The Thru-Hike of Misery
/By Paul Barach, produced by Out There Podcast
Released on June 3, 2021
Welcome to Out There Podcast. Our stories are written for the ear, so for those able, we recommend listening while reading along. Transcripts may contain minor errors; please check the audio before quoting.
(Sound of wind blowing)
WILLOW BELDEN: Alright, I am out for a bike ride, and I’m in a spot here where I can see three different mountain ranges. And I only know what one of them is. And I’m always curious what the other two are.
(wind sound fades away)
WILLOW: This is exactly the situation where an app called Peak Visor comes in handy.
Peak Visor is one of our sponsors for this episode. When you open up their app, it figures out where you are, and then it shows you a panoramic picture of everything you’re looking at, with all the mountains labeled.
If you decide to climb one of those mountains, you can also use their peak bagging feature to check in at the summits, so you can keep track of all your achievements and get inspired about next targets.
Check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
Support for Out There also comes from a podcast called Out Travel the System. Out Travel the System, which is brought to you by Expedia, is now in its third season. The show has a central mission to inspire and inform about travel, which can mean anything from building your bucket list, to taking concrete steps to take that next trip when the time is right.
The podcast finds people who are passionate about travel in general — including a commercial airline pilot, a woman who travels pretty much year-round, and a man who wants to have visited every country in the world by the end of the year. When it comes to inspiration, Out Travel the System is also giving a voice to people who love their hometowns — and want to share them with travelers — or people who love lake or beach life in the winter.
Take a moment to pull up your usual podcast player and pull up Out Travel the System. You can like and subscribe to get the latest episodes.
(Out There theme music starts)
WILLOW: Hi, I’m Willow Belden, and you’re listening to Out There, the podcast that explores big questions through intimate stories outdoors.
If you’ve ever gone on a thru-hike, you know how exciting it can be to plan it out. The anticipation leading up to it...there’s just nothing like that. You dream about being on the trail, you tell everyone about it, you let your imagination run wild.
But what if it turns out to be harder and less fulfilling than you expected? What happens when, a lot of the time, you don’t have any fun at all out on the trail?
Today’s episode takes us to Shikoku Island in Japan, and explores how you make peace with the worst parts of hiking when those parts never end.
(Out There theme music ends)
Paul Barach has the story.
(upbeat music begins)
PAUL BARACH: My expectations for walking Japan’s Shikoku Pilgrimage were admittedly a little high.
I was leaving an office job where I woke up sighing every day to do my first thru-hike, and I’d picked an epic one: an ancient, 750 mile pilgrimage trail circling the most rural island of Japan.
The trail visits 88 Buddhist temples and takes you along waving rice fields, seaside cliffs, and dense cedar forests. As pilgrims stop and pray at each of the 88 temples, they also pass through Shikoku’s four regions, each representing a different level of spiritual progress. There’s Tokushima: The Land of Awakening Faith, Kochi: The Land of Ascetic Training, Ehime: The Land of Enlightenment, and Kagawa: The Land of Nirvana.
(music fades away)
I would not shut up about it.
I’d been interested in Japan since I was four and learned that ninjas came from there. That fascination branched out as I got older. I studied Karate, and started practicing Zen Buddhism.
I was raised reform Jewish, and I’d latched onto the inquisitive and spiritual side of Judaism early. But the laws and rules hadn’t ever sat right. I never really stopped searching for the big answers in life, though. Eventually, that search led me to stop believing in God, which made Zen Buddhism a perfect fit. In meditation and Zen Buddhism, I found a way to search for the big answers in the present moment.
Now I was going off on my first long hike, which was also a spiritual and meditative journey. My imagination was running wild.
Would this be an epic adventure? Of course!
Would I gain the self-knowledge and answers that I’d been searching for all my life? Probably.
Would an old man step out from the forest, give me a sword, and declare cryptically, “You are ready”? Sure, I deserved it.
(joyful music begins)
That first day, I stepped off the train into the first section, Tokushima: The Land of Awakening Faith. I was grinning ear to ear. I couldn’t wait to begin.
Within the first few days I established a routine that began with morning meditation. With my eyes closed, I’d breath in the landscape. The breeze would play with my traditional sedge hat and billow my white pilgrim’s vest.
As I sat in meditation, I felt like this is what the pilgrimage should be. Moments of peace, where everything felt balanced, and the island itself seemed to welcome me.
But then I would stand up, and all that calm would shatter.
(music ends with a last crash)
The problem wasn’t the scenery. The pilgrimage was just as beautiful as I imagined. I walked through bamboo forests, over green mountain passes, and beside the roaring ocean, where monkeys screeched and songbirds chirped from vine-covered hillsides.
