Meet Grant Munn...
A Scottish-born, Australia-based adventurer heading back to the Pacific Crest Trail less than a year after completing it for the first time. After spending ten years in the military and walking away from a high-pressure career to pursue the life he’d been dreaming about, Grant stood at the PCT’s southern terminus in 2025 and found something that felt like home. Now he’s returning to the trail with a renewed focus on longevity, health, and sustainable adventure.
Through daily short-form video and long-form storytelling, Grant will document the realities of life on trail — the highs, the lows, and everything in between — aiming to inspire others to pursue meaningful challenges without sacrificing their wellbeing. Follow his 2,650-mile journey from Mexico to Canada as he proves it’s never too late to choose a different life.
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Interactive Tracking Map
Interactive Tracking Map
Updates From the Trail
Injury, Fear, and the Decision to Go Anyway
I did not feel ready when I started the Pacific Crest Trail.
Not physically.
My body was giving me trouble months before even setting foot on trail. Nothing dramatic enough to stop me going. Just a tightness in my IT band that showed up from time to time, then disappeared, before coming back whenever it bloody felt like it.
The kind of niggle you convince yourself is fine… until you’re 15 miles in, limping into Hauser Creek on night one of a 2,650-mile hike.
I remember lying there that evening thinking, this needs to settle down… or I’m potentially in a situation where I have to suffer and end up off trail, or manage this injury properly for the next five months.
It ended up being the second one.
Not Feeling Ready
There’s an idea that you’re supposed to arrive at the PCT fighting fit, ready to go.
Body solid. Mind strong. All your gear dialled in.
I just wasn’t there. I was fit enough to start the trail, but by no means was I ‘ready’.
There were little warning signs in the background. Nothing bad enough to cancel the hike, but enough that I knew I couldn’t ignore it entirely.
I didn’t treat the niggles or my fitness as something I had to fix before I went.
I treated it as something I was going to manage along the way (also known by some as ‘winging it’).
Learning to Manage It Instead of Fix It
Over time, the IT band issue didn’t remain a constant.
It improved in periods, then flared up, settled, and came back when I pushed too hard or didn’t sleep enough.
It wasn’t a straight line at all.
I did learn pretty quickly that hiking volume and speed were the most important factors in managing my body. If I pushed too far in a day, I paid the price. If I hiked too fast to spend the day with my trail family, I paid the price. If I hiked at my own pace, kept things controlled, I could move way better without blowing up.
So I started working my schedule around this strategy.
I woke up earlier than my trail family some days, to get a head start on the miles. I took longer breaks when I needed them. I took my bloody time on big descents, not flying down the mountain (as much fun as it was). Sometimes just backing off when I needed to… eventually even parting ways with my trail family to accommodate my body’s needs (the worst part).
These weren’t cures, but they were the balance I needed to complete a five-month thru-hike.
Then the Achilles Showed Up
Somewhere along the way, my achilles decided to join the pain party.
Different injury and different adjustments, but I used the same strategy.
It would flare up depending on load, terrain, and how tired I was. Some days it was fine. Other days I was sat in a freezing stream, foot submerged, hoping it would calm down enough to walk the next day.
I never really had the luxury of ignoring it, I just learnt to work with it and listen to my body (sometimes).
I adjusted my pace again. I had to really pay attention to how things felt early in the day when it was stiff instead of waiting for the pain to come on. Honestly, it sometimes felt like a never-ending balance of discomfort, pace, and trying to keep it in a tolerable range.
Ice. Rest. Hike. Repeat. Never enough rest…
Fear changes how you move
What was the biggest surprise to me wasn’t the pain I could endure, or the miles I could cover.
It was how it changed my decision-making and how I broke the distances and challenges down.
I stopped thinking about getting to camp or town. I started thinking much smaller. The next climb. The next descent. The next step.
I developed an awareness of my body and situation. Too much and I’ll break, too little and I might not make it to Canada in time.
That balance never truly went away.
But I learned to thrive in it, and enjoyed pushing my limits and finding how attuned I became
to it all.
A far cry from when I started the trail.
You Don’t Really Decide To Be Resilient
I never had this groundbreaking moment where I decided I needed to be tough about it.
It was a constant adjustment and adaptation to life on trail.
Some days I’d feel fantastic and want to push 40 miles in a day. Others I’d feel the warning signs early and have to rein it in quickly before it became serious.
Over time this kinda became normal. I stopped seeing it as “injury management” and it just became my method of thru-hiking.
Not the vision I had before starting, but it worked.
The Real Decision Was Before All of It
The hardest part wasn’t dealing with the injuries on trail.
It was deciding to fly across the world to a brand-new country and hike the length of it when I knew my body wasn’t perfect.
