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Weather and physical injury during hike are the two biggest challenges to worry about during the thru hike

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At long last, straightforward numbers to write about! Here is some simple and hopefully edifying information about what aspects of trail travel thru-hikers from 2013-14 felt were most challenging. 463 Appalachian Trail and 313 Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers answered the question: "Rank the top three most challenging aspects of your hike." Data was acquired through the 2013-14 long distance hiker survey.

Some observations:

Physical problems and weather/climate were the top two most challenging aspects of the trail for both groups of hikers. Physical problems was #1 most challenging for PCT hikers and #2 for AT hikers.

The #3 feature ranked most challenging by AT hikers was a virtual 4-way draw between finances, loneliness, diet, and insects. For PCT hikers, finances was a good couple of percentage points above loneliness for the #3 ranked feature thought of as most challenging.

For both groups, gear was a very low-ranking "most challenging" choice. Gear failed to cross the 10% mark for 2nd and 3rd most challenging choices. So, for those of you planning a thru-hike and stressing about gear: RELAX.

Insects really bugged AT hikers. About twice as many AT hikers ranked insects as second most challenging compared to PCT hikers.

Weather and Climate

Since so many hikers thought aspects of weather and climate were significant challenges, distancehiking took a closer look at what hikers found to be the most challenging weather and climate. 464 AT and 313 PCT thru-hikers answered the question: "What was the most challenging weather/climate you experienced?"

Some observations:

The AT and PCT are thought of as being quite different in terms of climate and in a way, thru-hikers' experiences reflect this. PCT hikers who found hot and dry weather to be the most challenging far exceeded the percentage of AT hikers who felt the same way. Similarly, far more AT hikers than PCT hikers felt that hot and humid weather was their biggest challenge. Both trails get quite hot, but the AT also gets humid!

Despite these differences, the fact that both trails occupy significant stretches of North American mountain terrain was reflected in the fact that overwhelming numbers in both trail groups rated cold and wet as the most difficult weather/climate feature.

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At long last, straightforward numbers to write about! Here is some simple and hopefully edifying information about what aspects of trail travel thru-hikers from 2013-14 felt were most challenging. 463 Appalachian Trail and 313 Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers answered the question: "Rank the top three most challenging aspects of your hike."

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Cost up to $1,000 a month to hike

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Most thru-hikers take between five and seven months. The average is a week or two shy of six months.

How can I avoid the crowds and still hike the entire Appalachian Trail (A.T.)?

Increasingly, hikers are choosing to start in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, or somewhere else in the middle of the Trail. They hike to Katahdin, then return to their starting point and hike south to finish their hike at Springer. Other hikers start in Georgia in late April or early May and "flip" up to the northern terminus from somewhere in the middle. Following these itineraries, you'll find some fellow hikers (without the crowds) and a number of benefits. More information about thru-hike itineraries can be found here.

Do I have to register?

The Appalachian Trail Conservancy (ATC) ​provides a voluntary thru-hike registration to help hikers choose starting dates that will alleviate crowding. Be sure to let friends and family know where you are, what your itinerary is, and your "Trail name." The A.T. passes through numerous state and national parks, forests and public lands, a few of which require permits, fees, or reservations to stay overnight in shelters or campsites. In some cases, the reservation system is different for long-distance hikers. You must acquire a backcountry permit for the Great Smoky Mountains National Park prior to arriving; northbound thru-hikers are encouraged to purchase a Great Smoky Mountains National Park A.T. backcountry permit just before leaving home.

Do I have to worry about bears and snakes?

Most hikers see a few bears in the course of their hike of the entire A.T. Black bears, the only species native to the A.T., are generally shy creatures and avoid people, except in locations where people have been careless with their food and bears have become habituated. Hikers may see snakes occasionally, but most often the non-poisonous variety. More likely to be a threat to a hiker's well-being are ticks, which can transmit Lyme disease and other pathogens. In recent years, those in the midst of the increasingly large "bubble" of northbound thru-hikers may have found themselves exposed to norovirus, a short-lived but extremely unpleasant stomach bug. More information on these and other important topics can be found on our Health & Safety page.

Do I need to carry maps?

The Trail is well-marked, so many thru-hikers, who become skilled at following the blazes, try to get by without them. However, maps are quite useful for planning a thru-hike, and, in an emergency, are your best source of information on how to get off the Trail and find help or describe your location and access points to potential rescuers.

How hard is hiking the Appalachian Trail?

