Thru-hiker culture embraces quirky names
Beer Goddess, Rosy Eagle, Junco, Chicory and Crunk, thru-hikers passing through Hanover on the Appalachian Trail, said hikers develop a unique culture during their four to eight months on the route, endlessly discussing ramen and trading stories on the origins of their trail names.
Every afternoon, a new group of hikers passes through Robinson Hall, where the Dartmouth Outing Club welcomes them to use its facilities. In the summer, there are around 15 thru-hikers in town each day, they estimated.
Though we like to mock the College’s remote location, Hanover is a bustling metropolis to hikers completing the over 2,100 mile journey, which rarely takes them directly through towns. In Hanover, the trail passes over the Ledyard Bridge and up the hill onto South Main Street before continuing on to Etna as hikers travel north.
Dartmouth is the only college on the trail, and while students walking to class this summer may be used to seeing bearded, backpack-wearing thru-hikers, many know little about life on the trail.
Trail names provide visible markers of the culture, as hikers adopt a colorful monikers based on a personality trait or a memorable experience on the A.T.
Rosy Eagle, who goes by Gerald Anderson when he is back home in northern Wisconsin, said his wife named him after the rosy pictures he paints of the trail ahead and his eagle-sharp eye for detail.
He recounted the woes of a woman named Face Plant, who fell during her first few miles on the trail, and disapprovingly mentioned meeting a man who went by Fartmaster. He also recalled Crunchmaster, sponsored by a gluten free cracker company, who sadly failed to bring free samples.
Crunk, or John Rosenblum, noted that many men are named after their beards, a point of pride along the trail. The name Barbarossa, meaning “red beard” in Italian, is common.
“Everyone always asks how you got your name, so if it’s some embarrassing story, you’ve probably told it a million times,” he said.
Introductions must be interesting for Ziplock, who got her name after she peed in a bag rather than climb out of her tent, only to accidentally spill it everywhere.
Junco, who is named after a small North American bird, added that there are nearly as many types of people as there are names.
“There’s some weirdos, there’s some nerds, everybody’s different,” he said. “You’ve got a little bit of everybody.”
The larger thru-hiker community can be categorized in a few distinct groups. One division occurs between those who start at Springer Mountain in Georgia, the most common choice, and those who hike south from Mt. Katahdin, Maine . The “NoBos” and “SoBos,” short for “northbounders” and “southbounders” compete over whose route is more extreme.
Another split exists between the trail’s younger and older hikers. Most are either in their 20s without established careers or in their 50s and retired, though the age range has diversified due to higher unemployment.
“I’ve been surprised how many of the young people are smokers,” Rosy Eagle said. “Is this generation rebelling against health or what?”
Another staple in thru-hikers' packs is the iPhone, a popular tool for travelers who blog as they go. At restaurants, thru-hikers often ask to use the nearest outlet before looking at the menu, especially since solar-powered chargers are unreliable.
Junco said determination, passion and stinkiness are other common denominators among thru-hikers. He added that “trail magic,” or random gifts along the way, makes everyone happy, as do “trail angels,” the kind-hearted locals who volunteer to help thru-hikers.
Though most thru-hikers begin on their own, find groups as they go and change companions along the way, their shared goals and traits bind them together. After all, it takes a certain type of person to spend half a year hiking over 2,100 continuous miles.