I had to hike Pennsylvania’s toughest trail in 2.5 days. All 43 miles tested me.

It was some time after lunch, on a recent Saturday afternoon, that I began to regret my decision to hike Pennsylvania’s Black Forest Trail.

Maybe it was the $1 bag of beef-flavored ramen I’d cooked, or the gnats drinking my sweat, or the 30-pound pack that was digging into my hips.

Mostly, it was the trail itself. The Black Forest Trail is named after the ubiquitous eastern hemlocks that shade the landscape with their dense canopies. It’s widely considered Pennsylvania’s most difficult trail by the state’s hiking enthusiasts. Reviews of the North-Central Pennsylvania loop on the ever-popular AllTrails hiking app attest to that.

“This is without a doubt the hardest trail in PA. The ascents and descents will test your mental fortitude, not just your physical fitness,” one hiker wrote.

That’s where I was after lunch on my first day. I was about seven miles into what I thought was a 42-ish-mile hike (more on that later), and I realized I’d planned poorly and would have to push hard to be home by Monday afternoon.

Ben Cramer, a Penn State professor and trail guide author who’s hiked some 3,000 miles in Pennsylvania, said most people hike the trail in three or four days. I needed to do it in 2.5 so I could drive my son to college that Tuesday.

» READ MORE: Take our quiz and find a Philly-area hike for you, your dog, or your kids.

“It’s doable, but you’re going to need to use every hour of sunlight, every day,” Cramer told me. “You could try to crank out more miles the first day.”

That’s fine, I thought. I’ll do 18 miles the first day, maybe a little less on Sunday, and finish Monday with an easy homestretch to my truck. One of my most valuable hiking skills is a willingness to suffer. At least, that’s what I tell myself.

My journey to the Black Forest Trail was simple enough. I cover rural Pennsylvania for The Inquirer. I’ve found, over the years, that readers want to know about interesting places to hike and visit in the commonwealth, so I’ve leaned into the outdoors. Last summer, I visited Pennsylvania’s quietest places and also hiked the killer “Thousand Steps” near Raystown Lake.

It’s also personal. In 2020, I hiked the West Rim Trail in the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon with my then-wife for our first wedding anniversary. It’s about 28 miles, with very scenic views, and while it’s considered “hard” by AllTrails ratings, it wasn’t overly difficult. We had conversations and introspection, followed by meals, sleep, and friendly gossip about the other hikers we saw. I thought it was a great trip, but now I’m not sure.

Afterward, we stopped in Pine Creek Outfitters, where I picked up a few patches and, prophetically, a tiny, detailed guide to the Black Forest Trail. It would be a challenge, for sure, maybe something for a future anniversary.

That guidebook sat in a drawer, though, collecting dust. Despite knowing that the outdoors — hiking, camping, fishing, running, etc. — is more than a hobby for me, I collected dust too. I let most things slip away, including my weight, my health, and my marriage. I either did nothing for months or fished for 20 hours on a weekend, unable to find a healthy balance.

In the summer of 2023, while on assignment near Duncannon, Pa., I hiked Hawk Rock Overlook and almost quit. I blamed wildfire smoke from Canada, but I was about 50 pounds heavier then and had to sit for long stretches.

“I’m beat. This is embarrassing,” I texted the photographer who’d gone ahead.

I vowed to start a weight loss journey after that. Today, at 48, I’m in the best shape I’ve been in since I was a high school wrestler. I rediscovered the guidebook in a drawer and figured I may never be this ready again.

I’d just be doing it alone.

Pennsylvania has about 473 trails listed as “hard” by the AllTrails app, and the Black Forest Trail reigns supreme for one simple reason: elevation gain.

“It’s not elevation in the conventional sense. It’s cumulative,” said Brook Lenker, executive director of the Keystone Trails Association. “You might go up 400 feet, then down 200 feet, then up again. Elevation gain is really a measure of how hilly a trail is, the ups and the downs.”

The Black Forest Trail has nearly 8,500 feet of elevation gain. That’s almost double that of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. It’s more than Mount Katahdin, in Maine, and Mount Marcy, in the Adirondacks. It’s mind-boggling.

