Trail towns play an outsize role in a thru-hiker鈥檚 journey. Serving as celebratory checkpoints, physical pit stops, resupply junctions, med centers, and social refreshers, some mountain communities have gained a reputation as

But longtime trail town residents and veteran hikers say that far too many long-distance trekkers鈥攁nd especially newbs鈥攆ail to fully capitalize on the resource. And that鈥檚 to their detriment.

The Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) estimates that 鈥渏ust one out of every four people that set out to thru-hike the AT each year will make it,鈥� says Adam Stanley, who owns three hostels along the southern half of the fabled route. 鈥淲e experience that attrition firsthand at our two Virginia locations and I鈥檇 say at least half of [those failures] boil down to people not fully taking advantage of their time in town.鈥�

Here, he and other thru-hikers and trail town fixtures share their top do鈥檚 and don鈥檛s for backpackers passing through.

Trail Town Residents Want You To Succeed

on long routes like the AT worked hard to achieve that distinction from cooperative management groups like the ATC. The recognition awards cities and towns for providing excellent resources to hikers and serving as exemplary trail stewards. And most locals know and care about it.

鈥淭his community loves thru-hikers and is extremely proud of our designation as an Appalachian Trail Community,鈥� says Franklin, North Carolina, resident Cory McCall, who owns hiker-centric gear shop, Outdoor 76. The trail attracts 鈥減eople from all across the country and around the world, and thousands of them pass through here each year.鈥�

The tourism influx is a powerful economic and cultural driver for the rural, 4,300-person town. Restaurants, shops, breweries, hotels, campgrounds, and businesses like McCall鈥檚 count on it for their livelihood. And those tax dollars help boost local quality of life.

鈥淭he vast majority of people that live here will go out of their way to make sure hikers feel welcome,鈥� says McCall. Furthermore, 鈥渨e鈥檙e used to people passing through and that depth of experience makes us not just uniquely qualified, but willing to take the time to help out.鈥�

McCall says that, when it comes to hiker help, hostels and outfitters are like de facto visitor centers. 鈥淧eople don鈥檛 start these businesses to get rich, because that ain鈥檛 gonna happen,鈥� he says. 鈥淲e do it because we love the culture; we鈥檙e really just hikers helping hikers.鈥�

Stanley agrees. He launched his flagship in Waynesboro, Virginia, in 2010. More than 10,000 thru- and section hikers have since passed through its doors.

鈥淚 think new hikers in particular are often too hesitant to ask for help or seek advice,鈥� he says. 鈥淪o my number one thing I would tell them is: We appreciate the amazing journey you鈥檙e on, understand its personal importance, and legitimately want to see you succeed.鈥�

If a hiker has questions about daily mileage, needs advice for a tasty dinner spot, an open ear to air doubts, or help figuring out gear, he urges them to just ask.

鈥淚f we can鈥檛 answer a question directly or help out ourselves,鈥� says Stanley, 鈥渨e鈥檙e going to do our best to connect you to someone who can.鈥�

Every Town Is Different, So Plan Accordingly

No two trail towns are built the same鈥攁nd that鈥檚 a good thing. But it does necessitate some advance logistical considerations.

鈥淚t鈥檚 important to look at what resources are available where and at least make a loose plan around that,鈥� says Larry Riddle, who hiked the AT multiple times before opening in Damascus, Virginia, in 2007.

From a pragmatic standpoint, that means asking questions like: Does the town have a Walmart for a full-fledged resupply or just a tiny, locally-owned convenience store? Where鈥檚 the post office? Is there a brick-and-mortar outfitter that can help you troubleshoot or upgrade gear? Are there hiker-friendly hostels like Larry鈥檚 where you can send a two-day or overnight Amazon order while still on the trail?

Then it鈥檚 on to the fun part: Amenities and culture. 鈥淓very so-called trail town has its own unique local flavor and neat things to see and do,鈥� says Riddle. 鈥淚 think a lot of hikers tend to overlook that aspect of [the long-trail experience], because they鈥檒l go in with these presuppositions and kind of lump all of these communities into one barrel.鈥�

Damascus, for instance, offers exquisite trout fishing and sits on a staggeringly scenic rail-to-trail route. Roanoke, Virginia, boasts a killer craft brewery and restaurant scene. Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, pairs beautiful historic Colonial architecture with amazing kayaking on the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. The list goes on.

鈥淚 tell hikers to take some time to really immerse themselves in these towns or maybe even look at the next town over and check out what they have to offer,鈥� says Riddle. After all, hiking a long trail is about having a badass adventure, not trudging nose-to-the-proverbial-grindstone for months on end.

鈥淟ook at it like a once-in-a-lifetime vacation,鈥� he says. 鈥淕o into these places, take a little time off the trail, relax, and treat yourself to something different.鈥�

Have Fun, but Be a Good Visitor

Yes, you鈥檙e on a bucket list journey and breezing through places you may never visit again. And spotting that big beautiful town limits sign after days of roughing it in the wilderness can hit like a clarion call from Bacchus himself. But that doesn鈥檛 give you permission to act like a would-be star of Spring Breakers Gone Wild.

鈥淚f you like to have a drink, that鈥檚 great, so do I,鈥� says Stanley. But remember, alcohol and other substances can have an intensified effect after sustained, strenuous physical activity. 鈥淵ou just want to make sure you鈥檙e doing it in a way that鈥檚 responsible and being considerate of those around you.鈥�

Like Waynesboro, lots of trail towns feature breweries, distilleries, and maybe a restaurant or sports bar. But there usually isn鈥檛 much in the way of a late-night party scene. Furthermore, that , says Riddle, seems to be well on the wane.

鈥淭he amount of binge-drinking and partying seems to have gone way down over the past 10 years or so, and that鈥檚 a good thing,鈥� says Riddle. 鈥淧eople go out, have a beer, listen to some live music at the brewery, but they鈥檙e back here hanging around the firepit by 10 and usually dead asleep by midnight.鈥�

And remember: Many of the people you meet while you鈥檙e hanging out in town will be fellow thru-hikers and section hikers. You may see these people again, and you鈥檒l want them to remember you fondly.

鈥淭hese are the people you鈥檙e sharing the trail with,鈥� says Stanley. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e going to talk to guys and gals like me鈥攐r those staying with me鈥攁bout things they鈥檝e experienced along the way. You don鈥檛 want to be the person who shows up that everyone has been warning people about.鈥�

But Stanley and Riddle are quick to note such situations are exceedingly rare.

鈥淭he vast majority of people are out here behaving themselves, hiking their own hike, and having a great time,鈥� says McCall. The number one rule is, 鈥渋f you treat folks out here with kindness and respect, 99 percent of the time, that鈥檚 how they鈥檙e going to treat you.鈥�

The post This Is What Trail Town Residents Want Thru-Hikers to Know appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When Teresa Martinez was a mountain-bike racer, she suffered a recurring anxiety dream. Days before any competition, Martinez would envision herself woefully unprepared, five minutes before the start. First, her shoes would go missing, then her bike, then her water bottle, then her gloves. With her gear finally gathered, she still had to find the starting line. 鈥淎nd then, you wake up in a cold sweat,鈥� she told me recently. 鈥淎nd think, 鈥極h my god, that was crazy.鈥欌��

Martinez doesn鈥檛 need to sleep to feel that way these days. Now the executive director of the Coalition, the nonprofit that supports and sustains the 3,100-mile trail across the country鈥檚 rocky spine, Martinez has spent the last four months navigating the administrative roller-coaster of edicts and executive orders from the Trump Administration and its Department of Government Efficiency that have gutted public land agencies.

She has seen staff cut at partner agencies, wondered if the CDTC would be reimbursed for money it had already spent with prior government approval, and fretted about changing plans to balance the books for this fiscal year. It鈥檚 neither a dream nor a nightmare, just reality. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like the racecourse is being built while we鈥檙e riding it,鈥� Martinez said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like you鈥檙e waiting for the next shoe to drop as we continue down the path, not knowing if we鈥檙e going to get there.鈥�

Throughout the spring, I’ve had similar conversations with the leaders at four other iconic American trails鈥攖he Appalachian, Colorado, Ice Age, and Pacific Crest鈥攁bout how federal uncertainty has hamstrung them. The nonprofit groups that manage these trails all depend, to varying degrees, on federal funds and symbiotic relationships with federal organizations such as the United States Forest Service and National Park Service.

Their concerns, of course, varied: The Pacific Crest Trail Association had just cut six expert trail workers and more than a year鈥檚 worth of trail maintenance to be done by youth crews when I spoke to leaders there. The Colorado Trail Foundation worried about water spigots and pit toilets at trailheads. The Ice Age Trail Alliance paused registration for its trail-building season.

But they all agreed on one partial remedy: Ordinary people donating their money or volunteering their time could not only help plug some gaps created by federal instability but also bolster the spirits of those still left to do hard work with less resources. Too, it鈥檚 a way for those frustrated by the administration鈥檚 decisions or indecision to feel a little less helpless.

