Why Thru Hiking the AT Sucks

Who am I?

To start this “Why thru hiking the AT Sucks” article, I’ll introduce myself. My name is Shoey, Trevor, or Chuck- depending on who you ask. I thru hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2023. And ideally, that is about the only explicit introduction you’ll need. 

*For the record, I only gave out that much info because the editors/head-honchos here said I probably should.*

The Beginning

Despite writing a thru-hiking blog, I am of the opinion that (at least) the AT sucks. 

I grew up in New England, and learned about the Appalachian Trail when I was probably about 10-12ish years old. Since I was a middle aged child I’d always kinda known I’d like to do it someday, at some point. In 2023 I did. Mainly because I had few job opportunities and some cash to burn. 

I did not enjoy it. Sure, there were parts I liked, I had some good times; but on the whole, it mostly sucked. 

Every time I read some trek blog, or listen to some thru hiking podcast, or look at some other well polished piece of media; it always seems like the authors had the greatest, most fulfilling times of their lives on trail. I did not. 

In fact, a lot of the (AT) thru hikers I’ve talked to in person did not. And I’m tired of pretending otherwise. 

The author at the end of the AT; with all light drained from his eyes.

The Truth

The AT sucks.

It is a cold, hot, humid, wet, long, dark, green, slog. From the time I hit the Pennsylvania border there were few things I desired more than for it to spontaneously end. I saw nothing but goddamn trees, twigs, and branches for days on end. On even the hottest, driest days I would fall asleep moist and awake wet. 

Every couple days there would be a nice lookout. A spot that I could gaze out on a large expanse of… more trees and leaves. This time from a more distant viewpoint. I would then descend back into the cloaking shadow of… more trees and leaves. 

Ultimately though, these are minor gripes. The worst thing was the rain. The cold, unfeeling, godless rain. 

The Rain

During 2023, it was a generally cold and wet spring in the south. But, it’s the AT, I was expecting rain. Most of Virginia wasn’t bad. There were plenty of rainy days, and several days of torrential downpours. Pennsylvania might not have actually been as bad as I remember in terms of rain. But it was hot, humid, and also the point where my brain started to actively disassociate. 

New Jersey was fifty-fifty? I honestly don’t remember much of New Jersey. I think it was actually mostly dry, but the hottest stretch, so I wasn’t particularly pleased with it. 

New York was where my own personal hell broke loose. At Bear Mountain, I weathered a rain storm that looked like the eye of Sauron on radar. It dropped about eight inches of rain in two-ish hours (not hyperbole), and it was all downhill from there. From this point on I no longer remember stretches of rain. I only remember the stretches of intermittent sun.

The trail in New York.

There was a nice couple day stretch through the middle of Vermont. Hiking Franconia Ridge was a gorgeous bluebird day, and the day after was nice as well. 

That’s it. Those are the only truly nice stretches I remember. I’m sure there were nice days sprinkled in among the rain, but rarely consistently. It was a daily grind; really more of a sloughing given the amount of water involved. 

The trail in Massachusetts.

Maine was arguably the worst state on trail. I’m a Mainer, and it pains me to write that. In my regular life there is nothing I love more than pontificating about how incredible Maine is. I was looking forward to finishing the trail in my home state. A solid 75% of the reason I did the AT is because Maine is the best state in the country and Baxter State Park is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. 

I spent 16 days of the Appalachian Trail in Maine; it rained 13 of them. Sizable stretches were essentially a swamp (and I went thru in August, the driest summer month). I had long ago become numb to putting on completely saturated socks each morning, but in Maine it finally caught up to me. By the end I had a legitimate case of trench foot; numerous angry red sores all over my otherwise white, waterlogged, pruney feet. 

The trail in Maine.

When I finally reached Katahdin; I felt nothing but relief. No joy, no elation, no true happiness. I was happy it was over. I was happy I would finally have a roof over my head. Really though, I was just relieved it was done. 

Then I had to hike down. I was quite irritated. 

The PCT

Now, two years later, I’ve decided to hike the PCT…