagement. That includes saves, shares, likes, comments, etc. The more engagement, the bigger the audience. The bigger the audience, the more money you can make.
That’s where this gets interesting. Influencers in the outdoorsy space are much like influencers in any other space. They want an audience that will come back to their content time and again, because that type of audience is a more lucrative one. And, the type of content that encourages engagement on this side of the internet are posts about places to go in the outdoors, including specific peaks, trails, parks, overlooks, waterfalls. . . and fire towers.
Like I mentioned earlier, they’re exploiting these specific places, even if it’s unintentional.
This, I believe, is why outdoor influencers exploit outdoor places. I also believe that their influence of others to explore specific places, catalyzed by the pandemic, has led to more visitor traffic in natural areas—including traffic from people who will harm these places. This may be intentional harm, through graffiti, vandalism, or litter, or unintentional harm, through trampling endangered species or going off trail.
But, remember the point that our dear friend who posted about the vandalized fire tower tried to make?
“And before you tell me that ‘social media did this,’ I truly believe this kind of thing happens often without social media influence.”
Sure, a few bad apples probably would do stupid things without social media. But, that doesn’t negate the fact that social media influencers play a part in this as well. If you have influence, it isn’t selective. If you have enough influence to convince your audience to purchase a product that you’re promoting, you surely also have enough influence to send ignorant people into the outdoors. You don’t get to decide who views your content, or what actions they might make because of it.
If you have enough influence to convince your audience to purchase a product that you’re promoting, you surely also have enough influence to send ignorant people into the outdoors.
If that makes you uncomfortable, then might I suggest that influencing isn’t the career path for you. Having influence requires that you also take ownership of the responsibility that comes with it.
How to Handle an Audience
I think that the natural places we all love would benefit from outdoor influencers who promote more messaging about how to behave in the outdoors. We need more information out there about hiking etiquette, what to do with wildlife interactions, how to be a steward of the land, and Leave No Trace—just to start.
I also think it’s about time that we reconsidered whether it’s a responsible idea to promote specific places to audiences who might not be equipped to handle them.
Social media is an evolving landscape, and it’s important to give ourselves grace as we learn more about its power and how it shapes the way we interact with one another and the world around us. I think this also means that we should be open to admitting when we have more influence than we may realize, and the consequences of that influence.
I don’t want to keep anyone who loves the outdoors from experiencing the joy that it has to offer. The world is a beautiful place, after all. I only hope that outdoor influencers might reflect and adjust their content so that it actually benefits the natural places that we love. If a post might bring harm to the land, I hope they ask themselves this—do you really care about these natural places, or do you only care about being an influencer?
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