TOAt this very moment, the next generation of aspiring hikers is planning their adventures. They’re ordering UL comforters, packing resupply boxes, and booking plane tickets. They are completing budget and mileage spreadsheets. They go on test hikes and fight against their tents with trekking poles.
Everything is falling into place, until, suddenly, the train derails. A dream job, an unexpected expense, or a budding relationship gives the 2,000-mile hopeful pause. Maybe now is not the best time to go hiking? Maybe next year?
After all, the trail will always be there. Most hikers have heard this refrain. Whether in the planning process or when contemplating abandoning a trail, a friend or other hiker assures them that they can always try again.
But what if that’s not true?
The unpleasant reality is that, actually, no, the trail won’t necessarily always be there. If recent history has taught us anything, it’s that many factors can wreak havoc on our hiking dreams. If you have the opportunity to go hiking, don’t put it off. Just go.
Fires
Over the past decade, countless unique and unprecedented events have irreparably affected long-distance trails. The AT, PCT, and other iconic trails still see an influx of long-distance hikers each year, but their experiences are not the same as those who hiked 20 years ago.
Over the past decade, the prevalence of wildfires has skyrocketed in California, Oregon and Washington. According FIRE14 of the state’s 20 most destructive fires have occurred since 2016, and 10 of the 20 largest fires have occurred since 2020.
The Dixie and Caldor fires in 2021 burned a combined total of 1.1 million acres in and around the Pacific Crest Trail. The Eagle Creek Fire burned a section of the PCT through the Columbia River Gorge in 2017 and took years to restore. In 2022 and 2025, there were several fires in Canada, resulting in the closure of the northern terminal.
Now, it is miraculous that a hiker can traverse the Pacific Crest Trail as a continuous trail, even though it was common 15 years ago.
Largely attributed to climate change, wildfires are no longer just affecting western trails. There have been wildfires that have closed sections of the Appalachian Trail in Massachusetts, Vermont, North Carolina and Tennessee. Even New Jersey was on fire in 2025. As these forests continue to suffer from drought, the risk of fire will only increase.

Floods
The antithesis of fires, heavy rains and flooding have also devastated trails. In 2024, Hurricane Helene destroyed much of the Southern Appalachian Trail. In a region once thought to be a refuge from climate disasters, the hurricane caused a 1,000 year flood in western North Carolina, when the slow-moving storm dropped 15 to 30 inches of rain on an already saturated landscape.
On the Appalachian Trail, the deadly flooding caused massive landslides and extensive damage to iconic towns along the trail. More than 800 miles of trails were subsequently closed. To this day, some sections remain unnavigable and the Appalachian Trail Conservancy warns that downed trees can cause increased risk of forest fire in the future.
Back out west, PCT towns like Stehekin, Washington, are still battling the repercussions of the devastating flooding and debris flows they experienced last December.
Pandemics
Then there was a pandemic. Easily one of the biggest disruptions to the hiking community and everyone else, the COVID-19 pandemic prevented hundreds of future hikers from starting or finishing their hikes in both 2020 and 2021.
The economic repercussions altered the hiking experience much later. Towns and local communities are as important a part of the trail experience as the trail itself. During and after the pandemic, beloved restaurants and shelters closed.
Anecdotally, some hikers believe it changed the culture. With the well documented boom of outdoor recreation In 2020 and 2021, more people than ever will take to the streets. More trails and parks are adopting permits and timed entry systems to combat overcrowding. It has also generated more community, more people who share a love of fresh air and sleeping on the ground, if you can find a place in the shelter.

