Imagine pouring your heart and soul into preparing for an epic adventure on the Pacific Crest Trail, only to have your dreams crushed not by blisters or bears, but by a frustrating online form and a dash of bad luck. That's the hidden nightmare that has my trail buddies grumbling about the PCT—and trust me, it's way more relatable than you might think.
Let's clear the air right away: when my friends say they 'hate' the Pacific Crest Trail (or PCT for short, a stunning 2,650-mile path snaking from Mexico to Canada through deserts, mountains, and forests), they're not talking about the physical grind of logging endless miles or battling Mother Nature's whims. No, the real villain in their stories is the behind-the-scenes hassle—the endless paperwork, the nail-biting timing requirements, and that infamous permit lottery system that can slam the door on your plans in mere moments. For newcomers to thru-hiking (that's when you tackle the entire trail in one go, often over four to six months), this might sound surprising. The PCT isn't just a walk in the woods; it's a carefully managed national treasure, protected by the U.S. Forest Service and other agencies to prevent overcrowding and environmental damage. But here's where it gets controversial: while these rules keep the trail sustainable, do they unfairly gatekeep dreamers who aren't glued to their computers at exactly the right second? More on that later.
I share this with a ton of affection because, let's face it, the PCT is a bucket-list marvel that changes lives. Yet, it's one of the few long-distance trails where your adventure can implode before you even lace up your boots. My crew's gripes aren't about the joy of the journey; they're laser-focused on the logistical minefield and that unpredictable permit process, which feels a bit like playing the slots with your summer.
To give you the full scoop, for several years, my pals kept extending invites for their big thru-hike pushes, and I had to pass. It wasn't out of resentment or fear of the unknown—I was deep in my career as a geologist and geophysicist, navigating professional certifications, and juggling duties that made a months-long escape impossible. Looking back, I'm thrilled with those decisions; they built the foundation for where I am now. But finally, the stars have aligned, and 2026 is my year to chase the PCT.
Our story kicked off way back in 2008 with casual day hikes on the Appalachian Trail (AT), another iconic U.S. trail stretching from Georgia to Maine. What started as innocent chatter like 'Hey, we should hike more' gradually amped up to wild ideas of vanishing into the wilderness for half a year or longer. For beginners, think of it like this: day hikes are bite-sized adventures to build fitness and love for the outdoors, but thru-hikes demand serious commitment, gear planning, and mental toughness.
And that's precisely when the PCT—and its notorious permit drama—crashed our group conversations like an uninvited guest.
Enter Camp Moonshine: Our 2016 Appalachian Trail Venture
The so-called 'hate' is really just tough love mixed with good-natured ribbing, but the frustration fueling those jokes? It's 100% legit.
Picture James (trail name: Rockslide), Henry (Hambone), and Avery (Turbo) conquering sections of the AT in 2016, from Carlisle, Pennsylvania, all the way to Mount Katahdin in Maine. These were the early vibes: a tight-knit group soaking in ridge-top views and bonding over shared miles.
The Doomed 2018 PCT Scheme (Rest in Peace)
Core flashback: You're hyped to trek all the way to Canada, then bam—you discover your fate hinges on how fast you can mash the refresh button on a website.
Back in 2018, the blueprint seemed simple: conquer the PCT. The team geared up with intense training sessions, secured vacation time from jobs, and mapped out a solid itinerary. But permit season arrived like snagging front-row seats to a sold-out show—if you hesitate for a second, your preferred start dates vanish into the ether. All the while, the hiking window (prime weather months from April to October) ticks away relentlessly. I'm not diving into a full debate on the system's fairness—overcrowding is a genuine issue on popular trails like the PCT, and rangers have finite tools to protect fragile ecosystems. Still, it smarted when a few clicks on a screen hijacked what was supposed to be our triumphant year. And this is the part most people miss: for seasoned hikers, fitness and prep are givens, but bureaucracy can humble even the toughest adventurers.
In the end, physical readiness wasn't the roadblock. The calendar was.
