The 22 States of the Triple Crown of Hiking, Definitively Ranked

I often joke that thru-hikers are total fearmongers. Alone on a trail with nothing but a few friends, a cell phone that has no service, and all our thoughts, we dwell on the challenge posed by upcoming terrain, and we then spread these worries to one another like a common cold.

Oh, man, you think Tennessee is tough? I heard this statement a dozen times on the Appalachian Trail. Just wait until we hit Virginia. Brutal, bro. When we did in fact hit Virginia, Pennsylvania became the new object of our collective dread—and on and on, up the spine of those old mountains. In thru-hiking, whatever comes next is almost always going to be the worst thing ever.

But I’ve wisened to this fearmongering. In early November 2023, I finished the Triple Crown of Hiking, a process I started in 2019 when I withstood the Virginia Blues and Rocksylvania to reach the northern end of the Appalachian Trail. The hardest part of a thru-hike, I can now say with 8,000 miles and 22 states of certainty, is not always what comes next. Some states feel like actual walks in city parks, because they sometimes are; others summon Odysseus, seabound on his ship and seemingly only getting farther away from home as one disaster precipitates another.

To clear up any future on-trail confusion and jitters—and perhaps to provide some insight to those who are just looking to trek across one state and not nearly half of the 50—I’ve ranked them from hardest to easiest, or from the ones that felt like they were trying to kill me to the ones that felt mostly like items on a checklist. This, of course, is entirely subjective, based only on my experiences in 2019 (Appalachian Trail, northbound), 2021 (Pacific Crest Trail, northbound), and 2023 (Continental Divide Trail, southbound). Go find out for yourself.

The Life-Changers!

In the three states that follow, I have respectively been so lost and cold that I worried about survival, temporarily lost my mind to the point that I thought I needed to quit, and broken a toe so badly I had to hobble down mountains in shoes reinforced by massive wads of duct tape. These are the places that will make you doubt your ability, your sanity, and your stamina, that will rearrange the balance among the id, the ego, and the superego. And they are the states you will remember for the rest of your life, because they are the cruxes of the Triple Crown.

1. Colorado (726 Miles)

No other state will scramble your summer plans, potentially ruin your life, or make you doubt yourself as a long-distance backpacker like the glorious and daunting, dastardly and grand Colorado. By the time I reached this high bar of American hiking early last September, I was nearing the 10,000-mile benchmark. But I got separated from my wife, Tina, in the savage San Juans, thought I might die, and got scooped by search-and-rescue. I slipped from a ridge and peeled my skin to the tibia. I broke hiking poles, bailed on trail more than once due to weather, and generally went from moving like the proverbial hare to the moping tortoise.

And these woes are not simply my own: Some hikers walk on roads the length of Colorado to avoid mountain extremes (don’t do that) or quit the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) entirely because of its hardships (or that). During 2023, many northbound CDT hikers encountered a massive late-season snowpack in Colorado, flew to Montana to head south so it could melt, and were subsequently slammed by early storms back in Colorado. I have rarely had more fun hiking anywhere than across Colorado, whether cruising high mountain meadows so gorgeous I wondered if heaven were real or postholing over passes and peaks so deep with snow I checked the calendar. But I’ve never worked as hard and through so much second-guessing, either. Thru-hiking’s endless tangle of enjoyment and aggravation peaks in Colorado on the CDT. Stick with it.

2. California (1,692 Miles)

If you love what you see while hiking up or down California on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), I have some bad news: You might hate it soon enough. No other state is as topographically or ecologically diverse as the country’s western colossus by trail, owing in part to its history as a geologic wonderland and in part to the nearly 1,700 miles you’ll spend here. At the Mexican border, you’re so close to the Pacific Ocean you may tell yourself you smell salt; soon enough, however, it’s all sand, as you cross the Anza-Borrego Desert and then use Southern California’s mountains, like San Jacinto, as an avenue above it.

Those first 700 clicks can be viciously windy and hot or surprisingly damp and cold, but the real variable—the thing that can make or break your PCT attempt—arrives at Kennedy Meadows, the southern edge of the Sierra Nevada. I was lucky enough to pass easily through the country’s most exquisite mountains during a low snow year, with no spikes or axe necessary, and it felt like a dream. But when the snow is thick and the rivers high (as in 2017, when two hikers drowned), some bail entirely on the section. At least for me, the real challenge came in northern California, when a combination of summer heat, surrounding wildfires, and trail-family dynamics offered a stinging daily reminder of just how long and daunting the place was. But there is also no more dazzling and dynamic state in the Union to cross on foot than the 31st.

