On Trust, Vulnerability, and the Art of Butts and Bum Hiking

Hanging out with my grandkids has enlightened me on so many levels. Beyond the sweet lessons and pure joy, I’ve also discovered, among three-and-a-half year olds (never leave out the half) to about seven-year-olds, there is a curious obsession with the word butt.

Not actual butts, but the word butt itself. And it seems to follow effortlessly with just about anything, such as

Poopy Butt. Stinky Butt. Farty Butt.

Now, it isn’t necessarily associated with butt anatomy, as there’s Silly Goose Butt, Pinchy Butt, Chicken Nugget Butt, Dum Dum Butt, Goofy Butt...you get the idea. If you’ve been around any kiddo in this age range, you’ve probably heard a “something butt” at one point or another.

So, a few weeks ago, thinking I’d join in and be the cool Gaga that I am, I said, “You know, when Gaga wears her short legs, I have a bubble butt!”

Yes! They burst into laughter and began chanting, “Buuuuubble Buuuuutt!”

Feeling really accomplished, on a roll maybe, I followed with, “and, I butt hike!”

~~~~  crickets  ~~~~
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Great, way to go Gaga. Maybe hiking butt would have landed better. This butt snafu moved us on to a tough butt game of Bluey Bingo.

I brought up butt hiking (or as I call it, bum hiking) not just for laughs, but because I've been missing it. A lot.

Before my accident, I ran several times a week, not only for physical fitness, but for emotional and mental well-being, too. It’s been nearly thirty years and nothing has ever replaced a good run.
 
I’d be remiss if I didn’t recall 2012. With the help of an incredible team, I was able to run again albeit for a moment. They fitted me with running feet, crafted the perfect set of sockets, and trained with me for hours. And then it happened, I ran across the gym. One of the most incredible moments of my life.

Within a few days of that, the microscopic colony which has been living in my body since my accident, rebelled. The intense training woke them up, activating osteomyelitis. Major surgery, loss of more body parts, extended rehab…brought the running dream to an end.

But, prior to the accident, running was healing for me. It was stress relief, meditation, and contemplation. After the first few minutes out the door, my breath, and body found a rhythm with the asphalt, moving harmoniously with Momma Earth, it’s like she met me and supported me with each step. I can still feel that rhythm as I write about it now. Nothing else has come close, except bum hiking.

Spring of ’98, about seven months after the accident, at a picnic in the Valley of Fire, I broke away from my family and wheeled to a stair-step stack of large, gorgeous red rocks. Still so awkward in this unfamiliar life, I figured a way out of the chair and onto the rocks. Warmed by the sun, I basked there a few moments before slowly crawling around and up. It wasn’t long before my concerned husband asked me to not risk injury. I get it. Open wounds still marked what was left of my legs. That was my first and only bum hike… until last year.

Autumn of ’24, after sharing my longing to get out and explore nature, a choice companion took my desire to heart. He researched accessible trails, acquired and repurposed equipment to assist me, he even modified his overland vehicle for my chair, gear, and comfort. Off we went into the wild adventure, open hearted and free spirited.

Bum hiking rocky high desert, I expected little more than the challenge of scooting from one point to another across rough, sharp terrain. Then, rounding a tumble of rock and stone, my companion revealed what the land has silently held for so very long; indigenous pictographs. Seeing this sacred mark making took my breath away. It was a humbling moment. It sparked curiosity, reverence, and deep gratitude. To be that close to ancient communication, to feel into the lingering spirit of the people who made the marks. This was a potent experience I would never have known had I not bum hiked in. 
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Bum hiking along a soft bed of cypress needles in the Redwoods, I found a pausing place among the gentle giants, unknowingly sitting upon a large exposed root. One might think I’d feel small beneath their towering grace, yet they welcomed me. They held me. They saw me. In their quiet strength, I remembered my own strength. I remembered the truth of our oneness.

Bum hiking down a shallow ravine and through soft powdery dust, I arrived near a bank along the Colorado River. Again, the land received me, held me, saw me. I left bum prints beside those of bird, lizard, and coyote. These marks reminded me too of the oneness of such relations. There was the knowing that the wind would eventually blow through, clearing our prints, but not before welcoming my presence and acknowledging my belonging.

Bum hiking various mesas of Island in the Sky. I made my way out to cliffs and edges, where vastness and vistas fall away to what seems to be another dimension. Looking up into the clear blue sky, I saw Luna hanging gorgeously in the daytime sky, as if she chose to be as a watchful protector over me.

That day I was reminded just how out of place it seems for her to be in the day time sky. I too often feel that way, seemingly out of place, such as toddling through an airport on my short legs or bum hiking across remote landscapes.

There was more adventure, each one epic in its own rite. Life changing, actually. Bum hiking, while very different from a good five mile run, offered me something similar from a physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual place. 

And, there was something else, I grew so much closer to Momma Earth. Bum hiking invited me to see her up close and more personal. It’s slower, each movement needing to be more intentional, this created an intimacy with Earth I’d not have known otherwise. These adventures fine tuned my communication with the land and its unseen spirits. While I’ve always been gifted to listen to and speak with land, bum hiking enriched this communication, refining and attuning.

So the question comes up, you’re likely asking it too, “Why don’t I just go out and bum hike?” 

For me, to truly have the experience meant leaning into vulnerability. I was exposed, not just physically but emotionally and mentally too. I needed someone I fully trusted. Someone who had my back, who would problem solve with me rather than for me, who would not see me as an inconvenience or an embarrassment. Someone who would create their own experience while allowing me to create mine.

That kind of trust goes far beyond lacing up hiking boots and heading for the hills on two good solid legs. It’s a trust that is forged from relating, understanding, healing, communication, and respect.
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Now I see that I miss bum hiking for even more reasons than the wildness experience. Bum hiking is a way of being in relationship with trust, humility, vulnerability, reverence, Earth, companionship, something-butt jokes which brings rolling-on-the-floor-laughter…it’s a way of being in relationship to the sacred journey of my life.
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