When I posted about the one-year anniversary of my Colorado Trail thru-hike, Jon S. showed up in the comments asking where the hell my post-hike gear review was.

I had no defense.

A pre-hike gear list tells you what someone believed. A post-hike gear review tells you where they were spectacularly wrong.

I spent months weighing, researching, testing, replacing, and talking about this gear before I left. I carried the final system from Denver to Durango for nearly 500 miles. Then I finished the trail and never forked over the proper autopsy.

That is a fairly serious breach of hiker paperwork.

So, Jon: here you go. The audit has officially begun.

This is not a “best backpacking gear list” assembled out of peak product specs and dreams. It is a post-hike review of one complete system, carried by one person, across the Colorado Trail.

The total cost of this gear stack was $2,534.20. I omitted prices for things like my phone and prescription glasses, because I would have had to purchase them regardless of whether or not I hiked.

You can view my complete Freda Heights pack here if you want to see the original list, product links, quantities, and weight breakdown in one place.

If you are building your own system, start with this free, customizable Thru-Hike Gear Checklist template. It is designed to help you track worn items, consumables, category weights, base weight, and total pack weight before your living room floor disappears beneath a small outdoor retailer’s worth of equipment.

For every item below, I am answering the questions that matter after the trail:

• Did I actually use it?

• Did it perform the way I expected?

• Did it fail, get replaced, or get sent home?

• Did it earn its weight?

• Would I carry it again?

The weights below are the listed weights from my original pack. Quantities are noted where I carried more than one.

The Big Three

The pack, shelter, and sleep system get most of the pre-hike attention because they carry most of the cost and a large share of the base weight. They also affect nearly every hour of the trip. If one of these is wrong, you do not merely own the wrong thing. You live inside the mistake.

• Osprey Aura AG 50 Pack - Women’s (1,899 g): My first ever bona fide gear purchase… I walked into REI completely green and got outfitted with this pack. I still recommend going this route, even if you don’t plan to buy from REI. They will walk you through the basics of sizing, pack fit, and pinch points to look out for. This pack is on the heftier side; weighing in at 4.3 pounds, it’s certainly not ultralight. However, I maintain that the internal aluminum frame, suspension mesh, dividers, and pockets make up for this additional weight. Ultralight packs often have fewer compartments and a simpler supportive design, which I would argue negates the weight savings due to inconvenience and discomfort.
  
  I also don’t think this pack is for petite people. I ended up with size XS/S, which boggled me at first, because I have a sturdy frame and wide shoulders. It ended up being the perfect pack, though; I stayed organized throughout my trek, and rarely had a complaint about sore shoulders, hips, and so on. It’s still completely intact some 1,000 miles of wear later; nothing failed, even the mesh is as sold. I hope to get a decade or two out of this one!

• Six Moon Designs Lunar Duo Explorer, silnylon (1,260 g): Oh, man. I got this one during a closeout deal by Six Moon Designs; the supplier no longer makes these, although they can still be found for sale on markets like Garage Grown Gear (GGG). I knew I wanted a trekking pole tent, and I wasn’t ready to take the leap on a Hyperlite, Durston, or Gossamer Gear tent at the time. Silnylon seemed appropriate enough for my use case… until it wasn’t. Silnylon stretches and sags when wet but offers higher tear strength, while silpoly resists sagging in the rain and handles UV degradation better. Silnylon also holds onto water when packed up wet, a feature I came to abhor during one of the wettest Colorado Trail seasons in decades.
  
  I ordered it along with their seam sealing service, but that didn’t seem to do much; oftentimes I woke up to a puddle of water pooled up right over my head, and the condensation from that sitting water would slowly seep into the tent and find my gear. One bonus of a silnylon tent is that I didn’t feel the need to use a groundsheet underneath, even on terrain with cacti and other pokey stuff strewn about. That didn’t remedy the fact that every time it rained, or there was high humidity, my tent would be sopping wet and take forever to dry. It is certainly spacious (34 sq. ft. of floor area); I originally purchased it with my 55-lb dog in mind, wanting to have enough space for him and my gear as well as myself. I’ve tested this tent out with Indigo (my blue heeler) countless times now, and miraculously, there are still no rips or tears in the fabric.
  
  I joke often that the tent is for sale; it’s something I’d like to replace eventually, especially if I’m heading into high wind, torrential downpours, or frigid conditions. It essentially failed in multiple conditions: it got torn down by high winds when I tried to camp out on a ridge crest, pummeled by rain, and encrusted with thick layers of hoarfrost that later soaked the inner lining of my pack once it had defrosted in there. I haven’t reliably tested other tents, but having met and talked to other hikers at length about their choice of tent, I know I made a mistake buying this one.

• Six Moon Designs Aluminum Y Stakes (71 g): These stakes are phenomenal! I bent one, actually, but that’s on me. I banged it with a cast iron pan one day on a shakedown hike because I didn’t have any rocks. Aside from that mental lapse, they’ve been perfect for the job. The strength-to-weight ratio is unparalleled, and I’ve tested them in all sorts of terrain. I especially appreciate the pull cords, which help in frozen or tight ground. They are incredibly sturdy, and I trust them in any conditions.

• Therm-a-Rest NeoAir XLite NXT Sleeping Pad (384 g): I honestly can’t believe how many people have poked a microscopic hole in these bad boys, but I digress under the guise that it could happen to anyone. It didn’t happen to me, thankfully. This blow-up sleeping pad survived the test of time, and cacti, for that matter. While I do notice that some of the air leaks out by the time I wake up, it’s honestly negligible. I also prefer these pads over foam pads due to the thermal heat capture. It’s super packable and weighs in within reason, making it the obvious choice for someone looking to pack light and tight.
  
  One thing to keep in mind, if your tent is at all angled, this pad will become quite challenging to remain on throughout the night. Slippery is an understatement, especially if you’re using a sleeping bag or have a quilt between you and the pad itself. All in all, though, this is still my go-to, and I’ll continue to use it, even if it gets a micro-leak and I have to submerge it in water to find the leak and patch it up (a common story of woe with these).

• Enlightened Equipment Revelation Quilt, 950 fill, 20-degree (585 g): This quilt is expensive. Will I still recommend it wholeheartedly even though I prefer to budget my way through everything else? Yes. Your sleeping system is arguably the most critical gear choice you can make; it is your last-stop emergency kit to survival in harsh conditions. This one stands up to the test in every regard. It holds true to its 20-degree rating; I was comfortable enough in 11°F conditions, actually, though I wouldn’t push it far beyond that. The 950-fill goose down traps more air per ounce than lower fill options, making it lighter and more packable, with an incredible warmth-to-weight ratio that compresses into a tiny 8L stuff sack.
  
  Now, if you plan on making this purchase, do not do so lightly. There are a couple things to consider here. Mainly, it’s the difference between a traditional sleeping bag and a quilt. Sleeping bags fully enclose you head-to-toe while a quilt drops the hood and bottom insulation, relying on your sleeping pad for underside warmth. For example, your 0° sleeping quilt will not be able to keep you warm if your heat is lost beneath you by having an inadequate sleeping pad. I don’t like the mummification feel of a sleeping bag, so the increased versatility of a quilt (paired with a sleeping pad) made the decision easier for me. Having a down quilt also requires upkeep and care; you can’t keep it compressed while in storage, it needs to be in the bag it came in. It’s also not something you can launder easily; there is a step-by-step process you need to follow to a T in order to get the most life out of them.

• Gear Aid Patch-All Repair Kit (37 g): I carried this kit for the entire trail and never had to open it. That means I can’t speak to how well it performs under field conditions, but I also wouldn’t call it wasted weight. A torn quilt, punctured sleeping pad, or damaged shelter can quickly become more than an inconvenience, and 37 grams was a reasonable price for that insurance.
  

  In hindsight, however, I made the common mistake of treating one repair kit as a universal solution. It may have helped with a puncture in my sleeping pad or a tear in my quilt, but my Lunar Duo’s silicone-coated nylon requires a silnylon-specific patch or silicone-based sealant. If the tent had torn, the generic patches in this kit may not have bonded reliably. I would absolutely carry repair supplies again, but I would rebuild the kit rather than carry this exact package: silnylon patches for the tent, the manufacturer’s field patches for the sleeping pad, and a few standard Tenacious Tape patches for the quilt and other nylon gear. The original kit earned its place as insurance, but it wasn’t as comprehensive as I thought it was.

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Cook and Water System

This category looks simple from a kitchen. On trail, it has to work when the wind is up, your hands are cold, the creek is silty, and you’re too tired to negotiate.

• MSR PocketRocket 2 Mini Stove Kit (274 g): The PocketRocket lit consistently, boiled water quickly, and has survived nearly 1,000 miles without a mechanical failure. The stove, lighter, and 110-gram fuel canister all nest inside the 0.75-liter pot, keeping the entire cook system contained instead of scattering loose components throughout my pack. Its main weakness is wind. The exposed burner loses efficiency in strong gusts, so I often positioned it beside a rock or another natural barrier while keeping the canister ventilated. I occasionally edged it beneath my vestibule for shelter, which is not a practice I would repeat or recommend.
  

  I eventually stopped carrying the included metal pot lifter because the silicone sleeve gave me enough grip. However, that sleeve once loosened and slid toward the burner, so it needs to be checked before use. I also managed to melt plastic onto the stove, cleaned it thoroughly after it cooled, and continued using it without issue. It is remarkably rugged, although I would not recommend my testing methodology. Cooking directly in the pot is possible, but cleaning it becomes another chore. I usually added water, scraped the sides, and drank the rinse rather than leave food residue in camp. Not glamorous, but effective. In the future, I would mostly use the stove to boil water and rehydrate meals in their original packaging or a purpose-built heat-safe pouch.

• MSR IsoPro Fuel Canister, 3.9 oz / 110 g size (207 g listed): The 110-gram designation refers to the fuel inside; the listed pack weight includes the steel canister. Its 80/20 isobutane-propane blend performs better in cold conditions than straight butane, although pressure still declines as the canister gets colder or approaches empty. I did not record an exact number of boils per canister, and fuel consumption varies with wind, water temperature, flame setting, and cooking time. In practice, they lasted longer than I expected. The small canister also fit perfectly inside the cookpot.

  The awkward part was deciding when to replace one. Hikers frequently reach town with some fuel remaining but not enough confidence to carry it through the next section. I often left partial canisters in hiker boxes rather than carry two or risk running out. After handling enough of them, you develop a reasonable sense of the remaining fuel by weight, although weighing the canister or using a water-float chart is more reliable. I would use the same size again because it balances capacity, availability, and packability well for a solo resupply interval. I made a short tutorial on how to use this system here, if you’re interested in learning more!

• Bic Mini Lighter (11 g): The PocketRocket does not have an integrated igniter, making the lighter a required part of the system. The Bic Mini fit inside the cookpot and never ran out of fuel or failed to light. In wind, I usually needed to reposition the stove or briefly shield the flame with my hands. One Mini was sufficient because I was not using it throughout the day for anything else. I would carry it again, although a second lighter or a few waterproof matches would be sensible on a colder or more remote route. Eleven grams is efficient; one ignition source is still a single point of failure.

• Sawyer Squeeze Water Filter System (84 g): The Sawyer Squeeze was one of the strongest performers in my system. Its 0.1-micron absolute hollow-fiber membrane removes bacteria, protozoa, and cysts without batteries, pumping, or chemical treatment. It threaded directly onto my Smartwater bottles, maintained a reasonable flow rate, and never failed. Sediment eventually accumulates inside the fibers and reduces the flow. I noticed this after several weeks of daily use, and backwashing restored much of its performance. Cleaning frequency is based on flow and water quality rather than a fixed schedule. Clear mountain water may allow long intervals, while silty sources can clog the filter much faster.
  
  Freezing is the more serious concern. Once the filter has been used, residual water can freeze and damage the hollow fibers, with no dependable field test proving they remain intact. When temperatures approached freezing, I kept the filter inside my quilt. If I believed it had frozen, I would replace it rather than keep trusting it. The Squeeze is also a filter, not a purifier. It does not reliably remove viruses, dissolved chemicals, agricultural runoff, heavy metals, or toxins.
  
  Next time, I would carry water-treatment tablets as a lightweight backup in case the filter froze, broke, or became unusable. Tablets can add protection against certain microorganisms, but they do not make chemically contaminated water safe. If a source smelled unusual, showed signs of an algal bloom, or sat directly downstream from livestock or agricultural activity, I looked for another source. I would absolutely use the Sawyer again, but only with a backup treatment method and a clear understanding of its limits.

• 1.5L Smartwater Bottles, quantity 2 (38 g each): The bottles completed the Sawyer system. Their standard threads connected directly to the filter, while two 1.5-liter bottles gave me three liters of maximum carrying capacity for longer dry stretches. They were inexpensive, durable, easy to replace, and narrow enough to fit my pack’s side pockets. I also carried extra caps in case one cracked or got lost, along with extra seals for the Sawyer Squeeze filtration system, because they are remarkably easy to lose in the process of resupplying on water. They are functional enough that I see no reason to replace them with a heavier reservoir system. I go into more detail about how to use this system properly with the Sawyer Squeeze, which you can check out here.

• TOAKS Titanium Long Handle Spoon with Polished Bowl (20 g): This was the only eating utensil I needed. The long handle reached the bottom of meal pouches without coating my knuckles in rehydrated food, while the polished bowl was comfortable to eat from and easy to clean. Its edge also worked well for scraping food from the cookpot. Some hikers prefer a spork for retrieving solid food, but the shallow tines add less versatility than the name suggests. For oatmeal, rice, sauces, and dehydrated meals, the spoon worked better. It is light, durable, and one of the gear choices I have no interest in optimizing further.

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Food and Water

Food and water are consumables, but the system around them still deserves a review. Storage, capacity, odor control, and the distance between reliable water sources all change how well the rest of the pack works.

• Ursack Major XL Bear Sack, 15 liters (246 g): The Ursack held every food carry comfortably and was much easier to pack than a rigid bear canister. I stored my food inside a reusable odor-barrier bag, closed the Ursack tightly, and secured it to a sturdy tree away from camp. Unlike a traditional bear hang, an Ursack is designed to be anchored directly to a strong trunk or branch rather than suspended high above the ground. No animal disturbed mine, although that does not prove the odor barrier made the food undetectable. It reduces scent leakage but does not eliminate odor or replace proper storage.
  
  The Ursack’s fabric is designed to resist tearing and punctures, but a bear can still crush the food through the bag or damage it during a prolonged attempt. Other hikers reported opening intact sacks to find the contents converted into bear-seasoned granola. The reflective cord was an unexpectedly valuable feature. When I retrieved the bag at 4:30 a.m. for my daily rations of coffee and oatmeal, it caught my headlamp immediately instead of remaining a black object tied to a black tree. The sack also cleaned up easily after spills. I will continue to use it, paired with an odor-resistant liner and secured according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

• Four days of food, budgeted at 700 g per day: The 700-gram estimate was useful for planning, but too tidy for actual trail life. After a week or two, I became much better at estimating food from mileage, elevation gain, resupply distance, appetite, and what I was realistically willing to eat. Weight alone also ignores caloric density. Seven hundred grams of tortillas, peanut butter, and trail mix carries far more usable energy than the same weight in bulky, water-heavy food.

  My usual resupply included dehydrated dinners, oatmeal, squeeze peanut butter, tortillas, noodles, ramen, trail mix, granola, beef jerky, and protein bars.
  
  Because the Ursack is flexible, I favored foods that could survive being compressed and jostled inside my pack. A bear canister protects fragile food from the hiker as much as the bear; a soft sack does not. Fortunately, I do not care whether a Pop-Tart arrives structurally intact. My favorite high-calorie snack before a climb was (what I call) the Peanut Butter Crunchwrap Supreme: a tortilla covered with squeeze peanut butter and topped with trail mix, granola, or both. It was dense, fast to assemble, and required no cooking. I would plan future carries from anticipated calories and days between resupplies, then use weight as a final reasonableness check rather than forcing every day into a fixed gram allowance.

• Water, typically 2 liters with 3 liters of maximum capacity: I originally planned around two liters, then switched to 1.5-liter bottles where I could source them. Most of the time I carried about one liter in each, but the larger bottles gave me another liter of capacity for dry stretches without adding a separate reservoir. That flexibility worked well. Water weighs roughly one kilogram per liter, so automatically filling both bottles would have added three kilograms, or about 6.6 pounds, whether the next source required it or not. I adjusted each carry according to distance, temperature, exposure, elevation gain, and confidence in the next source. I would use the same three-liter maximum capacity again rather than carry three liters by default. I should also mention I still carried one extra water bladder (that came with the Sawyer Squeeze) just in case my water bottles became compromised for whatever reason. Water is important; treat it accordingly.

• Mini hot sauce in an ultralight container (28 g): I could write books on how much I love hot sauce, and how imperative it is to me that I have some handy. This began as a morale item, however, it very quickly became unnecessary. Town stops supplied enough individual hot sauce packets to cover the meals that needed help, so the dedicated container did not justify its weight or the risk of leaking. I sent it home and used packets for the rest of the trail, storing the used and unused ones with the rest of my scented items. Twenty-eight grams is trivial until the pack contains twenty trivial things.

• Smell-proof reusable bag (20 g): I treated the odor-resistant liner as an essential companion to the Ursack. It contained food residue, helped control spills, and reduced the amount of scent escaping from the outer bag. It remained intact throughout the trail and was easy to wipe clean when necessary. I would carry one again, but I would not describe it as truly smell-proof or rely on it as standalone animal protection. Bears have considerably better noses than product marketing departments. The liner reduces odor; the Ursack provides physical resistance; careful campsite practices complete the system.

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Electronics

Time to get nerdy, my friends. Electronics can quickly turn ounces into pounds if you’re not careful. They are also how I navigated, communicated, documented the trip, and kept people at home from assuming I was about to become a headline.

• Google Pixel 9 (198 g): The Pixel functioned as my primary navigation device, camera, notebook, communication hub, and town-resupply computer. Its 4,700mAh battery, 6.3-inch OLED display, 50-megapixel main camera, 48-megapixel ultrawide camera, and IP68 water-resistance rating made it a capable all-in-one trail device. The Pixel 9 also supports Satellite SOS, allowing it to contact emergency services by text when cellular and Wi-Fi service are unavailable. It requires a reasonably clear view of the sky and is intended for emergencies rather than routine messaging.
  
  I never had to use it, but knowing I had a second satellite-capable device was comforting if my Garmin inReach became lost, damaged, or depleted. It did not replace the inReach, which remained better suited to routine check-ins, location tracking, and dedicated off-grid communication. Navigation, photography, high screen brightness, weak cellular reception, and cold temperatures can all drain a phone faster than ordinary use, so battery performance cannot be judged independently from the charging system. The Pixel never failed, and at 198 grams, it replaced several heavier standalone tools while adding meaningful emergency redundancy.

