Okay, so extreme hiking trails in the US are basically my love language at this point, even though I’m writing this from my kitchen table in Portland, the radiator hissing like it’s pissed I left the window cracked again, and there’s a half-melted protein bar stuck to a stack of unpaid parking tickets from that Zion trip. I swear, every time I think I’m done with these soul-sucking, quad-destroying monsters, I’m googling permits at 2 a.m. like some kinda trail junkie. Like, last week I was supposed to be adulting—laundry, taxes, whatever—but nope, I’m replaying the moment on the Kalalau when I slipped on a root and face-planted into a pile of goat poop. Glamorous, right? Anyway, these top 10 extreme hiking trails in the US have ruined me for normal walks forever, and I’m here to drag you down with me, blistered feet and all.
Why Extreme Hiking Trails in the US Own My Dumb Heart (And My Left Knee)
Look, I’m no REI model. I’m the guy who once packed two left boots because I was hungover from a dive bar in Flagstaff. Extreme hiking trails in the US don’t care about your excuses—they’ll humble you faster than a raccoon stealing your last Clif bar. I got into this mess after a breakup in 2019, thought a solo slog up Longs Peak would “clear my head.” Spoiler: It cleared my sinuses with hail and gave me a permanent fear of loose scree. But the highs? That moment when you’re above treeline, lungs on fire, and the world drops away like you’re the only idiot left on the planet? Yeah, I’m chasing that dragon. Contradictions galore—I’ll curse a trail to hell on the ascent, then cry happy tears at the summit. It’s messy, it’s human, it’s me.
My Top 10 Extreme Hiking Trails in the US: Where I Screwed Up So You (Maybe) Don’t
I ranked these by how many times I almost texted my mom “if I die, blame the map.” Pro tip: Tell someone your plan, unless you want search-and-rescue judging your snack choices. Let’s roll.
1. Half Dome Cables, Yosemite – The OG of Extreme Hiking Trails in the US (Also My Therapist’s Nightmare)
Sixteen miles, then those cables straight up a granite dome like God’s jungle gym. I did it last June, hands bleeding through my dollar-store gloves—note to self, buy actual gear. Wind hit at 400 feet up, I legit whispered “nope” and considered living on that ledge forever. Summit tho? Sunrise painting El Cap pink, some dude proposing to his girlfriend—rude, I was trying to have a moment. Permits here. Bring real gloves or enjoy hamburger hands.
2. Bright Angel to the Colorado, Grand Canyon – Heatstroke’s Love Letter
July. JULY. Who let me do this? Nine miles down, temp climbing past 110, I’m chugging warm Gatorade like it’s holy water. Hit the river, dunked my head, came up with a leech—souvenir! Phantom Ranch lemonade saved my soul. Don’t be me: Start at 3 a.m., check NPS heat advisories. Also, mules have right of way, learned that the hard way.
3. The Maze, Canyonlands – Where GPS Goes to Die
No trails, just cairns and vibes. I followed a “shortcut” that dead-ended at a 20-foot drop—thanks, randos. Spent a night on a sandstone shelf, stars so bright I forgot I was lost. Ravens stole my trail mix; fair. NPS Maze info. Bring a paper map, your phone will ghost you.
4. Precipice Trail, Acadia – East Coast Says “Hold My Lobster Roll”
Two miles of iron rungs over ocean cliffs. Fog so thick I climbed by Braille. Bee swarm at the top—ran screaming, arms flailing, nearly yeeted myself into the Atlantic. View tho? Worth the therapy. Acadia trail page. Closed in spring for falcons, respect the birds.
5. Angels Landing, Zion – Chains, Exposure, and My Dignity’s Final Resting Place
Five miles, last half-mile on a knife-edge with chains. Slipped on wet sand, caught myself by the grace of some higher power (or pure panic). Permit lottery is brutal—applied 17 times, finally won. Zion permits. Don’t look down unless you enjoy existential dread.
6. Kalalau Trail, Na Pali Coast – Hawaii’s Middle Finger to Hikers
Eleven miles of mud, flash floods, and feral goats. Crawler’s Ledge in the rain? I hugged the cliff like it was my ex. Camped on the beach, woke up to a pig sniffing my tent—10/10 chaos. Hawaii DLNR permits. Waterproof everything, twice.
7. Longs Peak Keyhole, Rockies – Altitude’s Rude Awakening
Fourteen thousand feet of “why am I doing this?” Narrows section had me crab-walking, praying to the rock gods. Summited at dawn, cried, took a selfie, immediately regretted the windburn. RMNP Longs info. Start at 2 a.m. or enjoy the thunder.
8. South Rim to Warner Point, Black Canyon – No Guardrails, No Chill
Two thousand feet straight down, painted walls glowing. Dropped my water bottle, watched it bounce for 10 seconds—physics lesson. NPS Black Canyon. Poison ivy everywhere, long pants or itch forever.
9. The Wave, Paria Wilderness – Permit Roulette and Sandstone Swirls
Six miles of slot scrambles to get to the goods. Permit odds worse than Powerball—won on attempt #23. Scraped my shin on a chokestone, bled into my sock, kept going for the photo. Wave permits. Bring a compass, the “trail” is a suggestion.
10. Devil’s Path, Catskills – East Coast’s Quad-Shredder
Twenty-three miles, four peaks, 15k gain. Blacked out on the descent, woke up face-down in blueberries—nature’s energy gel. NY DEC trail info. Bear canister mandatory, learned after a midnight raccoon raid.
Yeah, So… Go Suffer With Me on These Extreme Hiking Trails in the US
Typing this, my knee’s popping like popcorn and there’s a mysterious bruise shaped like Utah on my thigh, but man, extreme hiking trails in the US are my messy, beautiful addiction. They’ve broken me down, built me back, and taught me that “almost died” makes the best stories. Pick one, pack extra snacks (and a brain), tell a friend, and go get weird. Drop your trail horror stories below—I read ‘em all while icing my shins. Tag me when you summit, I wanna see your “I survived” face. Now if you’ll excuse me, the radiator’s winning this argument and I’ve got permits to stalk. Later, legends.
