The Next Chapter

This is the first time I’ve sat in front of a keyboard to type something out since completing the Te Araroa trail. There are so many feelings after trail, it’s a bit daunting to do this.  

I hiked the Te Araroa from November 2024 to February 2025, four beautiful and wild months. Now I've returned home to Portland, Oregon.  

Here are some thoughts in no particular order.

I’m sitting here writing this weeks after I’ve finished the trail. I’ve also just mustered the courage  to finally wash my down sleeping bag and jacket after sitting undisturbed in my atom pack since my return. I’ve struggled with taking action to clean and store away my backpacking gear. 

Being back in Portland, it almost feels like I never left. It’s a strange feeling — it makes me a  little sad. I’m easing back into everyday life, but it’s so easy to forget why I left in the first place. What did I even do for four months? How did it feel? It’s disheartening how quickly something so profound can begin to fade into the background. 

Sometimes I wonder—did it even happen? 

Maybe it’s because there’s so many things to focus on since being back, maybe it’s because  thinking about the trail will make me too sad. It’s only until I sit down and intentionally look at my  photos and read my journal entries that I can bring myself back into the journey. The adventure that is over now.  

This is a sad feeling, but I know it is also a beautiful one. Each day that passes puts a little more  distance between me and the trail. I’m afraid of letting go of those four months, which to me,  represented freedom. I could do whatever the heck I want to and feel pure joy like a child. Just  laughter, sunrises, sunsets, and eating unlimited candy bars. It was a time for just me, to have  fun, to meet friends, to sweat, to explore, and feel life, so wholeheartedly.  

It’s really hard to transition from that. I know it’s not goodbye, but it’s just different, coming back  to off-trail life. I think a thru-hike is kind of like a train. It takes a huge amount of energy to get it  moving—but once it’s going, it picks up speed, and you just chug along. You settle into a  rhythm. The momentum carries you. Each day is hard, but it’s satisfying. Then, suddenly, you  reach the end of the line. And stopping takes just as much energy as starting. 

That’s what this transition feels like. All that thru-hiking energy coming to a halt. I have all of this  hiking energy which used to propel me through miles each day, and I’m having to relearn how to diffuse it back into normal life.  

This is my time of transition. I am lost. I’m having much fun being back in my community, but I  am also lost. How scary and exciting! I know clarity will come with time, as long as I stay true to  myself and seek the things that bring me joy. There are so many amazing adventures to be had, right in front of me. I’m trying to be very intentional about carrying the feelings I felt on trail  into my life now.  

For now, I’m just floating around, doing all of the things I couldn’t do while I was hiking: Filing my  tax return, getting my car repaired because a rodent chewed through the fuel line, and updating  my resume. And also strolling through the neighborhood with a coffee in hand, playing Mario Kart with friends, going to Tuesday night trivia, and taking as many hot showers as I want (with a NOT ultralight towel which is the biggest win of all).  

I’m still figuring out how to feel. How to celebrate it. How to mourn it. How to hold it close, while  also staying grounded in the beautiful life I have now. Every moment is fleeting. 

Words and photos by Ingrid Erickson, Atom Packs ambassador