Hiking the entire A.T. is a grueling and demanding endeavor. It requires great physical and mental stamina and determination. The terrain is mountainous for its entire length, with an elevation gain and loss equivalent to hiking Mt. Everest from sea level and back 16 times. The treadway in many places is rocky or filled with roots or mud. Maine, and sometimes other states, requires fording of streams that can be hazardous after heavy rains. Sections that could be described as flat or smooth seldom last long.

Because the time frame in which a northbound thru-hike can reasonably undertaken without specialized winter gear is limited to about seven months, the saying "No rain, no pain, no Maine" has become an apt mantra. Those who are physically fit may have an edge, especially in the beginning, but ultimately completing the A.T. is more of a mental challenge. The A.T. has been hiked by people ranging from age five to 86 and by hikers with a wide range of disabilities.

If hiking the Appalachian Trail is so hard, why would I want to do it?

Walking the entire A.T. in a continuous journey is one of the most rewarding, exhilarating, and memorable ways you can spend six months of your life. Thru-hiking enables you to immerse yourself deeply in the natural world and view some of the most beautiful, wild and pastoral landscapes in the United States. Thru-hiking will also give you the opportunity to form friendships with people of all ages, from all walks of life, and from around the world.

How detailed should my plan be?

A detailed day-by-day itinerary is not necessary for a successful thru-hike. In fact, it can set you up for a lot of discouragement and frustration. There are many things out of your control that can alter your plans on a thru-hike, such as weather or injury. Sometimes you may find an opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime experience that sets you back. It's important to remain flexible. An outline of when you expect to reach specific milestones will be helpful to friends and family back home. It can help keep you on track, too. Be mindful that family members will worry if you do not check in on schedule. Make sure they know you cannot entirely predict your schedule and that cell phone reception is spotty. Also inform them that you may keep your phone turned off much of the time to save your batteries and protect your phone from inclement weather.

Northbound thru-hikers are advised to start out hiking only eight miles a day the first week, and very gradually increase mileage over the next several weeks. By some point in Virginia, most hikers will have gained their "trail legs" and will do their biggest miles from there through Vermont, where terrain is overall less challenging than the southern states. In the extremely rugged terrain of New Hampshire and Maine, northbound hikers can expect their mileage to drop as much as 30 per cent, even though considerably more effort is required.

What are my chances of finishing a thru-hike?

One in four thru-hikers report completions to ATC. The most common reasons for a hiker leaving the Trail sooner than planned is due to an injury, running out of money, family matters at home, or finding the experience was not what was anticipated.

How do I know if I'm ready?

The smartest thing you can do is to take a practice hike that includes at least two nights on terrain that approximates the part of the Trail you plan to start on. This will help you evaluate gear, physical conditioning, and mental readiness.

How much does it cost?

Most hikers spend an average of about $1,000 a month during the hike itself. Disciplined, frugal hikers willing to forego motels, restaurants, and other amenities can get away with less; those who like to stay in motels and eat at restaurants when they have the opportunity can easily spend much more. A new set of backpacking gear runs $1,200 to $2,000 or more. Lightweight gear is usually more expensive, but many hikers ending up purchasing smaller packs and lighter gear along the Trail, replacing their initial purchases of heavier gear. Doing extensive research ahead of time can pay off.

What will I need money for?

Aside from trail food, most of your money will be spent in town. Few thru-hikers can resist the temptation of restaurant food, motel beds, and hot showers after days of deprivation. Keep in mind that you will be burning 4,000-6,000 calories a day and may be eating two to three times what you ate before your hike (though it may take a few weeks for the "hiker hunger" to kick in). You will also need money for supplies, laundry, postage, equipment repair, and equipment replacement. The more days you spend in town, the more money you will spend. Be sure you have money for a possible emergency trip back home.

There are also a few fees hikers will encounter along the Trail. An A.T. thru-hiker permit in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park costs $20 and must be purchased in advance. Some overnight sites require fees, particularly in New England. These sites typically range from $5 to $10 a night, but there are usually alternate sites without fees available within a few miles. In the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the most attractive options for overnight stays are a system of full-service huts that run more than $100/night for meals and lodging. A limited number of thru-hikers can take advantage of the work-for-stay options; more about the alternative overnight sites in this area can be found here. Hikers should be prepared to pay a campsite fee in Baxter State Park in Maine.

How many hikers have completed the entire A.T.?

More than 15,000 hike completions have been reported to ATC. This includes hikers who have completed the Trail over many years as well as those finishing in one trip. More facts and statistics can be found here.

How does the ATC define thru-hiking?

We define a thru-hike as a hike of the entire A.T. in 12 months or less.

What is a 2,000-miler?

