Author: QPOC Hikers

By Lil’ Buddha (he/him)

There’s a scene in “Paris is Burning”, the documentary chronicalling the lives of New York house-ballroom subculture by Black, Latino, gay, transgender and the queer community, where the iconic Willi Ninja introduces the House of Ninja. Willi explains how queer youth are often cast out of their “biological family”, and how “houses” (chosen family) are formed to fill this void. He chooses the title of “House Motha” because mothers are the backbone of the family. It’s a defining moment in the film that speaks to the importance of chosen family.  

As queer people, especially for BIPOC, we are fortunate in that we are able to choose our family. Our chosen family is often our most authentic connection with our “people”. Sometimes our chosen family is the only family we have. Our relationship with our “family of origin” is tattered or irreparably damaged because of rejection based on cultural values, expectation and heterosexism.

Growing up as a Hmong immigrant in my small Midwestern town I often faced multiple minority stressors. It’s undoubtedly one reason I felt “at home” outdoors high up in the Rocky Mountains. We were never wealthy, but somehow each summer my parents saved enough for vacation. For one or two weeks I’d spend warm summer days exploring mountain ridges, swimming in alpine lakes and gazing up at stars against the blackest of night sky. It was during these trips I learned wilderness skills that I still use today, and found sanctuary and refuge outdoors. The wilderness–I learned–welcomed and never once judged me. 

Years later I would leave the midwest for New York, where by chance I met Willi Ninja outside Club Escuelita. Willi was a respected leader by all houses, and a welcoming presence in nightlife. Eventually, I would join the House of Avon. On one occasion I ended up taking several members of my house on their first backpacking trip, north of Manhattan, to the Appalachian Trail. How absolutely fabulous we must have looked–our black and brown bodies taking up space outdoors–voguing, “walking” and kiki’n while white thru-hikers looked on in shocked silence. 

Thru-hikers use the term “tramily”, an apt portmanteau to describe our trail families. Instead of tramily I refer to my chosen trail family as my Haus, because my intention is to honor the iconic voguing houses that embraced me when I first arrived in New York. It’s these friendships, and being painfully aware that my childhood experiences are privileged, often not accessible to many immigrant and BIPOC communities, that I’ve dedicated myself to advocating for and mentoring Hmong and BIPOC adventurers. It’s the reason I formed Haus Buddha. Our Haus is a collection of thru-hikers, backpackers, writers and other creatives that support and uplift each other and our work.  

I’m Lil’ Buddha, and I’m the Father of Haus Buddha.

Now walk for me!

Follow Lil’ Buddha’s adventures on Instagram at lilbuddhahikes.

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By Tatiana Q (she/her)

My appreciation for the natural world really grew when my mom decided to move our family from New Jersey to North Carolina when I was in grade school. This was the first time in my life that I experienced a huge life transition like this – moving away from our family and our support system – to start fresh in a different region of the country. As a child, I remember the cultural shock of leaving the city and trading that in for red clay dirt trails, brown muddy creeks full of crawfish, and muggy pine forests of central North Carolina. Looking back, the transition was huge! Suddenly it was safe to play outdoors all evening after school and even to leave the door unlocked! Although that is never a habit I got used to (even today), I recall feeling freer than I ever felt living up north and my world was able to expand in so many ways.

As I transitioned into college and other aspects of adulthood, accessing outdoor spaces wasn’t completely inaccessible, but it was difficult to find friends and mentors who wanted to take me under their wing. I saw that it was so easy for white folks, particularly ones with thin body privilege, to easily find people who identified with them and befriend them and join the informal mentorship community that exists in white outdoor communities. That simply didn’t exist nor feel accessible to me as a queer, fat, Puerto Rican woman. It took me the next 10 years to slowly accumulate new friendships, experience, and expertise to help me feel confident enough to then lead others in the backcountry.

I worked as an outdoor expedition leader for a state-run program in Connecticut for 7 years where I would lead 5 to 20-day multi-phase expeditions seasonally. I have been certified with a whole host of skills that are required of an outdoor guide such as Wilderness First Responder, navigation, Top rope rock climbing and belaying, and other activity-specific certifications that gave me the practical experience and confidence to help teach and lead folks safely in the wilderness.

I have since switched careers in order to be able to financially navigate this capitalistic society and plan for my future. Unlike many folks I know who are “dirtbags” or transient by choice, I don’t have parents who will leave me with an inheritance or a house or any financial resource in their absence that I could count on later in life. So these days I balance working my 9-5 job to pay the bills and finance my future, with weekend warrior outdoor adventures and aspirations. I am looking to be mentored and to mentor others everywhere from the crags to the trails to water sports, and more.

These days you will find me hiking in the foothills of the cascades, exploring a national park or forest searching for fungi, snowshoeing up near Snoqualmie Pass on days when the avalanche danger is mitigable, or taking a relaxing walk at one of the many oceanside parks anywhere along the Puget Sound south of Seattle. In 2021 I am setting my sights on scaling some of the beginner mountaineering objectives in the region. I have been taking courses like AIARE 1, wilderness navigation, and a scrambling clinic so I can reconnect with skills I have learned in the past, learn new skills, and have grand experiences in the backcountry.