The Blissful Hiker sells her flute to make the dream of walking a long-distance thru-hike a reality before it's too late and arthritis takes over her body.
In this episode:
- Meet ex-professional flutist and voracious hiker, the Blissful Hiker.
- With arthritis taking over her body, time was running out.
- But once she voiced her dream to walk a long trail, the universe conspired to make it happen.
- And letting go of her professional flute, brought her one step closer to New Zealand’s long pathway, the Te Araroa.
MUSIC: The music in this episode is Argentine composer Angel Lasala’s Poema del Pastor Coya as played by Alison Young, flute and Vicki Seldon, piano
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The Show: My name is alison young and I am the Blissful Hiker. Walking was always my solace, the place I found peace, got centered and came up with creative ideas. My earliest memory is of looking down at my feet as they took me from our house in New York up a winding sidewalk to the back door of the church where my father was the minister. I had places to go! Up there was nursery school.
I had a long, hard, fraught but ultimately deeply satisfying and successful career as a professional flutist that took me all over the world, until one day in my mid-thirties when I couldn’t move my fingers. It seems I had developed a neurological condition, dystonia, and it ended my career.
I played with great orchestras, made recordings, toured, taught, but much of what I did in my life was unrelated to making music. I had this kind of part-time gig as a hiker and when I traveled, I’d fit in some walking like in Japan, China, Pakistan, Switzerland, Argentina, and of course all over the United States. Blissful Hiker’s little motto of “walking the world” is kind of spot on.
When radio took over my life, I would work weekends to stockpile a few priceless extra days to take even more adventurous hikes, which only whet my appetite for more – and longer – hikes. I wanted to see what it felt like to walk far, a thru-hike of thousands of miles, something verging on a lifestyle.
But I kept that dream a secret for a long time – though time was running out – dystonia screwed up my hands so I couldn’t play the flute at a high professional level and now, I was developing arthritis in my feet. Would I also lose the ability to walk?
How lovely it is to dream while you are awake. Anybody can dream while they're asleep, but you need to dream all the time, and say our dreams out loud, and believe in them.
–Andre Agazzi
It’s kind of woowoo, but I have had the experience where when I voice something I want, things begin to change, like the universe is conspiring to make things happen.
And then there was that flute sale. It turned out one of my adult students wanted to buy it. When we got to the moment I put the flute in her hands, she she presented me with her first student flute from grade school, a little silver-plated jobbie with a sweet sparkly tone. “Let’s make a trade,” she said. “This flute for a flute lesson.”
And I was just that much closer to my thru-hike.
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A few years ago, I sold my professional flute, in order to pay for a half-year’s leave-of-absence from my job, to walk the length of New Zealand.
Ok, that leaves a whole lotta questions.
Like, walk the length of New Zealand?
Leave-of-absence from your job?
Professional flute?
My name is alison young. Welcome to the first episode of The Pee Rag – the unfiltered adventures of the Blissful Hiker.
Yes, I am the Blissful Hiker – sometime-professional flutist, sometime-voice artist and full-time pedestrian.
In this weekly podcast, I’ll share with you what its like on the trail – why anyone would want to walk that far – and, while it may not be a glamorous life, why it’s one of the most fulfilling.
You could say, I have a bit of a checkered past. One night at the dinner table when I was 14, I announced that I planned to go to at an all-arts boarding high school the following year - but not to worry about the cost, because I would be taking an audition for a scholarship, which I was planning to win.
After my announcement, I bowed my head back down into my hamburger helper, without another word, my mom and step father shocked into silence.
Going to Interlochen Arts Academy – and playing my flute – was an escape for me from the stress of home life and a school where I didn’t quite fit in and the beginning of a long, hard, fraught but ultimately deeply satisfying and successful career – a professional flute playing career that took me all over the world – until one day in my mid-thirties when I couldn’t move my fingers.
It never even occurred to me that a technique as fluid and impeccable as mine, could just suddenly stop.
It seems I had developed a neurological condition, dystonia, and it ended my career.
