Complete Pacific Crest Trail Guide

By Cap Puckhaber, Reno, Nevada

I still remember the first time I saw a photo of the PCT. It was one of those classic shots from the Sierra, all granite peaks and water that looked too blue to be real. I was hooked. I spent years dreaming about it, scrolling through forums, and reading trail journals. But the dream of hiking 2,650 miles from Mexico to Canada is very different from the logistical, financial, and physical reality of actually doing it.

It’s an absolutely massive undertaking that takes over your life for the better part of a year. I’m talking about the planning, the saving, and then the hike itself. If you’re here, you’re probably in that same dreaming phase I was in. I’m going to walk you through everything I learned, from the nail-biting permit lottery to the gear that saved me and the recent news that changes the grand finale for everyone.

The Dream vs. The Reality: What is the PCT Anyway?

So, what is this trail we’re all obsessed with? The Pacific Crest Trail, or PCT, is a long-distance hiking trail that runs from the U.S. border with Mexico all the way to the Canadian border. It’s about 2,650 miles long, though the exact mileage changes a bit each year with trail reroutes. It cuts straight through California, Oregon, and Washington, taking you through some of the most stunning and diverse landscapes on the continent.

You start in the hot, dry desert of Southern California, climb into the massive and rugged Sierra Nevada, cruise through the forests of Northern California, and then navigate the volcanic peaks of Oregon and the wild, remote Cascade Mountains in Washington. It’s not just a walk in the woods. It’s a full-on expedition that, for most of us, takes about four to six months to complete. That’s half a year of walking, every single day.

When I was planning, I thought of it as one long hike. But it’s really a series of dozens of smaller hikes, each with its own character. The desert section isn’t just one thing; it’s vast, beautiful, and can be brutally hot and dry. Then, just when you get your “desert legs,” you hit the Sierra and suddenly you’re dealing with snow, altitude, and river crossings. This variety is what makes it a life-changing journey, but it’s also what makes the planning so critical.

How Long Does It Really Take to Hike the PCT?

Most people, myself included, take between 4 and 6 months. Five months is a very common timeframe. This breaks down to hiking about 15-20 miles per day, every day, with a “zero” day (a day of zero hiking) taken every 7 to 10 days.

This pace sounds manageable, but it’s a grind. Some hikers, the “ultra-lighters,” go much faster, finishing in 3 months. Others take their time and enjoy the journey over 6 months. Your pace will depend on your fitness, the weather (especially snow in the Sierra), and your own personal style. You’ll find your rhythm after the first few hundred miles.

The First Hurdle: Conquering the PCT Permit Lottery

Before you can even buy your first dehydrated meal, you have to win the lottery. I’m not kidding. Because the trail has become so popular, the Pacific Crest Trail Association (PCTA) manages a permit system to protect the trail and the wilderness experience. You can’t just walk up to the Mexican border and start hiking north. You need one of the coveted interagency PCT Long-distance Permits.

This one permit covers your entire 500+ mile journey through all the different national parks and wilderness areas. It’s a golden ticket. But the demand is way, way higher than the supply, which is why it’s a lottery. I remember my first lottery day. My hands were literally shaking as I waited for my turn in the online queue.

Why a Lottery System Even Exists

This isn’t just bureaucracy for its own sake. The PCT travels through some of the most fragile ecosystems in the country. The permit system, and its daily quota, is absolutely necessary.

It prevents the desert environment from being loved to death and ensures you’re not camping on top of 200 other people every night. It helps preserve the feeling of solitude that many of us are out there to find. Without this management, the trail experience would be completely different, and not in a good way.

How the PCT Permit System Works

The system is both fair and kind of terrifying. First, there’s a registration window, which for the 2026 season will likely be around late October 2025. You must register during this window to even get a spot in the lottery. Then, on the official “Permit Release Day” in November, everyone who registered gets a randomized time to log in and pick a start date.

It’s just like waiting for concert tickets. I got a 1:30 PM time slot, and I just sat there for hours, watching all the prime April start dates get snatched up, one by one. There are two main rounds for the lottery. They typically release 35 permits per day on the first release day and the remaining 15 per day on a second release day in January. This two-part system gives people a second chance if they miss out, which is a nice touch. You can find all the official dates and details right on the PCTA permit application page.

How Many Permits Are Actually Available?

The PCTA issues 50 permits per day for northbound (NOBO) hikers starting from the southern terminus between late March and mid-May. This is the main “thru-hiker season” window. Fifty people a day might sound like a lot, but thousands and thousands of people apply for those spots. It is fiercely competitive.