A "2,000-miler" is a hiker who has walked the entire length of the A.T. and reported his or her hike completion to the ATC. The ATC has been keeping records of thru-hike completions since the A.T. was first completed in 1937. The ATC uses the term "2,000-miler" as a matter of tradition and convenience. When the term was coined, the A.T. was only slightly more than 2,000 miles. Its length changes every year due to pathway relocations. In recognizing 2,000-milers, we don't consider issues such as the sequence, direction, speed or whether one carries a pack. We do expect that persons applying for inclusion in our 2,000-miler records have made an honest effort to walk the entire Trail. A 2,000-miler application form can be found here.

How can I reach out to past thru-hikers to get tips and advice?

The ATC maintains lists of people who have completed hiking the entire A.T. (or large portions of it) recently. They are willing to share their experience and give advice. The lists themselves are not currently available online, but you may e-mail [email protected] to request a copy. Available lists:

Alternative Hikes - Flip-flop, leapfrog and other non-traditional hikes.

Canadians - Hikers from Canada.

Couples - Couples that hiked the Trail together-including honeymoon hikers.

Day-hike/Slackpackers - Hikers who spent few or no nights on the Trail and had logistical support.

Diabetic Hikers - Includes insulin-dependent diabetics.

Disabilities and Injuries - Hikers with heart disease, food allergies, scoliosis, kidney transplants and other physical conditions requiring special attention.

Diverse Hikers - Hikers identifying themselves as African-American, Asian, bi-racial, black, Hispanic, Native American, Pacific Islander, and South Asian

Dog Owners - Hikers who hiked the Trail with their dogs.

Early Starters - Primarily northbound hikers who began in January and February.

General - Includes a selection of northbound, southbound, and flip-flop hikers.

International - Currently includes hikers from Australia, England, Finland, Germany, Israel, Japan, New Zealand, Norway, Scotland, South Africa, Switzerland.

Late Starters - Northbound thru-hikers starting in Georgia in May or June.

LGBT - Hikers identifying themselves as lesbian, gay, and transgender.

Lightweight - Hikers with pack weights ranging from 12 - 30 lbs.

Military Veterans - Including hikers injured during military service.

Over 55 - Current age range on list: 55 - 77.

Section Hikers - Some have hiked the A.T. is two or three summers. Many have hiked the entire Trail over a span of 10 - 20 years, some longer.

Winter - Hikers with winter backpacking experience; primarily southbound and alternative thru-hikers.

Southbound - Hikers traveling end-to-end from Maine to Georgia.

Vegetarian/Special Diet - Vegetarians, vegans, and hikers who dehydrated their own food.

Women - Current age range on list: 23-62.

Where can I get more information?

The ATC's Ultimate Trail Store offers thru-hiking how-to books and videos and a number of memoirs. There are also intensive workshops that can offer valuable information; a listing can be found on our Thru-Hike Preparation page.

The Internet enables hikers from all over the country and around the world to connect with each other, both those who have completed the Trail and can offer a wealth of lessons learned and those who are planning a future trip. These websites are popular starting points for further explorations:

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Most thru-hikers take between five and seven months. The average is a week or two shy of six months. Increasingly, hikers are choosing to start in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, or somewhere else in the middle of the Trail. They hike to Katahdin, then return to their starting point and hike south to finish their hike at Springer.

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How it changed him

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In 2009, I set out to hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. Over the five months it took me to cover those 2,000 miles of mountainous terrain, I was transformed into a mythic beast. Fat, and then muscle, began to evaporate from my frame. My legs were the only exception; instead they grew freakish, veiny, and equine. Atop my head sprouted the hair of a gorgon. From my chin, the beard of a goat. A mustache grew over my top lip and began to curl inward toward my teeth, like a tarantula's furry chelicerae. By the trail's end, my T-shirt had begun to dissolve from the months of friction and corrosive sweat. If I reached back, I could feel my shoulder blades pushing through the threadbare fabric like budding wings.

Most of us who embark on a long hike do so seeking change, buoyed by the almost-magical hope that we can walk ourselves into a new body or a new state of mind. But when it actually takes place, the experience of transformation can be unnerving. As soon as I returned home from the trail, to share the good news with my friends, I logged onto Facebook and posted a photo of myself sitting atop the iconic sign on Maine's Mount Katahdin, a bottle of cheap champagne in hand. I thought I looked normal, but to the world I looked like a newly rescued shipwreck victim. A good friend commented: "This photo scares the fuck out of me. I just had a several minute debate about whether or not it was actually you."

