What does it feel like to walk through a forest covered in white snow?
The first ten minutes of setting out were thrilling—it felt genuinely romantic!
Ten minutes later, I just wanted to scream at the sky: ‘Have mercy on me!’
–
Without proper equipment or experience, every step drained me of energy.
Where my feet landed in the snow was several centimeters above the actual ground, so I had to stomp hard, then lift my knees high to pull my feet free from the snow piles. Every step was like high-knee training.
Routes that were gentle slopes on normal days became devil’s paths once snow-covered. I’d push forward only to slide back down, my feet dragging snow and mud with them.
On the narrow path, I couldn’t tell where the original trail was or where the shrubs on the slope edges began. I slipped several times, sliding down the mountainside.
This was on the trail with 220 kilometers remaining until the end of Te Araroa Trail. A full day of heavy snow had fallen. I sheltered in a cold mountain hut, watching through the window, yet my heart was full of anticipation—if I could just cross the next ridge and reach the other side, I’d be only a week away from the finish!
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Early the next morning after the snow stopped, before dawn broke, I set out. The blizzard had already cost me several days, so I planned to cover 30 kilometers that night by crossing two hut zones.
But three hours later, I realized I’d barely managed three kilometers through the snow.
I was too impatient. The snow hadn’t melted at all. Even as the warm sunlight swept across the mountainside, I was already exhausted, and that blanket of white before me clearly needed much more time to disappear.
As the altitude increased, the trail markers became harder to spot. After an hour of struggling through the snow and sliding around, I realized I’d walked in a circle back to where I started. Only then did I notice the white snow on a nearby tree had completely covered the orange marker that should have pointed me in the right direction.
I finally stopped, took a breath, and stood in the snow staring at the distant ridgeline. After a long internal struggle and a difficult decision, I turned around and headed back toward the hut I’d started from.
It was the first time since starting the TA trail that I’d turned back, and it came so close to the finish. But I realized I wasn’t in the right conditions, with the right equipment, or with the right ability to continue. I needed to stop making a mistake.
Another day, then. It would wait for me.
–
(Reflecting on May 21, 2017 journal entry)
So I decided to go around the snow-covered forest.
This was completely unplanned, and I had no idea how to make it work. But one single thought kept repeating itself firmly and forcefully in my mind: ‘I must reach the other side and continue my journey.’
The trail on the other side connected to a small town—or more accurately, a village—that had no main highway passing through it. I wasn’t even sure where I could stay, and the trail guide had almost no information about accommodation there.
The original plan was to camp in the forest, then cross through the town the next day and camp in another forest. But forget about that—now all I had was uncontrollable change.
‘I’ll go as far as I can!’ Stepping through the snow from the hut to the nearest road, I stuck out my thumb, putting all my hope into the cars speeding past.
In that moment, I found myself remembering my earlier self—the one preparing to start the trail—standing on the roadside for the first time, trying to hitchhike with no confidence and timid hesitation, wearing a stiff smile, doubting whether I really should go through with this crazy three-thousand-kilometer trek.
Now, just a week away from the finish, I was determined to push forward no matter what obstacles I faced.
–
After three rides, I got out at a fork in the road and was supposed to follow the noticeably narrower path to connect with the trail. But I’d been standing at that intersection for half an hour without seeing a single vehicle, and it was already 4 PM.
Just as I was considering whether to find a sheltered spot to camp by the roadside, a car signaled at the intersection and turned onto the country lane. I eagerly stuck out my thumb, and incredibly, it stopped. The driver said, ‘Get in! We’re heading exactly to the town you mentioned!’
That was absolutely magic, and what made the magic work was unwavering belief.
–
This couple came from the southernmost major city on New Zealand’s South Island. They only came to this small town once a week to run a free community cooking event at the local church, bringing residents together. And on this quiet, rarely-traveled road, I happened to meet them on that very day—I happened to meet warmth.
That evening, I was no longer a hiker on the trail. I’d become part of the town, chatting animatedly with a group of lovely locals, listening to farmers describe their daily routines herding sheep and cattle, sharing my own stories of getting to know the land one step at a time.
‘If you don’t mind, you’re welcome to rest in our living room for the night,’ a local couple told me after dinner. ‘We have a warm fireplace to dry your clothes and help you wash away the exhaustion from the forest.’
I opened my eyes wide in disbelief: ‘This is such an incredible help. What can I do around the house to thank you?’
‘This is simply something I’m able to offer you,’ they said. ‘If you ever meet someone who needs help, just pass this kindness along.’
I have no religious faith, but from that day on, I believe kindness should be passed forward.
–
(Reflecting on May 22, 2017 journal entry)
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