This game immediately felt different from the others we have played in this class. I felt calmer at every stage, every step seeming solvable and passable, even in moments of failure/frustration (such as the game glitching on me 15 minutes in). While Kagen makes the argument that the game Eastshade is a “fantasy of work” because it romanticizes creative labor, turning exploration into a productive form of self-fulfillment, a Short Hike feels like wandering doesn’t carry weight.
Kanger wrote that wandering games create “unproductive, contemplative, anticapitalist play” by resisting systems of constant tasks and rewards. A Short Hike does the same thing, where even though there are technically quests and collectibles, the game never feels like it’s pressuring the player into a certain direction or optimization. Even the movements and the sound effects feel calming and just a part of the process. There isn’t a punishment for inefficiency (much unlike the shouting of the narrator in the Tiger game), and no overarching economic system that Claire needs to monetize her exploration. While there is the objective of reaching the top of the mountain to get a signal, there seems to be encouragement of digression and trying new things, including interacting with other characters. I remember spending a lot of time trying to return the toy shovel to the kid building sandcastles, even though it didn’t feel relevant to the climb itself. The action did not carry a reward to me as a player and took my mind away from the progress. At one point, I paused my ascent to keep racing Avery along the beach, again, not because there was an immediate reward but because it felt enjoyable. While I haven’t played Eastshade, Kagen’s presentation of it is an illusion that precarious and detailed, tired labour can be meaningful if it also aligns with passion and interest, in a world where everyone gets to do what they love. A Short Hike doesn’t feel like it is about labour — Claire isn’t expected to be heroic or fix a problem, even the main objective of the game is simple, to find a signal. At the start, climbing the cliffs felt difficult (this could have been because of my physical inabilities), but then later it felt like Claire was able to soar. The narration, with calming statements like “it’s really beautiful here” or “sure is a nice day,” continued to quash any panic that the player might feel, adding to the overall serenity of the process.
Certain bridges and campfires feel familiar, rather than endlessly large/unending as other open-world games can feel. It felt navigable, where the animation and soundtrack make even moments that could traditionally feel frustrating into gentle moments. The player, through Claire, begins to engage with the landscape as less of an obstacle to overcome and more of a space to inhabit and explore. This aligns with Kagen’s argument that wandering games have the ability to produce “contemplative” forms of play that are able to resist the constant pressure of achievement and measurable success. At the beginning of the game, running out of stamina or slipping down the rocks were frustrating, but unlike many other games, they didn’t carry much emotional weight — they felt recoverable. Falling only led to Claire being slightly further back than where she had been, and as she collected more golden feathers, movement became easier.
This transformation through the game felt especially important in relation to the ending. Through the ascent, as a player, I found myself forgetting about the initial mission, in the encouraged pauses and detours. At the point when Claire reaches the summit and answers the phone, the wandering and the goal start to come together again. The conversation reveals that Claire had been carrying anxiety and a sense of uncertainty from outside the island throughout the entire ascent process. But, even this is not done in a dramatic twist, or a transform that turns Claire into a heroic figure for reaching the top. If at all, it feels a bit anti-climactic, but then at the same time, as a player, I wasn’t really sure what to expect next. The conversation was the most amount of emotional depth I had felt through the character up to that point. This ending rationalized why the wandering felt so light in the first place, because the game never framed Claire’s movement as something that she needed to justify. Even after this phone call, there are no dramatics that turn the wandering into hidden labour or prove that these were all part of some secret plot that builds towards a larger accomplishment. There wasn’t a big “gotcha!” moment or something that shone light on a new aspect, but the game just keeps that same emotional softness it had throughout. Claire just sits there for a moment before coming back down.
This reinforces the game’s larger point, that the value of the experience wasn’t supposed to come from just reaching the summit. While Kagen might be right, and that the wandering games aren’t “just” about walking around, the experience of a Short Hike shows that if one chooses to do so, there is a way to enjoy the process and not just a “deeper meaning” or cause. This idea reminded me of the first week and the arguments made in “The Death of an Author,” and how we argued in class whether it was necessary to always look for reasoning and explanation. A Short Hike allows the movement and wandering through the game to remain meaningful on its own terms. Thus, Short Hike felt like a fantasy of low stakes, one lacking urgency.
Hi Anavi! I really appreciate your idea that A Short Hike feels like a “fantasy of low stakes,” especially because you connect that feeling not just to the narrative, but to the mechanics and atmosphere of the game itself. Your observation that failure never carries much emotional weight feels particularly important and is something that I experienced while playing as well. Even moments that would traditionally create frustration in other games like falling down cliffs, running out of stamina, or getting lost on the island feel softened by the game’s tone, music, and movement systems that encourage aimless exploration. I felt comfortable deviating from what I felt like I was ‘supposed’ to do, which took off lots of pressure especially when I didn’t succeed. I also found your connection to The Death of the Author really compelling because it highlights how the game resists the pressure to justify every interaction with some deeper narrative payoff or mechanical reward. The game seems comfortable allowing moments to simply exist as pleasant experiences. At the same time, however, I wonder if that emotional softness becomes more meaningful precisely because Claire does carry her own underlying anxiety throughout the game. The low stakes of the island are temporary and constructed against the backdrop of real-world emotional uncertainty, and the wandering may not just reject urgency, but create a protected space where Claire can safely step outside of it for a while.