Hikers Share Their Trail Names and the Stories Behind Them

Who doesn’t love a good trail name story? No one knows exactly how the tradition of taking a trail name first came about, but it is undoubtedly one of the most cherished quirks of thru-hiking culture. We asked Trek readers to share the hilarious, inspiring, and occasionally heart-wrenching stories behind their trail names, and the results did not disappoint.

Responses have been lightly edited for length, clarity, and grammar.

Slider | @tromboneandhike

Photo via @tromboneandhike

I triple-crowned carrying a plastic trombone.

Nudist | @adventure_with_tina

I began the Pacific Crest Trail hiking solo through the early sections, embracing the solitude and rhythm of the trail. But as I entered the Sierra section, I joined up with a tramily. We headed into the Sierra in early June, just as the snow was melting and the alpine lakes were beginning to emerge in all their frigid, stunning glory.

The freedom I felt on trail was something I’d never experienced before — raw, pure, and exhilarating. Wanting to fully embrace that sense of liberation, I made it my personal mission to skinny dip in as many lakes as possible … Being from Germany, where nudity in nature is culturally accepted and normalized, this kind of openness wasn’t unusual for me. But out on the PCT, it became a way to celebrate life.

Photo via @adventure_with_tina

Not long after, we summited Mount Whitney for sunrise. In that magical moment — bathed in the first sunrays of the day on the highest peak in the lower 48 — I posed for a photo that, to this day, captures the essence of the freedom I felt: standing naked in front of the rising sun, utterly alive.

Then came June 21st — Summer Solstice. A few of us in the tramily honored the hiker tradition of hiking naked to celebrate the longest day of the year. That’s when the name stuck. From that day on, I was known as Nudist. And I’ve worn that name proudly ever since.

To me, it’s more than just a funny trail name. It’s a symbol of what life can feel like when you strip away the noise, live in sync with nature, and fully embrace the present moment.

House Fire | @annieniquette

Photo via @annieniquette

I dropped a lit joint in my tent and burned a small hole in my tent floor. Patched up nicely with some tenacious tape — no harm, no foul!

Jimni | @jimni_walker

My husband’s name was Jim, and he passed away due to colon cancer in 2020. Years ago we used to backpack, camp, and rock climb together, but life got in the way, kids needed to be raised, and eventually his health started to fail. When he was in hospice, I told him I wanted to thru-hike the AT and I was going to take the trail name Jimni, which is short for Jim and I.

I did and I am currently on my thru-hike, which is a flip-flop from Rockfish Gap to Katahdin > Rockfish to Springer. I am currently a little over 100 miles into it, having just finished Shenandoah National Park.

First Row | @sannawandert

Photo via @sannawandert

Two days before the start of the PCT, I stayed with Scout and Frodo. Every question Scout asked us to test our knowledge of the trail, I answered first. I prepared so much beforehand, so I felt like a schoolchild sitting in the first row of the classroom, desperate to be the one to answer the teacher — hence Scout’s nickname for me, First Row.

Scratch | @kbow628

Photo via @kbow628

I did a flip-flop hike in 2023. After starting in Harpers Ferry, my third night on trail was at the Annapolis Rock campground in Maryland. I stored all of my food and smelly things in an Ursack, which I hung on the provided bear pole. However, at 3 a.m. I was woken up by a bear pawing at my tent!

Despite my loud cries of “GO AWAY, BEAR,” I could not scare it away. Other hikers camping nearby got out of their tents and ran over to my site, making noise by banging their trekking poles together and yelling. Eventually, they scared the bear away.

I spent the rest of that night sharing a tent with a very generous hiker (love you, Bones!). The next day, different people proposed various trail names related to the incident. Because of the scratches left on my tent from the bear’s claws, someone proposed the name Scratch, and it stuck.

Cabot | @hax293

Photo via @hax293

I started the AT with four pounds of Cabot cheddar cheese.

Rock Keeper

Had just started NOBO from Springer (about five days in). My wife had painted a rock (about half a pound) for me to carry as a token. It is bright yellow with the AT logo and a bear claw. I used it to throw my food bag/cord over tree limbs to store my food.

On this occasion, it fell out, and instantly I was ribbed by the eight or so guys who were at the shelter. My response was, “I’ve been married over 20 years. If my wife wants me to carry it, then that’s what I’m gonna do — I know where my bread is buttered, and she’s a keeper.” I instantly was given my trail name by one of the guys.

I did carry that rock all the way to Mt. K.

Bags Bunny (Bags for short) | @elizbrentano

Photo via @elizbrentano

I was having a not-so-fun time in the notoriously not-so-fun section just before the LA Aqueduct. I had a terrible chest cough and it had been cold and windy for days, which wasn’t going to get better through the aqueduct and the windmills.

We got to Hikertown in late afternoon, and the accommodations there didn’t look too cozy so we decided to head out on the aqueduct with no plan, but I was hoping to not night hike it because of how cold it was. Just before we hit the open water start of the aqueduct, a huge barn fire exploded just a mile or so away. We got to witness dozens of fire apparatus and LA County helicopters fighting the fire. The wind quickly blew the smoke over us, which gave the evening an apocalyptic ambience.