鈥淲e鈥檙e in an unprecedented time, the middle of this dust storm, so we鈥檙e not exactly sure where our needs are going to fall. But I have no doubt that they鈥檙e going to grow,鈥� said Sandi Marra, the ever-candid head of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. 鈥淲e鈥檙e going to need skilled volunteers. We鈥檙e going to need people in numbers that we haven鈥檛 needed in the past, because we鈥檙e not going to be able to rely on the federal support we鈥檝e had in the past.鈥�

At the Colorado Trail Foundation, for instance, executive director Paul Talley was looking for a few people who could wield a chainsaw. Cutting trees on trail is subject to a series of byzantine regulations and certifications. If a downed tree can鈥檛 be handled with a handsaw and requires either a crosscut saw or a chainsaw, volunteers have to be trained and approved by forest service personnel. But since the Federal government began slashing jobs at the Forest Service, many people with the power to vet amateur sawyers have been let go or accepted buyouts. So Talley is working his connections in Colorado and networking with other organizations to find folks who have already been certified that simply might not know about the Colorado Trail’s needs.

鈥淲e鈥檙e making a call list: 鈥楬ey, can we call you?鈥� We need help with this big tree,鈥欌�� Talley told me. 鈥淲e鈥檙e also developing a process where trainers can come to our facilities to get people certified. If we鈥檙e just relying on the Forest Service at this point, it鈥檚 a multi-year wait.鈥�

All volunteers, of course, don鈥檛 need to be highly specialized. Megan Wargo, who leads the Pacific Crest Trail Association, listed a half-dozen ways folks who couldn鈥檛 wield a chainsaw might help. Each year, the trail must be 鈥渂rushed,鈥� essentially meaning someone walks it to clear it of any overgrowth. Others lead mules to remote trail work sites, literally taking the loads off the backs of other volunteers. Some still command the kitchen, cooking for trail crews on sites, while others can help with administrative tasks and educational outreach from the association鈥檚 Sacramento office. Still, there is a catch.

鈥淣ew volunteers and existing volunteers putting in more hours can make a big difference, but they can鈥檛 close the whole gap of not having federal funding,鈥� Wargo said, noting that the PCTA鈥檚 federal funding of just less than $700,000 has remained flat for a dozen years even as material and labor costs have risen. 鈥淭he PCTA can help provide training to get those folks on the ground. But if we don鈥檛 have staff to do that, it鈥檚 hard to increase those volunteer hours.鈥�

And so, of course, it all comes down to money. Most trail organizations told me they鈥檇 found ways to mitigate their dependence on federal funding. The Colorado Trail, for instance, has built a sizable emergency fund through 20 years of compounding interest on a surplus. The Appalachian Trail intentionally diversified its revenue streams after recognizing that their federal partners were chronically understaffed, anyway, even before the genesis of DOGE. The Ice Age Trail reinstated its trail-building season not only after most of its funding finally started to trickle in but also when private donors stepped up to help because they cared about the work. The Ice Age, after all, hopes to finish 15 new miles of trail this year.

As questions loom about if and when money will arrive, such contributions mean that work that鈥檚 already been planned and authorized can proceed for now, that the effort of building and maintaining the country鈥檚 hiking trails doesn鈥檛 end with any specific administration. 鈥淎s we have funding uncertainties, private money can either step in and cover some of the costs that aren鈥檛 being covered by federal grants right now or provide us with stability when we鈥檙e asking for federal reimbursements that have been paused,鈥� Wargo, at the PCTA, said. 鈥淭hat gives us flexibility to be able to continue our operations.鈥�

But times, of course, aren鈥檛 only tight for trail organizations. Some estimates, by Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont, say 60 percent of Americans now live paycheck-to-paycheck; new tariffs will compound that problem, because, as The New York Times , 鈥淸they] will touch almost every aspect of American life.鈥� While hiking across the United States multiple times, I鈥檝e seen at least a half-dozen trail crews consisting only of white-haired retirees. I don鈥檛 think that鈥檚 because older Americans have some special relationship with civil service and volunteerism. They, instead, have more disposable time and resources than most Americans cannot afford. Trails need help鈥攎oney, time, energy鈥攖hat many working Americans do not have the ability to spare.

But Martinez reminded me that there are ways to assist that don鈥檛 cost much at all. You can call American officials, both elected and appointed, and tell them that supporting trails matter to you. You can drop caches of water off at trailheads where there鈥檚 no working spigot. (Remember to pick up the refuse.) You can deliver a box of donuts to an agency鈥檚 office, whether it鈥檚 the headquarters of a trail coalition or park rangers, and tell them you support the work they do for public lands. See a forest service crew at a bar? Buy 鈥檈m a beer and say thanks. That鈥檚 all, Martinez said, volunteerism.

鈥淲hether it鈥檚 picking up trash at a trailhead or leaving water or setting up a feed station for volunteers, if it鈥檚 something somebody wanted to do, we could say yes and support that,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an act of kindness, and right now, we need to be reminded of how kind we can be.鈥�

The post Do You Love Hiking Trails? It鈥檚 Time to Donate and Volunteer. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The Appalachian Trail will change your life, but maybe no single mile of it will. Unlike its great western counterparts along the Pacific Crest or the Continental Divide, the United States鈥� most iconic footpath is subtle鈥攁 green tunnel through some of the oldest and most graceful mountains in the world, not some sizzle reel of endless panoramas. You can stand atop a 14er or a high Sierra pass and instantly feel altered; the AT takes time to shape you over miles, months, years.

While it鈥檚 hard to pick a birthday for the trail, which Benton MacKaye proposed in 1921 but wasn鈥檛 completed until 1937, you could reasonably say the founding of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) in 1925 was when the AT became what it is. While the ATC has had its fair share of controversy, no other individual or organization has ever done more to protect and promote the trail鈥檚 2,197.4 miles and the land around it. At a time when federal resources for public lands are in the air at best, the ATC continues its century-long mission to safeguard the trail, from volunteers they lead on crucial maintenance missions to their audacious .

In that spirit, two of us who have had our lives changed by the Appalachian Trail鈥�Backpacker writers and 鈥攈ave selected our 鈥渂est鈥� 100 miles of the Appalachian Trail. (Fine, it鈥檚 103.8, but more trail is better than less.) All these mileage markers represent a northbound hike and are subject to change, like the trail itself.

We debated these picks, arguing about their accessibility, their beauty, the way they loom large in our memory. Underneath it all, we were discussing the ways certain bits of land strung together by white blazes had changed us. Not everyone has the opportunity to thru-hike, but there鈥檚 a chance, that these 19 chunks of trail, from a 14-mile roller coaster in Virginia to the climb up Katahdin in Maine, can still change you, anyway.

Prologue: The Arch to The Stairs, Georgia

Though the Appalachian Trail officially begins on Springer Mountain before heading (at least at the moment) 2,197.4 miles to Maine, you should begin at , beneath a simple stone arch. This is the 8.5-mile Appalachian Trail Approach, infamous for being debated by thru-hikers for its value and the 600-plus stairs to the top of the falls, which are as entertaining and challenging as almost anything on the actual Appalachian Trail. Legend has it that would-be thru-hikers have jettisoned their entire kits while climbing those stairs, returning to the parents still waiting below. And you will stun a dozen tourists when they ask you where you鈥檙e going and you simply answer 鈥淢aine!鈥� The falls, it should be said, are beautiful; pose for a photo, and keep grunting up that hill. 鈥擥贬颁

Blood Mountain to Neel Gap, Georgia (3.2 Miles: 28.1-31.3)

Blood Mountain is one of the first landmarks for northbound AT hikers. It鈥檚 also the highest peak on the Georgia section, the sixth highest in the state. But it鈥檚 best known for another reason: ghosts. Some hikers point to the peak鈥檚 history as a battleground between the Cherokee and the Muscogee people as the origin of the stories. Others point to , who went missing in 2008 on the mountain, to explain its shelter鈥檚 eeriness. The trail log is often full of stories about strange occurrences from those who are brave enough to stay the night. 鈥拟叠厂

Rocky Top and Thunderhead Mountain to Beechnut Gap, North Carolina/Tennessee (2.8 Miles: 184鈥�186.8)

The 72-mile path that the AT takes through Great Smoky Mountains National Park could have commandeered nearly three-quarters of this list, but that would be a copout. Still, less than 200 miles into a northbound journey, the Smokies offer a quick study on how the trail will push you around (if you take four days to hike the Smokies, the adage goes, you will encounter four seasons) and how stunning the whole thing will be. I love the wide-open views from Rocky Top and Thunderhead, plus how quickly you exit and reenter tree line. (There are some century-old names carved into rocks along the trail, too, predating the park itself.) And I have a distinct memory of being battered by wind so much that these mountains, as low-slung and ancient as they are, reasserted their power. 鈥擥贬颁

Max Patch Road to Lemon Gap, North Carolina (6.2 Miles: 254.6鈥�260.8)

Before and after my first AT thru-hike, I lived in a cabin a few ridges over from Max Patch, one of those scattered through the South. They can be so idyllic you will feel like you鈥檙e in a beautiful dream. It was essentially my backyard, so I鈥檝e hiked to, on, and around the iconic spot maybe more than anywhere else. Still, I鈥檇 accept an invitation right now. A panopticon of Appalachian grace, it offers views of multiple states, distant ridgelines, and several river drainages. And the northbound descent down its gentle slopes and across multiple creeks into Lemon Gap exemplifies the woods of the region鈥攚ildflowers sprouting through the damp forest floor in spring, a look at the bones of some of the world鈥檚 oldest mountains with fall鈥檚 arrival. 鈥擥贬颁

Views of the Nolichucky River to Beauty Spot, Tennessee/North Carolina (11.7 Miles: 343.5鈥�355.2)