This quota system is the primary tool the PCTA uses to spread hikers out. It’s not about keeping people off the trail, but about managing the impact so the trail can remain healthy for future generations.

I Got a Permit! Now What?

The moment I clicked “confirm” on my May 2nd start date, I felt a huge rush of both excitement and pure panic. Okay, now it’s real. If you get a permit, congratulations! Take a day to celebrate, then the real work begins. This is when you stop dreaming and start planning.

Your first step is to dive into training. A thru-hike is a massive physical challenge. I started hiking every weekend with a weighted pack, slowly increasing the miles. I also focused on strengthening my legs and back. You also need to get your gear completely dialed in. This isn’t the time to “wing it.” You need to research, buy, and, most importantly, test every single piece of gear. Go on a few overnight trips. Find out if your sleeping pad actually holds air before you’re 100 miles from the nearest town.

What to Do if You Didn’t Get a Permit (My Plan B)

If you don’t get a permit in either lottery round, it feels devastating. I know people who were crushed. But don’t just give up on your dream. My plan B was always to section-hike. There are so many incredible parts of the PCT that don’t require the thru-hiker permit. You can hike all of Oregon (my favorite section) or Washington. These still require local permits, but they are much easier to get.

Another option is to try for a “flip-flop” hike, where you start somewhere in the middle, like the Sierra, and hike north, then “flip” back down to the desert and hike south. Or, you can just wait and try again next year. The trail isn’t going anywhere. The one mistake you shouldn’t make is to try and hike without a permit. You will get caught, you will get a massive fine, and you’ll be kicked off the trail. It’s just not worth it.

Let’s Talk Money: Budgeting for Your PCT Thru-Hike

After the permit, the second biggest barrier for most people is the cost. When I first read that a PCT thru-hike can cost upwards of $10,000, I thought it was an exaggeration. It’s not. In fact, many hikers I met spent even more. Hiking is supposed to be cheap, right? You just walk and sleep in a tent. But a 2,650-mile, six-month journey is a totally different beast.

It’s like paying for a six-month-long road trip where you are the car, the hotel, and the restaurant all in one. The costs add up in ways you just don’t expect. I was pretty good about my budget, but I still had a few moments of sticker shock. Breaking it down really helps you see where all that money goes.

The $10,000 Question: What Really Goes Into the Cost?

The total cost is really a combination of three big things: gear, food, and town stops. You can’t escape them. Your pre-trail gear cost is the first big hit. Then, your on-trail expenses for food and lodging slowly bleed you dry for half a year.

It’s a serious financial commitment. I saved for two years to make my hike happen. Understanding the breakdown is the first step to building a realistic budget and not having to quit in the middle because your bank account is empty.

My Big Gear Splurge (And Where I Saved)

Gear is, without a doubt, one of the biggest upfront expenses. You’re basically buying a tiny, lightweight house that you have to carry on your back. A good, lightweight backpack, tent, and sleeping bag—the “Big 3″—can easily set you back $1,000 to $1,500 all by themselves. I remember my first “practice” shopping cart on the REI website, and I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the total.

I splurged on my sleeping bag because I’m a cold sleeper, and I knew a miserable night’s sleep would make me quit. But I saved money by buying my backpack used from a gear exchange forum. You can absolutely find quality used gear. Just make sure to check it carefully. You also need specialized clothing, a stove, a water filter, a GPS, and all the little things. It all adds up to a few thousand dollars before you’ve even taken a single step.

Food and Resupply: The Sneaky Budget Killer

This is the cost that surprised me the most. You are a walking furnace on the trail, burning 4,000 to 6,000 calories a day. You have to eat constantly. This means you’re either mailing yourself boxes of food to trail towns or buying food as you go. Both are expensive.

Mailing boxes means you pay for the food and the shipping. Buying in small trail towns means you’re paying a huge premium. That tiny grocery store knows you have no other options, so a candy bar can cost $4. I spent between $1,000 and $2,000 just on food. It’s a massive, unavoidable expense.

Don’t Forget About Town Stops and Travel

Every week or so, you’ll hike into a “trail town” to resupply, shower, and eat. We called this the “town vortex,” and it’s where your budget goes to die. A motel room, even split four ways, costs money. Doing laundry costs money. And the food… oh, the food. After five days of eating granola and dehydrated potatoes, a double bacon cheeseburger and a pitcher of beer feels like a religious experience.