We made it a few miles walking on the pipe, with no good camping spots to be found. Eventually, we came upon a dirt road pull off and just decided to call it quits there for the night. It was the type of dirt road that cars had evidently driven on recently, and apparently locals came to throw out their beer cans and other trash here.

I searched for a flat enough spot to pitch my tent, and found one under a Joshua tree. There was a Trader Joe’s paper grocery bag full of beer cans in the way, so I went to reach for it to move it. Before I could grab it, I realized it wasn’t beer cans inside the bag. I paused, looked closer, and realized there was actually white fluffy, now bloodied and buzzing with flies, bodies inside. They were someone’s pet bunnies they had cruelly disposed of on this dirt road. Horrified, I retreated to tell my friends what I had seen. They helped me find a new spot for my tent far away from the bag of bunnies.

The next day we reunited with a friend and caught him up on the story from the night before. In recounting the story, the suggestion was made and the name was workshopped. And thus I became “Bags Bunny.”

9 to 5 | @mlister252

Photo via @mlister252

Wore a button-down shirt and khakis. People thought I’d come from the office.

Stitches | @whereisjessi.ca

I received my trail name in 2023 in a record snow year on the PCT. The first time I got stitches on trail was in the desert. I was bushwhacking to avoid snow around the San Jacinto area when I stepped on a branch that broke and impaled my calf. 

I recovered off-trail for eight days, then returned to the trail with my stitches still in. I cut them out myself on trail between Idyllwild and Big Bear with my doctor on Facetime. Then I pushed hard to catch up to the people I’d been hiking with when I was injured. These people, and three others whom I’d met while bridging my eight-day delay, became my Sierra team. 

My second set of stitches was another snow-related accident north of Glen Pass in the Sierra. I postholed hard after a creek crossing, slamming my entire body and pack weight against a sharp rock that punctured a dime-sized hole in my left knee. 

At serious risk of infection at a joint and unable to walk, I had to call SOS for an evacuation. Three hours later, a helicopter took me to the Sequoia-Kings Canyon park headquarters, then an ambulance took me to a hospital where I received three stitches. 

After five days off, I re-entered the Sierra with the stitches still in my knee and continued north with my team. I was really lucky to hike with Worth It (a military medic who dressed my first wound), Roosta (a paramedic who dressed my second wound), Lotto (a nurse who assessed and cut out my Sierra stitches), and the other members of my Sierra team — Pisa, Lookout, Bushwhack, and Jackpot — all of whom made sure I was OK and able to keep up even though I was limping and in constant pain.

Hiking the Sierra in a high snow year is already challenging, but my injury forced me to tackle steep terrain on a knee with limited range of motion and frequent additional trauma (including the wound re-opening) from postholing and slipping in slush. I had to accept that that was my reality and continue. It helped me define who I am as a thru-hiker.

The following year, I returned to the site of my injury and completed the missing miles in the Sierra. On that hike, I met a 2024 hiker who had heard about my stitches on Lookout’s Backpacker Radio podcast episode (at 1:37:40), and a park ranger who knew one of the rangers who had been involved in my airlift. 

It felt extremely cathartic to reclaim and complete the story of my trail name in this way.

Deferred | @clsstoltz

Photo via @clsstoltz

I promised myself that if I could work hard enough to graduate from college early, I would thru-hike the Appalachian Trail before starting graduate school. Two very exciting things happened my senior year: I graduated early, and I got accepted into my dream Physical Therapy school. Unfortunately, the program started early in the spring.

So, I compromised and decided to hike for one month and then go back to school. About two weeks into my hike, when I was struggling with both a desire to stay and missing the life I had worked so hard to build back at home, a couple of things happened that changed the trajectory of, quite literally, my life.

I decided that if I could survive a storm-riddled week in the Smoky Mountains, I would consider thru-hiking the entire trail. On day one, I met the people who would soon become my trail family. Upon arriving at a shelter, I struck up a conversation with another hiker and we began discussing my situation.

As the words “physical therapy” came out of my mouth, another hiker, presumably sleeping on the ground, sat up stick straight and injected himself into our conversation. He was a newly graduated physical therapist and bluntly gave me plenty of reasons to finish thru-hiking. Something to the effect that school will always be there and don’t leave room for any regrets.

I immediately trusted him solely based on the fact that he was a PT, and over the next few days, our paths kept crossing. In Hot Springs, NC, he, along with the two other guys we’d been hiking around for a while, inducted me into their trail family on the one condition that I would accept the trail name Deferred.

Before they could even utter the final words of the sentence, I shouted “yes!” I knew this was what I wanted all along, but finding the right people to encourage me through the tough days was what solidified the prospect to thru-hike in my mind.

And because of that experience, I now have lifelong best friends, I reapplied to and got into PT school, and I moved across the country. I got everything I wanted and more out of Physical Therapy school and am now deferring once again to hike the CDT before I jump into the flow of a 9-5.

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Featured image: Photo via @elizbrentano. Graphic design by Zack Goldmann.