A hiker known on trail as Acorn has finished walking the Appalachian Trail and, instead of writing a victory lap, has posted a list of ordinary comforts he'll never take for granted again. It's a funny, honest read, and it doubles as a pretty useful reality check for anyone dreaming about a long-distance hike.
The list starts with toilets. On the AT, flush bathrooms are basically limited to hostels and the national parks along the route, like Shenandoah and the Great Smoky Mountains. Otherwise it's privies — often home to spiders, the occasional bird's nest and very little toilet paper — or the classic cathole, a six-by-eight-inch hole dug with a plastic trowel. Acorn notes, delicately, that some people struggle with the squat, others with their aim, and occasionally timing forces a transfer operation. Clean bathrooms, he concludes, are genuinely wonderful.
Wardrobes are the next shock. Most thru-hikers carry one or two pairs of socks and underwear, a single set of hiking clothes and maybe camp clothes — and that's it. Acorn describes days of 90-degree Virginia humidity where clothes never dry, followed by cold, wet mornings in the Smokies where you pull on yesterday's swampy gear before your shoes have recovered. Laundry happened roughly every five or six days; some hikers stretched it to two weeks. Showers came every four to six days on average, and he admits he wore deodorant, which bends the unwritten thru-hiker code of wearing your stench proudly.
Sleep changes you too. After a few brutal first days of 13-17 mile hikes, Acorn fell into the trail rhythm: up at sunrise, bed by 7:30 or 8pm after setting up camp, eating and writing his blog. Back home, he's managed to stay up past 9pm only occasionally. Even his inflatable sleeping pad — genuinely comfortable, he says — was one more nightly chore until he added a tiny air pump.
The smaller cravings might resonate most. Water filtered from streams gets monotonous, especially warm; an ice-cold Coke (not diet, per his trail friend Epic) became transcendent. He missed fruit and vegetables badly and is now planning a trip to an apple orchard in Central New York, where he lives, to make up for lost squash and corn. And topping the list: his wife. He says the goodnight kiss is the thing he missed most, and he's not sure he could do the hike again because he missed her so much.
Why does this matter if you're not planning a 2,190-mile slog? Because it's a rare window into what long trail life actually feels like, past the glossy summit photos. If a thru-hike is on your bucket list, Acorn's list is essentially a packing and mindset briefing: carry camp clothes, bring the micro pump, embrace privies, and know what you're giving up at home. And if it's not, it might just make your next hot shower, fresh apple or cold margarita — he and his wife have a trip south of the border planned — taste a little better.
Credit: The Trek
