Jack Tame: The solitude of tramping in the bush

As I turned on my phone for the first time in three days, it lit up with text messages from my wife. 

A photo. A tiny baby. Trussed up in a cotton wrap like a fresh, fleshy burrito with a little woolen hat for good measure. 

“Congratulations,” she said. 

“You’re a dad.” 

I knew she was joking. I’m not denying there was an element of risk in going tramping through the backcountry of the Kahurangi National Park with a wife who was 32-weeks pregnant. I just knew that if she had had the baby while I was dragging myself up a distant ridgetop, her first words to me when I emerged from the bush would not have been ‘Congratulations!’ 

Solitude in the bush —the uncontactableness— is a big part of the attraction for me. I love the physical challenge of tramping. I love the birds, the piwakawaka flitting about when you're under the canopy, and the kea squawking over the valleys. I love how humbling it is, how insignificant you feel, when you stand on top of a mountain ridge and are confronted with your puniness. But maybe above all, I love that feeling when you can see nor hear no sign of human beings. 

Realistically, that solitude is about to take a massive hit. When I was in the Kahurangi, it struck me that it’s only a matter of time —a couple of years at most— before satellite internet and communications technology mean we will all have internet and cell phone reception all the time. It won’t matter if you’re in downtown Auckland or halfway down the traverse from Yuletide Peak to the Anatoki Forks Hut, if you want comms you’ll have comms. That endless stream of notifications buzzing in your pocket. 

I’m not going to deny the obvious upsides, especially in my family, where there is a history (thankfully not mine) of people going missing in the bush. In emergency situations it’s going to be hugely valuable. For trampers who want weather forecast updates or people in some rural parts of the country with connectivity holes, a gamechanger. 

But with all that is gained with increased connectivity, that humbling sense of solitude is lost. It’ll be that much harder to escape the World, even for a couple of days. All I hope is that when our child is born and is old enough to go tramping, a voluntary code of sorts will have become the norm for all trampers when they head into the New Zealand bush: Fill out the intentions book, tell someone where you’re going. And for goodness’ sake, unless it’s an emergency, put your phone on airplane mode. 

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:07):
You're listening to this Saturday Morning with Jack Team podcast
from News Talks at me and.

Speaker 2 (00:13):
As I turned on my phone for the first time
in three days, it lit up with text messages from
my wife. There was a photo a tiny baby trussed
up and a cotton wrap like a fresh, fleshy burrito,
with a little woolen hat for good measure. Congratulations. Her
message said, you're a dad. I knew she was joking.

(00:38):
I'm not denying there was an element of risk in
deciding to go tramping through the back country of the
Kahudungi National Park while my wife was at home thirty
two weeks pregnant. I knew there was a bit of
risk in that decision. But I also knew that if
she had had the baby while I was dragging myself

(00:59):
up a distant ridge top, her first words to me
when I emerged from the bush would not have been congratulations.
It's funny. I reckon solitude in the bush. You know,
the uncontactableness I reckon. I reckon It's a big part

(01:20):
of the attraction of tramping for me. I love the
physical challenge of tramping. I love the birds, the peewacka
waka flitting about when you're under the canopy, the care
ah rack rack squawking over the valleys. I love how
I love how, you know, kind of humbling it is,
how how insignificant you feel when you stand on top

(01:43):
of a mountain ridge and you're kind of confronted by
your your relative puniness. But maybe above all, I just
I love that feeling when you can see nor hear
no sign of human beings, no sign of civilization anywhere. Realistically,
that solitude is I'm probably about to take a massive hit.

(02:09):
When I was in the Kahudangi it struck me that
it is only a matter of time, a couple of months,
a couple of years at most, before satellite, internet and
communications technology mean we will all have internet and cell
phone reception all the time. It won't matter if you're
in downtown Auckland or halfway down the traverse from mule

(02:31):
Tide Peak to the Undertoky Forks Hut. If you want comms,
you will have comms that endless stream of notifications Z
buzzings in your pocket. I'm not going to deny that.
You know, there are some obvious upsides to being contactable
all the time, especially in my family where there's a history,

(02:52):
thankfully not mine, of people going missing in the bush.
You know, in emergency situations, it's just going to be
so valuable to know that you can always get a
call out. And for trampers who want whether forecast updates,
or people in rural parts of the country with connectivity holes,
it's going to be a game changer, no doubt. But

(03:13):
with all that is gained with increased connectivity, I just
regon that that humbling sense of solitude is lost. It's
going to be that much harder to escape the world,
even for a couple of days, you know what I mean.
And you know, I just hope that in years to come,

(03:36):
when our child is actually born and is maybe old
enough to go tramping, a voluntary code of conduct of
sorts will have become the norm for trampers when they
head into the New Zealand bush. Yes, fill out the
intentions book, Yes, tell someone where you're going, But for
goodness sake, unless it's an emergency, please put your phone

(03:57):
on aeroplane mode.

Speaker 1 (03:59):
For more from Saturday Morning with Jack Tame, listen live
to newstalks'd B from nine am Saturday, or follow the
podcast on iHeartRadio.