Lessons from one year of 'hashtag tentlife'
Shunning the house life for a life under canvas has been economical and educational.
Happy New Year! I hope you had an awesome Christmas, full of actual magic and plenty of human-made cheer. May you harness the best of these good vibes and use them to slingshot yourself into a superlative-crammed 2023.
The start of a new solar revolution actually marks one year since I grabbed life by the scruff of the neck, dusted off a few marks, put it down gently and altered its course. The aim was to packraft and hike from Cape Reinga to Bluff. As a single thru-adventure, it would be over in a matter of months and then I would return to life surrounded by four walls and a roof. I’d probably get a full time job. No doubt, spend the next five years dedicated to that in Auckland.
Wrong! The Waka & Waewae Journey proved less than linear. Complications cropped up port, starboard and centre. Most calamitous was the injury I suffered, when my own stubborn determination made me open a can of beans using a fork handle, woodpecker-style. Everybody’s been there, right? On the cusp of winter, the journey was paused and I landed a job on a Northland avocado orchard that came with accommodation that just-so-happened-to-be on the route of my adventure. Better still, it was where I had previously quit the adventure; I would work the wet, dark, dingy and frosty months, then take off on the waka when spring came!
Ever since that foot-grabbing incident in a Dunedin backpackers during The Big Loop, I have flat-out refused to share accommodation1. I am also old and sleep much better in my own space. Fortunately, along with the shared cabins at the holiday park, tent sites were an option; and so was born my new life: hashtag tentlife (stylised #tentlife, but I like to write it out in full like a fool).
Realistically, ‘hashtag tentlife’ was just a specialty within the nomadic life I had adopted all year. A brief spell in a van, two attempts at flat-sitting in Auckland (sitting isn’t my forte) and a raft (geddit?) of other travel had all been similarly flavoured. I just gave it a special banner after mingling with #vanlife subjects. Winter in Pukenui was also the longest-term accommodation I had last year.
What an experience it’s been, too. I’ve been woken up by a 3am squall, seen my home ripped like an ancient shroud in a tug-of-war on more than one occasion and dodged leaks like a diver in a sieve suit. I’ve learnt some things, sometimes the hard way, but always the fun way.
The first thing I established early on is what makes a good dwelling. That super-light, most expensive hiking tent is never going to cut it. Save that for the adventures within the adventure. (Or for when your main tent gets ripped!) Look for a decent living area, made of durable materials and with a waterproof rating (Hydrostatic Head, HH) of at least 2,000mm, more for the floor.
Fortunately, I still had my three-person Kathmandu Boreas from The Big Loop. I also have an entire tent’s worth of spares, which I bought from their Onehunga outlet store for $150 (but I forgot to pack, due to a mind malfunction!). This gave me a comfortable living space in a stable structure. Unfortunately, I found some of the poles has reached old age and had turned brittle. The tent, which once took a pounding from extreme winds on the Wairarapa coast, broke a bone - on more than one occasion. The sharp edge of the broken pole then sliced through the tent’s fly. I was forced to erect my back-up until I found time to repair it.
Part of this was avoidable. I had fully “moved in” and taken my eye off the weather crystal ball. Last winter was a particularly bad one by New Zealand standards and storms kept piling in, battering Te Aupōuri Peninsula. I eventually got wise to this and implemented a ‘check and retreat’ policy. A lower area of camp, behind some trees, was an excellent bunker to hide from the angry storms.
Mid-to-long term tent living requires a level of TLC (house dwellers know this as maintenance). I don’t recommend you ‘pitch and ditch’. At the very least, move your home around periodically and definitely shift if there’s an incoming offensive. Treating it to a waterproofing and UV protective spray will also power-up its weather-deflecting properties. On top of this - and I only say it because we’ve all seen examples of this - ensure you take the time to learn how to put your tent up properly. PROPERLY, as per the instructions. Don’t be that person with the saggy vestibule.
Living on a campground requires an acceptance that everything you’re used to being in the next room - the kitchen, the bathroom, the lounge - is now 100 metres or more away from your quarters. Getting most everyday tasks done takes longer; much longer. Use the early days to establish a routine that takes in all the daily basics. There’s cash to be saved from this kind of lifestyle, so there will be drawbacks, but having a plan will minimise these.
Have I perfected this? No! I’m terrible at this. The stability in Pukenui provided me with some structure. But, the rest of the year’s moving around - including 64 days of adventuring spread across the year - upset any rhythm I might have found. Maybe this is the year of routine? Cos I’m not done with this nomadic, canvas life just yet. I’m just getting started.
DOC huts excluded.