I’d regularly drop $100 in a single afternoon in town on a meal, a few beers, and a resupply. These breaks are essential for your sanity and hygiene, but they add another $2,000 to $3,000 to your total hike cost. You also have to factor in transportation. Getting to the southern terminus and getting home from the northern terminus can cost a few hundred dollars in flights, buses, or shuttles.

Has It Gotten More Expensive?

Yes, absolutely. I talked to hikers who had done the trail a decade ago, and they were shocked by today’s prices. Inflation is one reason. But the trail’s popularity is another. Gear companies know thru-hikers need lightweight gear and charge a premium for it. Trail towns have also seen a boom, and the cost of a motel room has gone up. It used to be possible to hike the trail for a lot less, but those days are mostly gone.

How I Hiked the PCT on a Tighter Budget (Safely!)

While $10,000 is a good target, I did manage to do it for less. My biggest tip is to limit your town stops. This is the number one way to save money. Instead of getting a motel every single time, I’d sometimes just do my resupply, eat a big town meal, and then hike a mile or two out of town to camp for free.

I also pre-packaged and mailed most of my food. I spent a few weekends before my hike portioning out oatmeal, pasta, and snacks into daily bags. It was a ton of work, but it saved me from buying those $4 candy bars. Buying used gear is also a huge money-saver. You don’t need the brand-new 2026 model of everything. A tent from two years ago works just fine and can be half the price.

The Nitty-Gritty: Planning Your 6-Month Journey

Once you have your permit and your budget is taking shape, the real logistical planning begins. This is the “how” of the hike. How long will it take? When do I start? How do I get food? What gear do I actually need? This part can feel overwhelming, but it’s just a series of smaller problems to solve.

I’m a planner, so I had spreadsheets and lists. Some people I met on the trail were the total opposite. They just showed up and figured it out as they went. Both methods can work, but a little preparation goes a long way, especially in those first few weeks in the desert.

When’s the Best Time to Start?

This is a critical decision. Most NOBO hikers start between late April and early May. This timing is a delicate balance. You start late enough that the desert isn’t scorching hot, but early enough that you can get to the Sierra after the worst of the snow has melted. Hit the Sierra too early, and you’re facing dangerous, icy conditions.

I started May 2nd and it felt just about perfect. The desert was hot but manageable. By the time I reached the Sierra in mid-June, the snowpack was still significant, but the major river crossings were becoming safer. Starting in March is generally only for very experienced hikers who are comfortable with snow travel.

My Resupply Strategy: Mail Drops vs. Buying in Town

You can’t carry six months of food. So, how do you get more? You have two choices: mail yourself resupply boxes in advance or buy food in the towns along the trail. I did a hybrid approach, which I think is the best way.

For remote areas where the stores are tiny and expensive (like the Sierra), I mailed myself boxes. I pre-packed these at home and had my family mail them to me at specific post offices. For sections with bigger towns, like in Oregon, I just bought my food as I went. This gave me flexibility. I got so sick of the energy bars I packed at home. Being able to buy a bag of Fritos and a Snickers in town was a huge morale boost.

Training: What I Did (And What I Wish I’d Done)

I trained, but I wish I’d trained more. A thru-hike is a full-body challenge. I did a lot of weekend hiking with a full pack, which was great. This gets your feet, back, and shoulders used to the load. I also did cardio during the week.

Here’s my “don’t” advice: Don’t just train on a flat treadmill. I wish I had done more stair-climbing and squats. The first few weeks of the trail are all uphill, and my legs were screaming. The stronger your legs and core are before you start, the more you’ll enjoy those first few hundred miles instead of just surviving them.

My Must-Have Gear (And What I Sent Home)

My gear evolved. I started with way too much stuff. In the first town, I mailed home 3 pounds of things I realized I’d never use. My most valuable piece of gear was my sleeping pad, a Therm-a-Rest NeoAir. A good night’s sleep is priceless. My water filter (a Sawyer Squeeze) and a reliable stove (an MSR PocketRocket) were also daily lifesavers.

My “camp shoes” were the first thing I sent home. I thought I’d want to wear Crocs around camp, but at the end of a 25-mile day, the last thing I wanted to do was walk another step. I just sat in the dirt and took my trail runners off. My rain pants also got mailed home, and I just kept my rain jacket. Everyone’s list is different, but the core principle is the same: if you don’t use it every day, you should question why you’re carrying it.