Once you’re out there you just adapt to it. You don't really have a choice.
But before that happens, everything is still optional. You can wait. Postpone. Prepare more. Eliminate more risk.
That all definitely crossed my mind.
But at some point you have to realise, you can spend a lifetime trying to get to a version of ‘ready’ that never really arrives.
So I went for it.
Not because I felt good.
But because I didn’t want to stay in the same place waiting for it to happen to me.
After All of It
I don't necessarily think that resilience looked like just pushing through it all.
It looked like managing things well enough that they didn’t stop me;
IT band, achilles, volume, recovery. It all became part of a system that I worked to.
Sometimes I messed up, pushed myself too far, and paid the price.
But I kept moving.
Just consistently enough to finish each day… and do it all over again the following day.
Injury, Fear, and the Decision to Go Anyway
I did not feel ready when I started the Pacific Crest Trail.
Not physically.
My body was giving me trouble months before even setting foot on trail. Nothing dramatic enough to stop me going. Just a tightness in my IT band that showed up from time to time, then disappeared, before coming back whenever it bloody felt like it.
The kind of niggle you convince yourself is fine… until you’re 15 miles in, limping into Hauser Creek on night one of a 2,650-mile hike.
I remember lying there that evening thinking, this needs to settle down… or I’m potentially in a situation where I have to suffer and end up off trail, or manage this injury properly for the next five months.
It ended up being the second one.
Not Feeling Ready
There’s an idea that you’re supposed to arrive at the PCT fighting fit, ready to go.
Body solid. Mind strong. All your gear dialled in.
I just wasn’t there. I was fit enough to start the trail, but by no means was I ‘ready’.
There were little warning signs in the background. Nothing bad enough to cancel the hike, but enough that I knew I couldn’t ignore it entirely.
I didn’t treat the niggles or my fitness as something I had to fix before I went.
I treated it as something I was going to manage along the way (also known by some as ‘winging it’).
Learning to Manage It Instead of Fix It
Over time, the IT band issue didn’t remain a constant.
It improved in periods, then flared up, settled, and came back when I pushed too hard or didn’t sleep enough.
It wasn’t a straight line at all.
I did learn pretty quickly that hiking volume and speed were the most important factors in managing my body. If I pushed too far in a day, I paid the price. If I hiked too fast to spend the day with my trail family, I paid the price. If I hiked at my own pace, kept things controlled, I could move way better without blowing up.
So I started working my schedule around this strategy.
I woke up earlier than my trail family some days, to get a head start on the miles. I took longer breaks when I needed them. I took my bloody time on big descents, not flying down the mountain (as much fun as it was). Sometimes just backing off when I needed to… eventually even parting ways with my trail family to accommodate my body’s needs (the worst part).
These weren’t cures, but they were the balance I needed to complete a five-month thru-hike.
Then the Achilles Showed Up
Somewhere along the way, my achilles decided to join the pain party.
Different injury and different adjustments, but I used the same strategy.
It would flare up depending on load, terrain, and how tired I was. Some days it was fine. Other days I was sat in a freezing stream, foot submerged, hoping it would calm down enough to walk the next day.
I never really had the luxury of ignoring it, I just learnt to work with it and listen to my body (sometimes).
I adjusted my pace again. I had to really pay attention to how things felt early in the day when it was stiff instead of waiting for the pain to come on. Honestly, it sometimes felt like a never-ending balance of discomfort, pace, and trying to keep it in a tolerable range.
Ice. Rest. Hike. Repeat. Never enough rest…
Fear changes how you move
What was the biggest surprise to me wasn’t the pain I could endure, or the miles I could cover.
It was how it changed my decision-making and how I broke the distances and challenges down.
I stopped thinking about getting to camp or town. I started thinking much smaller. The next climb. The next descent. The next step.
I developed an awareness of my body and situation. Too much and I’ll break, too little and I might not make it to Canada in time.
That balance never truly went away.
But I learned to thrive in it, and enjoyed pushing my limits and finding how attuned I became
to it all.
A far cry from when I started the trail.
You Don’t Really Decide To Be Resilient
I never had this groundbreaking moment where I decided I needed to be tough about it.
It was a constant adjustment and adaptation to life on trail.
Some days I’d feel fantastic and want to push 40 miles in a day. Others I’d feel the warning signs early and have to rein it in quickly before it became serious.
Over time this kinda became normal. I stopped seeing it as “injury management” and it just became my method of thru-hiking.
Not the vision I had before starting, but it worked.
The Real Decision Was Before All of It
The hardest part wasn’t dealing with the injuries on trail.
It was deciding to fly across the world to a brand-new country and hike the length of it when I knew my body wasn’t perfect.
