Author: Debra Howell, Co-Founder of Kiwi Ultralight
Originally published in Wilderness Magazine April 2024
If you’re thinking of hiking Te Araroa it might mark the beginning of a journey that doesn’t stop at the end of the trail.
Long-distance hiking is addictive. For me, it became a lifestyle.
Halfway through my northbound walk of the South Island section of Te Araroa, I heard of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I already knew I didn’t want to stop walking when I reached Ship Cove, so at my next resupply stop I investigated the PCT.
The stars aligned in my favour. The following day was PCT permit day, and without hesitation, I secured a permit for a mid-April start just three months away.
Reality struck a few days later. I had just started a new job; my employer had hired me fully aware of my upcoming hiatus to walk the South Island of Te Araroa. They even contributed $1500 to the charity I was supporting. Reluctantly, I cancelled my permit.
I lasted a year before calling it quits and hitting the trail again. This time, the North Island section of TA, followed immediately by the PCT. Then, a year later I was walking the Appalachian Trail (AT).
Trails for every tramper
Experiences on these trails were diverse yet also strikingly similar. Fundamentally, each trail adheres to the same principle: put one foot in front of the other for five months. However, each has unique characteristics, and as my long-distance hiking experience grew, so did my skills and knowledge.
TA and the PCT have the most diverse scenery, with TA ranging from beaches, forests and farmlands to alpine regions. The PCT is primarily divided into four zones: the hot, arid desert of Southern California; the snowy Sierra Nevada Mountains; the forested areas of Northern California and Oregon, known for their ‘flat’ terrain and fewer scenic vistas; and the Northern Cascades of Washington.
The AT is often described as a green tunnel. As a typical northbound walker, I journeyed with the advancing spring, witnessing trees sprouting fresh leaves and flowers blooming. However, scenic views were sparse, and uniformity can become monotonous.
There are similar variations underfoot. The PCT, which caters to both horses and humans, has well-graded paths with plentiful switchbacks requiring minimal concentration on foot placement. Despite substantial distances, there were days when it felt like I hadn’t travelled very far.
By contrast, many sections of the AT are steep and rocky with ladders, bolted handholds and boulders. TA combines elements of both. Its diverse terrain offers a range of underfoot experiences. Aside from road-walking sections (thankfully absent on the US trails), this variety adds richness to the trail.
TA differs from its US counterparts in the use of alternative forms of transport. Ferry, kayak and canoe trips, as well as breaks for river crossings and Lake Wakatipu, in the South Island, disrupt the continuity of a foot-based path. A concept which some ‘purists’ on US trails struggle to grasp.
Weather and trail conditions
TA managed a bit of everything. Rain during the Whanganui River section resulted in a flood and the need to canoe an eight-hour section in under three hours. In the South Island I encountered several swollen and impassable rivers. There were also stretches of beautiful sunshine, particularly through the Tasman and Otago sections.
On the PCT there were five days of rain during 4.5 months. One of these occurred on my second day. Needless to say, icy horizontal rain freezing into a sheet of ice overnight on my tent was not the anticipated introduction to desert hiking.
I initially refused to consider the AT because of its weather reputation. I had no interest in walking in the green tunnel and it rained too much. However, less than 12 months later I was on the AT, braving rain on at least 20 percent of the journey.
Overall, though, you shouldn’t be put off by bad weather. Take it as it comes, and be prepared.
Solitude, community and generosity
Most thru-hikers realise that people and communities shape the trails as much as weather or terrain.
When I started the PCT, there were around 40 others at the Southern Terminus, nervously taking photos before heading off. I frequently encountered other hikers and seldom camped alone.
The AT was similar. I was the 1863rd person starting a northbound hike in 2019. Each day brought numerous encounters with people on the trail and at campsites and shelters.
On both US trails, it’s common for groups to form – ‘trail families’ or ‘tramilies’. I became part of a PCT trail family and we walked about 1000km together before I walked in smaller, ever-changing groups of two or three.
Initially, on the AT, I vowed to steer clear of forming a trail family, but that plan fell apart when I met Cody, my now-husband, on the second day. We hiked together for the next 141 days.
In contrast, walking TA in 2016–2017 was a mostly solitary journey. I was on the South Island northbound along with around 550 individuals, the majority likely trekking southbound. While I walked for a few days with or around other hikers, there were also stretches where I walked for days, and once an entire week, without encountering another soul.