“It’s pretty self-evident once you start hiking it,” said Cramer, who has hiked the Black Forest Trail more than a half dozen times. “Per mile, it features the most climbing in Pennsylvania.”

Cramer and others recommend doing the trail counterclockwise. The uphills, in theory, are a bit less strenuous that way, but the trade-off is steeper descents.

“It’s not a significant difference,” he said. “It’s not going to be necessarily easier in either direction.”

After lunch on day one, I packed up and headed toward mile eight, and the suffering began. My mental fortitude crumbled. Here’s a sampling of things I ruminated over:

Still, I forged on, developing a mantra that required full awareness of each step. It went something like this.

Rock-rock-boulder-root-large boulder-beautiful vista-deerfly-bear poop-spiderweb-rock-rock-rattlesnake!

“Uh, I need to get by,” I said to a beautiful black phase rattlesnake, with no time to waste if I was going to finish the hike on Monday.

I pitched my tent in a buggy valley, soaked my feet in a cold creek, and cooked freeze-dried pad thai in a bag, which was delicious. I fell asleep listening to a meditation playlist.

Something about the freeze-dried scrambled eggs didn’t sit well with me, and I fought against nausea for the rest of the day, which was 18-plus miles. Was something wrong with my water filter? I feared I would find out.

I headed out of camp in a long-sleeve shirt and beanie, and 10 minutes later, I was dripping in sweat, hiking straight up a path thick with laurels.

The rest of the day was more of the same, up and down. Uphills, if you’re really out of shape, are probably worse. You’re sucking for air like a dying fish. On the downhills, your leg muscles never get a break. I hated them both equally.

Every once in a while, I was blessed with a clearing, or flat, cool trail on top of the mountains, or even a gravel road, but they never lasted long.

I barely ate my snacks and forced myself to drink water, aiming for a campsite at mile 36. By Sunday afternoon, I realized the mileage was off between the book, the sign at the trailhead, and my AllTrails map. Later, Cramer would tell me how the app was “woefully inaccurate.”

“Your hike can be described as 43 miles,” he said.

I found a gorgeous campsite before that, a flat, grassy vista with a cool breeze, and I took a long rest. I plopped into my small camp chair, took off my boots and socks, and closed my eyes, listening to the wind blow through the treetops. Then two hikers came in.

I’d seen them on Saturday. They had much lighter gear, and while I used to dismiss the obsessiveness of ultralight fanatics, this hike changed my mind. My pack was a monster to carry, and I’m gonna cut weight in the future.

The men asked if they could camp there too, and I said, “Sure,” but didn’t want them to. Since my marriage ended, I’ve craved solitude, and it’s complicated dating for me. I don’t know if I’ll shake that craving, or whether I even want to. I felt it rise again and, with a sigh, reached for my socks.

“Well, I actually think I’m gonna do one last push,” I told them.

Before I left, the older man said, “Sometimes you can rest too long.” I couldn’t stop thinking about that, how it applies to things far beyond hiking. I cranked out two hard, uphill miles and found a vista of my own. I went to bed at sunset.

At dawn, I drank coffee and finished my trail mix, still feeling queasy. I’d skipped lunch, dinner, and now breakfast, and knew the calorie deficit would catch up with me.

I had a stunning view. Clouds had sunk into the valley overnight. I listened to vireos and flickers in the forest around me. I checked in with family and my bosses, letting them know I was on schedule.

The trail continued uphill, to my surprise. I figured I had six miles left, but the miles kept coming, and the same pains came back: my blistered hips, the fiery feeling in my foot, the sore knees. It was a slog. My legs trembled during a final, killer downhill section that was dry and rocky, reminding me of hikes I’d done in the Sierras.

That last downhill rewarded me with the most scenic view of the trail, though, a panorama of mountains in every direction. I kept going down and down, back into the beauty of the hemlock shade, the “black forest,” and up to the gravel road where I’d parked my truck.

I’d made it.

I finished around 1 p.m. and wound up at a Sheetz for gummy bears, a chicken sandwich, and a bag of ice for my foot. I sat in the truck, realizing that at 48, this hike was the most difficult physical feat of my life. For a moment, I wondered if that was pathetic, but that passed.

It’s never too late. I’ve rested long enough.