I’m on a guided hike at Spring Mountain Ranch State Park, and no one is talking. Even though our group has more than 20 people, we remain mute as we crunch up the gravelly trail. A woman ahead of me stops and steps out of the way, gesturing at me to go around her. I nod, grab my 5-year-old daughter’s hand, and hurry to close the gap in the line that snakes up to a lookout point. In any other circumstance, this wordless exchange might feel awkward. But on this Saturday morning, the quiet is by design. We’re on a silent hike.
Kate Bloomfield, a park interpreter with the Nevada Division of State Parks, began hosting silent hikes for the deaf and hard of hearing at Spring Mountain Ranch in 2024. Although the hearing can attend — and some do, mostly CSN students studying American Sign Language — the program targets the deaf and hard of hearing and their family members.
“The silent hikes have been wonderful,” Las Vegas resident Letty Calderon writes in a message exchange. “Being in nature has always been important to me.” Calderon has been on three so far and likes that the guided hikes serve as an opportunity for the deaf and hard of hearing to feel a sense of belonging, interact with the rangers, and “enjoy the hikes like hearing people.”
Kim Bauer-Schaub, a Las Vegas resident whose 7-year-old daughter is hard of hearing, says she likes that her daughter gets to be around other people who sign. “It brings normalcy. It encourages her,” she says.
I’m not deaf, but I tagged along hoping to learn how to better listen with my eyes. But the irony, as I discover, is that your hearing intensifies. With no small talk, my ears tune into the background noises, like the murmur of the stream or the call of a songbird, even the squeal of tires on State Route 159.
Two groups of hikers pass by, greeting us with “Hello!” and “Good morning!” When a man walking a German shepherd tries to engage the people behind me in conversation, I fight the urge to respond.
We arrive at a cemetery. One of the guides — the park enlists staff and volunteers to help lead the hikes — talks about the ranch’s former owners, one of which was the German actress Vera Krupp, who Bloomfield later tells me was involved with the deaf community. As the guide speaks, an ASL interpreter, paid for with grant funds, translates next to him. A woman asks a question, her hands signing quickly. The woman’s name is Sharon Meyers, and she tells me later through an interpreter: “We’d love to get more deaf people to join the hikes.”
“I really hope other parks would do something similar,” adds another hiker, Darla Connor, through an interpreter.
Although the Americans with Disabilities Act requires state and national parks to provide interpreter services upon request, many parks do not offer programming specifically for the deaf or hard of hearing. Bloomfield says the program at Spring Mountain Ranch came about after she examined her goals. She had two: Make connections with local residents and reach underserved communities.
“As I had already had many deaf visitors to the park, I realized that the deaf community met both,” she said in an email.
While the silent hikes and an annual Deaf Family Day event are the only inclusive/accessible recreation programs planned for the park, Bloomfield would love to add trail wheelchairs, too. “My granddaughter is medically complex. She cannot walk (and) is nonverbal but loves to be outside,” Bloomfield explains.
To date, the Spring Mountain Ranch State Park has hosted five silent hikes and house tours, with two more on the way this year. Bloomfield plans to reapply for the grant in the fall.
My daughter and I say our goodbyes to the group and climb into our car. I don’t turn on the radio, as I usually do, deciding to extend the silence just a little bit longer.
