Thru-hiking a long distance trail is hard. Not thru-hiking a long distance trail is harder. Prove me wrong.
I read a lot about re-entry and post-trail depression before and after my thru-hike. I do think part of what happens is inevitable. There are just physical changes that your body has to go through to readjust to a normal baseline and you will need to process reaching the end of trail.
There are very obvious and real reasons why thru-hikers experience re-entry issues, and there are some things that I’d gently remind you to keep in mind and try to do, when you’re in the pits of existentialism, cowboy camping in your backyard, re-watching videos of yourself summiting Mt Whitney.
Before I get into validating your post-trail sadness, here’s what I wrote at the end of the trail. Filled with endorphins and the enormity of finishing my thru-hike of the PCT:
We made it. It’s done. We finished our NOBO thru hike of the PCT.
We ended in Stehekin, about three days shy of the Canadian border. Which was a devastating blow when we first found out about the closure. And has now settled into just a reality of thru-hiking. The PCT as teacher, again. Maybe, white knuckling for a fixed ending isn’t really what it’s all about? Maybe when we’re all finished and looking back we won’t even be thinking about the ending? Maybe we’ll be pining for all the miles in between?
I don’t think I’ll forget how hard it was, or how painful (I stand by all my complaining and as I write this my knees are throbbing). But we all stepped out of the front country and threw ourselves at something big. And we made it through the blisters and the burn and the bugs and the snow and the chafe and the injuries and the filth and the fires. GOD it was really hard. But it was also everything. And I HOPE that I remember these little feelings. Why can’t I bottle them?? These small joys. These tiny beautiful things: soft ground, cold sodas, clear water sources, quick hitches, my entire body horizontal on grass, high pressure showers, laying down, a really good podcast, clean hands, hiking at golden hour, picking berries off the trail, making it to camp, putting on new trail runners, zero days, mountain sunsets, swimming in lakes, surviving lightning storms, sleeping in a tent, milkshakes right off trail, easy miles, getting warm in your sleeping bag, feeling like you’re inside the mountain range, washed socks, looking up after grinding out miles and having your breath catch at the view, finding good and wonderful people in the dirt.
It might take me a while to pack all of this away (figuratively of course, I can pack down in about 10 minutes flat). But, I guess after 156 days, these soft little animals can find a place to sleep. They can stop walking now.
Here it is, finishing the PCT, ready and so desperately not ready to go home.
Oh, those were some big feelings. And it is impossible to just put them away. You can try, friends, but I am quite sure that it won’t work.
More than a year on from this, it does still pang a little, reading those feelings. Because, yes, life does have a way of spilling in over the edges and propelling you forward. And the front country does have a way of forcing you to prioritise not being a dirtbag and instead, getting a job and shit.
Re-entry can be a lot. I felt like a little pod-person who had been plucked out of nature and dumped back in civilisation only to realise I had forgotten the language. Having conversations that were not about thru-hiking was hard. I wasn’t sure what to talk about if it wasn’t where we were camping that night, where was the next water source, do you have any snacks or dude, have you seen the view?
And there’s also the physiological stuff. Going from being outside all of the time and walking minimum 20 miles per day, your body is used to a certain level of endorphins. And I am telling you there is no way to replicate that in your front country life, because there is no time to walk 20 miles a day other than on a thru-hike.
Why Does Post-trail Depression Happen?
First, I am not a doctor but I have been a sad thru-hiker not thru-hiking after having thru-hiked. So like, street cred?
Now, for some validation. Post-trail depression is real, but manageable. It’s okay to feel a bit lost and discombobulated. In fact, it would be weirder if you didn’t. Here’s a happy little summary of things and feelings that can contribute to it:
- Loss of freakish laser point focus – on trail hikers get to pursue this one goal in a rather relentless and singularly focused way. You have planned for this thing. You have a very clear purpose and everything else that does not support that purpose is stripped away. The front country can feel a bit more aimless, until you’ve found your feet again.
- Where did them views go – the front country is noisy and chaotic and you’re not typically pummelled every day with changing and profoundly beautiful views of nature.
- Other thru-hikers are as weird as you are – it is much harder to find other people who prioritise nature and sleep in the dirt when you’re not surrounded by fellow hiker trash on trail. Those connections are everything when you’re out there.
- The physical stuff – you go from constant endorphins to a lot less and you’re probably nursing some overuse injuries that mean you should actually do a bit less for a while on account of the beating your body has taken for the last few months.
- Who even are you if you’re not a thru-hiker – there’s a sense of identity and purpose that attaches to these huge acts of physical endurance. Of course you might feel cut-off from that, at home in bed binge watching 20-year-old episodes of ‘Friends’.
Here’s What I Did to Manage Re-entry
- Acknowledge if you feel weird and sad: My first step was to quit pretending I wasn’t a lumpy mess. It was better for me, and the people around me, when I owned that and said, “um, yes, I am feeling some big sad emotions at being finished this huge and all-consuming and very precious thing.” It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.
- Stay connected: Hit up your people. Talk to thru-hikers. Communicate in whatever way works, including engaging solely through the medium of the post-trail memes that will dominate your social media.
- Set new goals: After a thru-hike, when you’re ready, it’s helpful to set new goals and challenges. If there’s not something new to focus on, you can feel quite adrift. This could be planning another thru-hike, let’s be honest, those Triple Crowns don’t bag themselves. You could also start a very niche content based blog about thru-hiking as an international hiker, for instance.
- Remember the small joys: There is no way you didn’t learn so much about yourself on trail, and especially how grateful you could be for small joys and victories. Try to carry that forward and know that had you never thru-hiked, you would never know how good it feels to see a small patch of grass in the desert.
- Stay active: This one is really important. Find some form of exercise or activity that you enjoy and that you can do pretty regularly. This is important for your brain chemistry, trust me. And also, keep hiking.
Here’s something I wrote about re-entry, about four months after being home, and obviously not taking my own advice.
I’ve been back from the PCT for four months now. Re-entry is a bitch. Dopamine depletion is awful. The edge has worn off now, thank god. But it still comes to get me. Like when I woke up in my tent at the base of Frenchman’s Cap and literally wept onto my blow up pillow because I was so happy to be waking up in my little womb-tent to the sound of Australian birdsong and a jetboil firing up outside. I realised, as I side-eyed my weeping self, I had waited too long to get back to the natures. Fires and floods kind of ruined NSW hiking. Tip for future players, don’t wait. Just go where you can hike.
I do wonder if all you thru-hikers are just back in your old skin. Systems rebooted. But then I just binge @wilderbound‘s memes and I’m pretty sure we’re all in the same place. Where that is, I’m not entirely sure. Half trying to forget the freedom of it. Half clinging to it. Hearing myself talking incessantly about it. Wondering if I should stop. Ploughing ahead with another unsolicited PCT anecdote anyway.
And, I’m not sure if this is one of the many, “this too shall pass” things in life. Because it’s not the post trail blues now. Which truly do pass. It’s just everything the PCT gave me. Emu warned me that the PCT would derail my life. I now know what she meant was that it would, irrevocably, make me see everything differently. Also, I am now 13 months unemployed, going strong, and yes thoroughly derailed.
Anyway. To all the soft little hiking animals out there, may your feet ache and may your clouds break. And I’ll see you down the trail.
Anyway, remember that the trail made you a super human hiking machine. And you can do hard things.
Also, this video, made by a thru-hiker in my year, makes fun of all of us and made me feel better when I was feeling sad. It’s worth a watch.