Learn from experienced pilgrims about the most common gear and packing errors that lead to discomfort, injury, or unnecessary weight on the trail—and how to avo
There's a moment every Camino pilgrim knows. You're maybe three days in, your pack feels like it's filled with bricks, and you're watching someone glide past you with what looks like a daypack. They're smiling. You're questioning every life choice that led to this moment.
I've been that person on both sides—the one struggling under an overstuffed pack and, after six Camino Francés completions plus routes through France, Portugal, and the Norte, the one who finally figured out what actually matters. The learning curve was steep. And painful. And occasionally involved mailing things home from Logroño at extortionate prices.
Here's the thing: packing mistakes don't just add weight to your shoulders. They slow you down in ways you won't anticipate—blisters from the wrong socks, chafing from that cotton shirt you thought would be fine, exhaustion that accumulates day after day until you're genuinely wondering why you signed up for this suffering disguised as a pilgrimage.
Let me walk you through the five most common packing errors I see (and that I've personally made), and more importantly, how to avoid them.
I watched a woman unpack at an albergue in Roncesvalles during my first Francés. She had a hairdryer. A hairdryer. Also: a laptop, three novels, a full-sized bottle of shampoo, hiking sandals AND flip-flops AND regular sandals, and—I'm not making this up—a cast iron camping skillet. When I asked about it (gently, I thought), she said she "might want to cook something special."
She was gone by Zubiri. Not because she'd quit, but because she'd shipped half her pack home and learned the hard way what "just in case" costs you.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: you will not need most of what you think you'll need. That extra shirt? You'll wear the same two shirts in rotation and be absolutely fine with it. The third pair of pants? Unnecessary. The book you've been meaning to read for three years? Either you'll be too tired to read it, or you'll swap it for something lighter at a book exchange within the first week.
My suggestion is brutal but effective: lay out everything you think you need, then remove a third of it. Then look at what's left and ask yourself, "Have I used this item in the last three days of my regular life?" If the answer is no, it probably doesn't need to walk 800 kilometers with you.
The exceptions are safety and medical items. Keep your first aid kit. Keep your headlamp. Keep your rain gear. But that "just in case" mentality for comfort items? Let it go.
If you're unsure what to actually bring, you can ask about specific gear recommendations and get personalized advice based on your route and season.
You can't. Or rather, you can—but you'll pay for it.
On my first walk from Le Puy-en-Velay through France, I carried around 12 kilograms. That's not even that heavy compared to some packs I've seen, but by the time I hit the Aubrac plateau, my knees were screaming and I'd developed a blister situation that would become legendary among my fellow pilgrims. Not the good kind of legendary.
The 10% rule exists because the Camino isn't a weekend hike. You're walking for weeks, possibly months. The cumulative stress on your joints, your feet, your back—it adds up in ways that one heavy day hike never reveals. That extra kilo or two doesn't sound like much until you've carried it for 25 days straight, up and down hills, in rain, in heat, on pavement that hasn't forgiven anyone's knees since the Middle Ages.
My current pack—after all these Caminos—weighs about 6-7 kilograms without water. I weigh around 75 kilos, so I'm actually under the 10% guideline now. The difference is night and day. I arrive at albergues with energy left. I can actually enjoy the last few kilometers instead of death-marching through them.
To get there, you need to invest in lightweight versions of essential gear. A good ultralight sleeping bag like the Sea to Summit Spark SP1 weighs under 400 grams and packs down to nothing. A lightweight pack like the Osprey Exos 48 or the Gregory Focal 48 will save you 500+ grams over a heavier backpacking pack. These investments matter.
Cotton absorbs moisture like a sponge and releases it approximately never. When you sweat (and you will sweat), it stays wet against your skin. When it rains, it stays wet against your skin. This leads to chafing in places you really, really don't want to chafe. It leads to cold when the weather shifts. It leads to that clammy, miserable feeling that makes every step feel harder than it needs to be.
The solution is merino wool or synthetic fabrics. I know merino seems counterintuitive—wool in summer?—but it regulates temperature brilliantly, wicks moisture, and has this almost magical property of not smelling terrible after three days of wear. That last bit matters more than you think it will.
I now walk with two merino wool t-shirts (the Smartwool Merino 150 is my go-to) and rotate them. One washes whilst the other dries. They've lasted me through multiple Caminos with minimal wear.
Same principle applies to underwear and socks. Dear God, especially socks. Cotton socks are blister delivery systems. Get proper hiking socks—something like Darn Tough Hiker Micro Crew—and your feet will thank you in ways you can't currently imagine. I've walked the coastal Portuguese route in August, the Francés in April rain, and the Norte in mixed conditions. Good socks remained the single most important piece of clothing every single time.
By day two, they're limping. By day three, they're in the farmacia buying Compeed like it's going out of stock. By day five, they've either switched to the backup sandals they wisely packed or they're having serious conversations with themselves about whether they can actually continue.
