I always thought poles were for ninnies: unsteady and old hikers. And though I do fall (pun intended) into that category, I didn’t see my need until I took a few hard tumbles. Carrying 35 pounds strapped to my back, all it took was one misstep and that weight acted as a catapult, pitching my body to the ground.

A friend who completed the Camino de Santiago in Spain introduced me to hiking poles. She isn’t a ninny, so I listened. “Sticks” as some hikers like to affectionately call poles, have subsequently become one of my essentials on hikes. Here are some reasons why: Even just 10 pounds of weight in a backpack can change your center of gravity. Poles on each side of your body help to steady that center and prevent the head over heels effect of a backpack pulling you off-balance. Poles prevent and break falls.

Poles give an added strength going uphill and downhill.

I use poles with adjustable lengths, so going uphill I shorten them to help my quads, using the poles to pull me uphill. Lengthening the poles for downhill stretches add extra points of contact with the ground, relieving stress on the knees, and preventing rolled ankles.

Another advantage to hiking with sticks is a fuller body workout. With every step an arm is reaching forward with a pole using multiple muscles from shoulders to fingers. This creates better muscle mass.

I have used poles in non-conventional ways too. When I camp overnight in my one-person, one-dog tent, I place an extended pole, tip pointed out, directly outside my zipped shut door. In case a creature comes sniffing around I have a ready defense at hand. (Creatures sniffing about during the night? Yup, it’s happened.) I also have stabbed and retrieved trash along the side of the road, wrapped my neck buff on the end and dipped in a cool stream, and used both poles for the ends of a clothes line to dry socks.

Though light-weight, poles can make some noise when tapped together. On my Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway hike in June of this year, while going through the notorious bear country of the Andorra Forest, a baby bear ran 6 feet in front of me. He was hell bent for leather about something. I had no doubt he was responding to his mother’s call to come quickly to her because there was an upright stranger walking through their home. My first instinct was to drop, but not seeing a mother bear, I remembered my hiking friend Noel’s advice about bears: make noise and look big. So I raised my poles over my head and started tapping them lightly as I walked.

Tap, tap, tap for the next quarter mile. Looking back over my shoulder every few steps I never saw that baby again or the mom.

My imagination also has created other scenarios where poles could come in handy in emergency situations: Tying a white handkerchief at the end of a pole and waving it overhead could act as a distress signal.

In winter, sticks could help pull me out of deep, hidden snow dens. If an emergency shelter is needed they can act as support poles for the shelter with a raincoat or poncho (since every prepared hiker carries a raincoat).

If poles are for ninnies, then I’m a ninnie. They have steadied me in more ways than one on this life-path of hiking.

Lisa Hoekstra lives in Peterborough and hikes for physical and mental health.