Policy
2025 brought trails to the center of the geopolitical stage. In June, Senator Mike Lee (R-UT) introduced a bill attempting to sell off public lands. While nationwide advocacy contributed to the bill’s failure, the administration continues to support rescinding the Roadless Rule, threatening access to and surrounding areas of the Pacific Crest Trail and Continental Divide Trail.
Given the reckless pace at which the administration is reducing conservation and recreation protections, it won’t be surprising if National Scenic Trail designations continue to mean less.
Public access has already been deprioritized at the southern limits of the Continental Divide Trail and Pacific Crest Trail. In April 2025, the Department of the Interior deeded land that included the southern end of the Continental Divide Trail to the U.S. Army to create the New Mexico National Defense Areaan expanse of land dedicated to increased military presence and border control. On the Pacific Crest Trail, hikers can still access the southern end, but the U.S. military has incorporated the land immediately to the south into a National Defense Area.
Political rhetoric and increased tension with Canada have also affected access to North Terminus of Pacific Crest Trail. Starting in January 2025, hikers will no longer be able to cross the border into Canada to reach the monument as they traditionally did to celebrate the end of their hike.
Yes, the trails themselves persist through physical, cultural, and political change, but that change produces a very different experience than what it meant to walk in the ’80s, 2000s, and even the late 2010s.
What makes a PCT thru-hike a PCT thru-hike? Is it about the distance, the landscapes, the outdoors, or the community? Most hikers recognize that the trail is now a very different experience than it was 50 years ago, so where does the idea that the trail will always be an option come from?

Desert: Static and immutable?
Culturally in the United States, wildlife is supposed to be static and unchanging, or at least changing at a geological rate. Nature is a space in contrast to society.
It’s an escape from social expectations and the limits of career-driven schedules. The stressors of the city do not exist there. It’s the great equalizer, a raw place to test yourself. It is vast and sublime. It is a place to feel powerful and insignificant. It is calm and peaceful.
The forests of New England and the cliffs of Yosemite were there long before humanity and will be there long after. The trail will always be there. However, the potential for change to transform the hiking experience seems increasingly likely.
Environmental historians I have written about the creation of public lands and wildlife ethics. The Romantic movement that gave rise to the nature writings of Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau evoked a sense of reverence for the outdoors. When Theodore Roosevelt, led by John Muir, strengthened the national park system, he did so not only to protect stunning natural wonders from resource extraction, but also to encourage Americans to engage in outdoor recreation.
National rhetoric painted these spaces as distinct from the cities where people lived and worked, thus creating the need to preserve them and the notion that public land exists as an apolitical space separate from everywhere else.

Even now, steeped in the Leave No Trace trail ethic, the outdoor recreation community tends to think of forests as immutable and intact as long as trail users follow a set of seven principles that govern individual behavior. Indigenous communities are deeply familiar with land protection policies, but events over the past 10 years have brought it to the forefront of public conversation.
The disorders described above demonstrate that far from being static and unchanging, the outdoors is dynamic and strongly influenced by human intervention.
It is less possible to view the trail as apolitical when executive orders and immigration policies result in direct, tangible changes to access to public lands. When extreme weather events make portions of trails unrideable, it’s harder to argue that the trail experience will remain the same.
It’s increasingly impossible to feel disconnected from broader cultural and political conversations when stepping onto a trail, a stark contrast to what most hikers understand the outdoors to be.
The case of hope
In the current political, cultural and physical climate, it increasingly appears that what was once true can no longer be taken for granted. Access to trails and natural spaces as they currently exist is no longer a given, as it was in previous decades. By delaying a hike, hikers risk giving up on the version of the trail they hope to experience, which is why if you’ve been dreaming of a hike, you should do it now.
While growing instability has caused some members of the outdoor recreation community to reconsider how they perceive the places they love, it has also led to impressive collective efforts to continue protecting public lands.

According to the Public Land TrustThe vast majority of Americans opposed the sale of public lands across political and cultural lines. Between REI and the Outdoor Alliance initiatives, more than 700,000 people protested against the bill. Strong support for access to public lands represents common ground. It should give us some hope for the future of our trails.
So, call your representatives, fight for access to public lands, and most importantly, find a way to ride whatever trail calls to you, because in reality it may not always be there c6wgs.
Cover image: Graphic design by Mackenzie Fisher.



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