What’s Your Trail Name?

Don’t call me Mel.

There are a couple of people in my life who get to call me that name but applications have now closed. There’s nothing wrong with it but it’s not for me. 

Nicknames have never really been right for me. In the 80’s I tried on ‘Mindy’ for a while. Another one that wasn’t for me. Stop laughing. OK, I can’t stop laughing thinking about it either. See how a nickname isn’t just a word? It carries meaning and when it doesn’t fit… well, it’s hilarious! And, sometimes, cruel, but luckily for me, Mindy wasn’t ever cruel. A little bit aspirational perhaps. 

For many years I wasn’t the giver of nicknames either. I’ve probably always called you by your full name. Well, likely not your surname every time, that’s a formality I managed to stay back from, but probably I’ve called you by the entirety of your given name. It’s a safe bet when you’re not sure how someone else will respond to a shortening of their name (right Sammy?). Just think about how I react when a stranger immediately leaps to calling me Mel! I do not want to trigger that in another person!

It was when I was writing The Daffodil that the importance of what a nickname can mean finally coalesced. It’s one way people collect you as their friend, as a member of a group, as a presence. A nickname means people see you. Not always in a positive light, true, but being seen matters.

Jeff had given her a nickname on the first day. “He called me ‘Jokey’. He said ‘you’re all about making people smile, you’re a laugh. It stuck.” Josie knows now that a nickname is a doorway to belonging.
The Daffodil

And then… I woke up on my 50^th birthday surrounded by flamingos.

There’s something about that symbol that’s found its way into my soul. I resisted it, believe me. I’m a control freak I hadn’t chosen the flamingo myself and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be associated with it. I mean, what does it represent? Why would I want more pink in the house? What about my fleur-de-lys? My complaints fell on deaf ears, resistance was futile. And short lived. Thank goodness.

I’m grateful for the Flamingo because, like Jeff’s nickname for Josie, it was the doorway to belonging. Every Saturday we hiked and the hilarity solidarity on trail grew with every step. I learned about hiking and, more importantly, about some of the quirks of the hiking community. Trail names are one of those quirks.

A trail name can be based on anything from the colors you wear, the amount of times you pee, the embarrassing thing you did at camp one night, your personality, where you’re from, to the type of gear you have.  Trail names can range from the deeply sentimental, to completely frivolous.

Jenna Ivey (The Trek)

The first appearance of a trail name was, as expected, on a thru-hike. If memory serves me correctly, we were tired. Our packs had somehow doubled in weight. We needed to sit down. I needed to lift the mood. Looking like a lumbering elephant but feeling light on my feet I summoned energy I knew had to be tucked behind a tired muscle somewhere and… skipped. Just a few skips but my feet definitely left the earth, left, left, right, right. I skipped.

Righto then, Skippy. No more of that. We can’t have you injuring yourself. When there’s only about 5km left to go you can give it a go.

Skippy Flamingo was born. Isn’t it funny? As a teenager being told that I ‘run like a horse’ devastated me. Now I can own my less than delicate footfall to the point where I’ll take that title with joy.

The names began to flow.

On the Great Ocean Walk I bore the title of Flock Leader. I did try to get them to bow before me but for some reason it never caught on. The stubborn resistance to popular technology (and the resulting ‘green’ text box…) named our beloved Sammy. The mysterious ability to pack everything but the kitchen sink into a deceivingly small pack and still smile earned Merry Poppins her trail name. 

We’re a polite bunch, we Flamingos, and we’re hesitant to assign a label without certainty that it will be received with the love and acceptance with which it is given. But, the flip side of nicknames demonstrating belonging is that the absence of one risks being interpreted as exclusion. This will not be happening in our Flamingo Flock and so I’ve begun asking – what would you like your trail name to be? 

Our wise and experienced hiker is trying out The Prof (not sure it’s going to last). She who is determined to#livenowsayyes will forever be known as WhyNot? We’re on a roll. Pippi Longstocking is unrolling her striped leggings and her hair is springing gladly into pigtails. The invitation is open to one and all.

What is your trail name?

At their core, they’re a fun part of the thru-hiking culture that can allow hikers to connect. Don’t know what to say to your new friends? Ask about their trail name. At the other end of the spectrum, trail names are an existential challenge to a hiker’s identity and a metaphor for a hiker’s aspirations on the trail and in life. Does Trashosaurus-Rex paint an accurate picture of who I am…?

Mac from Halfway Anywhere

Skippy didn’t stick. It was rooted in a time and a place and didn’t jump with me along the path. Eventually, thanks to my highly agreeable and unendingly appreciated tendency to be ready with my bag packed, standing (I think) calmly and patiently until everyone else is ready to move on, I earned the nickname of Dora. I like this one, it feels good. It tells me that my hiking buddies know me,  and it tells me I don’t just fit in with them, this tag tells me that I belong. There’s nothing like it.

Postscript: I washed a pile of old clothes the other day and while hanging my Year 12 Mt Arapiles abseiling camp TShirt on the line was reminded of the nicknames we all collected in that week. For the life of me I cannot remember why mine was ‘nose zipper’. Anyone???