All who hike the Appalachian Trail undergo some form of transformation. After a few weeks of being on the AT, I could distinguish a "thru-hiker" (someone traveling the trail's full length) from a "day hiker" with a single glance. Many thru-hikers seemed to relish the transformation, and even accentuate it: The guys tended to grow out their facial hair, while the women allowed their body hair to bloom. One clever hiker took a selfie once a day, and then time-lapsed them into a single, mesmerizing 15-second clip; in it, a lichenous gray beard sprouts on his face, like something in an Attenborough documentary.

There was a certain romance to all this - on some level we fancied ourselves wild animals, despite our absurdly modern clothing and gear - but it was practical, too. The human body has evolved to get all hairy and greasy and gross. It remembers its origins, even if we don't. Surprisingly quickly, your nose stops noticing what you smell like, and starts tuning in to the subtler aromas of the forest. One day while I was hiking, I remember catching a whiff of something alien floating on the breeze - a cloying chemical smell. Minutes later, a group of Girl Scouts came around the bend, and I pinpointed it: Herbal Essences shampoo.

When it actually takes place, the experience of transformation can be unnerving.

Following a long-standing tradition, each of us thru-hikers adopted new "trail names" to match our new bodies. Most people were given their names by fellow thru-hikers because of something they had said or done: My friend Snuggles, for example, had a habit of snuggling up against other hikers in the lean-tos at night to keep herself warm; I was given the name Spaceman after my shiny ultralight hiking gear. Others picked names in an attempt to shape new, aspirational identities for themselves. A tense silver-haired woman renamed herself Serenity, while a timid young man called himself Joe Kickass. Sure enough, over time, she seemed to grow incrementally calmer, and he more audacious.

I noticed the trail's impact on my brain long before I noticed the effect it was having on the rest of my body. Studies have shown that going for a nature walk reliably increases creative thinking. And indeed, each day as my legs warmed up, I found my brain would begin fizzing with ideas for stories that I wanted to write and questions I wanted to research. There is a long tradition of writers - Wordsworth, Kierkegaard, Rimbaud, Woolf, Solnit, to name only a few - who found and find inspiration afoot. However, I quickly discovered that, because I was spending 10 hours each day walking, I was left with almost no time (or energy) to write. I took to carrying a small notebook in my hip pocket, so I could jot down ideas on the hoof.

At the end of a long day of walking, my mind's coked-out internal monologue would finally subside, and I'd feel myself slipping into a state of zen-like clarity - serene, crystalline, thought-free. Frédéric Gros, a philosopher of walking, nicely conveys this sensation: "There is a moment when you walk several hours that you are only a body walking. Only that. You are nobody. You have no history. You have no identity. You have no past. You have no future. You are only a body walking."

Within the first week, I was surprised to discover that my sleeping patterns had also changed drastically. Shortly after sunset, I would retire to my hammock and then read myself to sleep. Around 2 a.m., my eyes would snap open and I would not be able to fall back asleep for at least another hour or two. I have since learned that, prior to the invention of electric light, most people slept in this bisected fashion: In medieval English literature they often refer to these two phases as "first sleep" and "second sleep." Between the two, during that interval of time once called "the watch," people would tend to the fire, empty their bladders, have a smoke, make love, plot mischief, pray, and so on. I learned to keep a book and a headlamp within easy reach, so I could resume reading until my mind grew groggy again. It was a wonderful state of mind in which to read - pleasantly quiet, slightly unreal, golden-lit. "An intermediate space," as Nathaniel Hawthorne once wrote, "where the business of life does not intrude; where the passing moment lingers, and becomes truly the present."

By the end of the first month, I started to have vivid, almost pornographic dreams about food - an obsession that would only intensify as the months wore on. Studies have shown that on an average day, thru-hikers burn roughly 2,000 more calories than they eat. And thru-hikers, I can assure you, eat a lot. On an average day, I would begin by eating a Pop-Tart before I even emerged from my sleeping bag, followed, once I was upright, by something more substantive, like a Clif Bar. Then, as I walked, I would keep three or four granola bars handy, which I would nibble continuously. Around 10, I would stop for a snack (hefty handfuls of gorp say), then again for lunch around one (half a log of summer sausage, a large chunk of sharp cheddar, and bagel chips - always bagel chips, never bagels, I quickly learned, because bagel chips are still tasty when they are reduced to crumbs, as everything in a backpack inevitably is). Then there would be another snack at 4 (a second large helping of gorp), one more when I dropped my pack for the day (usually a candy bar, to reward myself and give me the energy to unpack my stuff and set up my hammock).