It was similar in the North Island. The total number of walkers that season had increased to around 1200 but I began later in the year, behind the main group, and found myself mostly walking alone. Regardless, many highlights from that first long walk involved key interactions with other trampers and trail angels.
Nowadays, there are more walkers on TA, and it’s increasingly challenging to find solitude during the summer season.
No matter how many people I walked with, one thing that remains consistent across all these trails is the sense of community. Becoming a thru-hiker is like joining a secret society – once a thru-hiker, always a thru-hiker.
I recall at the hostel in Twizel spotting a lightweight tent hanging on the clothesline. The thought of another TA walker staying there sparked instant excitement. In the bunk room was a lightweight pack on one bed, and I felt glad to know I would make a new friend. She was British and became a delightful companion for the next week or so.
On the PCT, I walked with someone crafting macrame necklaces from rocks she found along the trail. About a month after my journey, when in Seattle, I spotted someone wearing one of these and instantly knew they had been on the trail that year. We ended up sharing stories over a coffee. I have countless similar tales, each a testament to the community surrounding long-distance trails.
This ‘community’ extends beyond the hikers to those who live and work around the trail. In the US trail angels volunteer their time, and often financial resources, to assist hikers. On the PCT, my adventure began with an overnight stay at the home of Scout and Frodo, two trail angels and thru-hikers based in San Diego. Each day, they hosted around 40 aspiring thru-hikers on the eve of their start, providing dinner and breakfast, offering tents for lodging, a nightly talk about etiquette and trail expectations, and then coordinated volunteers to take walkers to the trailhead. They did this day after day, adamantly refusing any form of payment.
On the AT there are also well-known trail angels, such as Odie who gives hikers a ride in his yellow school bus and organises an annual hiker yearbook; Justin, who takes professional portraits of hikers on trail, and the Cookie Lady, whose name speaks for itself. Additionally, on the PCT and the AT, I encountered acts of trail magic from both former hikers and those completely unaware of the trail’s existence. These gestures ranged from rides to local stores and invitations into homes for showers and lunch, to fully prepared meals on the trail.
Comparatively, there were few organised trail angels on TA during my walk. Most people I encountered were unaware of TA’s existence. However, this didn’t prevent me from experiencing numerous acts of kindness: lamb chops for lunch on Christmas Day on Ninety Mile Beach; fresh fruit from day hikers; countless offers of rides during the road-walk sections, often from individuals who couldn’t understand why I wanted to walk.
On TA there is now a thriving community offering rides, accommodation, food and other support for walkers. It’s critical that thru-hikers remember this ‘trail magic’ is provided through pure generosity – walkers should never feel entitled to it.
The more things change, the more they stay the same
With each long trail, my attitude changed. I approached TA with a work-like mentality. I would rise in the morning, put in my eight hours or close to it, then relax and unwind by swimming and reading.
On the PCT I found a new way of doing things. I left my Kindle behind, lightened my pack and started walking faster and longer. Following the mantra of ‘10 before 10’ (10 miles before 10am) I sometimes covered distances nearing 60km.
On the AT my approach changed again. I swapped some of my commercially made gear for homemade alternatives and carried the bare minimum. Cody and I typically started our days later in the morning and maintained a fast pace with minimal breaks for snacks and lunch, choosing instead to eat on the go.
The sense of accomplishment after finishing each trail was coupled to an even greater desire to thru-hike again. This is not uncommon. Amongst the best advice I have for would-be thru-hikers is to consider the next goal before finishing the trail you’re on. It’s not easy to do something so all-encompassing for months on end, and then stop and ask, ‘What’s next?’. Heading back home and being asked ‘Was it fun?’ but being unable to convey such a life-changing experience is tough.
And thru-hiking will change you. You may not know exactly how, but it will.
For me, tramping has become a lifestyle. When Covid-19 interrupted the planning of our next thru-hike, Cody and I moved back to New Zealand and started an outdoor gear company, and a family. While we can’t be walking the long trails right now, at least we can help others better enjoy their own adventures.
I’d still like to complete the US Triple Crown by walking the Continental Divide Trail. The Bibbulmun Trail in Western Australia is also on my radar. Of course, revisiting TA is a must, this time with husband and kids in tow. We just have to wait for the kids to reach an age where they can do it on their own two feet.
This article is republished, unchanged, with permission from Wilderness Magazine. The original digital version can be found on their website.
Great read! I’m even more excited now for my NoBo TA:)
I’ll be taking along your bug bivy, which has treated me very well!