Talk to a veteran AT hiker, and chances are you鈥檒l get a strong opinion about the green tunnel, or the prevailing sense that you鈥檙e mostly navigating 2,200 miles of tree cover from Georgia to Maine. They鈥檒l say it鈥檚 boring or it鈥檚 beautiful. I say it鈥檚 both, and the moments when it breaks affirm that. As you head into Erwin, Tenn., the trees split onto postcard-worthy shots of the Nolichucky River鈥檚 gorge far below. And after you cross the river (post-Tropical Storm Helene, you鈥檒l do it ), you鈥檒l steadily ascend a series of gaps and ridges, views offered by powerline clearings and natural overlooks alike. Just shy of 4,500 feet, you鈥檒l reach Beauty Spot, a mountaintop meadow ringed by little trees, so picturesque you may be tempted to make it your permanent address. I first encountered Beauty Spot after getting off trail for a funeral; it was the sight that galvanized my northward quest. 鈥擥贬颁

Cloudland Hotel on Roan Mountain to Little Hump Mountain, Tennessee/North Carolina (9.3 Miles: 378.7鈥�388.0)

I have always struggled with the obvious question: What is your favorite part of the Appalachian Trail? No one ever accepts 鈥渁ll of it,鈥� so I soon launch into a list that feels just shy of 鈥渁ll of it.鈥� But if my life depended on recommending one stretch, this right here is the one: From the top of rhododendron-crowned Roan Mountain, where remnants of the grand remain, you drop into a seesaw of dips and dives, the rugged old trail carved across the faces of some of the oldest mountains in the world. You cross three balds in a little more than a mile, drop way down, and then climb Little Hump Mountain. (The section misses some charm now since the loss of the fabled , but it still goes.) I stupidly camped on its flanks once during a strong storm, and weathering that felt like preparation for future, bigger adventures. The next morning, the sky was all cotton candy, and I briefly wondered if I might have slipped off in my sleep toward heaven. 鈥擥贬颁

Dennis Cove Road to Laurel Fork Falls, Tennessee听(1.2 Miles: 420.3-421.5)

Located in the just outside of Hampton, Tenn., a strenuous stretch of trail takes you to the 40-foot tall, 50-foot wide Laurel Fork Falls. While springtime air temperatures are often in the high 70s or low 80s, the falls are notoriously cold. That doesn鈥檛 stop hikers from going for a soak, even in early spring. My trail family and I packed out a few beverages from the Black Bear Resort and stuck them in the water during our ice baths. By the time we were done splashing, they were ready to sip. 鈥拟叠厂

Buzzard Rock to Mount Rogers, Virginia (7.3 Miles: 491.9-499.2)

By the time I made it to Buzzard Rock, I finally had my trail legs. The climb to the summit of Buzzard Rock is a little bit of a monster, but for the first time in nearly 500 miles, the strain barely phased me. What鈥檚 more, the whole section offered 360-degree views, made even more beautiful by springtime blossoms. The bald-style peaks in this region make for consistent views across the , a stretch of trail known for wild ponies grazing around Wilburn Ridge. 鈥拟叠厂

McAfee Knob to Tinker Cliffs, Virginia (5.6 Miles: 714.5鈥�720.1)

is the most photographed overlook along the Appalachian Trail鈥攁nd for good reason, since the view it offers feels so epic. But truthfully, I found nearby Tinker Cliffs to be equally stunning, minus the crowds. After McAfee Knob, the trail winds through trees and shrubs before climbing through some boulders to a cliffside that gives you access to several different overlook options. You can complete the Virginia 鈥淭riple Crown鈥� by adding the .听鈥拟叠厂

The Roller Coaster, Virginia (14.0 Miles: 996.4-1,010.4)

Reaching the 1,000-mile mark of a northbound thru-hike, which you do during this infamous stretch, is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster in itself, but these 14 miles are better known for their literal ups and downs. The elevation profile is so tedious and repetitive it鈥檚 almost comedic. I carried an avocado for a friend through this section, contemplating whether or not I should just eat it myself to save my knees from 7 ounces of extra weight. My spirit proved valiant despite more than 3,500 feet of gain. After failing to find my friend after three days, I sliced the avocado into fat chunks, placed it on a burger I bought, and ate it myself, anyway.听鈥拟叠厂

Harpers Ferry, West Virginia (4.4 Miles: 1,025.4鈥�1,029.8)

The AT鈥檚 2,200 miles are chockablock with history, from the indigenous thoroughfares it overlaps to the battlefields it bypasses. But few places in the United States are crucibles of the country鈥檚 struggles and progress quite like . A gap in the ridge and the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers so close to D.C. essentially ensured important events, like the de facto start of the Civil War, would occur here. An idyllic town suspended in amber, Harpers Ferry is glorious on a spring day. Cross the Shenandoah by footbridge and then the Potomac (and into Maryland). Cruise the first few miles of the state on the C&O Canal Trail, surrounded by lush woods and families pushing strollers. The home of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (happy anniversary, and thanks!), Harpers Ferry offers a perfect break at what we call the AT鈥檚 鈥渆motional halfway point.鈥� 鈥擥贬颁

New Jersey-New York State Line (1.9 Miles: 1,369.7鈥�1,371.6)

A recovering van dweller, I was a state-line enthusiast long before I began thru-hiking, curious about how sometimes-arbitrary distinctions between this and that could impact people鈥檚 lives. Maybe the AT made a zealot out of me, crisscrossing as it does 14 states. My favorite crossing happens when, after dancing across the border multiple times, the northbound trail exits New Jersey (great AT state, by the way, for real) into New York. The distinction is painted blaze-white on a massive hunk of rock, part of a series of very brief scrambles (with occasional ladders for help) and open rock faces that offer expansive views of tree-lined ridges, deep blue lakes, and small towns. Few other bits of the AT are quite like it. Bonus: You鈥檙e very close to , some of the trail鈥檚 best ice cream. 鈥擥贬颁

Bear Mountain Recreation Area to Anthony鈥檚 Nose, New York (2.3 Miles: 1,408.2-1,410.5)

The stretch of Appalachian Trail that runs past New York City marks an odd juxtaposition between the trail鈥檚 quiet backcountry and civilization. I made it to just听before Father鈥檚 Day on a balmy summer afternoon, noticing locals gathering for picnics near the lake. Upon reaching Bear鈥檚 summit, I spotted a rattlesnake, poised and ready to strike, just seconds before I peered across the New York skyline. Continuing north, I made my way past a small zoo before crossing the Hudson River on the Bear Mountain Bridge. By the time I reached Anthony鈥檚 Nose on the other side, my brain was still processing a rattlesnake, a skyline, a zoo, and a sprawling bridge in a matter of miles. 鈥拟叠厂

Route 9/Split Rock to Glastenbury Mountain, Vermont (10.4 Miles: 1,618.0鈥�1,628.4)

Vermont doesn鈥檛 get the Appalachian Trail love it deserves. If you鈥檙e headed north, you鈥檙e anticipating the big bosses at the end; if you鈥檙e headed south, you鈥檙e anticipating the four-state rush that begins with Massachusetts. But the 151-mile stretch through Vermont is memorable because of its seasonal mud, its rendezvous with the Long Trail, and its absolute wealth of rich forests, broad meadows, and dreamy ponds. Easily accessible from Bennington, this 10-mile span is an unexpected gem in the . You鈥檒l pass through a striking split rock, ford a stream, navigate slippery boardwalks through forest so green it feels like a sea of melted crayon, and slowly climb nearly 2,000 feet to a lookout tower where the woods blur into a horizon of endless ridges and sky. Get there at sunset, and you鈥檒l instantly understand that Vermont is possibly the AT鈥檚 most gently exquisite state. 鈥擥贬颁

Franconia Ridge to Mount Garfield, New Hampshire听(7.0 Miles: 1,827.0鈥�1,834.0)

greeted me with 50-mile-per-hour winds, making it difficult to stand at my full height. Still, the views were worth it. The majority of this trail section is above treeline, making it high on exposure but easy on the eyes. As the day wore on, the wind died down just in time for me to make the steep climb up majestic Mount Garfield, studded with tiny trees like so many of its White Mountain kin.听鈥拟叠厂

Lost Pond to Carter Notch Hut, New Hampshire (5.2 Miles: 1,878.5鈥�1,883.7)

The White Mountains are not for the faint of heart, as the Wildcat Mountains taught me. This section of trail required rock scrambling, squeezing myself through small spaces, and crawling at a snail鈥檚 pace due to the relentless elevation gain. In fact, if this section were any steeper, it could be placed on the Yosemite Scale and given a rock-climbing grade. Some even call this the AT鈥檚 most challenging bit. One quality that makes the Whites so unique is its hut system. The Appalachian Mountain Club operates , a potential relief for hikers who are looking to get inside for a snack or stay. The Wildcat stretch includes the Carter Notch Hut鈥攓uiet, beautiful, and a great place for a cup of coffee before continuing on.听鈥拟叠厂

Mahoosuc Notch to Speck Pond Shelter, Maine (3.4 Miles: 1,922.0鈥�1,925.4)

For 2,000 miles of the AT, you will resent switchbacks and PUDS (that is, pointless ups-and-downs), all moves the trail makes to get you where you need to go without ruining the landscape. In Maine, where native son Stephen King must have convinced some poor trail builder that building switchbacks would haunt them, hikers face hard climbs. This wondrous little stretch starts with the Mahoosuc Notch, a mile-long jungle gym of enormous boulders that you will climb atop, under, and around. Finish that, and it鈥檚 time for the Mahoosuc Arm, a 1,600-foot climb on a little more than a mile of rock that鈥檚 so consistently wet it seems to be leaking grease. Finish that, and it鈥檚 time for your true reward: the glorious Speck Pond Shelter, one of the most stunning places to spend the night on the entire trip. 鈥擥贬颁