For dinner, I would boil up a heaping pot of noodles or rice, trying, whenever possible, to stick to brown rice or whole wheat pasta, which I'd cooked back home, dehydrated, and mailed to myself at intervals along the trail. I was fortunate to have access these healthier alternatives; most hikers, relying on what they find in nearby grocery stores, don't have this luxury. This matters more than you might think, because one strange side effect of "hiker hunger" is that you begin to acutely feel the quality of the nutrition you are putting into your body. One day in Virginia, having hitchhiked into the town of Marion to resupply, I stopped off at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. I had been looking forward to the meal for days, and, indeed, it did not disappoint. But when I returned to the trail, I could feel, on an almost-molecular level, the lack of vitamins and the superabundance of sugar and salt and oil (and whatever else) passing through my gut. Bad fuel. I felt depleted rather than energized by it. Another afternoon, farther north, I bought a culinary monstrosity called a "giant whoopie pie" - a kind of dessert-burger, in which a blob of white frosting is sandwiched between two chocolate-cake buns - which gave me a blissful sugar high, followed by a crash so precipitous it plunged me into depression for the rest of the afternoon.

Despite what felt like constant and unrestrained noshing, over the course of my hike I lost 12 pounds. That's about the average: One study found that hikers who walked the full length of the trail tend to lose about 15. However, the range of weight loss differs wildly from one person to another: The heaviest person in the study lost just under 70 pounds, while the lightest lost only 5. For a variety of reasons, women tend to lose about half as much weight as men. Some former thru-hikers have told me they lost no weight at all; one guy said he even gained a few pounds.

A lighter body means you can walk faster, longer. The same basic logic applies to your backpack, which leads hikers to jettison unnecessary items and invest in lighter gear. As my load lightened up and my legs grew stronger, my pace gradually increased from 10 miles per day up to 15 and then 20. I continued to accelerate as I reached the relatively low-lying ridges of Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. By the time I crossed over into Vermont, I was covering as many as 30 miles in a day.

In some sense, I have never been healthier than when I was hiking the AT. But it was a strange sort of fitness, because I was fit for only a single task: walking. One afternoon in Maine, a woman agreed to let my friend Hi-C and I stay at her lakeside hotel for a reduced rate, if we would agree to swim out into the lake and retrieve a floating trampoline that had come loose from its mooring. The task seemed easy enough - swim out, tow the trampoline over to the mooring (a distance of about 10 yards), and reconnect it - but it just about killed us. When we jumped into the lake, we both discovered that we could barely swim. Without any body fat, we had a hard time floating. Our arms felt weak. Almost an hour later, we emerged blue-lipped from the water, clutching ourselves and shivering electrically, the way 10-year-olds do after a swim class.

When I polled my hiker friends to ask about how the trail changed their bodies, nearly everyone reported some kind of injury or ailment: sore knees, rashes, abrasions, shin splints, broken bones, fractured joints. (Indeed, one study showed that more than 60% of all AT thru-hikers experience some kind of injury.) Nimblewill Nomad, a legendary old thru-hiker who has been hiking more or less continuously since 1998, has broken four ribs, his shinbone, and his ankle. He has even been struck by lightning.

A successful thru-hike demands you to get to know pain intimately, on a daily basis, and then to push through it.

Naturally, most hiking injuries center around the feet, which bear the brunt of the impact. Blisters bubble up. Toenails blacken and fall off. Joints swell. During the course of my hike, my feet grew a half shoe size. Two separate hikers have told me that they "walked the fat pads off" their feet, which is apparently very painful. In prolonged wet conditions, like the ones we experienced in 2009 - waterproof boots, as every thru-hiker learns, being a myth - the skin can also "macerate"; it grows pale and soft, then cracks or sloughs off, and can even become gangrenous. The easiest way to spot a thru-hiker, I've found, is to catch them after a long day of hiking, or early in the morning, when they are barefoot. It's the oddest thing, but it's true: without their boots, the super-hiker is reduced to a limping old crone.

Though it is rarely acknowledged as such, the experience of pain is one of the most memorable aspects of hiking the trail. Not the flaring pain of a stubbed toe, or the dizzying pain of a broken bone, but the steady, near-constant, low-level pain that I've been told characterizes old age. Pain is horrible, there is no question; that is why we spend our whole lives avoiding it. But the shadow of pain grows more menacing in its absence, and by shrinking away from it, we radically restrict the scope of our experience. A successful thru-hike demands you to get to know pain intimately, on a daily basis, and then to push through it.

When I returned to New York City after completing the Appalachian Trail in late August, that pain lingered in my bones. The intricate machinery of my feet - the tarsals and phalanges, the cuboid and cuneiform bones, the ligaments and tendons and muscles and arteries and veins - ached for a month afterward. In the mornings, I would rise from my bed and hobble to the bathroom with cringing, nonagenarian steps. Overnight, I had gone from being a purebred walker to someone who could barely walk.