• Garmin inReach Mini 2 (99 g): The inReach provided two-way satellite messaging, location tracking, weather access, TracBack navigation, and an interactive SOS connection through the Iridium satellite network. Its internal battery is rated for up to 14 days with 10-minute tracking under favorable sky conditions, although tree cover, terrain, messaging frequency, Bluetooth use, and temperature can shorten that considerably. It is also rated IPX7, meaning it can withstand temporary immersion in one meter of water.
  
  The subscription is easy to question when no emergency occurs, but that is the wrong metric. I was paying for reliable off-grid communication and access to emergency coordination, not trying to maximize my monthly allotment of satellite texts. I was even given a full refund when I tried to reactivate it for my India trip, only to realize India outlaws satellite devices like the Garmin inReach; I would say that’s pretty phenomenal customer service, considering the mistake was mine and they had no obligation to refund me. On the Colorado Trail, it stayed connected, tracked reliably, and gave people at home a way to follow my progress.

• Silva Ranger 2.0 Compass (86 g): The Ranger 2.0 is considerably more capable than a basic button compass. It includes mirror sighting, adjustable magnetic declination, a clinometer for measuring slope angle, a magnifying lens, luminous markings, and map scales for 1:24,000, 1:25,000, and 1:50,000 maps. It never had to become my primary navigation tool, but that’s not the point. Phones break, batteries die, GPS positions can drift, and satellite devices do not replace the ability to establish direction manually. The important caveat is that a compass is most useful when paired with an appropriate paper map and the skill to use both. At 86 grams, this model was arguably more compass than the well-marked Colorado Trail required, but I valued having a navigation tool that did not depend on electricity, software, or satellite reception.

• Nitecore NU20 Classic 360-Lumen USB-C Headlamp (68 g): The NU20 produced up to 360 lumens with a beam reaching approximately 119 yards, but its lower settings were more relevant for camp tasks and routine night hiking. Nitecore rates the primary modes at 200 lumens for five hours, 38 lumens for seven hours, and one lumen for up to 97 hours. It also includes a red-light mode for preserving night vision and reducing the amount of light thrown around camp.
  

  USB-C charging allowed it to share a cable with the rest of my electronics, while the lockout mode prevented it from turning on inside my pack. Its IP66 rating protected it from heavy rain and dust, although it is not rated for submersion. The headlamp never failed, and its range of brightness settings made it efficient enough for camp while still powerful enough for route-finding in complete darkness. It currently has a crack in the lamp face (how that happened is beyond me), but it still works perfectly fine.

• Anker Prime Wall Bank (280 g listed): This was the heaviest individual part of the charging system, but it combined a wall charger and 9,600mAh power bank in one unit. The 65-watt USB-C output was far more power than my phone required, but the real advantage appeared in town: folding AC prongs, two USB-C ports, rapid recharging, and the ability to consolidate functions when outlets became contested real estate. Rated battery capacity should not be confused with usable output. Voltage conversion, heat, cable resistance, and charging circuitry consume energy, so Anker estimates that the 9,600mAh unit delivers roughly 5,200 to 6,700mAh to connected devices. It was heavy, but it replaced both a separate wall adapter and another battery while adding charging redundancy. For a trip built around frequent town stops, that integration justified the weight.

• Anker 10,000mAh Portable Charger (212 g): This gave the system a second independent battery and brought my total rated reserve capacity to approximately 19,600mAh. A 10,000mAh label does not mean it can deliver the full amount to a phone because the rating is measured at the battery cells’ internal voltage. After conversion losses, the practical capacity is generally closer to one and a half full charges for a 4,700mAh phone, depending on temperature, cable efficiency, and whether the phone is being used while charging. The bank performed reliably and gave me enough reserve to navigate, photograph, message, and recharge smaller devices between towns without rationing every percentage point. Carrying two power banks was not the lightest possible arrangement, but it prevented one battery failure from disabling the entire electronics system.

• USB-A to USB-C Cable (16 g): This cable preserved compatibility with the USB-A output on the portable charger and with older charging equipment encountered in town. USB-A generally provides slower charging than a properly rated USB-C Power Delivery connection, but compatibility mattered more than peak speed when it was the available port. The cable survived the hike without fraying or connection problems. Paired with the USB-C cable, it also allowed me to charge two devices simultaneously instead of waiting for everything to take turns through one connection.

• Timex Ironman Classic 30 Watch (68 g): The Timex provided time, alarms, a stopwatch, a countdown timer, and an INDIGLO backlight without borrowing power from my phone. Its quartz movement runs on a replaceable coin-cell battery, and its 100-meter water-resistance rating was more than adequate for rain, sweat, and ordinary trail exposure. A smartwatch could have collected more data, but it would also have added another rechargeable device to manage. The Timex let me check the time, set timers, and monitor breaks without repeatedly activating my phone screen. It worked every day and required no attention, which is exactly what I want from a trail watch.

• USB-C to USB-C Cable (13 g): This was the primary fast-charging cable for the Pixel, inReach, headlamp, and USB-C power banks. Unlike the USB-A cable, it supported USB Power Delivery and allowed compatible devices to negotiate the appropriate charging voltage and current. Carrying two cables added 29 grams total, but they were not redundant in name only. They supported different ports, allowed parallel charging, and prevented one damaged cable from cutting off every rechargeable device in the system. Both survived the trail, and I would carry the same two-cable arrangement again.

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Ditty Bag

This is the category people love to dismiss as little stuff, right up until the little stuff is all you have available to you for several hundred miles.

• HART Outdoor Pocket First-Aid Kit (49 g): This was a strong foundation, but no commercial first-aid kit is complete for every person or trip. I supplemented it with blister treatment, additional over-the-counter medications, gloves, cotton swabs, and tweezers. Those additions matched the problems I was most likely to manage myself: hot spots, minor wounds, splinters, allergic reactions, and ordinary aches. I would carry the kit again. I would also choose nitrile gloves over latex next time because they are more puncture-resistant.

• Isopropyl Alcohol in an Ultralight Container (50 g): I used this often enough to refill the small spray bottle once and would carry it again. It was useful for disinfecting tweezers and other hard surfaces, cleaning intact skin, and removing adhesive residue when the included wipes were too small. I would not use rubbing alcohol to clean an open wound because it can damage healthy tissue and delay healing. Clean water and appropriate wound care are the better approach there. The miniature spray bottle never leaked, and one refill proved that mailing an entire bottle inside a resupply box was comically excessive.

• Sea to Summit Camp Kitchen Pot Scrubber and Soap (45 g): The nylon scrubber and concentrated Wilderness Wash handled cooked-on food without requiring a full-size sponge or dish kit. The soap also served for handwashing, cleaning my Kula Cloths, and washing the reusable towel. Biodegradable does not mean harmless in a stream. I used small amounts and carried wash water at least 200 feet from lakes and creeks before scattering it. Both components earned their weight because they supported several parts of the hygiene and cooking system.

• Half Toothbrush (9 g): I sawed off half the handle less for the gram savings and more because mutilating a perfectly functional toothbrush is a cheeky thru-hiker tradition. The bristle head performs the actual cleaning, so the shortened handle worked just as well once I adjusted my grip. Civilization remains unchanged, but my credentials as a dirtbag were strengthened.

• Mini Toothpaste (40 g): The travel-size tube lasted an appropriate amount of time and was easy to replace during town stops. I replaced it twice over the course of the trail. Regular brushing mattered considerably more than optimizing the container, so I would use the same system again.

• Kula Cloth, quantity 2 (13 g listed): These became nonnegotiable gear. The two-cloth system allowed me to keep one in use while the other was being washed or dried. The absorbent side is treated with silver ions that inhibit odor-causing bacteria within the fabric, but antimicrobial does not mean self-cleaning or sterile.

  I rinsed them periodically with water and camp soap, then washed them with my clothing whenever I reached town. They should be clipped outside the pack to dry, washed away from water sources, and laundered without bleach or fabric softener.

• Suluk 46 TARK Ultralight Trowel (19 g): The 19-gram TARK Large is made from a single piece of formed Grade 5 titanium, with serrated edges intended to cut through soil and small roots. It handled the job without bending or failing.

  The tradeoff is leverage. Its thin, ultralight construction can be uncomfortable and difficult to drive through compacted or rocky ground. Careful site selection still mattered more than brute force.

• Tiny Hairbrush (30 g): I kept my hair up 98% of the time, but that did not stop sweat, dust, and loose strands from turning the underside into an emerging textile. Regular brushing prevented matting and allowed me to check my scalp and hairline for irritation or debris. Thirty grams was a reasonable hygiene and maintenance expense. I would carry it again, particularly on a trip long enough for accidental dreadlocks to become a legitimate project risk.

• Compact Disposable Dry Wipes, quantity 12 (3 g listed): Dry wipes were more efficient than carrying premoistened wipes because I added water only when I needed one. They handled personal cleaning, small spills, and jobs that required a clean surface rather than the permanently filthy camp towel. They still create waste and have to be packed out after use, regardless of whether the packaging calls them biodegradable or flushable. Twelve was a useful supply without committing me to hauling a wet brick of wipes through the mountains.

• REI Multi Towel Mini with Clip Bag (17 g): This 15.5-inch-square synthetic towel became the designated utility rag. It served as a snot cloth, wiped food and miscellaneous goop, and absorbed condensation from the tent before packing.

  REI rates it to absorb roughly three times its own weight, which also explains why drying a saturated tent required several rounds of wiping and wringing. That was a capacity problem created by the tent, not a failure of the towel. It dried quickly when clipped outside the pack, and keeping it separate from the disposable hygiene wipes prevented my face from meeting yesterday’s tent sludge. I would carry it again.

• Contact Case (5 g): Necessary, but only useful with a strict cleaning routine. Reusable lenses should be stored in fresh solution every time, never topped off with old solution or rinsed with water. The case should be rubbed and rinsed with solution, then left open and upside down to air-dry. Contact lenses are medical devices, even when their operating environment is a dusty log beside a cathole.

• Contact Solution in an Ultralight Container (50 g): The solution itself was essential, but decanting it into a generic ultralight container was not a practice I would recommend again. The FDA specifically advises against transferring contact solution into smaller bottles because doing so can compromise sterility and create an eye-infection risk. A factory-sealed travel bottle would add a few grams while preserving the original sterile packaging, labeling, and expiration information. Microbial keratitis weighs nothing and can still end a hike.

• Extra Contact Lenses (20 g): I carried enough redundancy that one torn, contaminated, or lost lens would not affect my ability to navigate safely. The old ranger rule applies: if you have one, you have none; if you have two, you have one.

  Extra lenses were justified, but prescription glasses remain the stronger independent backup because they require no solution and can be used when eye irritation makes contacts unsafe. Vision correction is not an optional comfort item when the day involves reading maps and walking across uneven terrain.

• Sunscreen in an Ultralight Container (50 g): Entirely necessary. Long days at Colorado elevation meant sustained ultraviolet exposure, including through cloud cover. A useful trail sunscreen should be broad-spectrum, water-resistant, and at least SPF 30, then reapplied approximately every two hours and after heavy sweating. The small container kept it accessible and prevented me from carrying a full retail bottle, but any decanted sunscreen should be clearly labeled so it is not confused with another white mystery fluid in the ditty bag.

• Chapstick (10 g): Wind, sun, dry air, and elevation made lip protection an everyday item rather than a luxury. I would carry it again, ideally using a lip balm with SPF 30 or higher so it provides ultraviolet protection instead of merely sealing already-scorched lips.

• Deodorant in an Ultralight Container (50 g): This was optional. Deodorant can suppress odor temporarily, while antiperspirant reduces perspiration, but neither substitutes for washing after several days of sweat accumulating in the same clothing. It occasionally made me feel more civilized before entering town, which has some value, but it did very little for the larger biological situation. I would skip it when cutting weight or carry a much smaller amount strictly for town use. Like other scented toiletries, it still belonged in the food-storage system overnight.

• Mini Floss (less than 1 g): The scale rounded this down to zero, but the item was not metaphysically weightless. Flossing remained part of the daily routine because dental problems are considerably harder to manage when the nearest dentist is several trailheads and one hitch away. I did lose part of a tooth while flossing on trail, which says more about the condition of that tooth or an existing restoration than it does about floss. Take care of known dental work before leaving and keep flossing. The woods are not an exemption from oral hygiene.

Miscellaneous

Miscellaneous is where useful redundancy and fear-based packing tend to mingle. Some of these items solved real problems. Others may have simply enjoyed a scenic tour of Colorado from inside my pack.

• Victorinox Executive 81 Swiss Army Knife (19 g listed): This was one of the most useful tools I carried. The scissors handled tape, bandages, loose threads, and packaging; the file managed broken nails; and the small blade covered nearly every lightweight cutting job. I kept it around my neck with the emergency whistle, secured by a pull-apart connection so the cord could not become a strangulation hazard. The Executive 81 has seven functions in a 65-millimeter body, although Victorinox lists its weight at 21 grams, slightly above my original entry. I still carry it regularly, which is about as decisive as a long-term gear verdict gets.

• TISUR Titanium Emergency Whistle (6.7 g): I never needed to use this, which is the preferred outcome for emergency equipment. A whistle carries farther than a human voice and requires much less energy when someone is injured, lost, or attempting to attract attention. Keeping it on my body mattered more than the titanium construction because emergency signaling equipment is useless at the bottom of a pack. It earned its negligible weight, although hikers whose sternum buckle already contains a functional whistle may reasonably consider it redundant.

• 50L Waterproof Pack Liner (10 g): My liner was simply a trash bag, and it protected the contents that absolutely could not get wet: my quilt, sleep clothes, and electronics. Backpack fabric, zippers, and seams should not be trusted to remain watertight through sustained rain. The Aura AG also included an external rain cover, which I used in heavier weather to reduce saturation of the pack fabric and outside pockets, but the cover did not replace the internal liner. Next time I would use the same two-layer approach, preferably with a slightly tougher trash-compactor bag if punctures were a concern.

• Counter Assault Trailrunner Bear Spray (280 g): I carried this accessibly at first, then sent it home after reassessing the conditions and my personal risk tolerance. That decision saved substantial weight, but completing the trail without needing spray does not prove that it was unnecessary. Colorado is black-bear habitat, and food storage remains the first line of conflict prevention. If I carried spray again, I would base that choice on current wildlife activity and local guidance, then keep the canister on a belt or shoulder strap. Bear spray buried inside a pack is mostly a 280-gram emotional-support cylinder.

• AAA Battery (9 g): I insulated the spare batteries and carried them for the entire trail without using one. More importantly, none of the critical electronics listed in this system relied on AAA power. That makes this fear-based redundancy rather than useful redundancy, and I would leave it behind unless I were carrying a specific device that accepted it. Spare batteries should also have their terminals isolated from metal objects to prevent accidental short-circuiting.

• Ziploc Bags, quantity 5 (2 g each): These handled trash, damp items, small-part organization, and the important job of keeping my non-waterproof wallet dry. I reused them until the seals or seams began to fail and moved food-scented trash into the Ursack overnight. They were absolutely worth carrying, although the recorded weight of two grams for five bags deserves another trip to the scale.

• TrailBuddy Lightweight Trekking Poles (499 g): These inexpensive aluminum poles performed far beyond what their price suggested. The lever locks stayed dependable, the adjustable length helped on steep climbs and descents, and the poles became an extension of my balance rather than something I consciously placed with each step. They also served as structural components for the Lunar Duo, so losing one would have affected both my hiking and shelter systems. I would carry them again without feeling obligated to upgrade to a premium brand. The most realistic failure mode was leaving them in a shuttle, restaurant, or trail-town corner while exhausted, so I learned to attach them to my pack whenever they were not in my hands.

• Small Field Notebook (50 g): The notebook survived several soakings without surrendering the notes inside it. It gave me a power-independent place to record mileage, conditions, observations, and the half-formed thoughts that eventually became writing. All-weather paper is water-resistant rather than indestructible, but it handled trail use much better than an ordinary notebook would have. At 50 grams, it earned its place because I actually wrote in it rather than carrying it as an aspirational personality trait.

• Two Rite in the Rain Pens (40 g): These compact, pressurized pens worked reliably with the all-weather notebook, including when the paper was damp. Their short bodies felt awkward initially, but that disappeared with use. Carrying two provided reasonable redundancy because the notebook became useless if its only pen disappeared or failed, although a small pencil would accomplish the same backup role for less weight.

• Paper Map (20 g): FarOut remained my primary navigation tool because it combined my location with water reports, campsites, mileage, and other hikers’ recent observations. The paper map supplied something different: a battery-independent overview of the surrounding terrain. Paired with the Silva compass, it was legitimate emergency redundancy, although only because I knew how to orient and read it. A paper map carried without those skills is just very lightweight artwork.

• Spyderco Delica 4 Lightweight Signature Knife (100 g listed): The Delica’s locking, approximately 2.9-inch blade was better suited to substantial cutting tasks than the tiny Victorinox blade, and it worked flawlessly for food, packaging, and general camp use. I originally thought of it as a defensive tool, but that was not a sound justification. A folding knife requires close contact, can escalate an encounter, and is not a reliable wildlife-defense plan. Since the Victorinox handled most of my actual cutting, the Delica was one of the clearer redundancies in the pack. I liked the knife, but I would only carry both again if I expected enough real cutting work to justify the additional weight.

• ANDA Ultralight Wallet with Cards and ID (10 g): This became my everyday wallet after the trail and survived roughly a year of constant use before beginning to come apart. That is respectable durability for such a minimal construction. It organized the essentials without adding bulk, but it offered no meaningful water protection, so I kept it inside a Ziploc during rain and creek crossings. I would buy another, with the same expectation that the bag around it is part of the system.

• Prescription Glasses, extra pair (30 g): Because I relied on contact lenses, backup glasses were essential rather than excessive. Irritation, contamination, a lost lens, or an eye injury could have made contacts unusable, and impaired vision would have affected navigation as well as basic safety. The glasses needed a protective case, though, and that case should be included in the recorded system weight. Ten grams likely represents the glasses alone rather than the complete backup.

• Colorado Trail Databook (93 g): The databook complemented FarOut rather than duplicating it. It provided a compact, battery-independent reference for mileage, elevation, water sources, trailheads, listed campsites, and resupply points, while also giving me somewhere to write route-specific notes. FarOut was better for live positioning and recent reports; the databook was better for understanding the shape of the day without repeatedly opening my phone. I carried it from Denver to Durango and would do so again.

Clothing

Clothing is a moving system for sweat, weather, abrasion, sleep, town stops, and the gradual collapse of your standards around what counts as clean.