3. Maine (282 Miles)

No pain, no rain, no Maine: It’s a motivational slogan I heard so many times on the Appalachian Trail (AT) from townies and saw on so many T-shirts that, by the time I actually reached the country’s pointer finger in 2019, it had become a punchline. But the rain doesn’t magically stop in Maine, as if you have reached some Edenic vacuum. That is, instead, where it seems ever-present, near daily showers turning the state’s very old rock slabs into slip and slides. Maine is so far north that news of switchbacks has yet to arrive; trail builders there instead prefer to shoot you straight up and down the sides of its steep little peaks, turning everything into a fall hazard.

Though the Hundred-Mile Wilderness is feared as some epic stretch where you have to carry many days of food, it is no harder than the rest of the state, which demands you work for most every step. Case in point: the Mahoosuc Notch and the Mahoosuc Arm, the former a jungle gym of rocks that breaks arms and egos every year before dumping you into the latter, a vicious bit of slick rock that may bring you to all fours. Maine is as gnarly and beautiful as the AT ever gets, and when I daydream about returning to that trail, it’s this state—mean as hell, but twice as resplendent—I see.

The Obstacles!

The rest of the top 10 will not break you or probably remake you, but they are not to be taken lightly for a variety of reasons, from mere annoyance to actual arduousness. The Obstacles are the ones that test and mold you in preparation for The Life-Changers—or afford you a tiny break when they’re done.

4. Pennsylvania (232 Miles)

Fuck Pennsylvania: For more than 200 miles, in the scorching summer heat of 2019, that was both my mantra and my amphetamine, keeping me walking when I mostly wanted to walk away from that rocky wasteland of very little views and very many trip hazards. Great things do happen on trail in Pennsylvania—the halfway point, the Half-Gallon Challenge, the path through Duncannon, a surreal and slightly menacing Rust Belt town infamous for a hotel that looks and feels haunted and a double-murder on trail. But you will fall, and you will be lucky not to break something. (My wife broke two fingers. I almost broke a knee.) You will dance, but only to dodge rattlesnakes. And you will certainly get pelted by thunderstorms that will make you question the wisdom of walking through Penn’s Woods. You even traverse a superfund site. Rocksylvania isn’t hard; it’s just grueling, a suffer-fest surrounded on both sides by the Triple Crown’s easiest stuff.

5. Montana (800 Miles)

If you’re southbound on the CDT, Montana will throw multiple haymakers your way in the first round. Though Glacier National Park is one of the most stunning zones in the country, its bureaucracy and tourist carrying capacity also make it one of the most trying as a long-distance hiker. The park’s permitting process means your second or third day on trail may need to be a marathon or more through some of the biggest climbs you’ll find until you reach Colorado. That’s only the start. The Bob Marshall Wilderness is open and empty, except for all the grizzly bears, while the peaks of the Anaconda Range will test your climbing mettle across multiple days. And there are several ways through Montana, meaning you’ll need to make difficult choices about how many days of food you can carry and where you need replacement shoes mailed early into the haul. I had 7,000 miles under my legs by the time I began the CDT at the Canadian border, and Montana still felt like a logistical puzzle and a fitness physical. By the way, if cell-phone service, or lack thereof, is our modern metric for remoteness, no state is more remote by trail than Montana. For context, you’ll even pass near the Unabomber’s old digs.

6. Washington (506 Miles)

I have fallen asleep on the trail exactly once in 10,000 miles, and it was in Washington’s majestic and alien Goat Rocks Wilderness, the vestiges of a massive volcano suspended high in the Cascades. We’d started climbing through the landscape early that morning, visibility so limited from fog that we repeatedly wandered off trail and up the wrong peaks. We were so close to coffee at a White Pass gas station and a mere hitch into Packwood, where a hot shower and a clean bed awaited. Each mistake felt like torture, sucking away whatever life force I had after 2,300 miles. That is Washington on the PCT in a nutshell: the exhausting and splendid beginning or end of your journey, depending on your direction where the rain, fog, and temperatures will make you consider nearby Seattle a tropical paradise. But when the skies relent into blue, there are few places in the United States where the scenery is more sweeping, with lush forests and pristine lakes sitting on the shoulders of massive mountains. The vistas conjure the divine. But keep your layers at the ready and, when possible, your eyes on the mesmerizing horizon.