Pemadumcook Lake, Maine (2.7 Miles: 2,149.1鈥�2,151.8)

I will forever be grateful for the shores of Pemadumcook Lake, because that鈥檚 where, a few days into a trek of the , I inexplicably found a bag of unopened Pop-Tarts, my favorite trail food. I ate them all. But when I see photos of that moment, I am wowed again by how massive Mount Katahdin appears on the horizon, though it鈥檚 still 50 trail miles north. In its isolation, especially against a pale blue morning, it looks like the continent鈥檚 biggest peak. No wonder . If you鈥檙e heading north, summit fever will soon set in, so take time to enjoy the way Katahdin frames this placid Maine lake. And maybe eat a Pop-Tart? 鈥擥贬颁

Katahdin Spring Campground to Katahdin Summit, Maine听(5.2 Miles: 2,192.2鈥�2,197.4)

Within days of finding my trail family in Georgia, our peers dubbed us 鈥渢he Breakfast Club,鈥� because we were infamous for waking up before the sun to catch sunrise on a summit somewhere. My hiking partner and I tackled Katahdin in the same spirit, rising from our quarters at Katahdin Spring Campground at 3 a.m. before beginning the ascent. Halfway up the climb, we turned to the sky and glimpsed the Milky Way, peppering the darkness with color. We slogged on, equal parts ecstatic and devastated to be nearly done. By the time we reached the summit of Katahdin, the sun winked over the horizon, making us some of the first people to greet a new day along the east coast while we ended our thru-hike. 鈥拟叠厂

The post What Are the 100 Best Miles of the Appalachian Trail? We Asked Two Thru-Hikers to Choose. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Jack Jones was not a cheat-code kid.

When he played computer games like World of Warcraft or EverQuest, Jones always wanted to know about the next level, where the struggles and the stakes would both be a bit higher. This characteristic hasn’t changed. Jones, now 38, is better known as Quadzilla, a hiking powerhouse famous not only for the gams that gave him his trail name, as well as his , and his righteous political advocacy, but also for his willingness to push new extremes. Midway through a 100-mile race in 2021, for instance, Jones decided that he would pursue the Calendar-Year Triple Crown in 2022: the Appalachian, Continental Divide, and Pacific Crest trails in the same year. , Jones opted to level up in a different way during 2024: to hike the entire while spending just $1,000 total on gear, food, and shelter.

鈥淚 knew I could hike the AT, that I could do 30-mile days,鈥� Jones tells me from Vietnam, where the Army veteran has begun an indefinite self-imposed political exile. 鈥淚 knew this might force me to go two weeks without a shower. It might force me to eat a whole chicken in a Walmart parking lot鈥攁nd then continue on.鈥�

So on May 21, 2024, Jones鈥攁nd a younger hiking friend, Tate 鈥淧yro鈥� Dobson鈥攍eft the trail鈥檚 southern terminus in Georgia, carrying he鈥檇 methodically made himself or ordered after hours of research on AliExpress, a sort of Chinese Etsy-meets-Amazon in overdrive. In the past, Jones had carried backpacks that cost more, but he was attempting to reach Maine with an , an , and shoes he purchased on clearance. 鈥淚t was my extra layer of challenge,鈥� he says, grinning. 鈥淏eing a little more creative to be a little more comfortable is fun.鈥�

The sacrifices came quickly. Aiming to finish in less than 100 days, or just more than half of the six-month average, Jones left Georgia late, which exposed him to the soaring Southern heat. An early encounter with a poison ivy stand left him with a massive rash that he suspects he could have mitigated with more showers and laundry. Those, however, would have cost money he intended to save.

The poison ivy was but a prologue for what came next, for what Jones worried would cost him not only his budget hike but also his left leg. He鈥檇 struggled with shoe selection; thru-hikes can often burn the tread and compress the cushion in a half-dozen pairs, a line item that can push a grand itself. Jones had ordered multiple shoes from AliExpress, only to realize that their floppy construction and nearly non-existent grip created their own dangers. So when he found a deeply discounted set of used name-brand kicks at REI, he rejoiced. 鈥淭urns out, if there鈥檚 a whole bunch of used stock of a shoe,鈥� he says, 鈥渋t鈥檚 probably junk.鈥�

Less than 200 miles into the hike, a plastic piece inside the shoe began cutting into his foot. He knew he needed something else, so, in desperation, he grabbed a pair of waterproof trail runners from a North Carolina . Not long after he entered Virginia, the fever and cramps began, an infection steadily spreading up his left leg in visible lines. He caught a ride to an urgent care with a prison guard, happily popped open a bottle of antibiotics, and found a free place to stay courtesy of an old friend who happened to be a doctor.

鈥淚f I鈥檇 let that go for a week, I could have died. It was that serious,鈥� says Jones. 鈥淚 got cut because I tried to be cheap with shoes. So there鈥檚 a lesson, right? Don鈥檛 cheat on footwear.鈥�

Jones knew his budget was permanently blown, since he estimated the doctor visit would cost him $250. (He hasn鈥檛 been billed yet, either thanks to a mistake or Missouri Medicaid; he鈥檚 not asking.) He opted to relax just enough to buy what was necessary鈥攊ncluding new Altras for the rest of the trail鈥攂ut not to splurge. He made it to New York, or two states beyond the AT鈥檚 halfway mark, on his preset $1,000. By the time he鈥檇 reached the northern endpoint at Mount Katahdin, after tacking on the tricky northern half of Vermont鈥檚 Long Trail and slowing down to enjoy Maine鈥檚 splendor, he鈥檇 spent $2,397.19, or less than half of the

Several lessons鈥攂uying robust hiking shoes included鈥攅merged on the way to Maine. Where candy bars were once a fast-fuel staple of Jones’s diet, he realized they weren鈥檛 as cost-efficient as he鈥檇 assumed. He didn鈥檛 eat one on the entire trail. Instead, he made his own trail mix, combining cashews with coconut flakes and chocolate chips from the baking aisle, turning $10 into 100 miles of calories. For dinner, he stayed steady with two packets of Ramen noodles and a few spoons of peanut butter. This might, he says, have been his most nutritious thru-hike.

He would often camp on the edges of towns, too, so that he could get in and out with groceries while avoiding the temptation to sit down for an expensive restaurant meal, or to book a room. And in towns where he did stop, he looked to split a hotel room or hostel with other hikers, opting for a spot with a kitchen whenever possible so that they could cook big, cheap meals. And when a fast-food opportunity presented itself, Jones knew to look first for an app before ordering. His first restaurant meal came at a Tennessee McDonald鈥檚, several hundred miles into his trip. 鈥�2,000 calories for $3?鈥� he says, beaming as if reliving the experience in real time. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 amazing.鈥�

As Jones walked, he kept a , clocking the costs of his resupplies and stays. I鈥檓 struck by the restraint evident in those numbers. If you鈥檝e ever gone to a grocery store while hungry, you know well the temptation to throw everything into the cart. But he broke $80 only once, with many of his purchases landing around $35.

There are some higher-level takeaways, too, from Jones’ extreme budgeting. Jones is a longtime practitioner of Vipassana meditation, having done nearly ten silent retreats. He doesn鈥檛 maintain a formal practice on trail, because he鈥檇 fall asleep so fast, but it alters the way he handles hardships outside. 鈥淚 knew it wasn鈥檛 going to be hot forever. I knew I wasn鈥檛 going to have poison ivy forever,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 try to maintain an equanimity of my mind and an awareness of my body, so if it鈥檚 cold, I can stop myself from saying 鈥業 wish I wasn鈥檛 cold.鈥� It鈥檚 a constant process.鈥�

He also had his physical fitness to thank. If you鈥檝e seen a , you know Jones is something of a beast鈥攁 veteran who started a Crossfit gym and went on to fight wildland fires, , and capture one of the rarest feats in American hiking with the Calendar-Year Triple Crown. His legs appear sculpted in marble by Michelangelo. But the more you can do to start a trail strong rather than relying on the trail to condition you while you walk, the faster you can move and the more money you can save. 鈥淚f it took me twice as long to do it,鈥� he says, 鈥渕y cost might have doubled. Being in shape is a big one.鈥�

Jones acknowledges that hiking on such a minuscule budget raises some ethical concerns, particularly when it comes to his gear. He knows that the down in the jacket he eventually left in a hiker box wasn鈥檛 sustainably sourced, and he knows that all of the gear he ordered on AliExpress was so cheap because the wages are low. But these, he says, are issues beyond the bounds of a thru-hike, questions that somebody slipping into the woods for a few months cannot answer. 鈥淪omeone shouldn鈥檛 be kept out of the outdoors because they can鈥檛 afford the most 鈥榚thical鈥� gear,鈥� he says. 鈥淚f someone鈥檚 making good money, then, yes, buy all the cottage brands and support them. But there is no clear-cut answer here.鈥�

There is a possible alternative, though. Jones鈥� hiking partner, Pyro, didn鈥檛 try to stick to $1,000 as a theoretical exercise or a challenge to himself. When he headed east to join Jones, he estimates he had $1,500 available for the whole trip. In the two weeks between deciding to join Jones鈥� mission and leaving for it, Pyro mailed some old shoes to assorted points along the trail and made his own backpack.

