The case for an extra rest day after a long hike
I cramp, my knees click, and the trails around the Blue Mountains won't wait for me to catch up. So I built a small rule: after any bushwalk over about six hours, I claim an extra rest day before doing anything strenuous. It's the cheapest way I know to keep walking well into the next year. This is partly for anyone doing the same kind of tracks.
There's no scientific protocol here, just a pattern across summers on the Grampians, weekends in Tasmania and the usual spins around Wilson's Promontory. Recovery is one of those corners of hiking nobody writes a glossy brochure about, which is exactly why it gets rushed. Below is what's worked, what hasn't, and the small rituals I lean on.
The body pays back what the legs spent
A long hike is mostly an endurance event held together by tendons, calves and a steady stream of muesli bars. The fuel gets used faster than it gets refilled, especially on those nine-hour days where the pack feels heavier with every kilometre. By the time I crack open an esky at the campsite, the body is already running on the fumes of breakfast.
What looks like a quiet evening is a small biochemical ledger. Glycogen is low, microtears sit in the quads, and the central nervous system is asking for a mortgage extension. Pretending one big sleep fixes all of that is optimism that catches up around the third set of stairs.
Sleep debt doesn't clear in one long lie-in
A solid ten hours feels restorative, but it doesn't actually erase sleep debt. The slow-wave cycles the body leans on after a long effort tend to be lighter and more fragmented, even with the curtains drawn against an early Aussie sunrise. I usually wake at the usual arvo-ish hour feeling like I've only half-paid off the previous day's bill.
So now I treat the second night as the real recovery sleep — the one that finally puts the ledger back in the black. The first night settles the bones; the second clears the brain.
Joints and tendons grumble slowly
Muscles scream, so we listen to them. Tendons grumble quietly, and by the time they speak up the damage usually needs a fortnight rather than a day. After long descents on rocky ground — the Stairway to Heaven on Mt Wellington, or the steep spur down from Mt Field — the patellar tendons and the Achilles ask for a longer conversation than the calves.
That's why my easy day is genuinely easy. I avoid running, skip the heavy squats, and keep the walking to flat ground. Some weeks that's a slow wander through the botanic gardens; some weeks it's a quiet lap of the block in thongs before a long shower. The point is to keep the load boringly low.
The gym gets skipped, and the warm-up gets gentler
I used to drag myself into the next session out of guilt. It almost always ended with a tweaked shoulder or a hip flexor that took a week to settle. Lately I've learnt to keep that day completely clear of anything load-bearing — even when there's lifting ahead, I'd rather it start from a clean slate than limp into it.
When I do get back under the bar, I'm careful about the opening sets. A gentle warm-up routine like the one I kept in my notes on lifting prep makes a real difference to how the joints behave over the next ten minutes, especially after a heavy pack weekend on rough ground.
Picking the recovery that fits the trip
Not every hike asks for the same recovery. A flat 15 k on a sealed rail trail is a different beast to a wet scramble up a Tasmanian peak with a fully-loaded pack, and I find it helps to be honest about what the trip actually was rather than how it felt at the trailhead.
| Trip type | What I do the day after | How long until training again |
|---|---|---|
| Easy rail-trail day, under 4 hours | Normal routine, normal sleep | One day |
| Long ridge or peak day, 6–9 hours | Easy walk, no gym, extra sleep | Two days |
| Multi-day with a big ascent day | Total rest, then a very easy spin | Three to four days |
| Trail run race or ultra | Total rest, soft tissue work | Up to a week |
The table is mostly there to keep me honest. There's a fine line between earning a rest day and inventing one, and a quick scoreboard helps me tell the difference on tired mornings.
Signals I wait for before the next walk
A few small signs tell me the body is ready again, and I've learnt to wait on them rather than the date on the calendar. If stairs don't come with a wince, if the knees don't click on the second cold morning, and if a quick shuffle feels ordinary rather than heroic, I'm probably cleared. If any of those three don't quite line up, the trip gets pushed by another day.
Sometimes the signals are mental too. Hiking is mood work as much as leg work, and a flat tired feeling that won't shift across two nights is often the bigger warning than any calf tightness. The track will still be there next weekend; a ruined tendon takes six weeks.
The small habits that did the heavy lifting
Two short lists cover what mattered more than any gadget.
The night-after checklist
- Second-night rule — treat night two as the real recovery sleep
- Easy-day written down — flat ground, no load, no pace
- Tracks-and-tendons test — stairs, knees and a shuffle
The things I keep off the recovery day
- No new kit — broken-in shoes only
- No caffeine before brekkie — wait until food is down
- No silent training diary — even one line keeps the pattern honest
On the nutrition side, especially during a heavy trip block, this tournament-week plan has a lot of crossover with what I now pack into the dry bag before a multi-day.
Right now the next thing on my list is simple: book the recovery sleep onto the calendar before the trip even leaves the driveway, then update the scoreboard after the next summit.