• Sunglasses with Case (122 g): I did not wear these as consistently as I should have. The wide-brim hat shaded my face, but a hat cannot replace UV-rated lenses, particularly at elevation or around reflective surfaces. The glasses survived because the case protected them, although 122 grams is substantial for an item I rarely accessed. Next time I would keep the sunglasses somewhere more convenient and look for a lighter crush-resistant case.

• Performance Hat (39 g): The full brim, extended neck cape, and chin cord provided far more coverage than a standard baseball cap. It stayed secure in wind and protected areas that are easy to neglect with sunscreen. I also joked that it was remarkably cheap birth control, based on the assumption very few men would bother based on fashion crimes alone. I paid less than $40, but the current price has roughly doubled. It performed beautifully, though I am less convinced by the value at twice the cost.

• WANTDO Puffy Jacket, Women’s (280 g): This $58 jacket provided all the insulation I needed without requiring me to rationalize a Patagonia Nano Puff purchase. It packed into its own pocket, layered easily at camp, and survived a small shell tear after a simple patch. Lightweight insulated jackets are inherently vulnerable to abrasion, regardless of price.

• Frogg Toggs Ultralight Rain Jacket with Hood (201 g): This was cheap, waterproof, wind-resistant, and completely adequate for the job. The nonwoven material is not especially durable or breathable during hard exertion, but the jacket avoided most of the friction and stretching that destroyed the matching pants. It kept rain off my insulating layers, packed small, and delivered an excellent cost-to-performance ratio. I would use it again.

• Frogg Toggs Ultralight Rain Pants (200 g): The pants were the opposite experience. The same lightweight nonwoven material that worked on my upper body could not tolerate repeated movement, abrasion, brush, and stress around the seat and crotch. Ordering two sizes larger did not change the limitations of the fabric. Replacing them became an unwanted Colorado mountain-town side quest, and ultralight rain pants were much harder to find locally than expected. I would buy a more durable pair before the next long trail, even if that meant accepting additional weight and cost.

• UPF 50 Sun Hoodie (152 g): This was one of the most important pieces of clothing in the system. It provided consistent coverage across my arms, shoulders, neck, and head without requiring constant sunscreen reapplication. The fabric moved sweat away from my skin and remained comfortable enough that I wore it nearly every day. Wicking and odor control are not automatically the same thing, especially with synthetic fabrics, but this particular hoodie performed well at both. I would not start another exposed trail without one.

• Patagonia Short-Sleeve Top (90 g): This mostly served as a backup while the sun hoodie was being washed and as a cleaner shirt for town. On very hot trail days, I wore only a sports bra instead. The shirt worked perfectly well, but the sun hoodie offered better coverage and saw far more use. It was useful redundancy rather than a core hiking layer.

• Performance Briefs, quantity 4 (39 g): Fit mattered more than the outdoor industry’s preferred fabric sermon. I liked my cotton pairs because they controlled odor well for me and dried quickly enough in Colorado’s relatively dry conditions. Cotton does absorb more moisture and generally dries slower than synthetic or merino fabric, so I would not present my experience as universal advice for cold or persistently wet environments.

• Sports Bras, quantity 2 (80 g each): These inexpensive Nautica sports bras were comfortable, dried adequately, and caused no chafing over hundreds of miles. Two provided enough rotation to wash one while wearing the other without turning the category into a lingerie drawer. I still use them for nearly every workout, which says more about their durability and fit than any laboratory specification could.

• Columbia Leslie Falls Convertible Hiking Pants (250 g): These were excellent trail pants. The 94-percent nylon and 6-percent elastane fabric provided useful stretch, while the UPF 50 rating, articulated knees, and water- and stain-resistant treatment made them well suited to long days outside. I used the zip-off legs regularly. Holes eventually developed in the seat, the area exposed to constant pack and terrain abrasion, but 42 consecutive days of wear is still a respectable service life. I would buy them again.

• Decathlon Merino Base Layer (123 g): This was a dependable cold-weather and sleep layer. Merino manages odor well, regulates temperature across a wide range, and remains comfortable when slightly damp, although it dries more slowly than many synthetic base layers. Mine retained its shape, developed no holes, and provided meaningful warmth during colder nights. It earned its weight without requiring premium-brand pricing.

• Merino Wool Bottoms (300 g): These were warm enough for cold nights, but the crotch seam failed and required a trail repair. That failure was probably related more to construction, fit, or stitching than to merino wool itself. My repair held, and I still use them carefully, but 300 grams is substantial for a layer worn only occasionally. Next time I would look for a lighter pair with stronger seams rather than assuming all merino bottoms perform alike.

• Darn Tough Merino Wool Socks, quantity 3 (56 g): These were exceptional. The merino-blend construction managed moisture and odor, the knit retained its fit, and none of the three pairs required replacement. I also completed the trail without a blister, although that result belonged to the entire footwear system rather than the socks alone. I would carry four next time, with one worn, two drying, and one reserved as the cleanest available approximation of a sleep sock.

• La Sportiva Bushido III Trail Runners (550 g): I love these shoes. The Bushido III uses a secure performance fit, 6-millimeter drop, forefoot rock guard, and 4-millimeter lugs that wrap around the midsole for stability on rocky and off-camber terrain. They remained comfortable as my feet swelled and provided excellent traction throughout the trail. My first pair failed when a stick punctured the mesh upper, which was an accident rather than ordinary wear. I whipstitched the damage and wore them for another week or two before replacing them with the same model. I generally expect roughly 500 to 600 miles from a pair, but fit and replacement mileage are personal, not universal specifications. If adding microspikes, test the exact combination before the trip. A Ziploc between sock and shoe can act as a short-term vapor barrier in cold, wet conditions, but it also traps sweat and can macerate the skin. It is an emergency tactic, not a waterproofing system.

• Columbia Thermal Gloves (42 g): These provided useful warmth and retained enough touchscreen sensitivity to operate my phone. Their weakness was wet weather. Once saturated, their insulation value dropped enough that I eventually replaced them with fishing gloves. For another cold, wet trail, I would use a layered hand system with a thin insulating liner and a separate waterproof shell rather than expecting one lightweight glove to handle everything.

• Thermal Hat (39 g): This provided dependable warmth during cold mornings, evenings, and nights. Goldfinch later gave me a thermal hat liner, which increased warmth without requiring a much heavier hat. The thermal label itself is less important than close fit, wind resistance, moisture management, and whether the hat covers the ears properly. This one did, and I would carry it again.

• Shower Sandals (90 g): Camp shoes are optional until you are the person wearing the same damp trail runners for the thirtieth consecutive day. These let my feet dry, gave irritated skin and compressed toes a break, and provided a barrier in communal showers. Ninety grams was a worthwhile comfort and hygiene expense for me.

The Final Tally

After reviewing every item, these are the conclusions I would want in front of me before rebuilding the pack for another long trail.

• Best item of gear: Osprey Aura AG 50 Women’s Backpack, size XS/S, 50-liter capacity, 1,899 g

• Most surprising performer: TrailBuddy Lightweight Trekking Poles, 7075-aluminum construction, adjustable length, 499 g per pair listed

• Biggest disappointment: Six Moon Designs Lunar Duo Explorer, two-person silnylon trekking-pole tent, 34-square-foot floor, 1,260 g

• Most unnecessary item: Mini Hot Sauce Bottle, glass container, 28 g

• Item that had to be replaced: La Sportiva Bushido III Women’s Trail Running Shoes; replaced after approximately 300 trail miles plus an unknown amount of prior use

• Best comfort item: Rite in the Rain Small All-Weather Field Notebook and two pressurized all-weather pocket pens, 90 g total

• First thing I would change next time: Frogg Toggs Women’s Ultra-Lite2 Waterproof Rain Pants, nonwoven waterproof fabric, 200 g

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What I Would Pack Differently Next Time

The biggest changes would be to my weather-protection system. I would replace the silnylon tent with a shelter that absorbs less water and maintains its pitch more consistently in sustained rain, then pair it with rain pants built from a more durable fabric. My pack liner, rain jacket, puffy, and sleep system all worked, but waterproofing is a chain. It does not matter how dry four pieces remain if the fifth one fails and leaves you wet at elevation.

I would also cut redundancy more aggressively. The sunglasses, unused AAA batteries, glass hot-sauce bottle, and a few other precautionary items solved problems that never meaningfully existed. Bear spray would become a route-specific decision rather than an automatic addition. Some clothing quantities could be reduced after seeing how often I actually washed and rotated them. The goal would be to stop carrying answers to questions the trail was not asking.

The systems that worked would remain largely intact. The Sawyer filter, Smartwater bottles, Ursack and odor-resistant liner, PocketRocket, phone, inReach, paper navigation, and charging setup performed very reliably. Some of that equipment overlapped by design because losing water treatment, navigation, or emergency communication creates a very different problem than losing hot sauce. I would preserve redundancy where failure carries a serious consequence and remove it where the only consequence is temporary inconvenience.

The point of a post-hike gear review is not to declare one perfect kit. It is to close the loop.

You plan. You weigh. You carry. You learn. Then you stop romanticizing the spreadsheet and tell the truth about what happened once the gear leaves the living room.

That truth is more useful than another pristine gear layout ever will be. A product can be objectively excellent and still be wrong for your body, your habits, your trail, or the way the rest of your system works. The trail does not care what was expensive, popular, or technically ultralight. It cares whether the thing still works when you are cold, tired, wet, and several days from the next easy replacement.

Jon, thank you for asking the question I left hanging. Consider the post-hike paperwork officially filed.

If you are planning your own trip, compare this review with my original gear list. Then make a copy of the free 3-Season Thru-Hike Gear Checklist and build a system around your own body, route, season, and tolerance for suffering.

What piece of gear has surprised you most on a long trip, for better or worse? Leave it in the comments!

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It’s also the demand that quietly decides who finishes.

Have you ever been hiking inside of a Widowmaker Forest, with no escape other than to keep on walking?

💡 Read the full guide on Type Two Fun (includes the Thru-Hiking Itinerary)

Miles of beetle-kill manifesting as tall, thin gray trunks. Harmless, for the most part, until the wind (or weather) picks up. People call them Widowmakers for a reason, and inclement weather is not the only trigger - there are also first-hand accounts of them coming crashing down right on trail amid temperate weather.

I hit that stretch feeling… off.

By 9 p.m. I was night hiking, and tired enough to start bargaining. I dug through FarOut comments, looking for anything that sounded like a safe campsite away from the deadfall. Nothing. The “safe” option was pushing another 15 miles to clear the worst of the widowmakers, and that option was not happening unless I wanted to start hallucinating with a headlamp on.

So I did something I would never do outside the pressure cooker of fatigue and sickness.

I camped in a Widowmaker forest.

Not under the tallest snags, not in the obvious fall line, not completely braindead. I found a blocked-off old logging road and angled my little setup away from the most prominent dead trees, then stared at my Garmin forecast like it was a courtroom verdict. The wind was “supposed” to stay down.

I prayed anyway. I also thought about how stupid a headline it would be if I died.

I survived, my gear survived. My nervous system, however, was shot leading into the next day.

That night burned the real lesson into my body: recovery while moving is the skill that keeps you functional when you are cooked and still have to do the things that will keep you alive and well tomorrow.

That’s what Demand 5 is.

There will be times when you are simultaneously tired, nauseous, and operating on low decision quality. You still need to pick a safe site, set up properly, filter, cook, take care of your hygiene, manage layers, protect your sleep kit, keep your water filter warm, handle food storage, and make decisions that won’t get you hurt.

The trail doesn’t really care if you feel like it.

💡 Read the full guide on Type Two Fun: The 5 Physical Demands of Hiking

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The People Who Can Brute-Force It

They exist: the hikers who can go boom-bust for weeks and still roll into town looking only mildly traumatized.

I met them, leapfrogged with them, and on one segment I hiked with three people who made my outdoor rec resume feel like child’s play: a triple crowner, a free-solo climber, and Alaska Dan, who moved through snow like it was his childhood backyard.

Here’s what’s true about the brute-force crowd: they still pay, their bill just has a later due date. Fatigue degrades mechanics and judgment at the same time, and unresolved, compounding fatigue can have disastrous effects on the body. That combination is how small problems become big.

Your Plan Needs to Survive Bad Days

If your hiking plan only works when you feel great, it’s not a plan. It’s a fairytale dressed as a spreadsheet.

Bad days don’t usually show up in a big way. They start like a slow leak:

• you start too hot because you feel invincible

• you take breaks that are too long because you “earned it”

• you under-fuel because nothing sounds good

• you stop paying attention to little issues because you want to be done

• your brain cycles between decision fatigue and punishing you for being tired

Demand 5 is the system that keeps you from spiraling when the leak starts.

If you were to keep only one piece of advice in your head after reading, it should be this:

Drink electrolytes.

Not sometimes, when you feel like it, or when you remember. I mean consistently and regularly. Especially at altitude or in heat.

My Thru-Hike Pattern: Slow Start, Strong Middle

On the Colorado Trail, my mornings were often painfully slow.

I woke up around 4:30 and needed about an hour to fully tear down camp and start walking. There was always more to do than I expected; I was also filming and writing, and content can quickly steal forty-five minutes if you let it.

Even after 3 packets of oatmeal with trail mix or granola dumped in as a garnish, my energy came online gradually.

The first few miles were my on-ramp; painfully gradual, with frequent stops to adjust gear or strip layers or reassess my plan for the day (which often depended on the most recent forecast update through my Garmin InReach).

If I could get through the first 5-6 miles without an elongated break, I’d drop into a groove where the hours disappeared. That was my flow. I could hike for a long time without feeling like I was fighting myself.

That matters, because a lot of hikers misread their own wiring. If your plan assumes you’ll be a 7 a.m. superhero and your body is a slow-burn machine, you’re going to keep thinking something is wrong with you.

Nothing is inherently wrong. Your pacing strategy just doesn’t match your body.

Pace With Tomorrow in Mind

I had boom-bust days, especially when the elevation wasn’t aggressive. On flatter terrain, I felt like I had superpowers and wanted to keep going forever. It was hard to stop when these days would happen; I knew how important it was to stop and refuel or rehydrate, but my body would fight to keep walking just a few more miles. I was becoming addicted to my own progress.

Here’s what you need to know. If the miles you’re crushing start to feel so seductive that your ego begins planning a TED Talk, it’s time to introduce a little discipline to your routine.

I night hiked occasionally, but tried to not make a habit out of it. Not because I was scared of the dark or nocturnal animal activity, but because I respected the crash that comes later. Sleep tax is real, you can’t fully pay it off with one oversized sleep-in the next morning. I would also be cutting into the weather window for afternoon thunderstorms the Colorado Trail is commonly known for. Beyond that, I knew that psychologically it would mess with me for the rest of the next day if I slept in and started the trail late.

So, I treated sleep like a sacred ritual.

I aimed for 7-8 hours whether I felt tired or not. That single choice kept me more stable than any motivational mantra or mindset shift ever could.

A few pacing rules that held up for me:

• start slower than you want to, especially on big days

• protect your mechanics when fatigue shows up (shorter stride, more deliberate feet)

• don’t let a “strong day” bully you into a weak tomorrow

Most “bad days” have actually been carefully constructed through a series of decisions over a period of time.

Break Rhythm: The Small Resets That Save You

My most reliable reset was micro-breaks.

I snacked constantly. I moved fast when I was walking, but I also took breaks often enough that other hikers would catch up and sometimes outpace me by sheer break efficiency. I didn’t mind. I liked the balance.

My pattern was usually:

• 3-4 short breaks a day, around 10-15 minutes each

• one longer lunch break, about an hour (sometimes longer)

• micro-stops as needed to adjust, sip, eat, and keep the machine running

What breaks are supposed to do: prevent the implosion, not celebrate it.

A simple break rhythm you can test:

• micro-break: 60-90 seconds every 30-40 minutes (sip, bite, adjust straps)

• short break: 8-15 minutes every 2-3 hours (real food, foot check if needed)

• anchor break: 30-90 minutes mid-day (actual meal, mental reset)

You can structure it however you’d like, of course. The point is consistency.

The Peanut Butter Crunchwrap Supreme

This was my most reliable (and tolerable) thru-hike fuel. Honestly, I kind of miss them.

Ingredients:

• 1 large tortilla

• peanut butter

• granola or trail mix

Build:

• spread peanut butter

• dump granola

• fold like a burrito

• consume (yum)

It kept me from snack-stop entropy and fueled me for hours. The magic is not the specific food, of course but the repeatability of it, especially when you’re tired and starving.

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Early Warning Signs

My earliest signal wasn’t pain. It was decision quality fading into the background.

I started making choices I normally wouldn’t. The trail narrowed around me. Options felt fewer. Risk felt normal.

That’s what fatigue does.

Common early signals:

• clumsy feet, toe-stubs, sloppy steps

• irritability, weird emotional swings

• appetite drop, nausea, “nothing sounds good”

• spacing out, forgetting simple tasks

• ignoring wet gear because you want to be done

When you notice a signal, adjust the inputs.

Most of the time, the fix is boring:

• electrolytes

• calories

• a short break

• warmth

• a smaller goal for the next hour

End of Day: The Non-Negotiables

Feet first. Always.

Most hikers do not take good enough care of their feet. They treat them like a rental car, then act shocked when something goes awry.

On trail, you put your feet under a microscope (figuratively speaking, of course) each and every night. Preventative work is cheaper than reactive work:

• feet: wipe down, inspect, hotspots handled immediately

• hydration: drink, then drink again with electrolytes

• calories: real dinner (with protein) even if you’re tired

• warmth: don’t be stubborn about changing layers; do it

• mobility: 5-8 minutes of basic stretching (calves, hips, back)

• sleep kit: keep it dry like your life depends on it, because sometimes it does

I didn’t get a single blister while thru-hiking. My feet were pretty gnarly by the end, but at least they were functional.

Also: floss. Brush your teeth. Wipe down. Bird bath when you can. You don’t have to be pristine, but you do need to be intentional.

The Mistake That Almost Ended My Thru

The San Juans gave me what I will forever call the thundersnow event.

Rain. Hail. Sleet. Snow. A damp, grinding churn where everything you own becomes a little wet and you start losing the ability to fix it.

I hiked this stretch with Season Pass, Alaska Dan, and Jingles — three seasoned hikers who knew how to brave (and survive) harsh conditions. In the end, I was safe, but my gear was not.

In the chaos of hiding under tents and constantly rearranging layers, water started pooling inside the waterproof liner of my pack. Some of my stuff sacks were not dry bags because I was learning in real time, and my sleeping bag got wet. The condensation in my Lunar Duo Explorer throughout the night did not help. It took “damp” and turned it into “soaked through” by morning.

