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WHEN THE STING OF A LONG DROP HITS YOUR NOSTRILS OR HUT SNORERS ROB YOUR SLEEP, TRAMPING CAN SEEM MORE PUNISHMENT THAN PRIVILEGE.
And who has the composure to practise gratitude when both feet call it a day after eight hours of neglect? Or a weka steals your dehy dinner?
Tramping can be a hard sell on paper; it’s exhausting, painful, and in many cases miserable, and perhaps that’s why it’s easy to forget how bloody lucky we are to do it.
Whether by good fortune or tenacity, we trampers have gathered the gear and skills to safely experience the wilderness in ways others can’t.
And last year this dawned on me. Looking back, I aligned the many enabling factors of my upbringing which made me a confident tramper today. I was lucky to attend a school with an established Duke of Edinburgh scheme, and luckier still to have parents who not only took me tramping but funded my first trips and gear – as well as loaning spare kit to other kids. I was equally fortunate to find friends who shared my outdoor obsession and loved getting outside during the weekend.
I realised how many barriers exist to obstruct non-trampers trying to get into the outdoors, whether it be lack of skills, gear, confidence, or simply having nobody to go with.
I put word out to my Facebook circle: was there anybody out there who would like to tramp, but didn’t know where to
