Trail Names

Everyone gets a trail name. Who knows what the origin of this tradition is, but it certainly helps distinguish hikers when they have ridiculous or funny names. Hell, we met five Andrews in the first week alone! In a month or two, they would all be emaciated white dudes with solid beard growth, complicating any ability to identify them.

There are two main ways one gets a trail name: choose it yourself or risk being given one. You can certainly reject a bad or ill-fitting trail name (to a certain degree), but you better have a quick replacement or the first one will stick.  Jan and I were both unenthusiastic about this aspect of the trail, but within the first week it became increasingly apparent that we needed trail names. We needed them for people to remember us, because amidst names like Lone Star and Lightswitch, Jan and Alyssa really don’t ring any bells.

Ten days in, as we descended from Mt. San Jacinto and met some new hikers (all with trail names, natch), we discussed our name options. Jan had been offered some less-than-satisfying appellations and I couldn’t come up with anything fiercer or cleverer than Poppy or Mouse. As we refilled our water in a fresh snowmelt stream, I casually suggested “Quixote” to Jan. It has been his nom de plume for a couple years and his name in all Shell Corporation media. I expected the usual swift and sound rejection. In fact, I fully expected that Jan would reject all trail names for the entire trip. What I got was a contemplative “huh” and a face flushed with subtle satisfaction. Nailed it. Quixote it was.

I brooded for the next hour, still nameless while Jan had a fitting and cool-sounding name. I huffed and puffed my way down the mountain, still wearing my thermals under my hiking clothes to ward off the snowy chill, dealing with a bit of an identity crisis. Was I a White Fang or a Moon Flower? A Sugarteef? As our elevation dropped below snow levels, I was sweating with the effort under the extra suffocating layers.  I paused on the empty trail to shed some layers. It was going to be a quick change so I didn’t bother going behind a tree or anything. (This was before I knew anything about the great variety of hiker pace.) Hiking pants around my ankles and bent at the waist -- my derrière facing the trail -- I heard a whistle come through the trees loud and clear. I darted upright, pulling my pants with me, but too late. Dreadlocks swinging with a quick and efficient pace, One Step gave me a sly grin and cautioned me. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to get a trail name that way!” he said as he chuckled and passed.  I groaned, imagining the options.

A mile later, in the fresh early morning tread, I came across some writing in the soft dirt of the trail: “Sweet Moon Pie”. Sweet Moon Pie? It was readily clear by the light trail traffic that morning that this was a message for me. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it and told Jan there was no way I was going to keep such a stupid trail name. I wanted something badass. I wanted something clever. I didn’t want something that was 3 words and had a junior high style backstory. But another mile later, we rounded a corner to some hikers taking a break. One of them called out, “Is that Sweet Moon Pie coming?!” There was nothing to be done but respond cheerfully, “It is!” Here was a hiker that didn’t know me, certainly didn’t know my real name, but recognized me based on the quick tale One Step had relayed and greeted me with all the gregariousness of any long-distance hiker.  How could I ignore such camaraderie and silliness?

So in 2015 trail registers across California, you can see Quixote and Sweet Moon Pie marking their progress northward. For your enjoyment, here is a list of the friends we met on the PCT:

Paint

Sunflower

Lone Star

Hardy (aka Bear Can)

Lightswitch

Dr. Dog

Poppins

Smiles

Patches

Scorpia (Queen of the Scorpions, she slept on one for an entire night in the desert and went unharmed)

Firefox

Seventy (aka Cactass, a trail name he tried to reject but those who met him early on knew well the story of the guy who accidentally sat down on a cactus)

Platypiss (no matter how cold, no Platypus water bladder should be used this way, but he did swear he got rid of it afterwards)

One Step

Devil Fish

Whatever

Taxi

Lomax

8 Track

Tarzan

Obiwan

Freefaller

Spaceworm

Spiller

EWalk

Podcast

Hooker

Crazy Cat Lady

Resident Cowboy

Bigfoot

Slowpoke

MacGuyver

Merman (a flowing red mane of hair and beard certainly did give him an Ariel-esque appearance)

Splob (check out his comics!)

Penguin (aka Guino)

Sunkissed

Coppertone (trail angel extraordinaire and maker of root beer floats)

Antsy

Cliffhanger

Coyote

Count (he fastidiously counted all his calories to ensure he wouldn’t run out of food between resupplies)

Mosey

Lobo

Attila the Bun

JudStep

Ellen Boxers

KaraOke

Princess Hubcap

Rat Water

Nordic Trak

Radar

Molly Molly

Nimble

Rusty

Spirit Bear

Hufflepuff

Fill/Phil

Professor

Sherlock (he might be going into the FBI, but he’ll never tell)

Nell

Titan

Shenanigans

Nutella

Bugzapper

Donuts

Waffle

Little Foot

Love It O Leave It

Rainbow

Tiki Mon

Dr. Dre

Big Cheese

Chronic the Hedgehog

Apache

Stopwatch

Steady Eddie

Unicorn

Lucky

Hitchbait (a lovely young woman who was, as all girls are, the best way for her & her boyfriend to successfully hitchhike)

Pops

Chilly Willy

Lancelot

Siesta

Jobs

Foxtrot

Thin Mint

J Walk

Dilly

Dally

Half Time

Double Time

Seabass

Skeeter Bait

Nemo

Fancy Feet

Iron Husk

Poncho

Dandy

Beta

Boomer

Hiccups

StoneFly

Chickadee