For 2,200 miles, Pyro raided hiker boxes for the best snacks he could find, dumpster-dove to find chocolate milk (鈥淚t was hot, but it tasted fine.鈥�) and baby formula, and accepted the generosity of strangers, including a free pair of used shoes from a trail angel. He learned that a plastic bag full of spaghetti and eggs is a very cheap and delicious meal to pack out of town, and that shoes can be stitched together with mere dental floss. He barely bought new gear at all, and he spent $1,300.

I asked Pyro if he could have made it for $1,000, after all. 鈥淭hat was never my goal, but easy,鈥� he says, laughing. 鈥淎ll you have to do is go out to eat less.鈥�

The post He Tried to Hike the Appalachian Trail on a $1,000 Budget. Here鈥檚 What He Learned. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It was somewhere around the third or fourth storm on the tenth day of my first attempt at the Colorado Trail that I began to question my sanity.

I was drenched nearly to my internal organs, my pack probably five or 500 pounds heavier than before the sky began throwing its endless tantrum. So much hail had come down over the prior days that it felt like I鈥檇 been trapped in an endless paintball loop with a sadist, my skin raw from the relentless assault. I fantasized about leaving the trail, chucking my gear into the nearest trash can, and making a new life as a used bookseller in some quaint Colorado town. I could take up knitting. Tend to a garden. Plan the kind of vacations where you remain mostly horizontal.

Then a burly wind gust blew through my daydream, shoving me to the ground, and I began to cry.

This was supposed to be fun鈥攐r at least, that鈥檚 how I pitched it to my hiking companion, MacGyver, who I鈥檇 met while trekking the Pacific Crest Trail. I spent two years working on a guidebook for the PCT, hiking the first thousand miles multiple times in multiple seasons, and I craved a fresh path; MacGyver just figured that hiking sounded better than not hiking.

The Colorado Trail (known as the CT to its faithful and the syllable-averse) promised to fulfill our simple requests. Its roughly 486 miles, cast on a squiggly diagonal across the Centennial State, connect Denver to Durango via a rollercoaster route of single track and dusty roads. The trail contours around slopes thick with aspen and wildflowers, passes through forests rife with conifers and chanterelles, plunges across creeks and rivers, skirts crystalline lakes, and ascends a handful of high mountain passes. After so much time spent in California’s deserts and Sierra splendor, I wondered if a different landscape could equally stir my soul.

In parts, the CT delivered. As MacGyver and I began our southbound hike just outside Denver, we marveled at the newness of it all. Back home, the Sierra鈥檚 highest reaches exist as white-grey moonscapes constructed of angular granite; here, the mountain passes unfurled in soft carpets of tundra, greener and lusher than anything I鈥檇 experienced in California. The forests felt older, denser, and delightfully mysterious, the kind of places where you might stumble across a fairy flitting about a smattering of toadstools. Sure, there were marmots and pika and deer scampering around as they were back home, but for the first time in my life, I also watched moose lumber across the trail, quietly munching on the abundant vegetation not far from where we froze in awe.

For each of these fresh wonders, however, the CT seemed to deliver an equal number of fresh hells. We discovered quickly, for instance, that the trail’s architects were seemingly unaware of the power of the humble switchback. I wrote in my journal:

“It is a violent, aggressive trail. When it goes up, it does so at an exhausting grade. Almost worse, it does the same on the way down. The jolting pain of each step, usually tangled in wet tree roots or sharp rocks, is an assault on the body.”听

MacGyver chose to address such rudeness by rocketing up each incline like a wayward bull; I preferred to suffer slowly, muttering a litany of curse words to score the misery. It was no surprise to either of us when one of MacGyver鈥檚 knees simply quit bending at the two-week mark of our journey.

Our tally of complaints grew by the hour. The trail lacked the 鈥渨ow鈥� factor of the High Sierra鈥檚 alpine vistas. The route was frequently lined with stubby, stabby plants we referred to as 鈥渧iolent pines.鈥� Other hikers were nearly nonexistent (I didn鈥檛 mind; poor MacGyver, however, had been conditioned to the PCT鈥檚 summer camp social air and began talking to me鈥攐r at me鈥攏early nonstop in the vacuum of humanity). The forest was filled with terrifying, Blair Witchian structures. The water tasted of a gently bovine essence. And we were constantly dodging bicycles, especially during the Breckenridge 100, a century race near the ski town that partially converges with the CT. It was an added insult to the parade of injuries when, after hours of jumping downhill to avoid being run over, my body decided that it would clear itself of all contents in a manner not unlike colonoscopy preparation.

Then there were the storms, which came in multiple waves almost every day. Once, while camping with friends at Kenosha Pass, the sky morphed from sunny to angry in an instant, burying our tents, campfire, and dinner in a rage of hail. Another day, after MacGyver left the trail to rest his battered knees, I experienced five separate thunderstorms that drowned everything so thoroughly that I was forced to pitch my tent in the smallest puddle I could find.

And, of course, there was the storm that knocked me off my feet. Resting on the ground, pack against the wet dirt, I cried. I sniffled. I wailed. And then I screamed.

I eventually staggered to my feet and began walking, faster and angrier, sadder and more weirded out than I’d ever felt on a trail. When I caught up to MacGyver, he looked at my tear-soaked cheeks and asked, “Are you ok?”

I answered, “No, I am not.”

We walked in silence and I ruminated. Halfway in, the Colorado Trail had tested not just my physical limits, which I welcomed, but also my emotional ones鈥攁nd I wondered if it had nudged them a bit too far. This is, of course, one of the realities on any long hike: the further you walk, the deeper you go. You鈥檝e just got to be ready for a little soul excavation along the way.

MacGyver and I didn’t finish the trail that summer. His knees wouldn’t allow it, and neither would my cat sitter, who texted that she couldn’t handle my feline鈥檚 rather aggressive affections and could I please come home. We were both subtly relieved.

In the months that followed, however, we sent a volley of texts, their contents growing progressively more deranged:

鈥淚鈥檓 never hiking the CT again.鈥�

鈥淭hat was as bad as I鈥檓 remembering it, right?鈥�

鈥淚 dunno鈥擨鈥檓 not a quitter. CT this summer?鈥�

鈥淎ctually, let鈥檚 yo-yo the CT? Double the fun!鈥�

鈥淚 might be a masochist, but I miss the CT.鈥�

So MacGyver and I returned the following summer, battle-worn soldiers lured by the siren call of grassy peaks and shimmering aspen, munching moose, and a touch of amnesia, strangely excited for the pummeling to come. Just as soon as we鈥檇 begun the mental and physical preparations, however, the 416 and Burro fires erupted, scorching over 54,000 acres near the trail鈥檚 southern half and derailing our plans for a glorious completion. We settled on hiking the 160-mile Collegiate Loop at the CT鈥檚 midsection, named for a parade of fourteeners strung across its heights.

We hitched to the loop鈥檚 southern end and began wandering its heavily forested eastern stretch with a bit of delusional optimism that was quickly tamped by the same hot and dry conditions that primed the wildfires鈥� spread. Instead of the previous summer鈥檚 monsoonal drenching, we were sunburned and eternally thirsty, loading our packs with six liters of water any time we found a running source. 鈥淚t鈥檒l get better when we鈥檙e on the western side,鈥� one of us would utter from time to time. 鈥淵es, it鈥檒l get better,鈥� the other would reply, with a strong lack of conviction.

(It did not, in fact, get better.)

Wildfire smoke poisoned the air. We were intimidated by a trio of crabby moose. I was nearly flattened by a mountain bike. During a side quest to climb a pair of fourteeners (Mount Belford and Mount Oxford) with some Denver pals, I grew dizzy and nauseous, barely tagging one peak before stumbling back down to my tent only minutes before a multi-hour storm soaked the area. Then, the rotten cherry on top: my lightweight pack, overburdened with water and ill-equipped for the task, created a patch of chafe that eventually bloomed into an open wound. Despite MacGyver鈥檚 best efforts at playing medic, it was once more time to call it quits.

As before, I wasn’t exactly sad to leave. But this time, it wasn鈥檛 because I was ready to go; it was because I not only figured we鈥檇 be back, but also knew that somehow, I鈥檇 gotten exactly what I鈥檇 come out here for. Not just the moments of sublime beauty, time with my thoughts, and endless conversation, but also the difficulty, the chaos, the opportunity to peel back yet another layer of my humanness and examine what lay beneath. The suffering and the enlightenment, so deeply intertwined along this trail.

On our final morning, I slowly dismantled my tent, whispering goodbye to the pain and the penance, but also the pines and peaks and moose and magpies. I moved on pensive autopilot until my foot lodged under a large rock, sending me sailing, my pack a bully’s hand pushing me into the dirt. My wool tights ripped at the knee; my flesh scraped from the same. I rolled over and watched the blood come. And then I laughed. The tears that followed weren’t ones of sadness or anger or frustration, but of knowing: the trail always provides鈥攁s long as you鈥檙e willing to accept a bit of suffering.

Shawnt茅 鈥淩ustic鈥� Salabert has happily suffered through thousands of miles on other long trails, including the John Muir Trail / N眉眉m眉 Poyo, Backbone Trail, and Pacific Crest Trail, and has nothing but glowing words for the latter in her guidebook .听 She鈥檚 a contributing writer for Treeline Review, a recurring guest on the Rock Fight podcast, and has written about national parks, urban ecology, and the outdoor industry for 国产吃瓜黑料. Her next book, to be announced later this year, takes an unconventional look at a trail that has treated her a whole lot better than the CT ever has.