And here’s the part that still makes me laugh, because the trail has a sense of humor: it was something like 95% humidity. Yes, with snow and hail. Colorado contains multitudes.

There was no drying anything. Every attempt ended in vain.

That’s the moment the stakes become clear. If your sleeping bag is wet, recovery collapses along with your probability of surviving dangerous conditions. Be as tough as you’d like; weather will still claim victory over you if you’re not also cautious.

I bailed at Segment 24, hitched to Silverton, and dried everything out in the Avon Hostel basement. Humbled doesn’t even begin to cover it, but eventually, my gear came back to life. The rest of my crew walked on and met me in Silverton the next day, and we exchanged stories from both trail and town, happy to be reunited once more even if just for a short while.

After that, I bought additional dry bags for clothes and my sleeping bag. The pack liner alone (a 30-liter trash bag) wasn’t realistically going to cut it.

Demand 5 isn’t just about how your body feels. It’s also weather management, gear management, and your ability to stay crisp when conditions are actively trying to wear you down.

Mornings: Unlock Before You Judge the Day

Some hikers wake up smooth. Some wake up feeling like a piece of chalk.

Even when I felt strong, I still needed time to negotiate the first mile or two, especially at altitude where everything feels louder.

A simple morning unlock:

• 3-5 minutes walking without forcing pace

• ankle circles, calf pumps, a few controlled step-downs on a rock or log

• strap check once warm (sternum strap and shoulder tension show up late)

I also learned that tiny adjustments are not optional. A sternum strap that’s subtly too tight can make breathing feel harder than it needs to. Loosen it. You will notice that, on trail, having to stop to make small adjustments will annoy you; do it anyway.

And yes, trail yoga is an option. Goldfinch and I, plus a few others, did yoga with the Beatbox Crew and ended with a group ohm. It helped stiffness, and also morale. Recovery is easier when your nervous system feels safe.

Weather, Morale, and Decision Quality

I got a bit of a reputation for leaving town in ugly conditions: Breckenridge, Salida, Twin Lakes, Lake City… I would pull my rain jacket over my puffy, cinch the hood tight around my face, put one earbud in, and sing loudly while the weather tried to take me out. Slightly manic, yes, but also some of my most fun moments.

I learned something important out there: rain, sleet, or snow alone is not a reason to stop going. With the right gear, most weather is just… weather.

There are exceptions. Thunder and lightning, avalanche terrain, rockfall risk, real exposure. That’s where you begin entering into Type 3 Fun territory. If you’re inexperienced or unsure, err on the side of safety. The mountains don’t give participation trophies.

But in normal misery? Keep moving. Manage layers, protect your hands and feet. Eat, drink electrolytes. Don’t let your brain turn weather into a melodrama.

Also: positivity matters, and the reason is simple: decision quality. You do not make good choices when you’re in a bad mood. When I was low, talking to other hikers helped a lot. Texting someone who understood the misery snapped me back into perspective, because community is a stabilizer (especially when you share a common goal).

Build Your Itinerary Before You’re Tired

Here’s what people do backward: they wait to plan until fatigue is already eating away at them.

When you’re tired, your brain wants fewer decisions, fewer surprises, fewer unknowns. Decision-making costs energy you no longer have.

A good itinerary is a safety net for when your judgement gets wobbly.

When I made the Thru-Hiking Itinerary Template and tested it on the Colorado Trail, I knew my hike wouldn’t go exactly to plan (no one’s ever really does). But the hikers who finish almost always have a rough map: where they’ll likely camp, where they’ll resupply, where the dry stretches are, how they’ll get into town, how they’ll check in with loved ones.

💡 Read the full guide on Type Two Fun (includes the Thru-Hiking Itinerary)

When the trail turns, having a plan to fall back on is imperative.

The Tool Stack: Use the Right Lever

Each demand solves a different failure point. If you’re building a hiking plan, use the whole stack:

• downhill durability: Downhill training + protocol checklist

• balance and stability: reaction time and uneven terrain drills

• pack tolerance: pack weight + ruck training and the generator

• elevation readiness: build the engine, then show up early enough to acclimate

• recovery while moving: the itinerary template and fatigue systems

And if you want a baseline honesty check, start with the Trail Readiness Quiz. It will tell you whether you need structure or whether you just need to execute.

Are You Trail Ready?

Where the Series Goes Next

On trail, the five physical demands do not arrive one at a time.

Aerobic output, downhill stress, uneven terrain, pack load, and recovery stack on top of one another, usually when the weather is turning and your decision-making is beginning to resemble gas-station sushi.

Understanding each demand is useful. Progressing all five without creating a fatigue bill your body cannot pay is where most hikers get stuck.

Generic plans tend to treat mileage, strength, elevation, and pack weight like separate boxes to check. Your body does not experience them separately. Add too much too quickly and something starts complaining. Progress too cautiously and you arrive at the trailhead underprepared despite months of training.

The Train-to-Trail Complete System turns those moving parts into one customizable weekly framework built around your actual hike. It answers the questions that quietly determine whether your preparation works:

• What should I do this week?

• How hard should it feel?

• How do I progress mileage, elevation, and pack weight without breaking down?

• What should change when I am tired, busy, in pain, traveling, or behind schedule?

It includes:

• A custom Train-to-Trail dashboard where your workouts, progress, gear list, itinerary, and next action items live in one place

• A weekly training structure built around your start date, current fitness, injury history, terrain access, and actual trail demands

• Progressions for hiking mileage, elevation gain, pack weight, strength, and recovery so your body adapts without guessing

• Ongoing check-ins and plan adjustments so the work changes when your life, symptoms, schedule, or trail timeline changes

• Terrain and condition substitutions for stairs, treadmills, hills, gym sessions, uneven ground, travel weeks, and bad-weather constraints

• Clear pain, fatigue, deload, and taper rules so you know when to push, when to adjust, and when to stop making the problem worse

• A movement and activity library with demos, scaling notes, warm-ups, mobility, recovery work, and form-review prompts when needed

• A gear and pack system that helps you track weight, compare categories, catch missing items, and decide what is useful, redundant, too heavy, or quietly creating problems

• A thru-hiking itinerary strategy for daily mileage, resupply, town stops, bail-out options, start-date decisions, and decision quality when fatigue takes over

• A final pre-trail readiness review covering your packed weight, food and water plan, navigation, safety handoff, emergency contacts, and the loose ends that matter before you step onto trail

This series gives you the map. The Complete System helps you use it.

Because the uncomfortable truth is that preparation has a deadline. You can replace a piece of gear the week before your hike. You cannot cram months of adaptation into the final two weeks because your start date suddenly feels real. Tendons, feet, lungs, and judgment are stubborn like that.

If you already have a trail, trek, or summit on the calendar, the question is not whether you can find more training advice. The internet has plenty. The question is whether that advice becomes a plan you can execute, measure, and adjust before your remaining runway disappears.

💡 Ready to stop piecing your prep together? Explore the Complete Hiking and Elevation Training System and build a plan around the trail you are actually preparing to hike.

Recovery Is How You Finish

Fitness gets you to the trailhead. Systems get you to the terminus.

Recovery on trail rarely looks like complete rest. It happens in fragments: calories before you feel desperate, electrolytes before the headache, foot care before the hotspot becomes a blister, and stopping early enough that tomorrow still belongs to you.

If you take one lesson from this post, let it be this:

Your ability to continue depends on how well you protect the version of yourself who has to wake up and hike again tomorrow.

That includes the people around you.

There is a reason I end every post in this series with go with love. Something uniquely human happens when a group of exhausted hikers starts chasing the same difficult goal. Someone shares information, waits at a junction, offers food, talks you through a bad hour, or notices that your judgment is slipping before you do.

You build a network without formally deciding to build one. Over time, it becomes an unintended safety system.

Community does not replace preparation. It is part of preparation. Other people can lend you perspective when fatigue has narrowed your own, and eventually, you will do the same for someone else.

That is one reason long trails have a reputation for restoring people’s faith in humanity.

Where does fatigue expose you first: sleep, pacing, food, feet, mindset, or logistics? Drop your answer in the comments. I want to know which system falls apart first when your day stops going according to plan.

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If this post helped you, send it to one hiking friend who still thinks being gym-strong makes them trail-proof. 👀

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You can also find me on TikTok and Instagram at @freda.heights.

Go with love,

— Freda

It ended the same way it began: with a dimly lit pool game on the second floor of a hostel in Chicago.

It’s February, and rows of green paper hearts line the wall of windows overlooking the busy street, each one carrying some small, scribbled confession. Beyond them, the city presses itself against the glass, thrumming with life and love inside the cold…

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If you have been following along, you already know the point of this whole project: most people train their engine and ignore the parts that actually take the damage.

Pack weight is one of those parts.

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Here’s the core argument: load tolerance is not cardio. A pack changes posture, breathing mec…

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If you missed the previous demand, jump back to balance and reaction time on uneven terrain so you don’t skip an important part of the formula.

Now we go higher.

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And if you missed the last one, the downhill problem comes first for a reason.

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Downhill is where hikers learn humility.

The a…

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There is a specific kind of gym confidence that evaporates the moment you step onto a real trail with a real pack and a real timeline. It usually happens somewhere between the first long climb and the first real descent.

Your lungs feel fine, your heart rate is manageable, and your brain tries to declare victory early… then your quads start barking on t…

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The path is a singular loop, the terrain a mess of gravel, sticks and cobblestones. Seasons tend to either mute or fortify any savory color and life, but the scenery remains much the same. It’s the life I used to know, and it doesn’t fit anymore — it’s no longer comfortable or easy — yet I’ve slipped into it all the same.

As it stands, I have been running that track for the past two months (since my last update on Type Two Fun). Now, it’s time to bench myself and pour into what that’s been like. I apologize to those who subscribed expecting weekly newsletters about outdoor recreation; it turns out, I am still trying to eke out a life for myself that encompasses and reflects everything I am passionate about. I’m not there yet, and at least for right now, I want to share the struggles I’ve had trying to get there.

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In the next entry, I will get back to writing about the Colorado Trail. If you’d prefer to hear about thru-hiking only, I recorded an episode earlier this month with the Adventure Sports Podcast that I’m sure you will love! Give it a listen below.

To those who are still with me, thank you for your patience. I write for you.

In the beginning of October, I drove down to Tampa (from Michigan) and singlehandedly loaded up a U-Haul with all the furniture from my storage unit, drove it to the city dump, and threw away nearly everything to my name.

I tried to give most of it away, but in reality, free things don’t seem to inspire the same amount of material lust as things that cost money, so instead I watched a massive truck with steel wheels covered in spiked teeth compact everything I had once used to create a sense of “home” into a few cubic feet of wood, metal, and plastic. It was the final nail in the coffin of my love affair with Florida, one that had started nearly five years ago. I was no longer bonded, be it by trauma or Ikea bookshelves, to this physical space. The relief was immediate.

When I wasn’t actively removing all trace of me from Tampa, the place I used to call home, I found myself slipping back into a past version of myself pretty quickly. I revisited the community garden I used to volunteer for to help them battle the never-ending scourge of weeds. I had one more Lucky Charms iced matcha with the people I used to call family, those with me through thick and thin. In the early morning hours, my brother and I took the boards out to Fort De Soto and paddled around as dolphins and cormorants followed closely by.

My mind always jumps to the cormorants first, with their slick black silhouettes vying for sustenance. They work together to hunt, then fight without hesitation wherever bounty is found.

Back in April of this year, I’d fled Tampa after finding out the man I was in love with (and living with) had been unfaithful. It was a sordid affair, to be sure, but I ran from that life with giddiness and glee; I recall laughing in his face when I found out, because in that singular shattering moment, it was as if all the feelings I had left over for him had been exorcised from me, and I could be free once more. No longer did I need to worry about the profundities that lie in being tethered to this man for the rest of my life; I didn’t feel the insatiable need to iron out our inconsistent plotline anymore. Our story was over, the final chapter complete.

Now, eight months later, I’m realizing that there are still many things I need to process and heal from.

Walking the Colorado Trail helped me take pause and clearly see, through my own lens, what I wanted from this little plot of life I’d been given. After moving back into my family’s house the same month I turned thirty, I had a big hankering for drastic change, and I felt I had the resources at my disposal to execute on it.

I bought the seeds, I tended the soil.

I measured my own faith against the odds and swelled with gratitude and pride when my soul yelled back “to hell with the odds”.

Then I planted with abandon, intent on never looking back or remaining in the present moment for too long.

When I got back to Michigan, I set out to find a full-time job; one that would help me save as much money as possible before moving to Colorado. I landed on a fine dining gig thirty miles away from my family’s quaint country home, a downtown staple I felt I could bet the next several months on. Despite my ability to adapt to various workplace environments, however, I have felt as if I’m standing on the cliff’s edge of my own being since I started there.

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I wake up from the perfect sleep, my body refreshed. Peeking through the no-see-um netting of my tent’s open vestibule, I find the massive trunk of the Ponderosa pine still looming above.

Lost? Catch up with the trail here…

Type Two Fun

Segment 1.5: CT Mentors, Big Ramhorns, & A Literal Meltdown

[ Day #: 1 | Total Miles Hiked: 6 | Miles Remaining: 485 …

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a year ago · 3 likes · Freda Heights

Morning dew dresses the pine needles and wild grasses nearby, seeping i…

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If you didn’t catch the most recent update, this is where we started:

At around 3 p.m., I stop on the side of the trail to drink some water, eat a snack, and record a quick video. I’m already struggling; it’s beyond sunny, dry, and the elevation has given way. After only 2 1/2 hours and 6 miles, i…

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It’s August 12th, 2025.

Waking up at 3:30am in a hostel — and respectfully extracting oneself from a full dorm room without waking a soul — is an artform I am just beginning to hone. Thankfully, my anxious mind gets the best of me, and I wake up a few minutes before my alarm is set to go off. I pe…

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My second alarm, 3:31, came quicker. Usually I give myself a ten-minute delay in between, but this time was different.

Even in my sleep-fogged brain, I understood the signal: no time to waste. My subconscious searched through the mist for a reason to lock in until ultimately, it landed with a somersault, and I zapped out of …

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In the first installment of this series, we peeled back the curtain on what it actually feels like to hike solo as a woman. We rifled through key aspects of the mental game, emotional unraveling, and power in reclaiming our stories, one switchback at a time. Now, we’re getting down to brass tacks: the gritty, glorious, and sometimes gross realities of lady logistics on trail.

This is the no-fluff, full-truth guide to managing your health, your gear, and your resilience when you’re out there alone. Whether you're bleeding, bloated, or battling a UTI at 10,000 feet, you are not the only one. And you’re definitely not the first.

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This part of the journey is where practicality meets empowerment. From packing a “just for me” luxury item to digging a cathole in the rain with cramps, this is where trail baddies are born. Welcome to the Sisterhood of the Traveling Baddies: where every step forward is a declaration that you belong in the wild.

Let’s get into it!

The “Lady Business”: Menstrual Health and Hygiene on Trail

One of the most common questions women ask is the pragmatic: “What do I do about my period out there?”. The thought of managing menstruation without bathrooms can be intimidating, but with some preparation it’s totally manageable.

As thru-hiker Allison “Bandit” wryly states, “The bloody truth about getting your period while backpacking? It sucks… now take away flushing toilets, sinks, showers… Piece of cake.”

Her tongue-in-cheek tone tells the real story: it’s not fun, but women handle it on trail all the time – and you can too. “Anyone who has gone through menses in any type of wilderness environment deserves five gold stars and a trophy just for existing,” Allison jokes. In other words, give yourself credit – it’s a challenge, but nothing you can’t overcome with a bit of strategy.

Plan ahead for your “period kit.” Many experienced hikers swear by the menstrual cup (e.g. Diva Cup, MoonCup) as a game-changer for backpacking. Cups are reusable, need to be emptied only every 8-12 hours, and eliminate the waste (and weight) of packing out used tampons/pads. If you go the cup route, practice using it at home before the hike – there’s a learning curve, but “you’ll thank me,” promises Allison. Another benefit: you won’t need to hunt for your preferred tampon brand in tiny trail-town stores.

That said, use whatever method you’re most comfortable with, whether it’s tampons, pads, a cup, or period underwear. Tampons and pads are perfectly fine on a thru-hike – just remember the Leave No Trace rule: pack it in, pack it out. Carry a dedicated zip-top bag (opaque or duct-taped for discretion) to store used products until you can throw them away in town. A pro tip from the trail: an empty Pringles can or a duct-taped bag can hide the “bag of bloody tampons” so you don’t have to visually confront it each day. If you use disposable products, bring a few more than you think you’ll need (cycles can be unpredictable under the physical stress of hiking). Also pack some unscented wipes or a small bottle of water for cleaning up; many hikers bury fluid waste in a cathole when emptying a cup, for example. Hand sanitizer is a must in your toiletry kit for general hygiene, especially before and after handling any menstrual products.

Some women choose a different approach: skip your period entirely during the hike. Extended intense exercise often makes menstruation lighter or irregular, but there’s no guarantee you won’t bleed on trail. To play it safe, a number of thru-hikers use birth control pills continuously (skipping the placebo week) or opt for a hormonal IUD to suppress menstruation during their big hike. Hiker “Nala,” for example, decided “Aunt Flo is not invited to join my tramily this year” and continuously took birth control to avoid periods on her thru-hike. This can be a convenient solution if it works for your body – just consult with your doctor and test how your body reacts well before you hit the trail. And remember, nothing is 100% – even with hormonal help, you should carry some backup pads or liners, because the mountains love surprises.

Beyond menstruation, general hygiene on a long trek just takes a bit of adaptation. You’ll be sweating, going days without a real shower, and yes, you’ll feel dirty sometimes – but so will everyone else! To stay healthy, focus on a few key things: keep your hands clean (carry hand sanitizer and use it often), practice good bathroom hygiene (dig proper catholes for waste, and pack out your toilet paper or use natural alternatives), and take care of any areas prone to infection or chafing. Many women bring along a pee rag or pee cloth – a dedicated bandana or quick-dry cloth to wipe after urinating, which can prevent UTIs and eliminate the need to carry tons of toilet paper. (Pro tip: clip the pee cloth to your pack to dry in the sun – UV rays help sanitize it.) Hiker blogs also recommend packing a few yeast infection pills, UTI antibiotics, or other personal medications just in case, since the combo of sweat, synthetic clothing, and disrupted routines can sometimes trigger these issues on a long hike.

