A Thousand Miles from the Triple Crown By Tereza Kopecka

It’s fascinating how quickly you get used to life on trail.

When we stood at the start of the Appalachian Trail in Georgia back in March, Maine felt infinitely far away. Thousands of miles stretched ahead of us, several states, countless rainy days, hundreds of nights in a tent, and one big goal—to complete our Triple Crown of Hiking.

And suddenly, we’re in Pennsylvania.

We’ve already covered more than half of the Appalachian Trail, and there are roughly 1,000 miles left to the finish. It’s still a huge distance. In fact, more than most people walk in an entire year. But at the same time, it’s close enough that we’re starting to realize that the dream that began several years ago on the Pacific Crest Trail is slowly becoming reality.

And maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much everything has changed since our very first trail.

When we set out on the Pacific Crest Trail, we had no idea what we were doing. We had hiking experience, sure, but we had never walked that far or for that long without stopping. We used whatever gear we already had at home, bought a few extra things, and somehow pieced the rest together. I think most new long-distance hikers start the same way.

You read articles about ultralight backpacking, but at the same time you think, “There’s no way it makes that much of a difference.” Back then, cutting a toothbrush in half and counting every gram seemed almost ridiculous to me. But it really does make a difference. A huge one.

On the PCT, we had to learn the hard way. Every unnecessary piece of gear, every “just in case” item, every object we carried but never actually needed. It was one of the biggest lessons of the entire trail. By the time we hiked the Continental Divide Trail, we were much smarter. We knew what we actually used and what we didn’t. What genuinely helped us and what we were simply carrying for thousands of miles for no reason.

But only now, on our third major trail, do I feel like we’ve finally reached the point where our gear truly works the way it should. I’m not saying we’re at 100 percent. Outdoor gear is a bit like organizing a van. There’s always something you can improve. But the difference between what we carried on the PCT and what we carry today is very noticeable.

A big part of that difference comes from our ultralight backpacks. Before our third thru-hike, we finally found a system that works for us. These days, we’re usually somewhere between 25 and 30 pounds total weight, including food and water, and you can feel it with every step. When I throw my backpack on in the morning, I don’t grumble nearly as much as I used to. Quite often, I actually feel like I forgot something.

Of course, the Appalachian Trail helps with that too. Towns are close, water is available almost everywhere, and only rarely do we carry more than four days of food at a time. Most days, that means just a liter of water and relatively light food loads.

Sometimes during the day, I catch myself automatically checking whether I packed everything. Because the backpack feels suspiciously light. Then I realize that no, everything is there. It’s just that everything is lighter.

Which is actually great news, because the Appalachian Trail certainly isn’t trying to be comfortable. The PCT is often considered the trail of beautiful views. The CDT is the trail of adventure. And in my opinion, the AT deserves the title of the trail that constantly tries to convince you to pause hiking and go sit down in a restaurant instead.

For us, it’s a bit of a celebration trail. Civilization is often within reach, resupply is easy, shelters make life simpler, and the trail community is absolutely incredible. But don’t let that fool you. The trail itself tests our physical and mental endurance every single day. Roots turn into rocks, rocks turn into more roots, and in between you get steep climbs and even steeper descents. Sometimes I feel like the trail builders found the least comfortable route across the entire East Coast and said, “Perfect. Let’s put the trail right there.”

And it’s exactly in this kind of terrain that you realize how much every saved pound matters. Every uphill step becomes a little easier, every long descent puts a little less stress on your knees, and every morning you wake up feeling a little less beaten up. It doesn’t mean the trail doesn’t hurt or that we aren’t tired. Far from it. We still have days when our legs hurt, we still complain about the rocks, and sometimes we still wonder who designed this trail in the first place. But compared to those early years, the difference is enormous.

The biggest surprise? Nothing major hurts.

If someone had told me a few years ago that I’d have thousands of miles behind me and still not be dealing with knee pain or needing endless zero days to recover, I probably wouldn’t have believed them. Yet that’s one of the things that has surprised me most this year.

Of course, there are several factors at play. We have years of hiking behind us, our bodies are adapted, we train more, and we recover better. But lighter gear undoubtedly helps. Less weight on your back means less impact with every step. And when you’re taking forty to sixty thousand steps a day, every single pound starts to matter.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s that the best gear isn’t the most expensive gear. It’s the gear that fits you and allows you to keep moving forward.

When we stood at the Mexican border years ago and started the PCT, we had no idea where that journey would take us. We didn’t know we would later hike the Continental Divide Trail. And we certainly didn’t know that one day we’d be walking the Appalachian Trail with fewer than a thousand miles left to complete the Triple Crown.

Yet here we are.

The final 1,000 miles are still a long way to go. There will be plenty more rain, plenty more rocks, plenty more climbs, but also plenty more views. And probably a few more moments when I’m convinced I forgot half my gear somewhere because my backpack feels suspiciously light.

But if the trail has taught us anything, it’s that big goals aren’t achieved with one giant step.

They’re built through thousands of small ones.

And we still have exactly that many ahead of us.