The problem also wasn’t the reception I received. The locals were beyond friendly.
The problem was all the big and small things that added up to make my hike miserable.
(music begins)
I was charged by a boar, spooked by snakes, and threatened by screeching monkeys. My third day was spent collapsing from dehydration for six hours, because it was the hottest summer on record in Japan at that time. For the first week and a half, I drank two liters of water an hour and never peed while the sun was up. After the sun went down, it’d take another hour in my tent before I’d stop sweating.
I’d also learned that there’s a vast gulf between being in hiking shape and being in thru-hiking shape.
Plus, I didn’t speak Japanese and had not met another western pilgrim so I was alone with my thoughts the entire day. Since I’d also decided against bringing any electronics or music, the days could get pretty boring.
And then there was the worst part: my shoes did not fit.
(music changes to a more somber tone)
They’d been hurting me since that first step off the train in Tokushima.
They were a constant distraction from what the pilgrimage was supposed to be.
Every step was an iron bar striking into flesh, muscle, and bone. As if that wasn’t enough, some invisible molars inside my shoes were chewing up my feet.
Three times a day, I would remove my shoes to apply bandages to new blisters, drain old ones, and cut away the loose skin. Within the first week, my feet were so wrapped up it looked like ancient Egyptians had prepared them for burial.
(music ends)
The shoes were my fault. I had a pair that were already broken in, but my mother kept begging me to bring another pair that she’d bought specially for this trip.
She was driving me to the airport, and I was in a hurry, so I relented and took the shoes she gave me. I hadn’t even slipped them on once.
No shop I’d found on Shikoku Island carried shoes in my size, so I was stuck with them, step after step.
(music begins)
I tried to stay positive.
I regularly reminded myself of the second oath of the Shikoku Pilgrim: Do not complain when things go wrong on the journey. Consider it part of ascetic training.
But that was easier said than done. And of course it contradicted my Jewish oath of “Complain, because why not?”
(music ends)
The problem with the foot pain wasn’t just the pain. It was that it was keeping me from properly experiencing this amazing pilgrimage. I’d be walking through a breathtaking landscape, but instead of enjoying it, I’d stare at the ground, willing myself to walk faster so that I could get off my feet sooner. My motivation had changed from “be here now” to “get done fast”.
I couldn’t help it. Trying to be in the moment just made the moment hurt more. I’d be walking beside a pond of vibrant lotus flowers, and all I could feel were blood blisters stabbing between my toes. I’d be climbing through these mist-shrouded forests where stone Buddhas prayed among gnarled roots, and all I could think about were my thighs cramping from dehydration. It always felt like I was so close to figuring it out — so close to the enlightenment I was seeking — but then the discomfort would get in the way.
(calm music begins)
The temples were a temporary distraction from the pain.
Each Buddhist temple on the pilgrimage had its own character, but the ritual was the same. I’d bow to the statues guarding the entrance, which showed reverence and also cleared me of any ghosts hanging on. After ringing the courtyard bell and cleansing my mouth with a tin dipper, came the prayer ritual.
That part was easy. The guide book had the prayers written out phonetically, and being Jewish, I was used to reciting ancient prayers I couldn’t understand, in a language I didn’t really know, at a temple I wasn’t planning to return to. I had some idea of what the prayers were for, but to me they were just another part of the ritual.
(music ends)
The temples were just like you’re probably imagining them: brass statues, sloping roofs, here and there a snow white crane stalking through a pond. It was magical to walk through, and a great distraction from my feet. But once I bowed out to the temple guardians again, I was back to grinding my teeth as I walked down the road.
(plodding music begins)
As miserable as it was, I never truly considered quitting. I’d love to say it was due to my iron willpower, which is a much nicer way to say “stubbornness,” but really it was pride, which is a much nicer way to say “fear of judgement.”
After talking about the trip non-stop, there was no way I was heading home early and telling friends, “Yeah, I know I wouldn’t shut up about it but it was way harder than I thought so I came back.”
Fear of that embarrassment prompted me to pick another bad option: keep going through the motions and spend all my energy wishing that this could be different.
(music fades away)
WILLOW: Hey, it’s Willow. We’ll hear the rest of Paul’s story in a moment. But first…
(Sound of breeze)
JESSICA TAYLOR: Foxy, this way! Come on!
WILLOW: That’s my colleague Jessica. She’s trying out some gear from a company called Life Handle.
Life Handle is one of our sponsors. They are on a mission to make life’s everyday adventures a little easier, and a lot more comfortable. They’ve engineered a system for walking dogs, carrying kids, or toting around gear — all while keeping your hands free.
Life Handle sent some of their products to Jessica, so she could try out their hands-free system with her dog Foxy.
