I was two days into a solo traverse of the Hoh River Trail in Olympic National Park when the sky opened up. Not drizzle. Full Pacific Northwest rain — the kind that hits horizontal and doesn’t stop for hours. I had on a jacket I’d grabbed on sale the previous season. Rated 10,000mm. Looked fine … Read more

I was three days into the Southern Terminus stretch of the Arizona Trail, somewhere between the border monument and Patagonia, when I noticed something. My feet were moving easy. My pack sat flat against my back. I wasn’t grinding — I was just hiking. That wasn’t always how it went. A few years earlier on … Read more

I was about fourteen miles into a night hike on the Presidential Traverse in New Hampshire when my headlamp started fading. Not dead — just dim enough that I couldn’t read the trail markers on the rocky ridge. I slowed down, stopped twice to second-guess the route, and added an extra thirty minutes to a … Read more

It was mile four on a July day hike in southern Utah. The sun was hammering the red rock. I reached for my water bottle — a standard gym bottle I’d grabbed on the way out the door — and the water was so warm it almost made things worse. I still had six miles … Read more

I was about 1,800 feet into a loose shale descent on the Maroon Bells–Snowmass Trail in Colorado when my right knee started talking back. My pack weighed close to 40 pounds, the trail was crumbling under every step, and I had nothing to lean on. I made it down. But I swore I’d never do … Read more

It was 14°F on the north face of Mount Washington, and I couldn’t get my pack buckle open. My fingers had gone stiff inside gloves that were supposed to be “warm enough.” I was fumbling like I had mittens on a piano keyboard — except I had neither mittens nor control. That moment cost me … Read more

It was June in Arizona. I was knee-deep in a slot canyon crossing, and my waterproof boots were soaked straight through within sixty seconds. The water had poured in from the top. My feet were heavy, wet, and miserable for the next four miles. I kept thinking — why didn’t I just bring sandals? That … Read more

I was about three miles up a ridge in Colorado when I stopped dead on the trail. Something sharp was pressing into the ball of my foot. I sat on a rock, unlaced my boot, and shook out a piece of gravel the size of a corn kernel. My hiking partner didn’t stop. She just … Read more

I remember standing shin-deep in a snowmelt creek on the PCT in early May, watching cold water pour right over the collar of my Gore-Tex boots. My feet were soaked in seconds — despite paying a premium for “waterproof.” I also remember a June climb in the Cascades where the rain never showed, but my … Read more

I bought a pair of full-grain leather boots two weeks before a 10-mile loop in the Catskills. The boot shop guy said they felt great. I agreed. By mile four, I had a quarter-sized blister on my right heel and a hot spot the size of a poker chip on my left arch. I finished … Read more