building trails to fail

In our region, trails are on the rise. More grants, more community demand, more Instagram posts.

At first glance, that looks like progress. But beneath the surface, a problem is taking root: nonprofit organizations are increasingly positioning themselves as trail professionals—without the credentials, training, or technical partners to back it up.

When conservation groups or community nonprofits take the lead on trail design and construction, without proper drainage planning, grade reversals, or even basic corridor clearing best practices, we get trails that look good for a season but fail in the long run. Trails that erode, collect water, or slip their bench.

Trails that break trust with landowners and public agencies.

And because these trails are often built on public lands, the consequences ripple outward. Land managers are left cleaning up the mess. Municipalities grow hesitant. And public confidence falters.

Part of the issue lies in how some trail projects are funded. 

Increasingly, modest trail grants are coming from community development or health-focused foundations. These funders don’t typically support infrastructure, but they’re inspired by trails as tools for connection, wellness, and resilience. They see the vision, but often don’t fully understand what professional trail design and construction actually require.

Nonprofits, aware that they’re already asking funders to stretch beyond their usual priorities, feel pressure to keep budgets modest. That often means lowballing construction costs to make the grant feel reasonable and winnable.

In practice, this can mean skipping professional trail builders altogether and relying instead on internal staff, volunteers, or low-bid crews without the needed expertise. The result? Trails that erode, flood, or fall short of meeting community needs.

What happens next?

Staff members who’ve attended a weekend workshop or completed an online course suddenly find themselves pin flagging trail corridor and leading construction projects. But a half-day session on trail basics doesn’t make someone a trail professional any more than a CPR class makes someone a paramedic.

These aren’t people trying to deceive anyone. They’re people who genuinely believe they’ve gotten the training they need. But the gap between introductory knowledge and professional competency is vast.

And the consequences of that gap play out on the landscape for years.

The pressure grows when major donors want hands-on involvement in trail building. Caught between maintaining relationships and upholding professional standards, nonprofits often default to keeping funders happy at the expense of long-term trail sustainability.

So how do we fix it?

The answer isn’t to sideline conservation nonprofits or community groups. They bring essential strengths: local trust, funding relationships, and deep commitment to place. They’re often the reason a trail project happens at all.

Instead, we need to reframe donor involvement around sustainable impact. Donors who work alongside professional trail builders gain meaningful, hands-on experience while contributing to something built to last. They can take pride in trails that will serve the community for decades, not just seasons. (There are a number of examples of how this has been done well.)

What if grant programs required partnerships with qualified trail professionals? What if funders invested in capacity-building to help nonprofits develop relationships with trail experts? What if applications had to demonstrate technical competence on the team?

Trail building is a profession for a reason. It requires technical skill, environmental literacy, and a long-view commitment to both land and people.

Passion matters. But it’s not a substitute for practice.

If we want trails to endure, we need humility. We need qualified partners. And we need the courage to say: “We’re not the experts on this part, but we know who is. Let’s get them on the team.”