Above all, don’t be embarrassed to address “women’s issues” on trail. Plenty of female hikers swap tips for dealing with it – you might be surprised how openly topics like cramps or menstrual mishaps are discussed around the campfire. One hiker suggests finding a “trail sister” you can commiserate with: “Buddy up with another hiker who gets it and just let those hormones flow…it’ll be over soon.” You might not want company when you’re bloated and cranky, but knowing another woman out there “gets it” can be a huge morale boost. And rest assured, every woman who has backpacked through her period will tell you: if we can do it, so can you. Come prepared, then embrace the fact that it might be messy and uncomfortable for a few days – but it’s just one more challenge you’re strong enough to handle.

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Gear: 7 Must-Know Tips for the Solo Female Hiker

When it comes to gear, there are sworn-by cottage companies and equipment brands that nearly all thru-hikers tend towards. That said, there are a few special considerations and hacks that experienced female hikers in particular swear by:

1. Backpack fit: Many packs are available in women’s models, which typically accommodate shorter torsos, narrower shoulders, and curved hips for a better fit. The right fit is crucial for comfort on a 2,000-mile trek. Try on packs with weight in them and don’t hesitate to choose the “men’s” version if it fits you better. Aim to keep your base weight (gear not including food/water) in a manageable range – around 20% of your body weight or less – but don’t sacrifice too much comfort or safety just to shave ounces.

2. Sleep system: Women tend to sleep colder than men, so a warm sleeping bag or quilt is important. Many women-specific sleeping bags have extra insulation, especially around the feet and torso. If you’re tall or don’t like the fit of women’s bags, size up in a unisex bag but consider a bag rated a bit warmer than the lowest temps you expect. A sleeping pad with a high R-value (insulation) can also make a big difference for warmth. Test your sleep setup before your thru-hike – being cold every night is miserable, and something you can often prevent by tweaking gear.

3. Hydration & hygiene gadgets: One item frequently recommended by female hikers is a pee cloth (as mentioned earlier) or a lightweight trowel for digging catholes when nature calls. Some women also like using a pee funnel (like a She-Wee or GoGirl) so they can urinate standing up and with less hassle – this is personal preference, but worth trying at home to see if it makes life easier for you. And everyone needs a water purification method, but no matter which you choose (filter, chemical tablets, UV pen), make sure you’re comfortable using it solo. Practice backflushing that Sawyer Squeeze or changing the UV lamp batteries ahead of time.

4. Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) or Satellite Messenger: As a solo hiker, consider investing in a device like the Garmin inReach Mini or SPOT beacon for emergency communication. Many thru-hikers carry these now for peace of mind – you can hit an SOS button if you have a serious emergency, and some devices allow two-way texting so you’re never completely out of reach. It’s an extra safety net well worth considering for solo adventurers.

5. Trekking poles: Not a women-specific item per se, but a must-have for many hikers – they improve balance and reduce strain on downhill knees. If you’re new to using poles, give them a try on training hikes; they can also double as tent poles for some ultralight shelters.

6. Clothing hacks: Lots of women sport braids/buns on a long hike or even cut their hair short – easier maintenance and fewer tangles. Some hike commando (no underwear) to reduce moisture and chafing, especially under leggings or shorts. Others prefer breathable quick-dry undies. One veteran advises hiking in a dress or hiking skirt for ventilation and easy pit stops – “Every woman’s gear list could use some cute clothing pieces, and I much prefer hiking in dresses for so many reasons,” she says. Try different options: you might be surprised that a lightweight skirt is both practical and fun (you get to feel a bit more you, not just a hiker in uniform). Just make sure whatever you wear won’t cause chafing after hours of walking – Body Glide or similar anti-chafe balm is a lifesaver for many, especially for thighs and sports-bra lines.

7. “Just for me” items: Finally, don’t shy away from packing a couple of small luxury or personal items that can hugely boost morale. Whether it’s a notebook, a tiny vial of your favorite essential oil, or a lightweight personal vibrator (hey, it’s on some gear lists!), bring what you need to stay sane out there. One solo hiker included a 3.5-ounce “stress relief” device on her trek – proving that self-care in the wilderness can take many forms! You’ll be out there for weeks or months; a little treat that’s just for you can make a tough day so much better. Do keep it small though – you’ve got to carry it the whole way.

Remember, there is no one-size-fits-all gear solution for anyone. Part of the thru-hiking journey is dialing in what works best for you. Do shakedown hikes to test your gear, read blogs by other female hikers for ideas, and don’t worry if your kit looks different from someone else’s. As long as you have the essentials – shelter, weather-appropriate layers, navigation, first aid, food, and water – the rest is tweaking comfort and convenience. With time, you’ll refine your gear preferences and carry only what truly serves you on the trail.

Mental Resilience: Solitude, Struggles, and Strength

Thru-hiking isn’t just a physical test – it’s a mental and emotional journey as well. Solo hiking can swing from glorious freedom to bouts of loneliness or self-doubt, sometimes in the same day. Building your emotional resilience is key to thriving on a long trail. The good news is the trail itself will toughen you up in this regard, mile by mile. But it helps to go in with realistic expectations: there will be incredible highs – and there will be days you want to quit, when you’re cold, wet, tired, and missing home. This is normal. Almost every long-distance hiker, male or female, goes through low moments out there.

To cope, draw on the “why” that inspired you to do this hike. Perhaps you crave the confidence that comes from self-reliance, or you’re seeking healing or a fresh start. Solo adventurer Renee Hahnel (aka “Renee Roaming”) notes that one of the greatest rewards of solo backpacking is the sense of “empowerment and accomplishment” it brings: “It will prove to you just how brave, strong, and capable you truly are.” On the hard days, remember that why. Remind yourself, “I chose this, and I’m stronger than I think.” Some hikers even carry a few motivational quotes or a letter to themselves to read when morale dips.

Loneliness is a common fear before a solo hike, but many are surprised by how they come to appreciate – even cherish – the solitude. Embrace the positives of being alone: journal by that alpine lake, sing out loud on the ridgeline, revel in having total freedom in your day. As Renee says, there’s nothing quite like sitting in silence with nature – experiences we rarely get in our hyper-connected daily lives. That said, if you’re an extrovert or simply hit a point where you need company, don’t be afraid to seek it out (more on trail community in a moment). Many solo hikers strike a balance – hiking alone during the day for peace and reflection, then camping near others or teaming up occasionally when they crave conversation. It’s your hike; you can tailor the social vs. solo mix as you go.

Fear management is another mental skill you’ll develop. It is absolutely okay (and smart) to admit you’re nervous about going solo.

“I wanted to try solo backpacking for a long time before I actually gathered up the courage to do it,” Renee shares. “It’s totally okay if it takes you a little while to feel brave enough to get out there on your own.”

You can build confidence through small steps: do a solo day hike first, or camp solo in your backyard or a local park before the thru-hike. Renee suggests a “pseudo solo” trip – hike with a friend but stay independent (camp separately nearby, carry all your own gear) to get a feel for being on your own while having a safety net. Each little taste of solo adventure will expand your comfort zone.

When on trail, take it day by day. It’s normal to have twinges of anxiety, especially at night or in unfamiliar terrain. Many women report the first night alone is the hardest; after that, you realize you can do this. You start trusting your routines and wilderness skills. If anxiety flares – say, you hear a strange noise outside your tent at 2AM – run through logical steps (is it likely just a raccoon? can I use my light/voice to startle anything away?) and remind yourself that hundreds of women before you have successfully done this. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last – you’re carrying the torch for all the future women who will look to your example.

It’s also important to acknowledge that post-trail blues can hit after the hike ends. It might seem odd to think about the finish when you’re just starting, but it’s worth knowing that many thru-hikers experience a sort of emotional hangover when they return to “normal” life. Heather “Anish” Anderson – a legend who’s completed 15+ long trails – has spoken openly about this:

After months of pure freedom, fresh air, and a simple mission each day, re-entry to regular life can be jarring. If you feel a bit lost or down when your hike is over, know that it’s normal – even Heather still experiences it. Have a support plan for post-trail: keep in touch with trail friends, set a new goal to channel your energy, or simply give yourself grace and time to adjust. As Heather emphasizes, we should talk about this aspect as a hiking community so no one feels alone in it. The trail changes you, and that’s a wonderful thing – just be prepared for the emotions that may come with accomplishing your dream.

Throughout your hike, practice self-compassion. Some days you’ll crush 20 miles and feel on top of the world; other days, you might crawl into your tent early, utterly spent and emotionally raw. Both are okay.

“The journey doesn’t end at the terminus,” Heather says. “Learning how to create space for the grief (of ending) while cherishing the memories is crucial… If you feel alone, you are not – find your tramily or other thru-hikers you respect and talk to them about it… I guarantee they have felt it too.”

In short: you are tougher than you think, but you’re also human. Solo hiking will test your mettle, but it will also show you new reserves of strength, resilience, and faith in yourself that you never knew you had.

Cheers to Trail Sisterhood

Thousands of women have successfully navigated the trails before you and I, each overcoming their doubts and fears. Remember: you are brave, strong, and more capable than you realize. Hiking solo as a woman is empowering, transformative, and profoundly rewarding. Step confidently onto your next path, and I assure you the trail sisterhood will be cheering you on.

📍 Inspired by this journey and want to support more adventures? Every contribution helps - support my upcoming thru-hike and buy me a ramen!

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Resupply planning is a crucial part of thru-hike logistics. It’s the answer to that burning question every beginner asks: “Where do I get my next batch of food, and how do I send myself stuff on trail?”

If you’re new to long-distance hiking, this whole resupply thing can sound a bit overwhelming. (I’m literally neck-deep in it right now, prepping for my first big solo thru-hike in August – picture me surrounded by a mountain of ramen packets, protein bars, and post-it notes with town names.) The good news is, with a little strategy, resupply becomes a much smoother, almost routine part of your adventure.

Let’s break down how to plan your resupply like a pro, in a way that keeps both your stomach and your sanity sound.

Know Your Trail Towns and Distances

First up: do your homework on where you can actually resupply along the trail. Before you even set foot on the trail, spend some quality time with maps, guidebooks, and apps plotting out the towns or outposts you’ll pass. Every trail is different. On the Appalachian Trail (AT), civilization is never too far – you can often stumble into a store every 3–5 days if you plan it right. The Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) or Continental Divide Trail (CDT), on the other hand, have some gnarly remote stretches (100+ mile wilderness segments where the only “store” might be your own backpack).

Use trusted guides and apps (FarOut, AWOL Guide, Yogi’s Handbook, etc.) to figure out where the trail crosses a road and what towns or facilities are nearby. Mark those spots on your map or spreadsheet along with the mile marker.

Know your distances: if you see two towns are 70 miles apart and you typically hike ~15 miles a day, that’s about 5 days of food you’ll need for that section (I always tack on one extra day of snacks just in case something throws me off schedule).

On a shorter trail like the Colorado Trail (~485 miles), for example, many hikers plan resupplies roughly every 4–6 days. Plotting it out this way gives a clear picture of how many days of food to pack between each town.

The goal here is to never have to hike hungry because you miscalculated the gap to the next store. Better to carry a bit more food weight than to run out of snacks a day short of town (hiker nightmare fuel, right there).

Mail Drops vs. Buying as You Go

When it comes to actually getting your food, there are two classic approaches: mail yourself packages ahead of time, or buy food locally as you go. Most of us do a little of both. Each method has its perks and pitfalls, so let’s lay it out:

• Mail Drops (Sending Boxes Ahead): You prep boxes of food before your hike and mail them to post offices, hostels, or friendly trail angels along the route.

  • Pros: You get to curate every calorie – great if you have dietary needs or just really love your Aunt Marge’s homemade jerky. It can be cheaper overall since you can buy in bulk at Costco and divvy it up (also, no sticker shock from tiny mountain-town grocery prices). Plus, in really remote spots with maybe only a gas station store, you’ll have exactly what you need waiting for you.

  • Cons: Less flexibility. You’re committing to meals weeks (or months) in advance… tricky if you suddenly cannot face another packet of oatmeal by Week 6. You also have to time it right to pick up during post office hours (nothing worse than rolling into town on a Saturday afternoon to find the post office closed until Monday). And let’s not forget those shipping costs and the mild absurdity of paying postage to mail yourself instant rice and Clif bars across the country.

• Buy As You Go (Resupply Locally): This is the freestyle approach – roll into town, hit the local grocery or outfitter, and buy whatever food looks good in the moment.

  • Pros: Ultimate flexibility. Craving pickles and ice cream by the time you hit town? You can satisfy it immediately. You only carry what you decided you wanted that very week. It’s also fun and supports local businesses; you get to explore every quirky small-town store (there will be plenty of old general stores with personality).

  • Cons: Selection can be extremely limited and prices high. We’re talking $8 for a mediocre dehydrated meal in some outposts, or stores where dinner options boil down to canned chili, Pop-Tarts, and maybe an onion. If you have any special diet needs (vegan, gluten-free, etc.), the one gas station in Nowheresville might not have your preferred fuel. So you could end up surviving on potato chips and candy if you’re not careful. Also, shopping while ravenous is dangerous to your wallet – everything looks delicious when you’ve been hiking hungry. (Pro tip: try to get a snack or meal before hitting the store so you don’t buy three times what you actually need. Hiker hunger is real, y’all.)

Many hikers find a happy hybrid strategy: mail yourself boxes to a few key remote locations where stores are nonexistent or lousy, and buy-as-you-go in trail towns that have decent supermarkets. If you’re a fan of meal-prepping, prepare to save even more money!

here’s a good rule of thumb: if a stop has no grocery or only a sketchy mini-mart, plan a mail drop there. If the town has a real grocery store (or better yet, a Walmart or large supermarket), save your postage and just resupply on arrival. This way, you ensure you’re covered when options are slim, but you still get spontaneity (and fresh avocados, if you’re lucky) elsewhere. It’s all about balancing cost and convenience: mailing in bulk can save some cash per meal, but don’t forget you’ll pay for shipping those boxes and maybe a fee if you send to a hostel. Meanwhile, buying along the way might cost a bit more day-to-day (small stores can be pricey), but you won’t overspend upfront on a ton of food that you might not even eat.

For the budget conscious, here are a few more things to keep in mind when mailing resupply boxes:

• Buy labels online through a shipping aggregator (Pirate Ship, Shippo, EasyPost): You’ll save 10-25 % on UPS Ground—the platforms pass through negotiated commercial rates. UPS often undercuts FedEx by a couple bucks.

• Lock in dimensional weight: Measure the box and keep the girth small. Anything over 1 cu ft gets billed like an 11-lb package instead of 6 lb. Slice flaps off; use “book fold” if needed.

• Ship mid-week and schedule free pickup. Dropping on Tuesday-Thursday avoids Monday lobby lines and any Friday “additional handling” rush fee some UPS Stores tack on.

• Skip extra insurance. UPS/FedEx cover $100 by default. Your ramen and gummies aren’t worth an up-charge.

• Consolidate to fewer, heavier boxes. Two 6-lb Ground boxes (≈$70 total) nearly always cost more than one 12-lb box (≈$41).

• Send bounce boxes only to the toughest gaps. Buy fresh food in towns where the grocery there is cheaper than shipping tuna packs. Reserve mailed drops for genuinely remote stretches.

Personally, I’m planning to mail myself some of my favorite homemade dehydrated dinners to a couple of remote spots (because I know I’ll want real veggies and my special curry noodles out there). For everywhere else, I’ll wing it with local shopping, even if it means paying a few extra bucks or getting creative with whatever the store shelves offer. Budget-wise, it tends to even out, but if you want more detailed money talk on thru-hiking, check out this blog:

Leverage Your Planning Tools (Miles, Meals, and Spreadsheets)

So, there’s a bit of math involved in resupply planning. Before you flash back to high school algebra, know that there are awesome tools and tricks to make it easier. Resources like Craig’s PCT Planner, the FarOut app, or good old Google Sheets can help you estimate how many days are likely between your resupply points.

Essentially, if you know the next town is 70 miles away and you typically hike ~15 miles a day, you’d plan for about 5 days of food. Always, always throw in an extra emergency day of food if the stretch is long or terrain is tough – stuff happens. Maybe you get injured and have to slow down, maybe a lightning storm forces you to hunker down and stop early one day. You’ll never regret having one more packet of noodles or an extra Snickers bar for “just in case.”

Take advantage of planning tools to crunch the numbers for you – input your pace, the distance, and it will spit out an estimate of days. Or create a spreadsheet listing each leg of your hike with the start and end points (Trailhead to Town X, Town X to Town Y, etc.), the mileage, your expected miles per day, and voila: you have a resupply schedule. You don’t need to be meticulous (in fact, expect to tweak this on the fly), but having a ballpark plan is key.

As you go, you might hike faster or slower than expected, so those estimates will shift. That’s okay! The plan isn’t carved in stone; it’s just giving you a roadmap so you’re not playing calorie roulette in the wilderness.

The “Bounce Box” (Your Traveling Treasure Chest) – Optional

Ever wish you could have a magic stash of goodies that follows you up the trail? That’s basically the idea of a bounce box. This is an optional resupply trick some hikers use: you fill a box with items you’ll need eventually but not all at once, and you mail it from town to town ahead of yourself as you hike. It’s like leap-frogging your own supplies. For example, maybe you have specialized items like vitamins, extra toiletries, backup charger batteries, or those amazing home-dried mango slices you don’t want to carry 500 miles at a time. You can put them in a box and send it to a town 200 miles up trail. When you arrive, you pick it up, take what you need for the next stretch (maybe grab a new tube of toothpaste, swap out your broken headlamp, or finally get those mangos), then seal it back up and mail it forward again to another town further up.

This strategy can be super handy if you’re trying to avoid carrying everything from the start, or if you know you’ll need certain gear seasonally (like a thicker jacket for the Sierra Nevada, or your microspikes once you hit the Colorado high country).

Beware, though: postage costs can add up each time you bounce the box, and you’ll have to coordinate pickup just like any mail drop. Some hikers love their bounce box because it provides a safety net of supplies and a bit of home comfort in each town. Others skip it because it can be a hassle or expense they don’t need. It’s totally a personal choice – weigh the cost vs. the joy of having that jar of peanut butter or extra batteries waiting for you every few weeks. If you do use one, try to keep the box light and filled with useful stuff (heavy or cheap items might be easier to just buy as needed instead of mailing over and over). Think of it as your traveling pantry/gear closet that you can dip into along the journey.

Stay Flexible and Adapt on the Fly

Now for maybe the most important piece of advice: even the best resupply plan will hit some bumps. And that’s okay! Flexibility is the name of the game in thru-hiking, and resupply is no exception. Maybe you roll into a town only to find the lone grocery store closed for a local holiday (it happens). Maybe you planned for 5 days of hiking but the section was tougher than expected and it’s going to take 6. Or perhaps by month two on trail, you cannot stomach the thought of another protein bar and you’d trade your trekking poles for a fresh apple. The key is to adapt and not panic.