It takes your body a few days to realize that you have stopped hiking for good. The grace period seems to last about three or four days; hikers who take breaks longer than that told me that they began to feel more tired and sore, rather than more rested. It is as if, after four days without hiking, the body's control center says, "Ahh, finally, this death march is over. Now we can begin doing all of those repairs we've been putting off for months."

However, other changes to my body were perceptible immediately. Even as my friends and I came down from the summit of Katahdin, picking our way along a treacherous ridge called the Knife's Edge, I felt different. I was no longer moving toward Katahdin, which for five months had been my north pole, my grail, my Oz - suddenly, I was moving away from it. Famished, we drove to a nearby diner and bought ourselves a lunch of chicken parm sandwiches and tallboys of beer. The food was delicious, but already I could feel my wolfish enjoyment dissipating. This food, I knew, wouldn't be used to fuel my legs, nor would it feed my fantasies. It was just plain old food - equal parts pleasure and guilt.

Back in New York, I began attending graduate school and working part-time at a distillery. Surprisingly quickly, I fell back into the rhythms of city life; I was so busy, I did not have much time to linger over the severity of the transition. Unlike most former thru-hikers, I did not feel any pangs of deep nostalgia for life on the trail. Many report feeling an intense desire to resume hiking, which they call "trail fever." Some become so obsessed that they return to thru-hike the trail again the following spring. A few even return year after year, the trail having become the center of gravity around which their lives revolve. I did not feel any burning desire to go back, but I would catch myself, late at night, looking over the logistics of another long trail, the Continental Divide Trail, which is said to be even harder, wilder, and lonelier than the AT.

Unless you're dilligent about creating a new life for yourself, when you get home, you transform back.

Over a matter of months, I gradually regressed into something resembling my old self. First, I shaved my scraggly beard, which had begun to draw nervous stares from strangers; then, a few weeks later, I cut my hair. The weight I had shed slowly filled back in, layer by later, as if I were being dipped in paraffin. The sense of calm and confidence I had felt on the trail was replaced by ambient anxiety. My thinking was staticky; my attention, hard to fix. Perhaps more than anything, I missed the intimate, working-dog connection that I'd once had with my body. I returned to spending most of my day in the realm of the mind, stopping off to visit the realm of the body only on certain occasions - while exercising, or hooking up, or during those mirror-bound bouts of self-scrutiny in the moments preceding a shower.

Inspirational backpacking memoirs often paint a vivid picture of the "transformative" effects of a long-distance hike. But here's what those kinds of books too often leave out: Unless you're dilligent about creating a new life for yourself, when you get home, you transform back.

After a while, even the pain in my feet subsided, and with it, the last bodily vestige of my time on the Appalachian Trail. Well, not quite. There was one other vestige: In the bathroom of my father's apartment was a Ziploc bag filled with human hair. When I had first shaved my beard, I had swept up the cuttings and saved them to use as a gross prank: I intended to mail the bag to a friend who had (reasonably) found the beard disgusting back when it was attached to my face. But then I forgot to send it. A year later, on a visit home, I discovered it in the cupboard above the sink. I picked it up. Five months of memories were held in that little Ziploc. It weighed nothing. Shorn from its original context, it was rendered null: a few wisps, a bygone memory, an old joke that no longer seems funny. I considered holding onto it, as a memento of my grand adventure. Instead, I walked into the kitchen and tossed it in the trash compactor, with the rest of the scraps and empty wrappers.

Robert Moor is an award-winning writer living in British Columbia. His essays and articles have appeared in Harper's, GQ, New York Magazine, n+1, and many other publications. On Trails: An Exploration is his first book.

To learn more about On Trails,

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Here's What Happens To Your Body When You Hike The Appalachian Trail

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In 2009, I set out to hike the Appalachian Trail from Georgia to Maine. Over the five months it took me to cover those 2,000 miles of mountainous terrain, I was transformed into a mythic beast. Fat, and then muscle, began to evaporate from my frame.

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Five months to complete journey with 8-10 miles a day at first, gradually accelerating.

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Packing as little as possible with as much benefit

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Congratulations! You've done it! You've committed to the journey of a lifetime. After weeks, months or perhaps even years of toying with the idea, you've made a resolute decision to pursue your dream of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.

The initial flurry of emotional fireworks and confetti quickly gives way to a wave of anxiety. The reality of living out of a backpack for the better part of a half-year while traveling on foot between Georgia and Maine raises some unsettling questions. How do I eat? How do I poop? ( Answer key: often and dig a hole.)