JESSICA: So, I have Foxy hooked up to it. And to be honest, it’s really nice to have my hands free and to be able to have the leash about the same height where my hand would be with holding it.
WILLOW: For 20% off your order, go to mylifehandle.com and enter the promo code “OUTTHERE20” at checkout. That’s mylifehandle.com, promo code OUTTHERE20.
Support for Out There also comes from Wild Woman Box.
Wild Woman is a monthly subscription box for nature lovers and outdoor women. When you subscribe, you’ll get a box in the mail each month, filled with gear, food, body products, and inspiration to help you get out and get moving.
Wild Woman Founder Alexandra DiRuscio says the idea is for subscribers to treat themselves, and make time to do what they want to do.
ALEXANDRA DIRUSCIO: It’s their monthly reminder, that shows up at their door, for them to focus on themselves for a little bit.
WILLOW: If you’re wondering whether you’re hardcore enough to enjoy Wild Woman boxes, the answer is yes. DiRuscio works hard to make sure that this subscription works for everyone, regardless of your skill level in the outdoors.
For 15% off your first box, go to wildwomanbox.com and enter the promo code OUTTHERE at checkout. That’s wildwomanbox.com, promo code OUTTHERE.
And now, back to the story.
(music begins)
PAUL: As I neared the last temple of Kochi, which was the halfway point of the pilgrimage, I wished there would be some big epiphany that made all this worth it. I wished that I would finally be able to start experiencing the pilgrimage, as it was supposed to be experienced. Full of calm and beauty and inner peace, so I could find those answers I was searching for.
(music ends)
One day I’d finished minor foot surgery in a seaside public bathroom that doubled as a fish-gutting station and saw a payphone. I called my father back home. He asked how the pilgrimage was going.
“It’s going great!” I lied — like I did to anyone who asked.
“I’m glad you remembered to call today,” my dad said.
“Why?” I asked. It wasn’t anyone’s birthday.
“You forgot what day it is, didn’t you?”
“Is it Wednesday?” I asked.
“It’s Rosh Hashanah,” he said.
“Oh..L’shana tova.”
My dad sighed. “At least you’ll be at temple this time.”
Which I only mention because it was a pretty good joke for my dad.
(music begins)
We talked a little longer. He remained confused why his middle child was spending his entire savings during a recession. I remained unable to convince him why it made perfect sense, since I was still figuring that out myself.
The best I could come up with was that the planet was getting hotter, the future looked bleak, and I just wanted to live a little while I was still alive. He’d tell me I could do my living on the weekends while working full-time.
(music ends quickly)
I hung up and headed down the road. I had to admit, my dad had a point. I’d spent everything to come on this journey with no guarantee that anything would come of it. Stability was always the safer bet. It’d worked for everyone else in my family. Even I could hear how vague and childish it sounded to say, “I’m searching for answers.” Not that I’d ever admit that to him.
(soft music begins)
The following day, it was nearing sunset, and I was just trying to get to this rest hut, so that I could sleep under a roof. My feet were getting pummeled, and I just couldn’t think about anything else.
The entire pilgrimage had become this repeating background, like I was in an old Scooby-Doo cartoon. It was just: rice field, ocean, mountain, temple, rice field, ocean, mountain, temple. I was hurrying past the thousandth farm village that week, staring at the ground and just thinking, “Where is that stupid rest hut? My feet are killing me.”
Then I looked up and stopped in my tracks.
(nature sounds begin)
Above this soggy, overturned rice paddy, these red dragonflies were glittering in that golden hour light. This galaxy of precious gems suspended in the air next to me. My jaw literally dropped.
In that instant, I knew that I was sharing an experience that’d occurred over the centuries as pilgrims, peasants, and holy men stood on this spot, witnessing this marvel and feeling what I do now: lucky.
Lucky to be here.
Lucky to be alive.
And I was embarrassed. When did I lose my appreciation of this place? How many sights like this had I missed? How many dragonflies had flown by unseen? No more. On that spot, I rededicated myself to the pilgrimage.
Five minutes later, I saw the exact same thing and thought: ‘WHERE is that rest hut? My feet are killing me.’
(nature sounds end and music begins)
On my last day in Kochi, I woke up, meditated, and then beat my pain receptors into submission along the highway towards the Temple of Emitting Light. It was the final temple of Kochi. Once I left the temple, I’d have half of Shikoku behind me.
The last few miles were on a highway with these blind curves and almost no shoulder. As cars drove by I’d have to dodge into the overhanging vines.
I was going through my usual routine of trying to stay present…and thinking about my aching feet instead.
But then, over the last mile of highway, something changed.
