It was late August, and my longtime hiking pal, Abe, had just finished a torrid 23-hour run of , an infamous race that starts in the center of North America鈥檚 highest town and climbs from there. All day, I was half of his two-person crew, force-feeding him packets of assorted Gu and liters of at checkpoints every dozen miles or so. Just before dawn, aching as deeply as atavistic blues, Abe finally shuffled toward the shower. I let myself out of the rental house where he鈥檇 been for a week to give him privacy, the front door unexpectedly locking behind me.
But just as I was walking away, an epiphany stopped me on the porch, leading me to the nearest window. During a frantic pit stop after midnight, Abe had reached for the first dry long-sleeved shirt he could find. It happened to be my new sun hoody, perhaps the best hiking shirt I鈥檝e ever worn. Sure, by race鈥檚 end, it was soaked in sweat and probably flecked with barf and blood, too. But there was no way I was leaving without it. I knocked on the window, and Abe shuffled toward the door with a glare. He grumbled and gave me back my sopping shirt. Sorry, bud, but leaving behind this hoody behind was never going to happen.
If you鈥檙e unfamiliar with sun hoodies, sound it out. They鈥檙e lightweight hoodies that serve as sartorial sunscreen, with SPF ratings typically hovering around 50 despite their thin fabric. They are great for mountaineering, when you need a safeguard against direct rays while above treeline, but don鈥檛 want to stop to smear yourself with goop every hour. And they are critical for long-distance hiking, when you want each piece of gear to have multiple聽 jobs. A shirt that eliminates the need for a hat and a heavy container of cream, and also has pockets? The sun hoody is the multi-tool of the thru-hiking wardrobe.
But here鈥檚 the thing: sweat a lot in a sun hoody鈥攁s one is wont to do while wearing hoods and sleeves in the sun鈥攁nd they can become as irritating as a vintage polyester three-piece, salt matting against technical fabric. It might start to feel like the top half of some sandpaper jumpsuit, even after it鈥檚 washed. I sometimes think I want to finish a thru-hike just so I can throw away my itchy, stiff sun hoody and never put it on again.
Not the case for Coalatree鈥檚 Suray. The Utah company spent three years developing its first sun hoody, and launched it in March with a that raised nearly five times its original goal. (They鈥檒l start shipping in mid-September of this year.) I have hiked in it, run in it, and even sported it for consecutive Rockies climbs without a single wash. I have taken it through caves and, of course, let Abe torture it. The fabric鈥 and embedded with antimicrobial zinc鈥攊s still as buttery soft and smell-free as the day it arrived. It鈥檚 the first time my own used sun hoody hasn鈥檛 made me wince at its vestigial grossness. That is, I actually like wearing it.
Coalatree, however, didn鈥檛 forsake functionality for feel. The hood itself is especially generous, allowing you to pull your face away from the sun, like a turtle slipping into an extra-voluminous shell. And the thumb holes in the sleeves, which keep the SPF fabric tight around your wrists, are perfectly snug. If, like me, you prefer to keep the sleeves pulled up toward your elbows, they actually stay in place because of the slim cut and strong stitching, unlike so sun hoodies I鈥檝e worn.
There are, though, two problems that shouldn鈥檛 really bother you, so long as you鈥檙e wearing the thing. Its weight鈥8.4 ounces for either a men鈥檚 or women鈥檚 medium, with sizes ranging from XS to XXL鈥攊s higher than many of the big brands. On the other hand, at least for me, that鈥檚 almost always worn, not carried, weight. Also, the entire hoody can be stuffed and zipped inside the hip-side phone pocket for easy packing. When you do that, however, you鈥檙e greeted by an enormous , an incredibly cheesy and redundant note to self.
But now I鈥檓 picking the littlest of nits, when what I need to say is this: I鈥檓 hiking the 800-mile in October, a scenario that will obviously require shelter from the sun, and Coalatree鈥檚 Suray sun hoody was the first firm gear decision I made. Maybe the zinc is a little worse for wear by the end, or maybe the fabric is a bit coarser than I鈥檇 hope. But if it survived Abe and Leadville soft as satin sheets, there鈥檚 a good chance of the Suray sticking around long after I reach another terminus.