One question that is deserving of an aspiring thru-hiker's time and energy is " How in the world do I pack for this? "

Carry too much and you increase your risk of injury, unnecessarily reduce your pace, and above all, increase your likelihood of quitting due to constant physical discomfort. All of your time, money and effort goes for naught.

Carry too little and you run the risk of death (in the form of hypothermia) or an increased likelihood of quitting due to psychological discomfort. Again, nothing to show for all your preparation efforts.

Needless to say, finding the packing sweet spot can make or break a hiker's experience.

Although the ideal pack will vary from one backpacker to the next, there's undoubtedly a bell curve when it comes to how much thru-hikers carry. Some will fall onto the extreme ends of this weight curve and happily march the AT's full 2,189 miles. Including a number of the Ten Essentials, let's break down what one likely would (and would not) find inside the average thru-hiker's pack.
Check out our AT Backpacking Gear List.
The Essentials

1. Shelter

Most AT thru-hikers carry a tent. A smaller although not insignificant minority carry a hammock. There is no one right answer; it's a matter of personal preference.

Because the AT offers more than 250 backcountry shelters, at an average of one shelter every eight miles, some will set out on the trail without a tent or hammock, relying solely on these three-walled structures. Don't do this. Shelters on the AT are first-come, first-served. If you arrive to a shelter already at capacity, you must either hike on to the next shelter, which could require several more trekking hours, or ask people to make room for you, which is poor etiquette and offers no guarantees.

What to look for: Regardless of whether you prefer a tent or hammock, weight and durability are two important criteria.

2. Pack

As the contents inside hikers' packs get lighter and more compact, so too does the pack itself. Nowadays the ideal pack capacity is going to fall somewhere in the 40L-65L range, depending upon how much gear a hiker is carrying, the gear's compression, and how much food a hiker requires.

Simple, internal frame packs dominate the trail nowadays. More likely than not, added bells and whistles are unnecessary for the purposes of a long-distance trek.

What to look for: Again, durability and weight are important, but fit is the most important criteria for a pack. Different brands feature different fits, so it's advisable to head to your local REI to discover which pack is right for your torso and hips.

3. Sleeping Bag

The vast majority of thru-hikers are going to see sub-freezing temperatures. For this reason, it's advisable to look for a sleeping bag in the 15-20 degree range. Some will try to get by with a 30-degree bag, which is doable, although can present bone-chilling nights for anyone starting in Georgia prior to mid-April and anticipating finishing after late August.

The next biggest question is insulation material: down or synthetic? Each has its own advantages. Down is lighter and more compressible than synthetic materials at the same insulation value, but synthetic holds up better in damp environments and is cheaper. If pack weight is your primary concern, down is the best option.

What to look for: Again, pick a bag in the 15-20 degree range. If you're sleeping in a quality, waterproof tent (i.e., you're able to keep your bag completely dry), down is the preferred choice. Some bags contain water-repellent down, which offers some insulation even if it gets damp. If you're sleeping in a tarp tent or a tent sans footprint or ground cloth, pick synthetic. A bag at three pounds or less is good, although most ultralight backpackers will aim for something closer to two pounds.

4. Sleeping Pad

A good night's sleep is absolutely essential to peak physical performance, and consequently, so is a sleeping pad. Whether you opt for a foam or inflatable pad, you'll want something to cushion yourself against the wood floor of a shelter or the rocks and roots under your tent.

What to look for: The ideal sleeping pad will be lightweight (around one pound or less for a regular-length pad), insulated and from a reputable brand.

5. Clothing

This is often the category where aspiring thru-hikers end up overdoing it. Hikers need clothing appropriate for the range of conditions they will encounter on the AT with minimal-to-no redundancies and nothing more. Anything beyond what's absolutely necessary is considered a luxury, and will often be shipped home within the first week or two. To put this in perspective, hikers need no more than two pairs of underwear (and some opt for zero), two pairs of socks, and for women hikers, one sports bra. This section could be a standalone article. You can get our full clothing recommendations here.

As for material, the important takeaway is this: never cotton! Cotton both absorbs moisture and fails to wick it away from your skin. It's a poor insulator and retains odor more than its synthetic and wool counterparts. In other words, cotton garments put you at a higher risk of hypothermia and will have you smelling like a sewer faster than other fabrics (which won't help your odds of catching a hitch into town).

For insulating layers, down offers the best insulation-to-weight ratio, but is also rather finicky. It's important to keep your down gear completely dry and may require a wash after any particular humid spells.

On a final note, hikers will want to designate a particular set of clothing exclusively for camp. Not only is reserving a dry set of clothes absolutely essential for protecting oneself against hypothermia, but having something clean(ish) to change into serves as a nice morale boost at the end of a grueling day. For many, this set includes a clean pair of leggings, underwear and socks, plus a down jacket.