Staying Safe and Following Leave No Trace

The PCT is a wilderness trail. You are responsible for your own safety. This means knowing how to read a map, how to filter your water, and what to do if you see a rattlesnake or a bear. It also means following Leave No Trace principles. This is non-negotiable.

This means packing out all your trash (yes, all of it), camping on durable surfaces, and burying your human waste properly. The trail is a shared, fragile resource. We all have to do our part to protect it for the next generation of hikers. It’s a privilege to be out there.

The New Northern Terminus: The Canadian Border Change

For decades, the grand finale of the Pacific Crest Trail was touching the monument at the Canadian border and then walking a few more miles into Canada’s Manning Park to celebrate. It was a symbolic and powerful end to the journey. Well, that has officially changed.

This is a huge piece of news for the hiking community, and it fundamentally alters the end of the hike. I was shocked when I first heard the rumors, which have now been confirmed. This isn’t a small policy tweak; it’s a major logistical shift that every thru-hiker needs to plan for.

So, What’s the Deal with the Canadian Border?

In early 2025, the Canadian government announced that it will no longer allow Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers to cross into Canada at the northern terminus. Historically, hikers could apply for a special permit that allowed them to enter Canada at this unofficial border crossing.

That permit and that informal crossing are gone. The Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) made it clear that all hikers must now enter Canada through a legal, official port of entry. The northern terminus of the PCT is not one of those. This is a big blow to the tradition of the hike.

Why Did This Policy Change Happen?

The official reasons point to border security and immigration control. The CBSA statement mentioned aligning with U.S. policy (which also doesn’t allow southbound hikers to enter the U.S. from Canada at that spot). It’s also about managing the flow of people at unofficial points.

Basically, the informal system was a courtesy, and for a variety of security and resource reasons, that courtesy has been revoked. It’s a bummer, but it’s the new reality we have to deal with.

What This Means for Your Thru-Hike

So, what do you do instead? You still hike to the northern terminus monument at the border. You still get to touch it, take your picture, and cry your eyes out. But then, you have to turn around.

You must backtrack south for about 30 miles to the nearest road crossing, which is at Hart’s Pass. From there, you’ll need to get a ride (hitchhike or arrange a shuttle) to a town. If you still want to go to Canada, you’ll have to travel from that town to an official border crossing like those in Washington state and present your passport. The free-flowing, triumphant walk into Manning Park is no longer an option.

How This Is Enforced (And What Happens if You Ignore It)

Enforcement will likely involve collaboration between U.S. and Canadian authorities. You can expect more monitoring near the border. I can’t stress this enough: do not try to cross anyway.

The penalties are severe. You’re talking about illegally crossing an international border. You could face huge fines, deportation, or even be banned from entering Canada in the future. After hiking 2,650 miles, don’t ruin your accomplishment with a stupid and illegal decision in the last mile. It’s just not worth the risk.

Is This a Political Thing?

It’s easy to see it that way. The world has a much stronger focus on border security than it did 20 years ago. While it might not be tied to one specific politician or policy, it’s part of a broader, global trend of tightening border controls. The old, free-spirited nature of that one spot on the trail is a victim of these larger-scale security concerns.

It’s a change we have to adapt to. The hike is about the journey, not just those last few steps. This just makes the journey a little different at the very end.

Is It All Worth It? My Final Take on the PCT

After all that—the planning, the cost, the permit stress, the physical pain, and now the border hassle—is it worth it? Yes. A thousand times, yes.

Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail was the hardest and best thing I have ever done. It broke me down and rebuilt me. I saw landscapes that I will never forget. I met a community of the most incredible, resilient, and kind people. And I learned what I’m truly capable of.

This hike is more than a walk. It’s a pilgrimage. It will test you, and it will change you. So if you’re dreaming about it, my advice is to go for it. Start saving. Put your name in the lottery. Do the research. It is a massive, complicated, and expensive adventure. But the reward, the feeling of standing on that trail and looking out at the world you just walked across, is something no amount of money can buy.

If you’re serious about planning, my biggest piece of advice is to dive into the community. Check out forums on reddit, read trail journals, and look at gear lists and planning guides on sites like Backpacker.com. The information is out there. Good luck, and maybe I’ll see you on the trail.

About the author

Cap Puckhaber is a marketing strategist, finance writer, and outdoor enthusiast. He writes across CapPuckhaber.com, TheHikingAdventures.com, SimpleFinanceBlog.com, and BlackDiamondMarketingSolutions.com. Follow him for honest, real-world advice backed by 20+ years of experience.