But let’s pause here – yes, losing my ability to play at that exceptional level really sucked – it was a sucker-punch of loss and I was adrift for years– but to tell you the truth, I did a lot of living while playing the flute. Yes, I played with great orchestras, made recordings, toured, taught. But much of what I did in my life was unrelated to making music. I had this kind of part-time gig as a hiker and when I traveled, I’d fit in some walking – like in Japan, China, Pakistan, Switzerland, Argentina - and of course all over the United States.
Oftentimes I felt divided in choosing somewhere to go to further my career while keeping an eye out for where I could hike next. Blissful Hiker’s little motto of “walking the world” is kind of spot on.
You see, walking was always my solace, the place I found peace, got centered and came up with creative ideas – my earliest memory is of looking down at my feet as they took me from our house in New York up a winding sidewalk to the back door of the church where my father was the minister.
I had places to go. Up there was nursery school– and I did not need anyone to take me. My feet could do that. I remember the smell of the air, dodging roly-poly caterpillars, swinging my arms and feeling powerful.
I was about five when I got completely lost on Nantucket Island. That may have been the first time I really felt fear, confused after taking a wrong turn and unable to pronounce the name of our hosts to a nice lady who asked me where I lived – Schmidt.
When we moved to New Hampshire after my parents divorced, I had acres of woods to wander in and would disappear for hours, I even found my brother’s secret fort , and they rewarded my discovery by allowing me to puff a cigarette.
The first time my dad took my brother and me to Yosemite, I played my flute on top of Half Dome, hauling it up the chain ladder on my back.
On another visit, I got in big trouble one Thanksgiving, when I kept going up and up past Yosemite Falls, thinking I could make a giant loop and still make it back in time for dinner. It began snowing – hard – and if it wasn’t for two Swiss boys I latched onto, I may have gotten lost out there.
No one was particularly concerned for my safety. They were mostly angry because I was so selfish. Yeah, I probably was. The teaching moment for them was never drop Alison off in a playground like Yosemite and expect her to limit herself.
For me, the lesson was if you want to act like a bad ass, do it on your own time.
After that I started extending hiking into backpacking and mostly went alone, fully responsible only to myself. If I wanted to wander further, it was up to me – if I wanted to go fast or saunter, I determined it.
After flute was pretty much scratched as a viable career, I found a new voice in another, related field - as a classical music broadcaster.
When radio took over my life, I would work weekends to stockpile a few priceless extra days to take even more adventurous hikes – to Chile, South Africa and Lesotho, the entire spine of the French Alps and more of the United States. – I saw so much beauty – which only whet my appetite for more – and longer – hikes.
I wanted – I needed – to see what it felt like to walk far – really far – a thru-hike of thousands of miles, and to do it all at once, something that would take months to accomplish. It only seemed natural, the proper progression from weeks-long backpack trips to something verging on a lifestyle.
But I kept that dream a secret for a long time. Though time was running out. Dystonia screwed up my hands so I couldn’t play the flute at a high professional level - and now, I was developing arthritis in my feet
Would I also lose the ability to walk?
You’re listening to the Pee Rag – the unfiltered adventures of the Blissful Hiker
What is a pee rag? Let’s just say, it’s a tool that enables a female hiker to get the job done without fuss or muss, and focus on being her bad ass self on the trail.
So, time passed and I developed my career as a broadcaster – and simultaneously developed my dream to be a thru-hiker. I knew what loss felt like, that nightmarish feeling of being completely powerless – a neurological condition that was no one’s fault took me down – I liked my job as a radio host too, a lot. But if my toes were gnarling up due to arthritis and if I wanted to see what it was like to walk a thru-hike, I needed to get on it before it was too late.
I might not have the ability at 65 to do what I needed to do – and could do – in my 50’s.
But I had no idea how to go about this. It felt stupid, impossible and definitely selfish. I’m pretty sure I might have maybe mentioned this idea in passing to my husband, Richard, but I kept it inside from everyone else,
And then I remembered this quote I read once. I think in Sports illustrated or somewhere – it was tennis player Andre Agazzi – talking about how lovely it is to dream while we’re awake – that anyone can dream when asleep – but you need to dream all the time – you need to believe it – and you need to say it.
Ooo, boy, that part tripped me up – to actually voice this idea – say it – put it out there? It’s kind of woowoo, but I have had the experience where when I voice something I want, things begin to change, like the universe is conspiring to make things happen.