What to look for: Synthetic and/or wool fabrics for hiking. Down, wool and/or synthetics for camp. Choose durable materials from reputable brands.

6. Footwear

Footwear is simultaneously the most important yet difficult item to prescribe to those looking to spend significant time on trail. This is a good reason to head to your local REI and have one of the green-vested gurus help you find an option with the appropriate fit for your foot.

There are a couple of points worth noting, however.

First, although the stereotype is for hikers to don a thick, heavy leather boot, in recent years more and more thru-hikers have been opting for trail runners. Some will do a combination of boots and trail runners depending on season and terrain. Others use trail runners exclusively regardless of circumstance. Trail runners dry out faster, typically cause fewer blisters (due to their less-rigid material), and are much lighter, allowing hikers to cover more ground, faster. Boots offer more ankle stability and protection against rocks, and are better suited for heavier pack weights.

Also, it's important to purchase something .5 to 1.5 sizes larger than your current fit. Hikers need enough space in the front of their shoe to prevent their toenail from bumping against the toe box while hiking downhill. The consequence for not adhering to this will be several lost toenails. Additionally, during the course of a thru-hike, feet will both lose their arch and swell. It's hard to predict how much a hiker's foot will grow, but one full size is usually a good starting point.

7. Water Purification

Some will claim that you do not need to treat water along the Appalachian Trail. As someone who has contracted giardia while backpacking, I am not in this camp. Treat your water.

8. Hydration Reservoir / Water Bottle

Water is important. Consider using a reusable water bottle or hydration reservoir to stay hydrated.

9. Stuff Sacks

Hikers will need a minimum of two waterproof stuff sacks: one for their sleeping bag and another for clothes. It is absolutely vital to keep both your sleeping bag and camp clothes dry at all times. Most thru-hikers will carry a third stuff sack for food.

10. Guidebook

AT guidebooks are essential for planning resupply options, shelter and campsite information, and learning about amenities offered at nearby towns. Maps offer the greatest detail for the surrounding terrain and provide the best insurance against getting lost. However, because the trail is well-marked with a white blaze about every 70 feet, the majority of thru-hikers choose not to carry maps, opting for a guidebook instead. The guidebook of choice for AT thru-hikers is AWOL's AT Guide.

11. First Aid / Hygiene

This is another area where a lot of hikers overpack. First-aid kits can be simple and hygiene products should include only the essentials.

What to include: Antiseptic wipes, gauze pads, antibiotic cream, duct tape, ibuprofen, sunscreen, hand sanitizer, a sewing needle, mini toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, toilet paper, fire starter and multipurpose soap.

The Almost-Essentials

1. Hiking Poles

Although technically not essential, I always recommend that hikers use trekking poles. Not only do they absorb much of the impact on the downhills and consequently save your knees, poles can help to stave off the dreaded "T. rex effect"-large, muscular legs with disproportionately small, weak arms. And for those who use a tarp tent, hiking poles can also double as tent poles.

2. Knife / multi-tool

Although I went into my thru-hike thinking a knife would be as important to my getup as it is to Rambo's, it only ever got use cutting summer sausage. You really only need something sharp enough to cut through a dried cylinder of meat.

Popular options: A simple yet high quality pocket knife will do.

3. Stove / Cookwear

Believe it or not, not all thru-hikers use stoves. When battling excessively heavy pack weights, a warm meal at the end of the night can feel more like a luxury than a necessity. That said, most thru-hikers do carry stoves because a cold bowl of oatmeal or instant mashed potatoes tastes like punishment.

4. Headlamp

It gets dark in the woods. Look for something lightweight with at least 70 lumens; more if you plan on doing significant night hiking.

5. Electronics / Luxury Items

A smartphone is arguably one of the most versatile pieces of gear. It can double as a hiker's phone, computer, MP3 player, camera, notetaker and flashlight. Although many set out into the woods to disconnect, keeping in touch with the spouse or parent on a regular basis can prevent a lot of gray hairs back home. Other common luxury items include a mascot (action figurine or other memento), camp pillow, books or an ebook reader, among others.

And there you have it. A non-consensus, not-quite-exhaustive list of what you will and will not need to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.
Photo credit: Mellanie Paredes
Please share your questions or suggestions in the comments below.

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How to Pack for an Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike - REI Co-op Journal

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Congratulations! You've done it! You've committed to the journey of a lifetime. After weeks, months or perhaps even years of toying with the idea, you've made a resolute decision to pursue your dream of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. The initial flurry of emotional fireworks and confetti quickly gives way to a wave of anxiety.