The post Why I Couldn’t Resist the Colorado Trail鈥檚 Cursed Charm appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA), the non-profit organization responsible for preserving and promoting the听West Coast鈥檚 iconic 2,650-mile trail, announced on Wednesday that it will drastically reduce its planned program of work in 2025. According to a statement on the organization鈥檚 website, the decision is a result of delayed grant funding, which is part of the administration鈥檚 efforts to reduce federal spending.

The PCTA partners with the US Forest Service (USFS) to collaboratively manage the PCT and relies on federal funding, volunteer hours, and fundraising to support trail maintenance and repair projects, the hiring of trail crew leaders, and more. PCTA CEO Megan Wargo wrote in the statement that this week鈥檚 announcements have caused great uncertainty about the organization鈥檚 capacity to support hikers.

Wargo announced that the organization will cancel 56 weeks of planned trail projects in 2025 due to the funding loss. They鈥檒l likely be unable to hire six trail crew leaders, who are responsible for providing trail-building expertise and coordinating volunteer efforts. According to the PCTA, the reduction is equal to 鈥渕ore than one full year鈥檚 worth of trail crew maintenance. 鈥�

鈥淐utting back needed trail maintenance will directly affect the PCT experience this year and in the future, and surely will increase the amount and cost of work we will need to address later,鈥� Wargo wrote in the statement. 鈥淗ikers, equestrians and local trail communities will feel this as they traverse the magnificent lands through which the trail passes.鈥�

, the PCTA historically relies on a $667,000 federal grant each year to fund trail projects, along with funds from the and disaster relief funds. The Chronicle wrote that these sources make up about 48 percent of the PCTA鈥檚 yearly budget and that that money 鈥渂ecame imperiled last month when President Donald Trump signed an executive order requiring federal agencies to halt spending. About a week later, the Trump administration withdrew the freeze but said it is withholding federal program funding pending internal reviews.鈥�

The PCTA specified several trail projects that will be eliminated or delayed These include 鈥渄ry masonry work around Donner Summit near Truckee; stone step repairs in Inyo National Forest near Mount Whitney; creek crossing repairs in Sierra National Forest outside Mammoth Lakes, and rehabilitation around Snow Creek Village near the San Jacinto Mountains in Riverside County.鈥�

鈥淭hose unmaintained spots are going to be hell for hikers,鈥� PCTA Advocacy Director Mark Larabee told the Chronicle.

In the statement on the PCTA鈥檚 website, Wargo called on volunteers to help fill in the gaps left by the funding freeze. She wrote that the organization will continue to lean on volunteer labor and donations to address trail maintenance projects and advocate for the future of the PCT. Wargo also encouraged hikers to contact their senators and representatives to speak up for the PCT and public lands everywhere.

The post Pacific Crest Trail Association Drastically Reduces Trail Work Due to Federal Funding Cuts appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Almost every hiker box I have ever seen after 11,000 miles on American trails has the same litter problem: the thin plastic water bags that accompany the popular Sawyer Squeeze, the most efficient and reliable water filter I have ever used. In theory, these ubiquitous black-and-blue mylar bags are a hiker’s dream, able to hold nearly a liter of water in exchange for less than an ounce of weight.

But water filters get clogged, and gear gets dropped on jagged rocks, these thin bags rip in the middle during the second scenario and burst at the seams with the first. Weight savings and water filters are useless if you don鈥檛 actually have a way to hold your water.

Seven years ago, a product designer named Gilad Nachman began solving the problem caused by the flimsy bags when his fledgling company, Cnoc Outdoors, . A soft-sided and completely collapsible water bladder, the Vecto offered a simple but welcome upgrade: thicker walls and rugged seams that could withstand the pressure needed to force water through a dirty filter or the abrasive chaos of a long-distance hiker鈥檚 cluttered backpack. The Vecto’s real genius, though, is that one end screws neatly into a Sawyer Squeeze; the other end opens completely and easily, making it simple to scoop water from paltry sources, or dip the thing into a lake.

And so, as long-distance hikers have replaced their Sawyer water bags on trails with Cnoc bladders and bottles, they have gotten into the sensible habit of tossing the ones that come free with the Squeeze into our repositories of collective junk and gear, hiker boxes. The discarded bags wait for whatever unlucky walker next needs some emergency water-storage fix. I have donated at least a dozen during my adventures. Those bags are still sitting somewhere, I presume, awaiting oblivion or apocalypse.

Hopefully, this wasteful practice is over: In January, the two companies finally partnered, making the unofficial hydration fix of thru-hikers official by and selling them as complete units. Not only did they make this sensible pair a legitimate couple, but the combination costs less than buying the two products separately.

These units are sold through Sawyer’s distribution channels and on its website, and the Vectro bladders feature both brand logos on them. But make no mistake, the bladder is definitely made by Cnoc Outdoors. Sawyer鈥檚 own water bags should gradually become a little less common in trailside piles, making it easier to spot the free Knorr sides and Pop Tarts always lurking in hiker boxes.

The companies have considered this collaboration for years, since it made so much sense. If people were already doing it, after all, why not make it easier, cheaper, and less wasteful by slimming the packaging and shipping needed for two products into one? But Sawyer鈥攚hich also makes splints and sunscreen, bug repellants and sting kits鈥攚as in the process of trimming its individual products, or of simplifying the assorted SKUs it sold. 鈥淲e had hundreds, and it was so hard to manage,鈥� Amy Stead, an account manager at Sawyer, recently told me during a call alongside Cnoc鈥檚 Nachman. 鈥淲hen Gilad approached us, we were fighting against that.鈥�

Previous partnership talks proved preemptive for Nachman and Cnoc, too. From my own experience, I know he鈥檚 right when he says that the quality of the Vecto has improved in recent years. Today, the bladder’s seams are able to take much more pressure before they, too, succumb. (If you鈥檝e ever superglued a Cnoc together in a hotel room while on trail, you know true Sisyphean frustration.) And in recent years, Cnoc has introduced and then upgraded a water bottle called the ; it鈥檚 one of a few items that is with me on day hikes and thru-hikes alike, and Sawyer is now selling one of those with .

What鈥檚 more, Cnoc鈥檚 production capacity needed to expand to keep up with the potential demand of a company as large as Sawyer. Still a relatively fledgling business, Cnoc has now tapped into the more robust distribution network of Sawyer, a brand that has been making life outside easier for 41 years.

鈥淥ur early bladders were just not as good, and there was a natural maturity curve for Cnoc,鈥� Nachman said. 鈥淎nd then we had to grow to a point where we could teach our factory to produce at this scale. And now is finally the time.鈥�

This is, admittedly, not some revolutionary shift. Sawyer and Cnoc have simply opted to sell a combination of their own products that lots of us have been pairing ourselves for years. But I appreciate the idea that their move makes this bit of semi-hidden thru-hiker wisdom accessible to anyone that doesn鈥檛 necessarily have long-distance dreams. Sure, you could have learned about this pair through Reddit, YouTube, or any number of hiking blogs, really. But now you can just walk into REI or so many of the outfitters that sell Sawyer products and ask for it. A Sawyer atop a Cnoc is the fastest route to reliably clean water on trail; now, it鈥檚 faster and easier to get in the first place.

The post This Hiker Hydration Hack Is Now a Product You Can Buy appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In a previous lifetime, my idea of a long-distance hike was a music festival. For four days, I鈥檇 parade across dusty fields or clotted city streets, traipsing from stage to stage in pursuit of the next show. Who knows how many miles I clocked in those peripatetic bursts, but at that extended moment鈥攁 music critic in his 20s, way more committed to partying than pulmonary fitness鈥攊t was the exercise I knew best.

Not long after I crossed the threshold into 30, though, that lifestyle caught up with me. Headed west on Gay Street in Knoxville, Tennessee, I sank onto the sidewalk and pulled off my boot, squeezing my left foot as though trying to force it back together. It was broken, I knew, a stress fracture from all these steps; why else would each step now feel like another new knife fight, as though someone were jamming a blade between my bones? I endured, switched into a pair of sneakers and limped around Tennessee until the festival鈥檚 end.

Back home, my symptoms suddenly subsided, appearing only sporadically during the next few years as I became obsessed with distance running. But in 2019, soon after I entered Maine some 2,000 miles into a northbound thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail, that old ache returned. Was my foot broken, my hike done? Nope.

After staying up late one night in an AT lean-to for a tailspin into online medical sleuthing, I realized it was cuboid syndrome, when the pointy joint on the side of your foot shifts slightly out of line for a spell. With just enough bandwidth to stream a , I learned something called the cuboid squeeze and fixed it myself.

But now, I don鈥檛 even need that technique. After 11,000 miles of hiking and countless more miles of road running in almost every state in the country, I simply never leave home without a 1.5-ounce piece of sculpted silicone that鈥檚 changed my fitness and the way I travel: toe spacers.

Wait, What Are Toe Spacers鈥擜nd Why Are They So Popular?

Toe spacers are having an unexpected moment. There are, right now, some 38 million that mention them. has suggested they鈥檙e a panacea, and the notes they are 鈥渢ransforming people鈥檚 lives.鈥� Neurosurgeon and frequent TV medical commentator , Philadelphia Eagles star , body-positive model : They鈥檝e all become advocates for a fitness craze I never expected to work, in late 2019, when I was desperate for anything to help me run again.

