The Te Aroara, New Zealand’s long pathway, 3,000 kilometers from Cape Reinga to Bluff. It would soon see my feet walking it.
I’m alison young, and this is the The Pee Rag, the unfiltered adventures of the Blissful Hiker
That would be me – the Blissful Hiker, sometime-professional flutist, sometime-voice artist and full-time pedestrian.
Every week, I 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.
The Pee Rag? – that’s the bright red bandana tied to the back of my pack – a small accessory with a big job. And we like to play with words a little here – The Pee Rag show is a broadside – a rag – though I try to keep the “ragging” to a minimum.
So before I left Minnesota to spend five months hiking the Te Aroroa, I had things to sort out.
A lot of things -
I asked and received a five-month leave of absence from my job.
And the reason was because I felt a pull, a need to test my mettle, to see what would happen to my body, mind and spirit – if I pushed the limits on the backpacking I had done up to this point in my life.
At BlissfulHiker.com, the first sentence says I love to hike, with love scratched out and instead reading I LIVE to hike!
It does take a lot of planning of gear and food and where to drop resupply and bounce boxes, but honestly, more of the planning seemed to surround my mental state.
Backpacking is weird.
You spend a ridiculous amount of money to not only get high quality gear, but high quality gear that’s extremely light weight
And then you march long distances with everything you think you need on your back.
It’s dirty, uncomfortable, and let’s face it, smelly.
But I love it.
It takes me into the heart of wild places with my food and shelter easily accessible allowing me to be utterly flexible about just where I lay my head.
John Kaag writes in his book, Hiking with Nietzsche, that the great philosopher wants us to be wanderers, but not as a traveler to a final destination, for this destination does not exist.
But don’t let that cause you to believe I’m a free spirit, allowing the winds to take me where they will. I make lists and I also set goals, and Nietzsche a big time walker himself, was fine with that, though he warns, “If you arrive at a final destination, it’s a sign that you’ve set your sights too low.”
These final days before I go are a whirlwind of last minute planning, loading the thru-hiker app, the maps, the trail notes, and all my new New Zealand friends-of-friends contacts in my phone, weighing every last item to see where I might cut a gram or two, buying my New Zealand tramper hut pass and loading the bounce box with extra pairs shoes, tenacious tape, another headphone-to-lightning cable, and various odds and ends that will follow me down the trail from post office to post office.
It’s exhausting, mostly because to have the flexibility to sleep where I want as I go requires a lot of planning. It’s difficult now trying to picture the person I’ll be one, two or five months from now.
And maybe that’s just it. Backpacking, and in this case of the Te Araroa, thru-hiking, is about coming to grips with this projection and making my peace with not knowing how the story will unfold. When I let go and trust that I’ve made mostly the right decisions about what to take now, the future can take care of itself
John Kaag also reminds me in writing about Nietzsche, “On a long walk who we are is about recovering from who we think we are.”
Being bad ass on the trail does require the right gear, but also the right attitude and it always amazes me how on any hike, I begin to live more and more in the moment, facing my vulnerability, hopes and regrets and limitations straight on – while at the same time, opening myself up, like the words of Emily Dickinson. “The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.”
It’s said that people fear public speaking more than death.
Why? Because being rejected, ostracized, thrown out of our social network – at least in our deep dark past – meant death.
But just the fear of embarrassment and judgment makes most of us sweat, take shallow breaths and wish we had a do-over.
I kind of have the public speaking part down. After twelve years as a DJ at MPR I’ve had my share of hate mail, love letters and everything in between – and still she persists.
But what I find curious as I prepare to leave on this five-month walk in New Zealand, is a creeping fear of looking ridiculous.
While it makes sense to be prepared for weather, animals, illness, injury, all that might obstruct smooth passage, my mind continually dwells on this question of, “Do you really know what the hell you’re doing?”
It began with responses to my brand new coat, a dream of high quality down in only seven ounces of thru-hiker happiness, albeit electronic, safety-zone orange. While I might label my fear a highly triggered self-consciousness, her ugly step-sisters are more deeply felt – envy, shame and regret. They lurk below the surface in an aggressive volley of criticism.
“Do you really think you can look like the perfectly clean, blister free, young and fresh hikers of the ‘Patagucci’ ads?”
“Why didn’t you do this hike sooner?!”
“You’re old enough to be some of these hiker’s mom.”
The late feminist writer, Cynthia Heimel said, “When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There’s a microscopically this line between being creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap!”
Most hikers know the phrase, ‘hike your own hike.’ When I wonder if I’ll find my tribe on this trail, or if after taking a leave-of-absence at the age of 53 going on 54 I’ll be all alone in my world of walking the length of a country. I tell myself, “hey, we’re all wounded, we all have insecurities. Does this walk become the end-all and be-all that reveals and heals?”
Maybe, maybe not.
But for sure something will happen, and when it does, I’ll be dressed for success in that big, bright aggressive, orange coat.
On a late fall mid-day. Leaves past peak, raining to the ground in a final blur of orange and brown, I leave Saint Paul for Kerikeri, New Zealand.
Yesterday was my last day of work for nearly six months. I sign off with my most favorite piece by my most favorite composer, Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 1 where he tells his orchestra to ‘play like a sound of nature.’
Many have written, called, texted, and stopped by in the last weeks to share thoughts on calming the churning inside me. One tells me, ‘Step carefully and see widely.’ Another, ‘Go with your purpose in mind, share your truth as you can.’ Still one more, ‘The hard work is behind you, now get at it!’
It’s less ‘seize the day’ at this point then, let it happen and be present while it does.
Next week, my feet walk on sand, the Tasman Sea at my right and a horizon seemingly going on forever.
So here are the first words I’ve learned in Maori – it means hello – but also, be well, be safe, be filled with gratitude - Kia Ora!