It was kind of by accident – and maybe a few too many beers. Sitting around the campfire with friends after an awesome day of rock climbing on the North Shore of Lake Superior. It might have been that I felt kind of chuffed from the hard climbs I achieved and the problems I solved achieving them. Or it could have been I was so exhausted and the alcohol was doing its magic and I just blurted it out to the group.
"You know I’d really like to see what happens to my body, mind and spirit walking a long thru-hike – like the Appalachian Trail or something – but I have absolutely no idea how to do it.”
I can’t even remember who it was, but it sounded so logical.
"Why not ask for a leave of absence?” a small voice chimed in from the darkness beyond the firelight – Of course! What could it hurt to just ask?
And so I did – I asked – for this somewhat ridiculous personal thing.
It would take two years to receive permission to go - then a whole lot of planning, saving, organizing and finally signing an agreement that said I’d be back in five months.
And then there was that flute sale. Funny how it was on another short backpack trip fitted in between work obligations when the idea hit me – while the value of that instrument wouldn’t replace all my salary for five months, it would sure help and it turned out one of my adult students wanted to buy it. She sounded like an angel and when we got to the moment I put the flute in her hands, she asked me with great concern, "What will you play now?" I shrugged my shoulders saying I don’t really play much anyway. And that’s when she presented me with her first student flute from grade school, a little silver-plated jobbie with a sweet sparkly tone. “Let’s make a trade.” She said, "This flute for a flute lesson."
We shook on it and I was just that much closer to my thru-hike.
OK it’s that time in the program – to tell you what the pee rag is – funny how I would discover this useful object on the very eve of starting my long distance thru-hike.
For women hiking ten to twelve hours a day – and drinking a gallon or more of water each day. We have to relieve ourselves often and it’s not always easy like it is for a guy. Since we all practice “leave no trace,” the wads of used toilet paper can become quite a burden in our trash bags, not to mention, it gets used up too fast. Hence, the pee rag. It’s just a bandana tied to outside of my pack that can be reused and make a hiker feel in charge.
My podcast is a kind of rag – a broadsheet of stories from thru-hiking – and a bit of a rag – complaining about the grittiness and in your face reality of thru-hiking – that’s how the Pee Rag got its name.
Back to our story. All this time, swirling in my head was where to walk. I knew this might be my only chance, before retirement, to take on something of this magnitude – so I wanted to go somewhere far, somewhere exotic, somewhere unknown. I wanted this to be epic, I wanted another stamp in my passport and so I landed on a new thru-hike, NZ’s long pathway the nearly 2,000 mile Te Araroa and was entranced.
But I was ambivalent with my decision, even when Richard assured me that they speak English and take credit cards in New Zealand, what could possibly go wrong?
Much of the reason I was so stressed, was my job. I really wasn’t sure if I would risk losing my career in taking this leave and that felt really ungrounding. I went back and forth because there were some things I’d been promised and maybe it would be better to stay. I even turned another offer – because the need to hike – the need to see what would happen to my mind, body and spirit on a thru-hike – to need to take my life in my hands right now – was overwhelming.
No one could ultimately make the decision for me – my lovely husband Richard, suggested I only go for a few weeks but that missed the point entirely. I already knew what it felt like to backpack for a month. What I didn’t know, was what it would feel like over months.
Perhaps my first run-in with an empty-handed leap into the void was when I applied for a visa. NZ requires a visa for a stay beyond three months. But they also require proof of a return ticket home – kind of a Catch-22 – and I had no choice, I bought the ticket and crossed my fingers.
Fortunately my visa was granted – and things were getting real.
I gathered, tested and reviewed gear. I created a website and identity to house my daily hike-diary. I asked and received sponsorship. I stuffed my head as full as I could with information – learning about bounce boxes and pee rags and whittling my weight to as ultralight as I could manage. I contacted friends of friends and their friends-of-friends to create a link of people I could meet as I traversed the country. I cooked and dehydrated food to pack and bring with me for the first week.
And then, one Saturday in late October, I stuffed all my gear into a throwaway suitcase – dressed myself in throwaway clothes and kissed Richard goodbye until he’d join me four months later.
Next week, everything in that throwaway suitcase goes on my back and I start my journey.