Your boots need to be broken in. Not "worn around the house a couple times" broken in—properly broken in, with at least 50-100 kilometers of walking on varied terrain before you start. The leather (or synthetic materials) needs to mold to your foot. The insole needs to compress where it will compress. You need to discover that slightly rubby spot by your pinky toe before you're three days from anywhere that sells alternative footwear.
I would highly suggest starting your break-in period at least two months before your Camino. Wear your chosen footwear on every walk, every errand, every weekend hike you can manage. If you're doing training walks (which you should be), always do them in your Camino shoes or boots.
And while we're here: there's a debate about boots versus trail runners that's practically theological in Camino circles. I've walked in both. For the Francés in spring or autumn, I now prefer a solid trail runner like the Salomon X Ultra 4 GTX—lighter weight, faster drying, and enough support for the mostly well-maintained paths. For the Norte, with its rockier terrain and more variable conditions, I lean toward a lightweight hiking boot.
The right answer depends on your route, your season, and your personal preference. But whatever you choose, break it in until it feels like an extension of your foot.
I watched a guy on the Portuguese coastal route unpack a literal dopp kit the size of a small child. It had shaving cream, aftershave, separate face wash and body wash, moisturizer, sunscreen (okay, that one's fair), cologne, dental floss, mouthwash, and I think possibly hair gel? He was bald.
Here's what you actually need: a small tube of multi-purpose soap (Dr. Bronner's works for body, hair, and laundry), toothpaste, a toothbrush, sunscreen, and basic medical supplies. Everything else is negotiable. Deodorant? Sure, if you want, but get a small one. Chapstick with SPF? Smart. Hair product? Unless you're doing professional photos at the cathedral, leave it.
Transfer everything into travel-sized containers or, better yet, buy solid versions where possible. Solid shampoo bars, solid sunscreen sticks, solid deodorant—they weigh less, don't risk leaking in your pack, and last surprisingly long.
The same principle applies to "comfort" items. I've seen people carry full-sized pillows (there are inflatable ones that weigh 60 grams), multiple power banks (one good 10,000mAh one is plenty), and electronics they never use. Be ruthless here. Your comfort comes from arriving at the albergue with energy, not from having brought your entire apartment with you.
I've seen this spiral take genuinely fit, motivated pilgrims and turn them into exhausted, frustrated people questioning why they ever thought this was a good idea. And it's almost never about their physical capability—it's about the 4 kilos of unnecessary weight they've been carrying since Saint-Jean.
The Camino is not the place to prove you can carry more than everyone else. It's not a test of how much suffering you can endure. The pilgrims who seem to float along the path, who still have smiles at kilometer 30, who make it look effortless—they're not superhuman. They just packed smarter.
Pay attention to what bothers you. What shifts uncomfortably? What feels unnecessary? What did you never reach for? Be honest with yourself about what you actually need versus what feels psychologically comforting to have.
When I plan your Camino with people now, I always emphasize that the pack is the single biggest controllable factor in your daily experience. Weather happens. Terrain is what it is. Your fellow pilgrims are unpredictable. But your pack? That's entirely within your control.
---
Go in knowing that you'll probably still make some version of these mistakes—everyone does, myself included, repeatedly. But the severity matters. Bringing one extra shirt isn't going to break you. Carrying an extra 5 kilos because you're worried about "what if" scenarios? That will actively make your pilgrimage harder than it needs to be.
The Camino provides what you need. There are farmacias in every town. There are gear shops in major cities. There are other pilgrims willing to share whatever you've forgotten. The safety net is built in. Trust it.
Your body is about to do something remarkable—walking hundreds of kilometers over weeks, pushing through discomfort, surprising you with its capability. The least you can do is not handicap it with preventable packing errors.
And if you're standing in your living room right now, staring at a pile of gear that definitely weighs more than 10% of your body weight, feeling overwhelmed about what to cut? That's normal. We've all been there. Just start removing things, one at a time, until it feels lighter than you think it should. Then remove one more thing.
You'll thank yourself somewhere around day five, when your knees still work and you're not the one shuffling into albergues at sunset, questioning your life choices.
Buen Camino. Pack light.
---
Try asking My Camino Guide:
- What's the ideal packing list for a spring Camino Francés?
- How can I reduce my pack weight for the Camino?
- What shoes should I wear on the Camino Norte?
I've been that person on both sides—the one struggling under an overstuffed pack and, after six Camino Francés completions plus routes through France, Portugal, and the Norte, the one who finally figured out what actually matters. The learning curve was steep. And painful. And occasionally involved mailing things home from Logroño at extortionate prices.
Here's the thing: packing mistakes don't just add weight to your shoulders. They slow you down in ways you won't anticipate—blisters from the wrong socks, chafing from that cotton shirt you thought would be fine, exhaustion that accumulates day after day until you're genuinely wondering why you signed up for this suffering disguised as a pilgrimage.