You can always adjust as you go. In a pinch, you might find an unexpected side exit to a highway and hitchhike into an earlier town if truly necessary (safety first – only if it’s a safe option and you’re comfortable; solo hikers, always trust your gut and check out our guide on Solo Female Thru-Hiking: Sisterhood of the Traveling Baddies for staying safe and confident out there). You can also get creative: maybe you overbought food in the last town (those 12 packs of Pop-Tarts seemed like a great idea at the time...). If your next leg is shorter, you could mail some of that surplus ahead to yourself at the following town, effectively turning your oversupply into a mini mail drop rather than lugging it all on your back.

Hiker boxes – communal bins where travelers toss unwanted food/gear – are another wildcard. You might swap out your extra oatmeal packets for someone else’s spare mashed potatoes, keeping your menu interesting.

The point is, stay flexible and resourceful. A resupply plan is not a rigid contract; it’s a living, breathing framework. The trail loves to throw curveballs, but with a little flexibility, you’ll catch ’em and carry on. By the end of your trek, you’ll feel like a resupply ninja, effortlessly adjusting on the fly.

Quick Logistics Tips for Resupply Stops

To wrap up, here are a few rapid-fire tips that can make each resupply stop efficient and even enjoyable:

• Have a Game Plan for Town: Before you stroll into a trail town with mud on your boots and dollar signs in your eyes, know what you need to accomplish. Typically my routine goes:

  • 1) Get some real food first. (Trust me, attempting a grocery run on an empty, calorie-deprived stomach is a recipe for overspending and ending up with five cans of Pringles and no actual dinner food.)

  • 2) Sort out your resupply. If you mailed yourself a box, go pick it up pronto and sift through it (bonus points if you mailed it to your hostel). If you’re shopping local, hit the store with a list (mental or written) of how many breakfasts/lunches/dinners you need for the next section. Stick to the essentials first, then add treats if you have room/budget.

  • 3) Repack your food before you leave town. Ditch excess packaging, organize meals by day, and make sure it all fits in your food bag. This prevents the nightmare of discovering a mile out of town that you forgot to buy coffee or that your new jars of peanut butter don’t actually fit in your pack.

• Pre-Mark Your Maps or Notes: Before your hike (or during a zero day), jot down how many days of food you plan for each segment and where your boxes are sent. Having a little cheat-sheet in your phone or notebook saying “Neels Gap: 3 days to Hiawassee (buy in town); Kennedy Meadows: box mailed with 7 days food for Sierra section” is super helpful. It’s like leaving bread crumbs for your future self. You’ll roll into each stop already knowing “I need to buy for X days” or “I have a box here.” This reduces decision fatigue when you’re exhausted from hiking.

• Listen to Your Body (and Taste Buds): Your appetite will likely explode a few weeks in. If you find yourself consistently running out of food between towns or fantasizing about cheeseburgers 24/7, adjust your plan. Add an extra snack per day or up your daily calorie count. Conversely, if you always end up with two uneaten dinners in your bag, you can probably pack a bit less next time. Also, don’t be afraid to change up the menu as you go. That trail mix you loved in Week 1 might become utterly gag-worthy by Week 5. Swap it out, hit a different snack aisle, spice up your life.

Resupply planning might feel like a lot to chew on at first, but with practice it becomes second nature.

By the time you’re a few weeks into the hike, you’ll know exactly what and how much you need, and stops in town will be exciting instead of stressful. Embrace the process, and remember that every hiker’s strategy can be a little different – you’ll fine-tune what works best for you.

You’ve got this! With a solid resupply plan, you’ll keep your engine fueled for all those miles to come. And if you need a little extra help figuring out what to pack or how to lighten your load (because carrying six days of food is easier when your gear is dialed in), don’t miss our official lightweight backpacking gear list for tips on trimming weight without sacrificing the essentials.

Comment below: What’s your resupply style?
Are you Team Mail Drop, Team Buy-as-You-Go, or a hybrid hustler?
Got any pro tips or hilarious mishaps from the resupply rollercoaster?

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We’d love to hear your stories and questions! Happy trails and happy munching!

Embarking on a thru-hike is not just a physical challenge – it’s a financial journey too. In fact, money woes are one of the top reasons hikers end their trek early. But with a solid budget and smart planning, running out of money won’t be what stops you.

This “Adventure Finance” series will empower you to take charge of your thru-hike finances so you can make it happen. We’ll break down typical cost categories (from gear to gummy bears), lay out strategies for different hike lengths, and share creative ways to fund your adventure. By the end, you’ll have a clear plan to fund your dream trail - and a handy worksheet to build your own thru-hike budget. Let’s dive in and remove the financial fear from your solo adventure!

Gear & Equipment

Gear is oftentimes the biggest upfront expense. A full lightweight backpacking kit (pack, shelter, sleep system, etc.) can easily cost $1,000–$3,000 if bought new. In fact, many hikers can outfit themselves with quality gear for around $2,000, though ultralight enthusiasts might spend more.

The good news: you don’t have to pay retail for everything. Here are some tips to manage your gear costs:

• Take Inventory: First, see what you already own. Start a gear list on PackWizard.com and begin to build it out using what you already have in stock.

• Buy Used or on Sale: Check secondhand gear sites, local gear swaps, or online forums for gently used equipment. Thriftiness pays – a pre-loved backpack or tent can be hundreds cheaper than new. If you’re unsure where to start, check out our recent guide on buying second-hand gear.

• Prioritize Quality & Weight: It’s tempting to buy the cheapest gear, but remember that durability and weight matter on a long trail. A budget tent that leaks or a pack that causes pain can ruin your hike.

• Female-Specific Gear Needs: Solo female hikers may consider gear like a female-oriented backpack (for a better fit) or hygiene items (e.g. a Kula cloth, menstrual products) – factor these into your budget to avoid surprises.

• Budget for Replacement: Gear doesn’t last forever, especially over thousands of miles. Plan for consumable gear costs: you’ll likely destroy 3–5 pairs of trail runners on a long hike, for example. It’s wise to set aside funds for new shoes, busted trekking poles, or a replacement phone charger later (things will break out there). “Rainy day” gear money is a thru-hiker’s safety net.

By being gear-savvy – mixing new and used items, and focusing on value – you can fully outfit yourself without bankrupting your bank account. It’s entirely possible to gear up on a budget and still have reliable kit for the trail. Once you have your core gear, that expense is mostly behind you, and you can reuse equipment for future adventures.

Food & Resupply

Keeping yourself fueled is a significant ongoing expense on any hike. Think of food & resupply as the “monthly grocery bill” of your thru-hike. Budgeting for food involves two things: the meals and snacks you’ll eat on the trail and the treats and restaurant meals you’ll enjoy in town.

For on-trail food, many hikers estimate spending about $10–$15 per day on food. If you’re hiking for 100 days, that’s roughly $1,000 in trail groceries. Hiker hunger is real – as the miles add up, you’ll eat a lot more, so bump up your food budget for longer hikes. You can control costs by buying typical supermarket items (ramen, tortillas, peanut butter, etc.) which are calorie-dense and cheap. Purchasing in bulk before the hike can save money per meal, but remember you’ll have to ship those supplies (which adds cost). Mail drops – sending yourself resupply boxes – offer cost predictability but include postage fees. Meanwhile, buying food in trail towns gives flexibility but prices might be higher (small mountain town stores can be pricey and have limited options). Many hikers do a mix: mail yourself staple foods (to save money by buying in bulk) and then supplement locally as needed. If you go the mail-drop route, budget for shipping costs and potential pickup fees at hostels or post offices.

For in-town food, be realistic (and kind) with yourself. Part of the joy of a thru-hike is celebrating a tough stretch with pizza, burgers, or that giant ice cream sundae in the next town! But those restaurant bills add up quickly. Plan a “town food” budget for each stop – e.g. allow yourself one restaurant dinner and a beer, plus maybe a resupply of fresh fruit. By setting a limit (say $30-50 per town stop, depending on your tastes), you can indulge guilt-free without blowing through your cash early. Track those small purchases; a soda here and a coffee there every stop might silently siphon a lot from your funds.

Tips to Stretch Your Food Budget

Embrace simple, filling foods (oatmeal, instant rice, tuna, trail mix). Look for dollar stores or big-box supermarkets in trail towns to resupply cheaply when possible. And consider your nutrition – sometimes spending a bit more on healthier, protein-rich food can keep you strong and maybe save money on town recovery costs (like vitamins or medical needs). Bottom line: food is fuel, and you want enough of it. Budget generously here so you’re never tempted to skimp on calories to save money – that’s a false economy when you’re hiking 20 miles a day.

Travel Costs (Getting There & Back)

Unless the trail runs by your front door, you’ll have travel expenses to start and end your hike. Travel costs include transportation to the trailhead, and the trip home afterward – plus any mid-hike travel for flip-flops or breaks. This category can range from minor to major, depending on distance and mode:

• Flights: If you’re flying cross-country to hike the Pacific Crest Trail (for example), airfare might be one of your larger expenses. Book early if you can, but thru-hikes often have uncertain end dates – you might not know exactly when you’ll finish, making return tickets tricky. Consider buying one-way tickets or refundable fares for flexibility. Using airline miles or credit card points (see Travel Hacking below) can significantly cut these costs.

• Shuttles and Rental Cars: Many long trails start or end in remote areas with no public transit. Hiker shuttles, buses, or even rental cars might be needed. Research the typical costs. These can be $20, $50, sometimes $100+ for long distances. Joining up with other hikers to split a shuttle or rental car can save a lot – keep an eye on hiker forums to carpool.

• Driving: If you drive your own car to the trail, budget for gas, possible lodging on the road, and parking fees. Some hikers have a friend drop them off to avoid parking a car for months. If you do leave a vehicle, consider the cost and safety (and factor retrieval of the car at the end into your return travel plans).

• Return Trip: Don’t forget to set aside money for getting home. Many hikers finish broke and then struggle to afford a way home – let’s avoid that! Plan for a bus ticket, flight, or one-way car rental at journey’s end. Prices can be higher last-minute, so pad your return-home budget just in case (an open-ended plane ticket might be $300–$600, for example).

For solo female hikers, also think about safety/convenience versus cost. You might choose a slightly more expensive transportation option if it feels safer (e.g. a reputable shuttle driver over hitchhiking alone). That’s 100% okay – budget for your peace of mind. With planning, travel logistics will be smooth, and you can start and end your hike without financial stress.

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Lodging & Zero Days

A hot shower and a soft bed – pure bliss after weeks on the trail. Lodging on a thru-hike refers to those nights you spend in town: hostels, motels, the occasional Airbnb or friendly trail angel’s home. It also includes the cost of zero days (rest days when you don’t hike) or “nero” days (nearly zero mileage days), since usually you’re in a town spending money during those. This can become one of the largest budget categories if you’re not careful!

Typical Costs

Hostel dorm beds in trail towns might range $20–$40 per night (often with a free pancake breakfast!). Budget motels or private rooms can be $60–$100+ depending on location and season. Popular spots near national parks or during festivals can spike higher. A single zero day can easily cost over $100 when you add lodging, meals, and incidentals. Plan how many zero days you expect to take.

For example, on the Appalachian Trail (5–6 months long) a common approach is a zero every 2–3 weeks. If you estimate ~10 zero days at $100 each, that’s $1,000 in your budget. Some hikers take more; some power through with fewer – know thyself and err on the side of a few extra rest days (your body may demand it!).

Strategies to Reduce Lodging Costs:

• Share Rooms: As a solo hiker, you can team up with others to split motel costs. It’s common for hikers to throw 4 people in a cheap motel room and divide the rate.

• Stay with Trail Angels: Trail angel networks or platforms like Hostel sites, Couchsurfing, etc., sometimes offer free or donation-based stays. Always do your research and ensure it’s a safe situation. Many trail communities have legendary hostels or church bunkhouses that are very low cost (or work-for-stay). Take advantage of these when available to give your budget a break.

• Plan Town Stops Wisely: One pro tip is to hike into town early in the day and handle all your chores (shower, laundry, resupply) then hike out by evening to camp on-trail – effectively enjoying town food and services without paying for a night’s lodging. This “nero out” strategy can cut down the number of paid overnights. Of course, some nights you will want to sleep in a real bed – just try not to turn every town stop into a multi-night stay unless you’ve budgeted for it.

• Budget “Extra” Nights: Unexpected things happen – maybe you get sick and need to hole up in a motel for two days, or bad weather convinces you to zero unexpectedly. Build a cushion for a few unplanned nights indoors. Having a little extra in this category means you can handle surprises (or treat yourself to an extra rest day with less guilt).

Lodging is as luxurious or as Spartan as you make it. Some thrifty hikers hardly spend a dime on lodging (preferring to camp outside town), while others “platinum blaze” with frequent hotel stops. Decide what level of comfort keeps you healthy and happy. As a solo female, you might value the occasional secure, private room – that’s okay! Just work it into the plan. With a degree of mindfulness, you can enjoy the magic of trail town hospitality without derailing your finances.

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From Dreaming to Doing: Mastering Your Trail Budget

Planning a thru-hike means prepping for a journey that’s as financial as it is physical (and mental, but that’s for a different blog entirely). By getting a firm grasp on your gear, food, travel, and lodging budgets, you’re setting yourself up for an adventure defined by joy and freedom—not stress and penny-pinching.

In the next installment of our "Adventure Finance" series, I’ll break down budgeting strategies based on hike duration, guide you through the art of saving and creatively funding your adventure, and tackle the essentials of managing money effectively while you're out on the trail. Whether you're heading out for two weeks or six months, we’ll ensure you have the tools to budget smart, save effectively, and spend wisely on your epic trek.

Stay tuned; financial freedom on the trail is within your reach!

If you spend five minutes in the hiking corner of the internet, the algorithm will try to feed you a steady diet of disaster. One tragic story paired with a comment section full of courtroom energy. Then the same question, repeated like it is wisdom:

Women hiking alone is not reckless.

It is a matrix of deliberate planning, judgment, and the quiet skill of noticing small problems early (before they become big ones). It is also Type Two Fun in its purest form: challenging in the moment, but enormously rewarding once you realize you trusted yourself and everything turned out okay.

I thru-hiked the Colorado Trail solo last fall, and I’ve also backpacked major sections of the Appalachian Trail on my own. I have done the 20-mile long water carries where your brain starts bargaining with the next creek, and I have dealt with altitude symptoms that did not care about my confidence. I have even woken up to weird noises near my tent, so I understand the visceral fear that goes along with that experience, as well as the action plan that follows.

This guide will help you understand how to plan, navigate, and stay safe while hiking alone as a woman, without losing the joy that makes solo hiking worth doing.

Is It Safe To Hike Alone As a Woman?

The short answer: with the right precautions, absolutely. Women who hike alone can mitigate a majority of the risk involved when they plan for the most common risks: weather, terrain, navigation errors, dehydration, and human weirdness at predictable pinch points like trailheads.

The wilderness is not a crime documentary. In fact, many female thru-hikers say they feel safer deep in the wilderness than in their own hometowns.

Experienced thru-hiker “Wrong Way” echoes this sentiment:“I feel much more confident being alone on trails than I do on sidewalks. I think that most people in trail settings truly and absolutely want to see each other succeed.” The statistics back this feeling: violent incidents on long trails are exceedingly rare, and you’re far more likely to encounter danger from terrain or weather than from another person.

Here’s What Actually Increases Safety the Fastest:

• Start earlier than you think you need to

• Hike in daylight whenever possible

• Set a turnaround time in advance (if applicable), then obey it

• Download maps offline, even if you think you will have service

• Always carry a map and compass as backup for your phone’s GPS

• Before you set out, leave your route plan with someone you trust

• Choose well-traveled routes first & conduct shakedown hikes to build confidence

The Mindset That Keeps Solo Women Safe

The safest solo hikers follow one rule: listen to your gut. If a situation or person gives you bad vibes, honor that feeling. Don’t worry about being polite – “I am an advocate for being rude, standoffish, and lying to people while backpacking if needed,” writes one female thru-hiker bluntly. You don’t owe anyone your trust.

Three Mindset Rules:

• If your gut says leave, leave. No debate.

• If you are unsure, slow down and reassess.

• The bottom line: safety > niceties, every time.

With that said, don’t be afraid to make friends on trail – you can camp together or hike in loose groups when desired, and go solo when you crave solitude.

As hiker “Lady Scout” discovered on the PCT, even after her initial hiking partner left, “At a certain point on a thru-hike, the only people around you are other long-distance hikers. The community gives a sense of comfort.” On popular trails like the Appalachian Trail, you might actually have to seek solitude at times, since there are so many fellow hikers.

Pre-Hike Safety Checklist

Before you hike alone, lock in the basics: route, weather, time plan, check-in plan, navigation, and minimum survival layers. This reduces 80% of avoidable problems before you ever step on trail.

• Route: saved offline, including bailout options

• Weather: checked for your start time and your return window

• Time: turnaround time set before you start

• Check-ins: one person at home knows your plan and your return time

• Navigation: offline map app plus a backup method

• Water: enough for the conditions, plus a buffer

• Layers: insulation and rain protection even on nice days

• Light: headlamp always

• Food: extra calories beyond the plan

If you are undertrained, you will make more bad decisions. Fitness is a safety factor.

Route and Timing: How to Reduce Risk Fast

The easiest way to reduce risk is to be picky about where and when you hike alone.

Popular trails are not a failure. They are a training ground.

When I was building confidence hiking solo, I chose routes with predictable terrain and steady traffic. I saved remote, exposed routes for days when my judgment felt sharp and the weather window was generous.

Best practices:

• Start earlier than you think you need to, especially in mountains

• Pick popular trails for your first solo hikes

• Avoid late-night returns to empty parking lots

• Plan a conservative turnaround time, then obey it

• In summer mountain ranges, assume afternoon storms and schedule around them

Trailhead Safety: Where Awareness Counts Most

Uncomfortable encounters are usually distilled down to trailheads, not deep in the backcountry. Trailheads concentrate strangers, vehicles, and uncertainty. Your job is to look prepared, limit your exposure, and leave a clean footprint of information with someone you trust.

Trailhead protocol:

• Arrive in daylight when possible

• Keep your keys and phone accessible

• Do not announce you are alone

• Avoid lingering by your vehicle

• If someone is making you uncomfortable, change plans without explaining

Simple security upgrades:

• Share your route and ETA with your check-in person

• Use location sharing when you have service

• Park in visible areas, near other cars when possible

The trail community also includes Trail Angels and kind strangers who help hikers out. Many towns along major trails have locals who offer rides (shuttles or friendly hitchhikes), maintain water caches, or even host hikers for a shower and meal.