7. New Hampshire (161 Miles)

Off and on for a dozen states, I hiked the AT near a man named Ting, an acid-dropping delight with missing teeth who liked to talk about his grandfather’s unsuccessful attempt to complete the trail decades earlier. The Ting does not fall far from the tree, turns out. Soon after reaching New Hampshire, Ting bailed with a single iconic sentence: “I didn’t come here to be a fucking mountain goat.” There is nothing else like New Hampshire’s White Mountains on the AT, and only Montana, Colorado, and California outstrip it on the western trails. Though they top out with the venerable and deadly Mount Washington just below 6,300 feet, the Whites are prominent peaks, making for big climbs and descents. And due to their position so near the coast, the weather is famously volatile, meaning you may need to scramble off a ridge and into a nearby town to wait out truly dangerous weather, as I once did before heading up the glorious Wildcat. Still, these mountains are the jewels of the East, and I find myself daydreaming about Franconia Ridge or the regal Presidential peaks even now. I love you, Ting, but you messed up.

8. Wyoming (550 Miles)

Though its politics are wildly different, Wyoming functions as a miniature California on trail. Consider, for instance, that after navigating the towering passes, striking lakes, and imposing boulder fields of the Wind River Range, you drop into the Great Divide Basin, a surreal pocket of seemingly infinite sage and sand with very little surface water and very many cows. There are immersive mountain meadows, some of the country’s most imposing peaks, and geothermal jewels in Yellowstone—it’s a microcosm of most everything the CDT has to offer in 550 miles. The storms can be severe; I spent part of my Labor Day putting on every layer I owned in my tent, pulling back from the brink of hypothermia. The wildlife is intense, so that you need to be on constant alert for grizzly bears, mountain lions, and moose. And the isolation is real, with hitches to and from resources in little Wyoming towns often taking hours. But Wyoming was my favorite state before I walked across it, and the trek only enhanced those feelings—the jewel of the American Rockies, where “The West” remains more than an idea on television.

9. Virginia (532 Miles + 25 Miles Shared with West Virginia)

Virginia is flat: That is the motivational mantra of northbound AT thru-hikers as they cross the Smokies along the Tennessee/North Carolina border or as they push up the likes of Tennessee’s Roan Mountain. I am here to say it is also a lie. When you finish Virginia, you will have climbed more than 100,000 feet and descended roughly the same, that gain and loss moving like a ripple across 532 miles of trail that shoot from the state’s southwest corner to its northern reaches. Hikers lament about “The Virginia Blues,” a sort of State Affective Disorder as you long for the next border. But don’t be too invested in reaching West Virginia and Maryland, as this is a spectacular stretch of the country. There are few places more serene than Shenandoah National Park, scant towns more welcoming to hikers than Damascus, and perhaps no trail landmark anywhere as iconic as McAfee Knob. Virginia is a place of big, broad mountains and verdant valleys and meadows—the Platonic ideal of the AT, for a great many miles.

10. Tennessee (75 Miles + 220 Miles Shared with North Carolina)

The difference between Tennessee and North Carolina on the AT is often a matter of footfalls—scoot to the opposite side of the path, and you’re suddenly in the other state. Indeed, soon after you enter Great Smoky National Park, you ride the serrated divide between the two for more than 200 miles, cutting across the border like you’re jumping rope. These shared spans are a challenge, with the unruly weather of the Smokies making every day feel like a new season and the ceaseless ups and downs steeling the muscles of northbound newbies. They’re also immensely rewarding, the place on the AT where the spirit of some of the world’s most ancient mountains feels most intact, as if you’re one of the first people ever to roam them. Moving away from the border, Tennessee is a tough task, with a solid climb up Roan Mountain, a torturous ascent above the pleasant Laurel Fork Falls, and a quad-crushing descent to the Nolichucky River near the highland outpost of Erwin. I spent some of my hardest AT days in Tennessee, so delirious from a stomach bug I turned down trail magic. Finishing it, though, convinced me I could make it to Maine.

The Totally Pleasants!

I look back at these states, almost entirely, with fondness. They’re challenging but not daunting, more beautiful than brutal. Ask me to hike across any of them again, and I’ll take a week or two away to join you without hesitation.