Once you’re out there you just adapt to it. You don't really have a choice.
But before that happens, everything is still optional. You can wait. Postpone. Prepare more. Eliminate more risk.
That all definitely crossed my mind.
But at some point you have to realise, you can spend a lifetime trying to get to a version of ‘ready’ that never really arrives.
So I went for it.
Not because I felt good.
But because I didn’t want to stay in the same place waiting for it to happen to me.
After All of It
I don't necessarily think that resilience looked like just pushing through it all.
It looked like managing things well enough that they didn’t stop me;
IT band, achilles, volume, recovery. It all became part of a system that I worked to.
Sometimes I messed up, pushed myself too far, and paid the price.
But I kept moving.
Just consistently enough to finish each day… and do it all over again the following day.
Behind The Journey
Who is Grant?
Who is Grant?
Grant Munn is a Scottish-born adventurer currently based in Australia. After spending ten years in the military, much of it outdoors but far from the world of hiking, Grant’s relationship with adventure didn’t begin until later in life. Growing up, long-distance trails and remote journeys felt distant and unachievable. That changed in 2015 when he completed his first multi-day hike and summited Mount Kenya, the second-highest peak in Africa. The experience became a catalyst that reshaped how he saw his life and his future.
How did Grant end up on the PCT?
How did Grant end up on the PCT?
For years after Mount Kenya, Grant found himself dreaming about escape and romanticising exploration — a long ride, a thru-hike, a run further than he could comprehend. He consumed adventure content, daydreamed whenever he could, and imagined what it might feel like to cross countries under his own power. In early 2024, burnt out from a high-pressure career and an unfulfilling life, he made the decision to walk away, secure a PCT permit, and commit fully to the life he’d been imagining. He moved to Australia to prepare, spending most of the year surfing and reconnecting with himself before standing at the southern terminus in 2025.
Why is he going back?
Why is he going back?
The Pacific Crest Trail exceeded every expectation. It felt like home. It felt honest. It became the place where Grant felt most himself — more grounded and authentic than ever before. Now, less than a year after finishing, he’s returning with a renewed focus on longevity, health, and sustainable adventure. This time around, Grant wants to go deeper — documenting the realities of trail life through daily short-form video and long-form storytelling to inspire others to pursue meaningful challenges without sacrificing their wellbeing.
What is the Pacific Crest Trail?
What is the Pacific Crest Trail?
The Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) is a 2,650-mile long-distance hiking trail stretching from the Mexican border in Southern California to the Canadian border in Washington State. It passes through some of the most diverse and dramatic landscapes in the United States — from the scorching Mojave Desert to the snow-covered Sierra Nevada, through volcanic terrain in Oregon, and into the lush rainforests of Washington’s Cascades. The PCT is one of the three trails that make up the Triple Crown of Hiking, alongside the Appalachian Trail and the Continental Divide Trail.
What will Grant be sharing on trail?
What will Grant be sharing on trail?
Grant is committed to documenting his entire journey through daily short-form video (reels and vlogs) and monthly long-form blog posts on his Optiventure page. Expect honest, unfiltered content covering the real ups and downs of thru-hiking — the physical challenges, the mental battles, the trail magic, and the quiet moments that make the PCT so special. His goal is to showcase what life on trail actually looks like, not just the highlight reel.
What is the Optiventure Thru-Hiking Scholarship?
What is the Optiventure Thru-Hiking Scholarship?
The Optiventure Triple Crown Thru-Hiking Scholarship supports hikers tackling the PCT, CDT, or AT. Scholarship recipients receive $1,000 USD in financial support (paid in two installments), a full supply of Optiventure Core supplements for the trail, a custom page on the Optiventure website with live tracking, coaching support, and promotion across Optiventure’s social media channels. The scholarship is made possible in partnership with Thru-Hiking.com.
How can I follow Grant’s journey?
How can I follow Grant’s journey?
You can follow Grant in real time through the interactive tracking map on this page, which updates as he hikes. For daily content including trail reels, vlogs, and stories, follow him on Instagram at @grantmunn. Updates from the trail will also be posted in the Updates section above as he makes his way from Mexico to Canada.
Powered by Optiventure Core
Grant is supporting his second PCT thru-hike with Optiventure Core — the all-in-one supplement system built specifically for outdoor athletes and adventurers. Over 2,650 miles and 120 days on trail, the typical hiker diet falls well short on essential micronutrients and specific health and performance support.
Optiventure Core fills the gaps without adding bulk or weight, supporting energy, recovery, immune health, gut support and performance across months of demanding backcountry travel.
From the desert heat of Southern California to the alpine passes of the Sierra and the rainforests of Washington, Optiventure Core is going the distance with Grant every step of the way.