I wasn’t doing anything different. I’d catch myself zoning out and thinking about the end of the pilgrimage. Then I’d meditate and focus on the present moment. I’d become aware of the birds chirping, the gurgling stream by my feet. I’d feel the wind that swayed the dangling vines. Then I’d zone back out and think about finally being done with the pilgrimage.
I also didn’t see anything particularly beautiful. The cars didn't stop roaring past me way too close. I didn’t even sweat any less than usual.
But there was a mental shift.
(music fades away)
In that last mile, I just gradually came to realize that I had to stop wishing for this moment to be any better than it was.
I had to stop trying to define my journey while I was still on it.
I wasn’t here to have fun all the time, or to be handed a sword by a wizened old man (although both those things were still welcome.) Maybe I wasn’t even here to gain answers to my life.
I was here to walk the Shikoku Pilgrimage, and I had to accept that every day, at every moment, that was what I was doing. The dragonflies, the shoes, the meditation, the fantasizing about being home, the heat, the boredom, they were all a part of it. There was nothing keeping me from experiencing the journey I was on, because I was experiencing it. This was it.
(quiet piano music begins)
I was so exhausted by the time I reached the Temple of Emitting Light that I had to ask three people for directions in the last quarter mile.
I bowed to the temple guardians, rang the bell, washed my hands and mouth, and then approached the main shrine to recite the prayers. I was at peace with every step on the bruised, strained, bandaged, and blistered feet that brought me here. I said the prayers, bowed to the temple guardians, and left the last temple of Kochi.
The Land of Ascetic Training was complete. As far as spiritual discipline and not feeling any pleasure went, it had lived up to its name. The training had been as hard as advertised, but I’d made it through.
I was finally ready for Ehime: the Land of Enlightenment.
Where my shoes also did not fit.
WILLOW: That was Paul Barach. He’s a writer living in Washington State. If you want to hear more about his pilgrimage, you can check out his book. It’s called Fighting Monks and Burning Mountains, and it’s available on Amazon in eBook, audiobook, and print. Again, that’s called Fighting Monks and Burning Mountains.
Special thanks to Forrest Wood, one of our production interns, for script editing and production assistance on this story.
(music ends)
Speaking of Forrest, they are going to be featured on our next Tuesday Spotlight. The Tuesday Spotlight is a print series, where we interview interesting people and organizations about the unique ways in which they engage with the outdoors. This coming Tuesday, you can read about Forrest’s relationship with skateboarding, rock climbing, and storytelling. Check out that interview, and all our other Tuesday Spotlight profiles, on our blog, at outtherepodcast.com.
(music begins)
Coming up next time on Out There, we’re going to travel back in time, to the world of Harriet Tubman.
Most of us learned about Tubman in history class — how she led slaves to freedom on the underground railroad.
But there was a lot more to her than that. She was a daughter, a sister, a wife, an entrepreneur. And she was something else too…
ANGELA CRESHAW: When you think about it, she had to be the ultimate outdoorswoman to do what she did.
WILLOW: What was Harriet’s relationship with nature? How does that shape the way African Americans engage with the outdoors today? And how might a closer look at Harriet offer a new perspective on who belongs outdoors?
That story is coming up on June 17.
(music ends and the sound of wind blowing starts)
WILLOW: Alright, so I’ve opened up Peak Visor. It’s thinking.
WILLOW: As I mentioned at the top of the episode, Peak Visor is one of our sponsors. Their app helps you figure out what mountains you’re looking at.
(wind blows strongly)
WILLOW: Oh wow, ok. So I am looking all the way down into Rocky Mountain National Park. Like, I can see Long’s Peak from here. That’s pretty cool.
(wind ceases)
WILLOW: Peak Visor has info on more than a million summits all over the world. In addition to mountain names and elevation, they also have intricate 3D maps that can help with planning hikes. And they have a peak bagging feature that lets you keep track of all your achievements.
If that sounds good to you, then check out PeakVisor in the app store. You just might love it.
(Out There theme music begins)
If you’re new to Out There, check out the “Best of Out There” playlist. This is a collection of some of our favorite episodes of all time — and it’s a great introduction to the range of stories we do on the show. You can find “Best of Out There” on Spotify, and at our website outtherepodcast.com.
That’s it for this episode. Our strategic advisor is Alex Eggerking. Our audience growth director is Sheeba Joseph. Jessica Taylor is our advertising manager. Cara Schaefer is our print content coordinator. Our interns are Forrest Wood and Cecily Mauran. Our ambassadors are Tiffany Duong, Ashley White, and Stacia Bennet. And our theme music was written by Jared Arnold.
We’ll see you in two weeks.
(theme music ends with a last whistle)
