My Yurt Needs a Bathtub
I’ve never thought of myself as outdoorsy. Whenever I took those tests in Seventeen magazine or the like, I was squarely in the romantic category–prefers dinner and wine to anything that involves a nature trail or takes place on a sports field. I’m not a Birkenstock wearing, patchouli smelling person. But something my dad once said to me made me realize that to the outside world, we’re pretty “outdoorsy” and that occasionally we may even creep over into hippie. Hubby and I do our fair share of walking, we religiously walk our dog (and not around the block, but on what would more accurately be called a hike), take the streetcar instead of driving, planned a home birth, wear our baby, cloth diaper, drink soy, would like to retire on a farm, and lately, ever since I had a conversation with a co-worker about Into the Wild, I’ve been thinking about walking. I mean really walking. For a long time. Forever.
This couple has walked more than 7000 miles together.
Their last monumental trip took an entire year, during which they covered more than 4,000 miles of both urban and untouched terrain in Alaska, Washington and Canada by foot, raft and ski.
The most I’ve ever walked in a single day was 25 km through the mountains in Poland. They’re not the Alps, but they’re nothing to sneeze at. There’s something immensely appealing to me about a trip like this. Just strapping on Peanut (or rigging up some kind of trailer if he’s of the too-large-to carry-but-too-young-to-walk-for-long-periods-of-time-and-prone-to-complaining-about-his-hurting-feet age), halti-ing up the dog, packing a bag or two, some food, a tent, and just walking.
I haven’t done much reserach into this, but I hear there’s a trail in the Yukon that dates back to the Gold Rush when folks had to haul a year’s worth of supplies 50km. It’s described as a “grueling 3 to 5 day hike”. Well, okay. So maybe we won’t start with that one. You can walk the Bruce Trail for 200km from Tobermory all the way to St. Catherines. Also, though my parents used to take me camping every weekend in the summer, I’ve never been to Algonquin, and I’ve also never done any winter camping. Hubby’s family is really more what you would call cottage folk, but I took him on a camping trip and he didn’t hate it. And then there’s Alaska. It’s always been one of my dreams to take a cruise to Alaska. We tried to book that for our honeymoon, but they don’t do them in the winter. I also considered a cottage somewhere up north, but we ended up in Mexico (poor us). But yes. Alaska. Why not mix in some walking with a cruise?
I’m really rather glad we have my sister-in-law around because she’s the only person who really gets my obsession with this. She’s a midwife, portages, cross-country skis in the city, and makes her own granola. We’ve had lengthy discussions about being the first to wake up on a camping trip, feeling the crisp air, and though you’re slightly chilly, feeling really cozy making that first cup of coffee in the open air. You can sort of get that same feeling on your own deck or on an early morning walk with your Timmie’s, but it’s not the same. Something draws me to the cold, the remote, the wild.
Still, my yurt’s gonna need a bathtub.