As Heather Anderson eloquently puts it, “People of varying walks of life, ages, and means come together in search of a shared goal… This community extends far beyond the bounds of the narrow thread of trail we walked together.” The friendships you form out there can indeed last a lifetime, connected by the indelible memories of mud, blisters, sunsets, and summit triumphs shared.

Accepting generosity from strangers can be a beautiful part of the solo hike experience – it reminds you that people can be wonderfully good. Of course, exercise normal caution (as discussed) and stick to verified trail angels or those with good reputations among hikers.

On-Trail Habits That Prevent Problems

Solo hiking safety is mostly micro-decisions: drink before you are thirsty, eat before you bonk, keep checking your position, and stay ahead of weather.

On-Trail Habits:

• Navigation checks at every junction and at regular intervals

• Snack and water cadence, not reactive panic eating

• If you feel off, stop and troubleshoot early: blisters, hot spots, fatigue

• Keep your head up near streams, cliff edges, scree, and slick rock

• Do not wear headphones. If you’re going to anyway, wear one earbud max

Remember: most emergencies begin as ignored inconveniences.

Campsite Selection and Night Security

Good campsites are found, not made. Choose established sites on durable surfaces, keep distance from water sources, and prioritize visibility and exit options over perfect views. Night security is about calm routines: food storage, camp hygiene, and choosing the right neighbors.

Campsite Selection Checklist:

• Choose established campsites and durable surfaces when available

• Camp at least 200 feet from lakes and streams to protect riparian areas and reduce animal traffic

• Avoid low points where cold air pools and water collects

• Avoid exposed ridgelines when storms are likely

• If vibes are off, move. Your camp is not a contract.

Night Routines That Reduce Risk:

• Food storage: follow local guidelines (bear can, hang, or lockers)

• Keep a clean camp: smellables packed, trash managed

• Headlamp and shoes staged where you can reach them fast

• Know your bailout direction before you sleep

Lightning & Severe Weather: What to Know

Lightning is one of the most likely life-threatening hazards in exposed terrain.

Use conservative timing, avoid ridgelines when storms build, and follow the 30/30 rule: if the time between lightning and thunder is 30 seconds or less, descend rapidly (if you are exposed) or seek shelter, then wait 30 minutes after the last thunder before resuming.

Lightning Safety Checklist:

• Check forecasts and start early

• Get off ridges and peaks as clouds build

• Avoid isolated tall trees

• If you must wait it out, spread out from others

• Put metal items like trekking poles away from your body

• Resume only after the storm has clearly passed

Wildlife and environmental hazards

Most wildlife danger is management, not combat. Give animals space, secure food, and learn region-specific hazards. Environmental hazards like heat, cold, snow, and smoke are often more dangerous than animals.

Wildlife Basics:

• Bears: give space, do not run, speak calmly and slowly, back away without turning your back, and as a preventative measure, always secure food and smellables

• Snakes: watch footing, especially in warm rock areas

• Bugs and ticks: treat prevention as routine, not optional

Tick Prevention Essentials:

• Use repellent and check your body after hiking

• Stay on trail and avoid tall grass when possible

What to Carry: Safety Gear Non-Negotiables

Safety gear should solve real problems: navigation failures, weather shifts, injury management, and emergency communication. The best setup is small, lightweight, and actually used.

Core Safety Gear Kit:

• Offline maps on your phone plus a backup navigation method

• Headlamp

• Minimal first aid for blisters, cuts, sprains

• Emergency warmth layer and rain protection

• Extra water capacity and a treatment method

• Whistle

• Battery or charging solution

Optional but high-impact for solo hikers:

• Satellite communicator for remote routes

• Personal safety tool you are trained and comfortable using

• Small knife or multitool

If you need a lightweight baseline list for safety (and other) gear, check out my comprehensive gear list for trail-tested recommendations.

When Something Goes Wrong

When you hike alone, your best skill is early decision-making. Stop small issues from becoming rescue scenarios. If you are lost, injured, or weather escalates, slow down, stabilize, and choose the safest exit.

Decision Rules:

• Lost: stop, confirm location, backtrack to last known point, do not wander

• Injured: stabilize, reduce swelling, consider whether you can walk safely

• Weather: if you are unsure, descend and wait or exit

• Human weirdness: create distance immediately, change plans, do not explain

Hiking solo as a woman can be incredibly empowering: you’ll learn that you can thrive in the wild on your own terms, navigate literal and figurative mountains, and find peace in your own company. Yes, you’ll also learn to deal with gross blisters, scary thunderstorms, and the occasional awkward encounter – but those become footnotes in a much larger story of accomplishment.

Trail Community: Solo, Sure, But Not Alone

One beautiful paradox of solo thru-hiking is that although you start alone, you often finish with a trail family. The long-distance hiking community is famously welcoming.

Even if you start your thru-hike solo, you’ll meet others at shelters, campsites, water sources, and trail towns. Swapping stories over dinner or leapfrogging each other for days, you may form deep bonds.

Beyond the trail, there’s a vast online and off-trail community of female hikers sharing wisdom and encouragement. Social media groups, forums like Women of the Appalachian Trail, and blogs/newsletters (sup!) are great places to ask questions and learn from others’ experiences. You’ll find women who have thru-hiked while pregnant, women who started in their 60s, women of marginalized communities building inclusive hiking groups – a rich diversity of voices all cheering you on.

Leave a comment

Have a favorite trail story, solo hiking tip, or gear recommendation? Drop it in the comments—your insight might inspire someone’s first adventure!

What to Do Next

As you prepare for your first solo thru-hike, take heart that thousands of women have done this before you, each with their own fears and doubts, and they are rooting for you. In the words of one veteran, “We must destigmatize this nearly universal experience” of women adventuring confidently outdoors. The more we share our stories and tips, the more we lift each other up. So here is your reminder: you are brave, you are strong, and you are capable – more than you even know. The trail will prove it to you.

As one solo hiker wrote after finishing her trek, “It proved to me that I could do anything. Now, whenever life gets hard, I remind myself: I walked from Georgia to Maine – I can handle this.”

Pack your bag, prepare well, then step onto the trail with confidence. There is a whole community of solo female badasses in your corner, some ahead of you leaving footprints to follow, and others behind you, inspired by your example. As the miles unfold, you may find that being a “solo” female hiker is paradoxically the most connected and supported you’ve ever felt.

What’s next? 👉 Check Out Part 2: Health, Gear, and Trail Resilience for Solo Women

Frequently Asked Questions

What is the best first solo hike for a woman?

Pick a popular, well-marked trail you can finish in daylight, with clear cell service for most of the route. Save offline maps anyway. Build confidence with repetition, not heroics.

Should women carry pepper spray while hiking alone?

Carry what you understand and can access quickly. Training and familiarity matter more than the item itself. Your first safety tool is awareness and early exits.

How do I deal with fear before hiking alone?

Fear drops when your plan gets specific. Choose a short trail, start early, set a turnaround time, and commit to leaving if anything feels off.

What should I bring for protection while solo hiking?

The answer is simple: carry the protection that makes you feel at ease. For some, that’s a small knife and a whistle; for others, a canister of pepper spray or bear spray. Many experts don’t recommend firearms for backcountry self-defense unless you’re highly trained, as a gun can create new risks.

“Where’s the turnoff for the rest of the trail?” he muttered, flipping through a folded topo map. The rest of us exchanged glances. The route had seemed straightforward enough on AllTrails; yet here we were, caught off-guard at a popular waterfall viewpoint, surrounded by casual day-hikers snapping selfies. It was hardly the isolated adventure we’d anticipated. Quickly, I opened the AllTrails app, pulling up our loop in real-time. The blinking blue GPS dot placed us precisely at the falls, with a discreet trail marker hidden behind a curtain of rhododendron leaves indicating our onward route. “Found it!” I grinned, as Omar shook his head with a half-smile.

This little episode was a wake-up call: even seasoned hikers can underestimate the nuances of navigating with AllTrails. While continuing our journey along Cove Mountain Trail, winding toward Cataract Falls and onward through the dense forests of the Smokies, we began to appreciate fully the app’s capabilities. By the end of the full 16-mile loop - legs tired, spirits buoyant - Omar conceded (reluctantly) that perhaps this digital companion had earned a spot alongside his treasured paper maps.

Below, I’m spilling the hard-earned tips from that day – and years of other adventures – on how to use AllTrails correctly, especially if you’re a mileage-hardened hiker who’s new to hiking apps. Think of it as a guide to avoid the common missteps seasoned hikers make when underestimating this digital tool. Let’s dive in (before Omar prints out another 12-page trip plan).

AllTrails: The Hiker’s New Best Friend (Yes, Even for Old-Timers)

If you’ve spent decades bagging peaks or logging long trail days without any app, you might wonder what the fuss is about. Well, AllTrails has become the go-to trail companion for millions – and for good reason. As of late 2024, over 75 million outdoor enthusiasts use AllTrails to connect with nature. The app’s database boasts some 450,000 trail maps worldwide, complete with crowdsourced reviews and photos. In other words, odds are that even your secret local loop or that obscure backcountry route is indexed in there somewhere.

AllTrails isn’t just popular, it’s also trusted. The platform has racked up over 1 million 5-star reviews, earning a reputation as one of the world’s most trusted outdoor platforms. It even survived the pandemic hiking boom and came out stronger – in a recent Inc. Magazine piece, AllTrails was fittingly described as the “gateway drug” that gets people outside. Don’t let that scare you off: for veterans of the trail, AllTrails can be a powerful ally rather than a crutch. It’s like adding a high-tech tool to your hiking arsenal – one that can enhance (not replace) your hard-won wilderness savvy.

Why bother if you already know how to navigate?

Think of AllTrails as your hyper-efficient research assistant and on-trail guide. It aggregates up-to-date information on trail conditions, helps you plan routes on a laptop and sync them to your phone, and provides GPS tracking to keep you on course. The key is knowing which features to use (and how), so you don’t fall into the traps that many experienced hikers do when first using the app. Let’s break down those features and some trade secrets to get the most out of AllTrails.

Plan and Organize with Lists (Omar Approves)

One feature we seasoned hikers often overlook is the humble Lists. If you’re like Omar, you might be used to planning hikes via spreadsheets or dog-eared guidebooks. AllTrails Lists can simplify that process – and even make it fun.

Lists let you save and organize trails into custom collections.

Found an interesting trail you want to tackle later? Add it to a list. Planning a multi-hike trip? Create a list for it (e.g., “Smokies Spring 2025”) and save all your target trails there. During our Gatlinburg trip, we could have saved ourselves a few headaches by putting all our planned hikes (Cove Mountain, Chimney Tops, Mt. LeConte, etc.) into a shared list ahead of time for easy reference.

Creating a list is straightforward: in the app, tap ‘Saved’ at the bottom, then go to the ‘Lists’ tab and hit ‘Create new list’. Name it, add trails, done. You can also add any trail to your default Favorites list with a tap of the heart. According to AllTrails, adding trails to your favorites or custom lists is quick and easy – and a great way to organize future adventures. In fact, the app’s own help center encourages making lists for things like specific trip plans or goals, noting that “Lists are a great way to organize trails and a fun way to share your plans with friends!”. (Sharing is optional – you can keep lists private or only share with select people. More on privacy soon.)

For example, AllTrails itself publishes curated lists to inspire users. Their recently announced “25 Trails to Explore in 2025” list spans the globe – from chasing bioluminescent insects on South Carolina’s Congaree Firefly Trail to trekking a high alpine route in the Swiss Alps. You can follow such official lists or just use them as inspiration to build your own bucket list. The point is, Lists help you plan like a pro. Omar, notorious for his binder of printed hike notes, now begrudgingly admits that having our itinerary neatly organized in the AllTrails app (and synced to everyone’s devices) beats emailing PDFs around.

Share Type Two Fun

Speaking of syncing – a common question is whether your planning on the computer carries over to your phone. The answer is yes.

AllTrails syncs seamlessly between desktop and mobile.

You can scout trails and create maps on the AllTrails website from the comfort of your big-screen monitor, and those changes will instantly reflect in your app. During planning, I often flip open my laptop to draw routes or read long reviews, then later access all that info on my phone when it’s go time. This app-to-computer collaboration is clutch. No more fumbling with printouts at the trailhead – just pull up your saved list or map on your phone.

Know Before You Go: Trail Details Matter

Experienced hikers pride themselves on knowing trail mileage and elevation like the back of their hand. But when using AllTrails (or any app), it’s vital to pay attention to the on-screen details — and not make assumptions. Consider this your pre-hike checklist in the digital age.

First, always double-check the trail basics displayed in AllTrails: total distance, route type, and elevation gain. These are usually right below the trail name. One of the biggest mistakes newbies and veterans alike make is not realizing, for example, that a trail is an out-and-back. In AllTrails, a trail listed as “5 miles, out & back” means it’s 2.5 miles each way (5 miles total). But if you only read “5 miles” and assume a loop, you’re in for a surprise five miles in when you have to turn around and do it again. Don’t ask how I know. As Outdoors.com notes, many beginners (and, ahem, some seasoned folks on autopilot) “don’t quite realize what they’re getting themselves into” and lack a full understanding of specs like distance, trail type, and elevation gain. Take a moment to digest those specs.

“One of the most crucial mistakes I see beginners make is that they don’t quite realize what they’re getting themselves into. It’s important to have a full understanding of specs like distance, type of trail, and elevation gain.”

— outdoors.com

The quote above might target newcomers, but the wisdom applies universally. On our Smokies loop, we initially glossed over critical details, seeing "16.1 miles" on AllTrails and assuming familiarity with similar trails. But deeper inspection would have shown us that the first couple of miles toward Laurel Falls were relatively easy and popular, while the remainder featured significant climbing, totaling nearly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. That elevation gain - most of it after the heavily trafficked falls - shouldn't have been an afterthought. Context is crucial, even for the experienced.

Next, don’t rely blindly on AllTrails’ difficulty rating.

The app classifies trails as Easy, Moderate, or Hard, but those labels can be notoriously subjective. In fact, one frequent complaint (even among AllTrails fans) is that the difficulty ratings are a bit too broad. Travel writer William O’Connor quipped that he felt misled by the app’s ratings – “Two ‘hard’ hikes turned out to be cakewalks,” one hiker complained in his survey of users. The consensus was that you have to ignore the difficulty label or take it with a grain of salt. In AllTrails’ defense, difficulty can be relative (a “Hard” trail for a novice might feel moderate to a marathon runner). So, instead of trusting the color-coded icon alone, read the trail description and recent reviews. Look for clues: Are people mentioning steep scrambles? Was that “Moderate” trail actually super muddy and slow-going? The real intel lives in those user reviews and photos.

While you’re at it, always check for recent trail conditions.

AllTrails is great because hikers post updates about downed trees, closed sections, or anything noteworthy. For example, if there’s a note like “Bridge out at mile 2, had to wade across creek,” you’ll know what’s coming. Bear Grylls’s team emphasizes using resources and apps for updated trail conditions so you’re not caught off guard by, say, lingering snow or mud. A quick scroll through recent comments can save you from unpleasant surprises.

And here’s a pro tip: scan the “Fees & Permits” info on the trail page. AllTrails often notes if a park pass or permit is required. On the Cove Mountain Trail page, it clearly stated that a paid parking tag is required for stops over 15 minute – crucial info in the Smokies, where parking without a tag could get you fined. Make it a habit to glance at that section so you’re squared away with regulations. (Remember how proud we were having bought our tags ahead of time? Gold star for us on that one, at least.)

Finally, interpret the elevation profile if available. AllTrails will usually show a little graph of elevation gain over distance. If you see a sudden spike on the graph, be mentally prepared for a hill climb at that point. One rule of thumb I use: ~1,000 feet of gain per mile is steep. Anything gentler than that is generally manageable. On a topo map, that steep section would show tightly packed contour lines – and indeed, AllTrails’ topo maps will reflect that too if you use the right layer.

The bottom line: before you hit “Start” on your hike, take a minute to read the fine print in AllTrails. Seasoned hikers might feel they can wing it, but a brief digital reconnaissance can confirm (or correct) what you think you know about the trail.

Map Matters: Mastering Map Types and Smart Routing

One of the coolest aspects of AllTrails is the variety of Map Types and the ability to create your own routes. Yet many experienced hikers never venture beyond the default map view. If you’re planning anything complex – or just geek out on maps like I do – you’ll want to tap into these features.

AllTrails offers several map layers to choose from, each with different info.

The default AllTrails layer is a custom topographic map with trail names, mileage markers, contour lines, and more. It’s a great all-around map. But sometimes, switching to a different map type can reveal things the default doesn’t.

For instance, the Satellite view can help you see terrain or landmarks from above (useful if you want to identify a clearing or rock face). There’s also a plain Road map, an old-school USGS Topographic map, and even OpenStreetMap-based layers for international detail. Don’t worry about memorizing them all; just know that if your map isn’t showing something clearly, a quick toggle might. On any trail map screen, look for the map layers icon (usually a little stack or layers symbol) to change the base map.

Then there are Map Details, which are overlays you can toggle on/off to add extra info. My personal favorites are the waypoints and photos layers. Turning on waypoints will display points of interest like campgrounds, trail junctions, or summits on the map – super handy to get a sense of what’s along the route. Enabling the photos layer plasters little photo thumbnails on the map wherever someone took a picture. It’s like a sneak peek of what views or obstacles you’ll encounter at various spots (if you’re into that kind of thing, that is).

Now, let’s talk about the Map Creator and the magic of Smart Routing.

This is where AllTrails truly shines for planners. If you’ve ever bushwhacked your own path or strung together multiple trails into a custom route, you’ll appreciate this tool. On the AllTrails website (it’s desktop-only), you can create custom maps by drawing your route. You can freehand draw, but the genius part is Smart Routing: when toggled on, your drawn line will automatically snap to known trails and pathways. Essentially, AllTrails does the routing for you, following the best path for your chosen activity.

We used Smart Routing when brainstorming a longer route linking Cove Mountain Trail with neighboring paths. With a few clicks, I traced from the fire tower down to a different trailhead, and AllTrails snapped my line onto the connecting Little Greenbriar Trail perfectly, calculating the extra distance and elevation in seconds. No guesswork or squiggly lines – it was like having a trail editor that “knew” the official routes. The result? A neat custom map showing a big lollipop loop. I even added a waypoint for “Lunch Spot” at an overlook.

The image above is an example of AllTrails’ Map Creator in action. On the left, you set your route preferences (we set ours to “Hiking” with Smart Routing on). On the map, the red line is our drawn route snapping along real trails, and at the bottom, you can see the elevation profile and stats updating.

Once you Save your custom map, it syncs to your phone under Saved → My Maps. From there, you can pull it up on the trail (even if offline, provided you saved the area map) and follow it just like a regular trail.