11. New Mexico (820 Miles)

New Mexico was the last of these 22 states for me, and I was accustomed to hiking across the desert, thanks to the southernmost stretch of California on the PCT and a trek across Arizona the year before. By then, neither water carries of 15 miles nor drinking from the same muddy sloughs or algae-loaded tanks as cows bothered me, but if it’s your first time in such climes, it may be a battle. And then, of course, there’s the weather, which will be fitfully cold after dark but surprisingly hot in the sunshine, even in the winter. Otherwise, though, New Mexico is a wonder, its northern expanses of red rock giving way to gentle ponderosa mesas to inland seas of chapparal that always make me feel like I’m floating as I walk. With a few hundred river crossings in a few dozen miles, the canyon of the Gila is one of the most daunting sections of trail in the United States, but it’s also among the most secluded and splendid. The lysergic sunsets, the wondrous Pie Town, the river of lava rock: New Mexico rewards the work every day.

12. North Carolina (96.4 Miles + 220 Shared with Tennessee)

If you’re headed north, North Carolina may very well be the state where you discover if you love or hate thru-hiking. The trail feels steeper as soon as you leave Georgia, and the afterglow of the first few days ends with the realization that this is your life now. There are very deep descents and real climbs, especially to reach the century mark atop Albert Mountain, and the weather is famously volatile. For me, North Carolina being my home state, this was a perfect place to fall in love with long-distance motion, to surrender to the delirium of this lifestyle. You will feel like a celebrity walking through the welcoming towns of Franklin and Hot Springs, like a god on top of the state’s panoramic pride at Max Patch, and like one of the chosen few scarfing down fries at Nantahala Outdoor Center as tourists stare at you like you’re a black bear.

13. Oregon (455 Miles)

Do I remember hiking across Oregon? Maybe? I recall an indulgent day off in Portland, diving into the wonderful waters of Crater Lake after racing through a wildfire zone, getting in a trail-family fight near the splendid Obsidian Falls, and gobbling a breakfast buffet at the Timberline Lodge at the base of Mount Hood. There were, in fact, lots of good waterfalls, lots of volcanic vestiges, and lots of imposing views of the mighty Cascades. But Oregon is perhaps the cruisiest major state of the Triple Crown, with rewards of panoramic splendor and geologic eccentricity coming with very modest work. Oh, and between co-ops in Ashland, Bend, and Portland, you can eat fancy for 500 miles.

14. Idaho (180 Miles)

Idaho is one of the most striking and raw places in the continental United States, but the CDT sells it short. Some hikers insist it is possible to thru-hike the trail without ever entering Idaho, opting instead for a route that runs deeper into Montana; stick to the traditional route, and you enter Idaho only occasionally, anyway. Such is the nature of a trail that follows the Continental Divide through the Bitterroot Range on a state border that also follows the divide. Idaho gets partial credit for some of Montana’s most arduous sections, including one span of a dozen miles where you repeatedly bomb up and down the same ridge, several hundred feet at a time. Lemhi Pass, a crucial route for the Shoshone that became a critical landmark for the Lewis & Clark Expedition, is one of the best viewsheds I’ve ever encountered, epitomizing Big Sky Country in every direction. Walking on the eastern edge of Idaho only made me want to head west, deeper into its rugged recesses.

15. Vermont (151 Miles)

Vermont was never the real star of the Hudson River School, the 19th-century painting enclave that immortalized romantic scenes of this young country’s natural opulence. The Green Mountain State was mostly passed over for the surrounding Catskills or Whites. But there may now be no better place in the country to feel like you’re inside such a scene than Vermont via the AT. Sure, the state’s infamous slogs of mud are real, as are the pushes up mountains like Stratton and Killington. But my enduring trail memories of Vermont are bucolic fields of flowers and roadside farmstands, faded wooden barns and ridges so dense with trees they look like they’ve never lost so much as a branch. My wife broke her toe at Massachusetts’ northern border, so Vermont was a battle. But the setting, with its virginal old-growth forests and ponds so idyllic you assume they’re filled with maple syrup, made it a dream, too.

