“Where are you going?”
I ask my partner in front, on his first experience of tramping in the New Zealand backcountry, as he veers off the barely discernible track.
He looks at me like I’m crazy and points to the faint outline of what could be a track meandering into the undergrowth. “I’m following the trail,” he says.
“No, the trail is straight ahead. Can’t you see the orange triangle?”
“What orange triangle?”
I point to the bright orange three-sided marker nailed to a tree, stark against the green foliage. “That one right there, 20m away, on the tree. About head height.”
He squints in the direction I am pointing, confusion on his face. “No.”
He walks on another 5m.
“Can you see it now?”
He shakes his head and goes on. A few metres from the marker, he stops and points with vexation. “Now I can see it! Whose stupid idea was it to make it orange?”
My partner, Mark Evans, is colour-blind. He mixes up blue with black, green with red and brown, pink with grey. He also has trouble seeing triangular orange track markers.
Evans is one of the eight per cent of men and 0.5 per cent of women who have a colour vision deficiency due to an absence of or impaired sensitivity to one or more of a cell type in the eye, known as cones. There are several types of colour-blindness, but the most common is red/green colour deficiency: the impaired ability to discriminate red from green, yellow and orange. People with this type generally perceive yellow and orange as a shade of green.


Enjoying the outdoors as a queer person