After finishing the Appalachian Trail, my first long-distance hike, my body was a mess鈥攅very attempt to return to running felt like another litany of physical insults. I鈥檇 already gone to multiple physical therapists and yoga classes, trying to recover, when a young pedorthist building custom inserts for my shoes took one look at my feet and told me I needed toe spacers. Bunions were forming on the sides of my feet, and my little toes were starting to scrunch into claws, or hammer toes. I needed, he said, to spread my toes back out after years of stuffing them into running and hiking shoes that squeezed them together. He pulled a clear zippered pouch from the wall and asked me to try them鈥�, curved ribs of silicone with three holes through which your middle toes slide.

For the next several months, I wore them almost everywhere, tucked between the toe socks he鈥檇 also recommended and inside shoes with wide toe boxes, like Topos or Altras. I winced when I had to take my shoes off anywhere, knowing someone would inevitably exclaim 鈥淲hat are those?!鈥� when they saw my spacers. But in the best way, my feet have never been the same again.

Which Toe Spacers Should I Buy and Try?

As best as I can tell, Correct Toes鈥攄eveloped by a podiatrist and runner named Ray McClanahan, who I interviewed for 国产吃瓜黑料 in 2022鈥攁re the most expensive models on the market, at $65 per pair. They鈥檙e also the only ones I鈥檝e ever needed, because they haven鈥檛 warped or ripped after five years of sporadic use. (More on 鈥渟poradic鈥� in a bit.) I鈥檝e never once resented what I paid.

But there are more affordable options now: There鈥檚 a on Amazon, though some reviews there suggest you indeed pay for what you get. s version for the same price looks more rugged, and I am certainly entertained by the idea of black toe spacers to match my endurance-black toenails. Correct Toes occasionally slip out from between my digits, so I like the way the and The Foot Collective鈥檚 wrap around all five. (The inclusion of an exercise band is a welcome bonus, too.)

You can even try with built-in toe spacers from Happy Feet, though I am slightly suspect of the oversized spacers that look more like toe bracelets from for a reason I鈥檒l get into right now.

So, How Do I Use Toe Spacers?

At the start, slowly. Have you ever stretched a muscle for the first time in a while, maybe because you noticed a new stiffness in your body? It was uncomfortable, right? That鈥檚 how toe spacers will feel for a bit, as you begin the business of prying apart bones, tendons, and ligaments that have been stuck inside narrow shoes for most of your life. I started with 15 minutes a day and gradually increased until I was wearing them almost all of the time, taking care to remove them before I fell asleep. (There is some suggestion that they restrict blood flow, especially at night; my toes simply feel stiff when I wake up with them still on.) Yoga Toes aren鈥檛 appealing to me, because they鈥檙e too big to slip inside shoes.

These days, I don鈥檛 use them all the time. My feet feel better, because I鈥檝e changed my entire routine鈥攆oot socks always, Topo tennis shoes with wide toe boxes unless I鈥檓 鈥渄ressing up,鈥� and a regimen of toe exercises using resistance bands. But whether I鈥檓 hiking across the country or going to another music festival, I always have a single toe spacer in my bag, ready to slot between my toes if my cuboid slips its position, as it sometimes does, or my arches begin to ache as though they鈥檙e on fire. I rarely travel with two toe spacers these days, because both of my feet generally don鈥檛 hurt at the same anymore. I鈥檝e spent years learning how to manage them, after all.

During a recent 1,200-mile trek along Wisconsin鈥檚 Ice Age Trail, I would often end 30-mile days by wearing toe spacers in my tent, letting my toes stretch as I massaged my legs and made my dinner. I don鈥檛 think you need to use toe spacers for the rest of your life; I do think, however, they can be crucial for taking care of the body part that actually makes contact with the ground and supports the rest of the body in the process.

Do Toe Spacers Actually Work?

Toe spacers have reached such a critical mass of popularity that you can easily find opposing answers to this question, bandied about from the to . I鈥檓 not a doctor or a foot-health researcher, so I won鈥檛 pretend to tell you anything prescriptive or definitive.

But in the last five years, or since I started using toe spacers, I have logged close to 20,000 miles on my feet, whether hiking long trails, running on roads, or, yes, attending music festivals. I also turned 40. But I have rarely felt stronger as a hiker or a runner than I do right now, and I鈥檝e had no substantive problems with my feet in a long time. My knees are better, too, and knee pain was often linked with the foot woes I experienced.

Again, I鈥檝e never seen toe spacers as a cure-all; I massage my feet, strengthen them, stretch them. But when they ache, whether I鈥檓 on a long hike or a reporting trip in another city, a day with toe spacers is my first line of defense. It鈥檚 perhaps the best $65 I鈥檝e ever spent on a piece of fitness gear鈥攕o much so, in fact, that I bought a second pair in an alternate color so that I can mix and match them as I travel. Hey, I鈥檝e got to keep them looking surprising and ridiculous, since so many people now seem curious about what toe spacers are and if they can change how you feel, too.

Grayson Haver Currin is 翱耻迟蝉颈诲别鈥檚 thru-hiking and trail columnist. He finished the Triple Crown in November 2023, ending with the Continental Divide Trail, and has written about his and others’ adventures on trails across the country since 2019鈥攊ncluding, most recently, how you’re hiking downhill wrong, as well as the woman who smashed the Appalachian Trail record, and ridiculously expensive hiking shorts that chafed him anyways. He still takes toe spacers to music festivals and on his adventures.

The post My First Thru-Hike Wrecked My Feet. Now I Never Trek Without Toe Spacers. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The Green Bay Packers were suddenly not the most interesting entertainment option听in Mac鈥檚 Pub and Grub, a dim dive packed with people wearing Packers gear on a Sunday afternoon in October in the lakeside Wisconsin town of Merrimac. Unfortunately for me, I was.

Midway through the first quarter, I had slipped inside Mac鈥檚, found an unoccupied stool, and leaned against a wall with clear sightlines of the bar鈥檚 TV gallery, exhausted and half-frozen like a piece of melting ice. I鈥檇 left camp 11 hours earlier, at 4 A.M., hustling 31 miles through a Sunday squall in order to make Mac鈥檚, or to watch the Packers鈥� bout with the Detroit Lions among the locals. But I looked as if I鈥檇 emerged from the depths of Lake Wisconsin, as puddles of rainwater pooled beneath my feet and around my backpack. Every play or two, someone else glanced askance from the bar, as if Cheers had been invaded by some primordial beast from the bottom of Boston Harbor.

鈥淎re you hungry?鈥� a broad-chested man in a Packers jersey, belly to the bar and bottle in hand, finally asked. When I nodded, he grinned and pointed. 鈥淭here鈥檚 food over there. Help yourself.鈥� For the next three hours, my wife, Tina, and I gorged ourselves on what surely must have been the most delicious potluck ever鈥攆inger-thick slabs of candied bacon, brie wheels topped with baked salmon, tortilla chip smothered in cheese-laden chili. As we slowly warmed back to life after the windy November downpour, the regulars steadily realized we were hiking across their state, endeavoring to finish the 1,200-mile Ice Age Trail before the infamous Wisconsin winter arrived. Some of them, at least, became fans.

Mac had first said I looked like a wet rat; now, he spun our laundry in the bar鈥檚 dryer, then offered to let us camp beside the bar. A couple, Paul and Deb, peppered us with questions about the adventure, then feted us with their own wilderness stories鈥攁nd several shots. Sue, a retiree who would soon head south for the winter, offered up a bathtub and bedroom, which we accepted after needlessly worrying we were being soft. 鈥淵ou kids be safe,鈥� Mac said, smiling like a proud father as we followed Sue to her car, 鈥渁nd let us know when you finish.鈥�

So goes my overall experience on the Ice Age Trail, a 40-day slog through pleasant but repetitive woods and along often-busy highways, alleviated by bouts of unexpected support and kindness from Wisconsin natives. Strangers handed us candy bars from open car windows. Fathers running errands made U-turns to scoop us from seemingly ubiquitous rainstorms, while trailside bar owners treated us like Edmund Hillary and Tenzig Norgay before offering to deliver us breakfast the next morning. A fleet of Ice Age Trail volunteers was seemingly always on call, too, ready to drive us from hotel to听trail or offer camping intel during extended road walks.

Though it is one of , alongside the more familiar and acclaimed Appalachian and Pacific Crest, the Ice Age Trail is decidedly not a premier thru-hike, best done in one continuous push. I do not recommend it as a thru-hike. But after 11,000 miles on such trails, I can say it is the friendliest long-distance experience I鈥檝e ever had, both in terms of the people on or around it and the way its stewards have shaped and maintained it. Really, it is more of a linear community center that happens to stretch between the Minnesota and Michigan borders than a wilderness experience. The Ice Age Trail is, in every positive sense, Midwest Nice鈥攑leasant to look at, if a tad boring, but as accommodating and kind as can be.

鈥淓verybody takes pride in it in our own special way, whether it鈥檚 the person serving you breakfast in a trail town or the guy who walks the same five-mile segment every day,鈥� Jared Wildenradt, who has now hiked the entire Ice Age Trail eight times, told me two weeks after I finished my walk.

鈥淭here鈥檚 a definite community here that people don鈥檛 expect when it comes to hiking in the Midwest,鈥� he continued. 鈥淭he people that power through here get to experience that, just like you did in 40 days.鈥�

What is the Ice Age Trail?