16. Georgia (78 Miles)

If you are, like I was, a first-time thru-hiker headed north on the AT when you get to Georgia, finishing the state will feel like the greatest athletic accomplishment of all time, equivalent to the second Chicago Bulls three-peat or Courtney Dauwalter’s recent running résumé. Feel proud now, because you will soon know better. This is, instead, just glorious walking in Southern woods, something Bill Bryson could barely manage but you can surely handle. (One caveat: The 604 stairs that lead from the arch at Amicalola Falls State Park to the southern terminus are awful, though they’re not officially part of the AT.) Sure, the climbs up Blood and Rocky mountains are demanding, and the descents into the gaps are deep. But remember that, unless you’re southbound and almost finished with the AT, this is a mere warmup, surrounded by towns with cheap restaurants and good grocery stores. Take your time, and congrats on 78 miles.

The They-Exists!

There are four consecutive states on the AT through which you will cut with quickness—heading north on trail, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. They’re all less than 100 miles each. None of the peaks are extreme. Civilization is sometimes too close at hand. Consider them a reprieve before you hit the AT’s final gauntlet headed north or Rocksylvania headed south.

17. Massachusetts (90 Miles)

When you’re standing at the top of Mount Greylock, the highest point in Massachusetts and a truly imposing mountain though it doesn’t quite reach 3,500 feet, remember that you are standing atop Moby Dick. The peak’s visage inspired Herman Melville when he lived in the lowlands nearby, and it’s a fitting symbol for the state, the hardest of these four. Greylock is a bear, especially on a hot day, and the shoulders of Mount Everett feel like they sometimes near vertical. Very intense mosquitoes and abundant blueberry bushes, amazing sightlines and some rocky spans, groves of ferns and troves of day hikers: Massachusetts is a mixed bag on trail, brief as it may be.

18. New York (93 Miles)

New York has a few tricks up its stony sleeves—little climbs so steep you’ll use rebar handles, high walks over open rock faces, tight squeezes between large boulders, and some surprising water carries. When the temperature is high, Bear Mountain can be a bruiser, and there’s a stone staircase that may make you think you’re back at Georgia’s Amicalola Falls. But there’s a campsite where you can have Thai food delivered, a trailside ice cream stand that’s next-level, and delis with beer and bagels every 200 yards. These might be the most luxe 100 miles on any major American trail, with new resources appearing at most every new road crossing.

19. New Jersey (72 Miles)

An amazing thing about New Jersey? You’re no longer in Pennsylvania. But seriously, after crossing the Delaware River, the 72 miles across Jersey’s northern shore unfurl as pure pleasantry, with some gentle strolls around lakes, some good boardwalks over bogs, and some fun bursts of scrambling. There’s a nice national wildlife refuge, an obelisk that marks the state’s high point, and a strong chance you will see at least one suburban black bear. A fine and sweaty time, all around.

20. Connecticut (52 Miles)

I once partied so hard at a fancy pizzeria in a tawny Connecticut town that I slept behind a dumpster, only to be awoken by the murderous cries of a fox in heat. The rough sleep and the enhanced hangover didn’t matter much, though, since Connecticut is for cruising. There are many flat miles along the wide Housatonic, some baby mountains that are as gentle as a Stairmaster, and trails that have been groomed with care and attention. A great state for stretching your legs out for long days—or taking a break for pizza and sleeps among stacks of garbage.

The Kind-Of-Cutes!

Should you want to say “I hiked across an entire state” without wanting to elaborate, here you go.

21. Maryland (41 Miles)

Maryland is so simple that some northbound hikers will sprint across it in a day, as though getting to the hell hole of Pennsylvania were a badge of honor. Slow down, man—it’s pleasant walking. Visit the squat, stone Washington Monument near Boonsboro, built six decades before its more famous neighbor. Prowl around the ruins of a Civil War journalist’s castle at Gathland State Park. And at night, preferably by flickering campfire light, remind your fellow hikers that The Blair Witch Project was filmed in the forest nearby.

22. West Virginia (3 Miles + 25 Miles Shared with Virginia)

Few states are more associated with stereotypes of Appalachia or the organization behind the AT than West Virginia; in 2024, it unfairly remains the butt of provincial jokes and the headquarters of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy. As for actual walking? Nada. You’ll spend more time at the ATC hub or looking at antebellum relics at Harpers Ferry—often called the “emotional halfway point of the AT” and the cradle of the Civil War, a lot to hold for such a small town—than traversing the three miles or so that lead into and out of it. If it helps with the mind game of the Virginia Blues, however, several spans of that state ride the West Virginia border; tell yourself you’re in West Virginia to make Virginia seem a tad shorter.