For an experienced hiker, this feature is gold. You can plan bail-out shortcuts, alternate routes, or combine trails into one seamless journey. It basically brings your paper-map scribbles into a GPS-friendly format. And if a trail isn’t in AllTrails’ database yet, you could draw it in manually – though for that, you might also consider contributing a new trail to the community (if it’s legit and publicly accessible).

Navigate Like a Trailblazer (Tech Tips for On-Trail Navigation)

Once you’ve done all the prep work, it’s time to actually hit the trail and Navigate. This is where the rubber (or Vibram sole) meets the road. Using AllTrails’ Navigate feature correctly can turn your phone into a trusty guide, but there are a few things to keep in mind on the trail.

When you arrive at the trailhead, open up your saved trail or custom map in the app. You’ll typically see a ‘Navigate’ or ‘Start’ button. Tapping that will start the GPS tracking and show your progress. AllTrails will display the route – usually as a red or green line – and your current location as the famous little blue dot. As you move, the blue dot moves. Simple, right?

Need to save battery life while navigating? Check out this helpful AllTrails guide on how to maximize efficiency while out on the trail!

A couple of nuances: If you loaded an AllTrails verified trail and hit Start, the app might change the trail’s color to highlight the part you’ve completed versus not. For example, the section you have hiked might turn blue behind you, while the remaining trail stays green. This gives you a visual of how far along you are. If you’re recording your hike (which you should – it’ll save to your profile for later), you’ll also see stats like distance, time, and elevation climbed as you go.

Now, a word of caution from personal experience: It’s easy to get glued to that screen, especially when you see your dot drifting around a switchback. But don’t forget to look up! On that morning in Gatlinburg, we fell into the trap of staring at our phones trying to match the map to reality, when the obvious signpost was right in front of us. AllTrails is an aid, not a substitute for situational awareness. Use the app to confirm your direction at confusing junctions, or to navigate in low-visibility conditions, but keep your senses tuned to the environment.

If you have AllTrails’ pro subscription (AllTrails+), be sure to download the map for offline use before you lose cell service. Even without cell signal, GPS on your phone will still work and show the blue dot on the map – but only if the map is stored offline. Think of it as caching the area. Many a seasoned hiker who scoffed at carrying a paper map has learned this the hard way when deep in the woods with “No Service” and a blank AllTrails map tile. Don’t be that person – download the map ahead or carry a backup map.

Another useful on-trail feature: the Navigate drawer.

If you swipe up on the bottom panel in Navigate mode, you can access options like adding waypoints on the fly (maybe you want to mark that sweet backcountry campsite you found), or checking coordinates, and even switching the map type mid-hike if needed. These little tools can enhance your navigation experience, but they’re optional. At minimum, the big win of Navigate mode is keeping you on the right path and tracking your trek.

And remember, using AllTrails doesn’t mean you have to abandon your compass or innate sense of direction. It’s okay to use both! For instance, when we were descending Cove Mountain, we lost the trail briefly in a leafy section (blame all those beautiful autumn leaves covering the footbed). Instead of panicking, we checked the app – the blue dot showed we were a tad off the red line. A quick correction and we were back on track. In the old days, we’d have done the same with map and compass triangulation. The spirit of navigation is the same; the tools have just evolved.

Privacy Settings: Share Your Adventure (On Your Terms)

By the end of a hike, I often have a neat digital breadcrumb trail of where we went, plus photos and notes. AllTrails will automatically save your activity if you recorded it, and you might be tempted to share it – or not. Here’s where privacy settings come into play, and it’s something even savvy hikers might not think about initially.

AllTrails gives you control over who can see your profile and content. You can keep everything totally private, share only with followers, or make your profile public for any AllTrails user to see. By default, if you never tweak it, some of your stuff might be public. Experienced hikers who value a bit of secrecy (maybe you don’t want to broadcast your secret fishing spot or that off-trail shortcut) should definitely review these settings.

In your account privacy options, you can set defaults for various content types: your completed trails, recorded activities, maps, lists, etc. For example, I set my Activities to “Followers only,” so only people I’ve approved can see my hike tracks. You might choose “Only me” if you prefer to keep a low profile altogether. Meanwhile, I leave my trail reviews public because sharing conditions and tips helps the community (and doesn’t give away any personal info) – that’s the beauty of crowd-sourced knowledge.

If you hike with a group and want to share a specific trip with them, you don’t have to make everything public. AllTrails allows you to share individual links to a trail, list, or map. So for our group, I made our “Smokies Trip” list shareable via a secret link that I sent only to my friends. That way they could view the list and maps without me exposing it to the whole AllTrails universe.

Take a minute to explore the privacy settings in the app (Profile → Settings gear → Privacy). It’s worth ensuring you’re comfortable with what you’re sharing. As AllTrails’ help center puts it, they offer a range of settings “to help you control who can view your content”. You’re in charge here. So whether you want to become the next AllTrails influencer with a public profile, or you’re more like Omar – guarding your GPX files like state secrets – you can adjust accordingly.

Verified Trails vs. User Contributions: Understanding the Source

Ever wonder how all those trails got into AllTrails in the first place? It’s a mix of professional curation and community contribution. Understanding this will help you gauge the reliability of the info you see for any given trail.

Verified Trails (also called curated content) are routes that the AllTrails team has vetted and added themselves. These often correspond to official trails in parks, with accurate names, distances, and descriptions. When you search the app, the results are typically these verified trails – so you can trust that, say, the “Cove Mountain Trail” we did is indeed the established trail and not some rando’s backyard path.

AllTrails had over 200,000 such trail guides published by early 2021, and the number is much higher now. They even have a crew of global trail experts reviewing suggestions submitted by the community. So the platform’s curated database is quite robust.

However, the app also leverages the power of community.

Users (like you and me) can add new trails that might be missing. For example, if there’s a local trail not in AllTrails yet, you can map it and submit it. This is awesome for expanding the map, but it does mean not everything in AllTrails is 100% verified by staff. Occasionally you’ll find a route that’s essentially a user’s recorded track uploaded as a “trail.” Most of the time it’s fine – maybe a lesser-known path that just hasn’t been officially catalogued. But sometimes it could be a bushwhack or social trail that isn’t an official trail at all.

There’s a bit of crowd wisdom needed here. Check how many people have done a trail and what they say. If a trail has zero reviews and a weird name like “John’s Secret Shortcut,” you might be looking at a user-added path that few have tried. One hiking blog pointed out that bad AllTrails info can include “bushwhacks and herd paths passed off as actual designated trails” or even trails crossing private property misrepresented as public. While AllTrails tries to police this, it’s ultimately on us hikers to use common sense. If something seems off on the map, cross-reference with park maps or other sources.

The good news is, AllTrails clearly marks verified routes when you load them in Navigate, and they award a “Verified Completed” badge only if you stick to the official route. That’s their way of encouraging people to follow the known trail rather than wander off-track.

In summary: trust the main trails you find on AllTrails, but be a little cautious of any oddball paths. Embrace the community contributions, but verify critical info if you’re venturing somewhere truly obscure. It’s the same as hearing a tip from a fellow hiker – 99% of the time it’s great info, 1% of the time you raise an eyebrow and double-check.

The Next Adventure (Subscribe for the Inside Scoop)

By the end of our Cove Mountain hike, our group was a little wiser. We had navigated via AllTrails, learned to poke around the app for trail insights, and even Omar had to concede that a smartphone might have a place in his pack. Over post-hike burgers in Gatlinburg, we were already planning our next outing – this time, armed with a shiny new AllTrails list and perhaps fewer printouts in Omar’s clipboard.

I’ll let you in on a secret: there’s a big hike coming at the tail end of this summer. This one’s a bucket-list solo trek—just me, my gear, and maybe a bit of bravery at higher altitude. I won’t spill all the details yet (gotta build the suspense!), but I can hint that it involves an airplane ticket and some serious elevation. Will AllTrails be part of my trail toolkit for this epic journey? Absolutely. Subscribers to Type Two Fun will get exclusive play-by-play updates, location reveals, and behind-the-scenes glimpses when the time comes.

And if you found this guide useful, please consider sharing it with your favorite hiking buddies. Let’s keep the community growing, informed, and ready for whatever trails life throws our way.

Refer a friend

After all, the only thing better than learning from your own mistakes is helping others not repeat them.

Happy trails, and see you out there on the next summit!

I'm sitting in the public library of my hometown, just a stone's throw from the high school I graduated from in 2013. I’ll be thirty this year. It’s a strange landing point, approximately a thousand miles from the place I called home only a week ago.

Poetic, though; I’ll give it that. This was once my launch pad.

My big sister, Allison, used to bring me here when I was younger. Despite being a boisterous kid, I revered the library as sacred. Both Allison and my Aunt Janelle fueled my love for reading, taking me to every library and bookstore in the tri-county area. They taught me that knowledge is its own kind of power.

You don’t get to choose the memories that surface, but I’m glad those ones stuck with me. Nothing much has changed here at the library, not even the musty green sofa chairs or the archaic-looking plastic oak tree towering over the children’s reading nook. These remain steadfast in the annals of my brain as well as in the here and now.

I’ve changed, though—so thoroughly, in fact, that I sometimes wonder if this place would recognize me at all.

The following reflections mark the start of a new series, one that steps beyond trail markers into the denser terrain of lived experience. I’ll be sharing more of the lessons that shaped me in my twenties and the perspective I’m carrying into what comes next.

Subscribe now

If you’d like to continue this journey with me, consider subscribing to the newsletter. Paid subscribers will receive exclusive updates on the big hike I have coming up, along with the occasional deeper interlude. All other issues of Type Two Fun will remain free unless time-locked. Accessibility has always been the heart of this project, and that’s not changing.

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If you've ever been trapped on a long road trip with a toddler, a flat tire, and dwindling snacks, you might question the sanity of anyone who willingly embarks on vanlife full-time with a tiny human in tow. But that's exactly what Anna did: intentionally, enthusiastically, and without looking back.

Her travel buddy, two-year-old Jacob, contributes little beyond giggles, hugs, and the occasional tantrum. Still, their lives, neatly packed into a cozy van, have become an ode to spontaneity, minimalism, and raising a global citizen in a relentlessly complex world.

I've always admired those who throw convention out the van window and embrace uncertainty head-on. After all, the essence of Type Two Fun isn't merely enjoying what's comfortable and known… it's finding fulfillment precisely when things get gritty, uncomfortable, and, dare I say, a bit wild. Anna's journey, shared generously via an extended conversation, is proof positive of exactly that philosophy.

Choosing Wheels Over Roots

For Anna, the love affair with wandering began humbly. She speaks of her early post-university travel days with a distant fondness - think budget airlines, hostel bunks, and strategically rationed street food. But something shifted dramatically in 2019 when she and her fiancé touched down in Australia. They purchased an unapologetically barebones van and decided less would simply have to be more.

Minimalist living wasn't glamorous; it was beans-and-toast simplicity. Yet, somewhere between fixing flat tires and chasing sunsets, Anna found an addiction to freedom.

Then along came Jacob.

Many parents instinctively circle wagons: stability, mortgages, fixed routines become the North Stars of family life. But Anna, refreshingly contrarian, asked herself, “What if home could be everywhere?” In Perth, where Jacob was born, she realized her son’s connection to his birthplace didn't have to be confined to a geographical pin. He could embody Australia’s soul by feeling it deeply, coast-to-coast, sand between tiny toes, laughter echoing through eucalyptus forests.

From Australia’s Ningaloo Reef, where coral blooms beneath turquoise seas, to the majestic, snow-kissed Swiss Alps, Anna insists it's often the mundane, unscripted moments that stand out. Jacob spinning soap bubbles over Thailand's ivory sands or squealing with delight steering imaginary boats on sparkling waters - those small snapshots of joy become indelible imprints.

In a poignant Instagram post, Anna confronts a hard truth head-on:

It’s a bold admission, one many parents quietly grapple with. In an era glorifying hustle, Anna’s choice disrupts expectations, challenging the pressure to achieve while parenting from the sidelines. Careers often trick us into believing childhood can be scheduled around meetings and milestones, but Anna realizes this illusion comes at a cost. Childhood is fleeting; memories are formed in everyday moments, not promised future vacations or postponed adventures.

Prioritizing presence means stepping back from society’s relentless push for productivity. It means trading ambition’s comfort for the uncertainty of life on the road. Yet, Anna's decision reflects a deeper ambition: to fully witness Little Jacob’s growth rather than miss it from afar. This tension resonates with parents navigating modern demands - a reminder that raising children isn't merely about providing materially, but offering emotional availability.

In choosing presence now, Anna gently rebels against cultural norms that equate busyness with worth, reminding us all that sometimes the bravest path is stepping away to honor the moments we can never reclaim.

Practical Tips for Vanlife Parents:

Based on Anna’s insights and additional resources for parents exploring vanlife, here are practical takeaways:

• Start Small: Begin with short trips to gauge your family’s comfort level.

• Embrace Minimalism: Prioritize essentials and ditch clutter to maximize comfort.

• Pack a 'Survival Kit': Favorite toys, snacks, surprises for emergencies, and creative supplies like coloring books and stickers.

• Consider Worldschooling: Choose experiential education, mixing structured online programs or unschooling to match your child’s learning style.

• Create Boundaries for Sanity: Limit screen time on drives, allowing exceptions for long-haul flights.

• Flexibility is Everything: Anticipate delays, detours, and unexpected tantrums - flexibility ensures smoother sailing.

• Practice Self-Care: Prioritize personal routines, no matter how small - morning coffee rituals, yoga stretches, or journaling.

• Engage Your Kids as Co-Travelers: Let children make simple decisions like choosing stops or daily activities to foster ownership of the experience.

• Connect with Other Families: Join online communities for vanlife families for support, tips, and camaraderie.

• Safety and Insurance: Ensure you have robust travel insurance covering medical emergencies, breakdowns, and unexpected expenses.

Keeping a Toddler Entertained on the Road

Anna doesn’t pretend vanlife with a toddler is easy; it's not. But simplicity helps: "Don’t overthink it. Kids belong everywhere," she says.

During flights, screen time becomes permissible. While traveling in the van, Anna has established clear boundaries, skipping screen time entirely during drives. Instead, they read, color, play with stickers, create stories, and sing together, ensuring every journey becomes quality time.

Flights are an exception to her no-screen mantra; "I enjoy movies at 35,000 feet, so why shouldn’t Jacob?" she quips, embracing reality over parental purism. On the road, the window becomes their screen - nature flashing by, an ever-changing documentary. They sing, invent stories, and occasionally test the patience of fellow road warriors with spirited renditions of "Wheels on the Bus." It's messy, noisy, perfectly imperfect parenting, and Anna owns it completely.

Parenting and traveling continuously remind Anna how kids adapt naturally when given the chance. It’s rarely Pinterest-perfect, but it always works.

Worldschooling as an Education in Life

Worldschooling, or education through travel, has become integral to Anna’s parenting style. The Scientific American article by Jennie Germann Molz highlights how experiences outside traditional classrooms help kids build emotional resilience, cultural awareness, and adaptability - qualities Anna believes far surpass the rote memorization emphasized in traditional schooling.

Though Anna and Jacob have explored diverse locations worldwide, Thailand remains uniquely inspiring for Anna. Having spent six cumulative months there, she recalls the immediate happiness felt upon arriving in Bangkok.

“It’s not just tourist attractions - it’s the feeling of calmness, the warmth of the people, and how beautifully they embrace children,” Anna shares.

She vividly remembers Jacob sitting quietly in a temple, intuitively understanding the moment's serenity. Thailand’s impact on Anna’s perspective is profound, especially concerning motherhood. “Traveling made me much more relaxed. I’ve seen happy children everywhere, even in places with so little,” she reflects, recalling a remote village in Laos. The simplicity and joy of life there challenged her perceptions, teaching her the value of letting go of excessive parental anxiety.

Navigating Discomfort (or How the Nullarbor Plain Isn’t Actually That Terrible)

Anna famously tackled Australia’s notoriously desolate Nullarbor Plain, not once, but twice. What might be perceived as dull became an appreciation for subtle beauty - wild kangaroos, star-filled skies, quirky towns, and, most importantly, perseverance.

Anna openly shares her experience crossing the Nullarbor. On Instagram, she dispels myths about the drive being monotonous, highlighting the subtle beauty and shifting landscapes. Discomfort isn’t failure, Anna insists; it’s growth.

Recounting one particularly challenging country where she felt profoundly out of place, Anna chose to revisit, hoping the experience would differ with Jacob along. Ultimately, it remained difficult but taught her an essential lesson - growth often comes from understanding what doesn't align with your life.

Raising a World Citizen

Anna’s objective is clear:

Each encounter, each new friend across cultures, shapes Jacob’s open-hearted worldview. Jacob’s ability to form connections effortlessly are clear evidence of the positive impact of this upbringing. “Jacob doesn’t see differences; he sees friends,” she says, emphasizing the importance of these global experiences in shaping Jacob’s worldview and personality.

Jacob’s capacity to connect deeply with new people and places continually amazes Anna. A recent encounter with backpackers at a campsite exemplified this beautifully. Upon reuniting later, Jacob enthusiastically greeted them with a heartfelt hug, engaging with them seamlessly through the evening. “It was such a sweet moment,” Anna smiles, reflecting on her son's innate ability to bond with people across cultures. These interactions reinforce her conviction that their unconventional lifestyle is cultivating a sense of global connectedness within Jacob.

Comfort in Simplicity

Amid the dynamic and often unpredictable life on the road, Anna holds tightly to simple comforts. One indispensable item in their van life is a compact coffee machine.

“In my first vanlife experience, every morning meant setting up a gas cooker outside, rain or shine, just for coffee,” she recalls humorously. Now, she cherishes the convenience of a single-button press. “It might seem small, but when living in a van, these little luxuries make all the difference.”

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The Journey Continues

Among their favorite stays, Anna recently highlighted Sahana Villas in Bali, a place instantly feeling like home. Designed thoughtfully for families, Jacob perfected his swimming skills in their private pool, while Anna enjoyed coffee straight from the villa’s plantation.

"Bali is always magical, but Sahana Villas made it even better," she shared on Instagram, noting their attentive staff, spacious gardens, and comforting Balinese massages.

Anna and Jacob’s story of exploration, resilience, and deep maternal connection exemplifies the spirit of adventure and the profound impacts of travel. Their experiences offer valuable lessons on living intentionally, embracing simplicity, and understanding that life's most beautiful moments are often its simplest.

Follow Anna and Jacob's inspiring adventures and heartwarming stories on Instagram at @blonde_and_baby_on_board, where their journey continues to unfold, capturing hearts and inspiring countless others to chase their dreams, one destination at a time!

Follow Anna & Jacob on Instagram