So, Plan B Morphs into the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) in 2018
When the PCT vision crumbled, our fallback wasn't some casual jaunt. Nope, it was the CDT—another beast of a trail, 3,100 miles along the Rocky Mountains' spine from Mexico to Canada—because this squad doesn't do half-measures.
That electric moment crossing into Canada on the CDT (northbound in 2018). I'm bursting with pride for what they pulled off.
Honestly, who pivots to the CDT as a consolation prize? Only Camp Moonshine, that's who—turning potential defeat into another legendary chapter.
Spotlight on Camp Moonshine: Their Impressive Trail Credentials
These aren't just tall tales; they're documented triumphs, which is why I take their insights to heart instead of pushing back.
Henry 'Hambone' Kohler
- Appalachian Trail: 2016 (northbound attempt), 2017 (full northbound), 2019 (southbound), 2021 (northbound)
- Continental Divide Trail: 2018
- Camino de Santiago: 2019 (a historic pilgrimage route in Spain, about 500 miles on foot)
- Arizona Trail: 2020 (partial northbound), 2022 (southbound), 2023 (northbound)—this 800-mile path cuts through Arizona's diverse landscapes
- Florida Trail: 2021 (1,500 miles across swamps and beaches)
- Pinhoti Trail: 2021 (a Southern gem linking Alabama and Georgia)
- Mississippi River (Source to Sea): 2023 (paddling and hiking from Minnesota to the Gulf)
- Northern Forest Canoe Trail: Twice (2024 and planned for 2025)—a 740-mile waterway adventure
Follow Hambone on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hambonekohler/?hl=en
Avery 'Turbo' Morrow
- Appalachian Trail: 2016 (northbound attempt), 2017 (complete northbound)
- Continental Divide Trail: 2018 (northbound)
- Arizona Trail: 2020 (partial northbound), 2022 (southbound)
- Colorado Trail: 2022 (southbound)—486 miles through the Rockies, a rite of passage for many
Check out Turbo on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/averymorrowfitness?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==
Jumping Ahead to 2020
By 2020, with the world reopening post-initial COVID shutdowns, we hit the trails again—and the group chat was still buzzing with permit horror stories. That energy fueled a bold Arizona Trail thru-hike try, where we honed our banter and dreamed even bigger.
Sage (that's me, trail name Shakaa), Henry (Hambone), Avery (Turbo), and Morg—capturing a pre-pandemic high point.
Fast forward to today, and roles have flipped: I'm the one scheming for the PCT. Put another way, Camp Moonshine has my back, even if their way of showing support involves plenty of playful jabs.
So, Do My Friends Truly Despise the PCT?
Not even close. What they really can't stand is what it stood for in those tough moments: red tape triumphing over pure dedication and sweat. Ultimately, that detour wove itself into our greatest tales! But here's a subtle counterpoint to chew on—maybe the permit system's rigidity pushes hikers toward less-regulated trails, sparking more diverse adventures. Is that a bug or a feature?
A cherished zero day (that's hiker lingo for a full rest) in Carlisle during 2017, smack in the AT's midpoint. Camp Moonshine arrived in style, merging our trail clan with the local scene. Spot me in the back, flashing the shaka sign!
Up next: the wisdom I've gleaned from Camp Moonshine—and the lessons I'll likely rediscover the hard way on my own PCT quest.
I'm Sage, and you can read more from me at https://thetrek.co/author/sage-w/.
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Published January 3rd by Sage W (https://thetrek.co/author/sage-w/)
About Sage W
Hey, I'm Sage—a geologist and geophysicist gearing up for a 2026 PCT thru-hike. My writing dives into themes of loss, resilience, and even Southern comfort food like gumbo, blending poetry with practical advice. I'm all in on backcountry hygiene hacks (shoutout to the portable bidet) and attempting Cajun feasts amid the wilderness—spoiler: it's a hilarious ongoing blunder.
What about you? Has a permit snag ever derailed your outdoor plans, or do you think the PCT's system is a necessary evil for trail preservation? Drop your thoughts in the comments—I'd love to hear if you're team 'reform it' or 'leave it be'!