More than many of its National Scenic Trail counterparts, the Ice Age Trail remains a work in progress. First envisioned in the fifties by a Milwaukee-born outdoors enthusiast named Ray Zillmer, it was only established by Congress during 1980. The trail roughly follows the terminal edge of the Laurentide Ice Sheet, as it about 10,000 years ago. Kettles, moraines, eskers, drumlins, wetlands, hanging valleys, outwash plains: Across, down, and up Wisconsin, you crisscross these glacial vestiges, repeated in random bursts like a particularly chaotic and tremendous .

Still, after more than four decades of route-finding, trail-building, and parcel-buying, only 700 miles of the 1,200-route is contiguous, winding across forests, around fields and farms, or through tiny towns. Nearly 500 miles still depend upon what the Ice Age Trail Alliance calls 鈥渃onnecting routes,鈥� a euphemism for rural roads and busy highways. The imperative, then, is closing those gaps, pulling hikers off those connecting routes by securing land for actual footpaths.

Wildenradt has helped find six such parcels; he talks about the first one鈥攁 glacier-carved patch of property that interrupts a 25-mile road walk via a 0.7-mile roller coaster through the woods鈥攍ike a father might extol a firstborn. When we spoke, he sat plucking seeds from pine cones that he intended to plant on that plot soon. 鈥淚 went away and hacked at the dirt, started clearing away for trail. I was beat up from head to toe,鈥� he said, laughing about the spot鈥檚 temporary nickname, Prickler鈥檚 Property. 鈥淚 had close to 300 volunteer hours when it was done. I could easily drop 100 more.鈥�

All that, mind you, for less than a mile. When the current executive director, Luke Kloberdanz, thru-hiked it in 2003, he was the eleventh person ever to do so. Only two decades ago, the mileage ratio was reversed, with nearly 700 miles of road walks to 500 on trail. He now believes the path will be finished within his children鈥檚 lifetimes, meaning his grandkids could walk from Minnesota to Michigan and touch very little asphalt.

鈥淚 always thought that completion was a long way off, that I was never going to be part of that,鈥� Kloberdanz told me. 鈥淲e may not reach the end of the tunnel in my lifetime, but we鈥檙e at least starting to see the light. I鈥檝e never felt that way in my 20 years here.鈥�

That aspirational pride animates the Ice Age Trail, end to end. I鈥檝e never hiked a better-blazed path. Hikers can spot听its bright yellow stripes by headlamp as by sunlight. (When you fill out a thru-hiking certification upon completing the trail, the Ice Age Trail Alliance even asks how many times you get lost, so they can fix the problems.) And I鈥檝e never encountered a volunteer network so robust and eager to help hikers; wherever you are in the state, you are almost always a phone call away from a free ride, meal, or bed. These volunteers raved about the contributions they and their friends had made to the trail, as if thanking me for using them, for making good on their hard work.

The trail is also dotted with benches, sometimes more than one per mile, and often dedicated to a late hiker who loved the place. They鈥檙e meant, of course, to make the trail more accommodating, to give people who aren鈥檛 aiming to finish 30 miles in a day a chance to rest. You won鈥檛 see that on any other National Scenic Trail. The friendliness is by both circumstance and design, pervading everything.

In 2020, to celebrate its 40th official year, the Ice Age Trail Alliance launched the Mammoth Hike Challenge鈥攅ssentially, a reward for anyone who hikes 40 miles during the month of October, when the foliage of the Wisconsin fall is at its apex. The trail鈥檚 mascot is a . It鈥檚 so cute I now have one on my desk, dutifully carried for the last 400 miles. They鈥檝e added one mile to that requirement each subsequent year.

On weekends, we鈥檇 meet couples and crews of friends in pursuit of their 44-mile quota. They were eager not only to share the best things they鈥檇 seen but also to hear ours. More than once, my answer was you, the people who love this trail so much.

Did I Like the Ice Age Trail?

On a cold Saturday morning at a Kwik Trip, a particularly bountiful chain of convenience stores launched in Wisconsin in the sixties, I was waiting in line at an automated espresso machine. 鈥淎re you hiking the Ice Age Trail?鈥� said the woman ahead of me, her smile as bright as her pastel tie-dye. When I answered yes, her grin somehow grew wider. She introduced herself as Tarra. 鈥淚 want to do that someday, too.鈥� Several hours later, Tarra sent us an Instagram message with her phone number and an offer of help should we need it as we neared her home a few hundred miles east.

Turns out, we did. Due to a few work deadlines, we鈥檇 pushed our pace on the Ice Age, hiking at least 30 miles every day with zero rest days. As we neared the 1,000-mile mark, my body鈥攕pecifically, my left IT Band, suddenly as intractable as a massive team of mules鈥攖ightening to the point that each step felt as if a knife was being jammed into my joint. At night, crawling into the tent, my knee looked like a balloon. I knew it was time to stop. The next morning, I hobbled two miles to a gas station and texted Tarra, asking if she knew where I might rent a car nearby. The sun wasn鈥檛 up yet, but she told me she was on her way.

As I lamented my knee an hour later, she texted a friend who happened to be her physical therapist. How soon could she see me? For two hours that afternoon, Jeanie Crawford鈥攁 , a blessed sorceress per my experience鈥攑ulled, tugged, straightened, bent, jabbed, and corrected seemingly every bone in my body. I had almost crawled into her office, but I somehow walked out with a mostly normal stride. She charged me half of her hourly rate, ostensibly听excited enough by the effort to cross her state that she practically gave away her day.

For the next week, I returned to more than 30 miles every day, moving at my normal pace because a stranger had been willing to leave her home long before her workday began and find me help. The Ice Age Trail didn鈥檛 dazzle me with scenery or variety, and it didn鈥檛 prompt me to learn any new backpacking techniques. Most days, truth be told, I didn鈥檛 even like it. I contemplated quitting more often than I鈥檝e ever considered such for anything in my life.

But it did remind me of something obvious, something that can be easy to forget high in the mountains or deep in the woods: Hiking trails are for all people, and those interactions can take a dozen different forms, from the married couple hustling from one end of a state to another to the bartender who keeps asking for more of their stories, from the gaggle of retirees out for a slow Sunday stroll high on an esker to the trail runner bombing down a rock face in the rain. The Ice Age Trail is a gift from Wisconsin鈥檚 past to Wisconsin鈥檚 present and future. I鈥檓 grateful its people share it so generously.

Grayson Haver Currin has written about long-distance hiking for 国产吃瓜黑料 since 2020. He completed the Triple Crown in 2023 and has logged more than 11,000 miles on the United States’ National Scenic Trails. He writes about music for The New York Times, GQ, Mojo, Pitchfork, and many more. He lives high in Colorado’s Front Range.

The post Wisconsin鈥檚 Ice Age Trail Is America鈥檚 Friendliest Thru-Hike appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

If you want to set a fastest known time on the 817-mile Arizona Trail, you have to start fast. At least, that鈥檚 what both Nick Fowler and Georgia Porter proved this fall.

On October 28, they independently set out from the Utah-Arizona border and started their trek south with the goal of setting a record. While Fowler was traveling in a self-supported style and Porter enlisted a crew, the two shared numerous commonalities beyond the same start date, chosen to capitalize on the ideal fall weather.

Each exceeded record-setting pace over the first few days on the . Both ended up sleep deprived, with immense foot pain, and practically hobbling to the finish line at the U.S.-Mexico border. And both completed their attempt with a record: Fowler with a self-supported Arizona Trail FKT of 12 days, 17 hours, and 33 minutes鈥攖he overall record on the trail. And Porter with a women鈥檚 supported Arizona Trail FKT of 16 days, 22 hours, and 6 minutes.

But dig into their approaches, and it鈥檚 clear that even with similar goals in mind, no two FKT setters think alike.

A Rough Start

Fowler didn鈥檛 run or sleep much in the lead-up to his FKT attempt. Since setting the self-supported FKT on the Pacific Crest Trail last summer, Fowler had his sights set on Arizona. He had already done the AZT in 30 days in the spring of 2023, prior to his PCT attempt. He knew he wanted to shoot for the record in the fall, and started working out what he鈥檇 have to do to achieve it. But in early September, less than two months before Fowler鈥檚 attempt, a new priority came into his life: Canyon, his new son.

鈥淢y training program was calf raises in the kitchen while holding my son,鈥� Fowler says. 鈥淎nd then when I go in the living room, holding my son, I would do single leg squats.鈥�

With a new baby in tow, Fowler didn鈥檛 get in quite as many pre-trail miles as he鈥檇 hoped. A couple weeks before starting the AZT, he headed out to Arkansas for an attempt at a 70-mile day on the Ozark Highlands Trail, but 鈥渋t absolutely kicked my butt 43 miles in.鈥� Nonetheless, he showed up to the Utah-Arizona border and set out feeling confident that his training from the summer, which included an FKT on the 425-mile Oregon Coast Trail, would carry him through.

鈥淏y day two, I was puking my guts out crossing the Grand Canyon, curled up in the fetal position, being passed by hikers in flip-flops, and I slowed down to two-hour miles,鈥� Fowler says. 鈥淎nd I quit.鈥�

About 100 miles in, on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, Fowler turned off his tracker. He caught a hitch to Flagstaff, feeling defeated. But after a night of rest, he realized all was not lost.

鈥淚 was like, maybe I can still do this,鈥� Fowler says. 鈥淓verything鈥檚 already in place. I鈥檓 already here. And if I鈥檓 spending time away from Canyon, it鈥檚 gotta be something.鈥�

RELATED:

The post A Tale of Two Records on the Arizona Trail appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.