Let me walk you through the five most common packing errors I see (and that I've personally made), and more importantly, how to avoid them.
Mistake #1: The "Just In Case" Syndrome
This is the big one. The silent killer of Camino joy.I watched a woman unpack at an albergue in Roncesvalles during my first Francés. She had a hairdryer. A hairdryer. Also: a laptop, three novels, a full-sized bottle of shampoo, hiking sandals AND flip-flops AND regular sandals, and—I'm not making this up—a cast iron camping skillet. When I asked about it (gently, I thought), she said she "might want to cook something special."
She was gone by Zubiri. Not because she'd quit, but because she'd shipped half her pack home and learned the hard way what "just in case" costs you.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: you will not need most of what you think you'll need. That extra shirt? You'll wear the same two shirts in rotation and be absolutely fine with it. The third pair of pants? Unnecessary. The book you've been meaning to read for three years? Either you'll be too tired to read it, or you'll swap it for something lighter at a book exchange within the first week.
My suggestion is brutal but effective: lay out everything you think you need, then remove a third of it. Then look at what's left and ask yourself, "Have I used this item in the last three days of my regular life?" If the answer is no, it probably doesn't need to walk 800 kilometers with you.
The exceptions are safety and medical items. Keep your first aid kit. Keep your headlamp. Keep your rain gear. But that "just in case" mentality for comfort items? Let it go.
If you're unsure what to actually bring, you can ask about specific gear recommendations and get personalized advice based on your route and season.
Mistake #2: Ignoring the 10% Rule (Or Thinking You're the Exception)
You've probably heard this one: your pack shouldn't weigh more than 10% of your body weight. And if you're like me on my first Camino, you've probably thought, "Yeah, but I'm reasonably fit, so I can probably go a bit heavier."You can't. Or rather, you can—but you'll pay for it.
On my first walk from Le Puy-en-Velay through France, I carried around 12 kilograms. That's not even that heavy compared to some packs I've seen, but by the time I hit the Aubrac plateau, my knees were screaming and I'd developed a blister situation that would become legendary among my fellow pilgrims. Not the good kind of legendary.
The 10% rule exists because the Camino isn't a weekend hike. You're walking for weeks, possibly months. The cumulative stress on your joints, your feet, your back—it adds up in ways that one heavy day hike never reveals. That extra kilo or two doesn't sound like much until you've carried it for 25 days straight, up and down hills, in rain, in heat, on pavement that hasn't forgiven anyone's knees since the Middle Ages.
My current pack—after all these Caminos—weighs about 6-7 kilograms without water. I weigh around 75 kilos, so I'm actually under the 10% guideline now. The difference is night and day. I arrive at albergues with energy left. I can actually enjoy the last few kilometers instead of death-marching through them.
To get there, you need to invest in lightweight versions of essential gear. A good ultralight sleeping bag like the Sea to Summit Spark SP1 weighs under 400 grams and packs down to nothing. A lightweight pack like the Osprey Exos 48 or the Gregory Focal 48 will save you 500+ grams over a heavier backpacking pack. These investments matter.
Mistake #3: Cotton. Just... Cotton.
I'll admit it: I wore a cotton t-shirt on my first Francés. It seemed fine! It was comfortable! And then it rained somewhere between Pamplona and Puente la Reina, and I spent the next four hours learning what "cotton kills" actually means.Cotton absorbs moisture like a sponge and releases it approximately never. When you sweat (and you will sweat), it stays wet against your skin. When it rains, it stays wet against your skin. This leads to chafing in places you really, really don't want to chafe. It leads to cold when the weather shifts. It leads to that clammy, miserable feeling that makes every step feel harder than it needs to be.
The solution is merino wool or synthetic fabrics. I know merino seems counterintuitive—wool in summer?—but it regulates temperature brilliantly, wicks moisture, and has this almost magical property of not smelling terrible after three days of wear. That last bit matters more than you think it will.
I now walk with two merino wool t-shirts (the Smartwool Merino 150 is my go-to) and rotate them. One washes whilst the other dries. They've lasted me through multiple Caminos with minimal wear.
Same principle applies to underwear and socks. Dear God, especially socks. Cotton socks are blister delivery systems. Get proper hiking socks—something like Darn Tough Hiker Micro Crew—and your feet will thank you in ways you can't currently imagine. I've walked the coastal Portuguese route in August, the Francés in April rain, and the Norte in mixed conditions. Good socks remained the single most important piece of clothing every single time.
Mistake #4: New Boots on Day One
This one breaks my heart because it's so preventable, and I see it constantly. Someone shows up in Sarria or Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port with brand new boots, tags barely removed, ready to tackle their pilgrimage with fresh footwear.By day two, they're limping. By day three, they're in the farmacia buying Compeed like it's going out of stock. By day five, they've either switched to the backup sandals they wisely packed or they're having serious conversations with themselves about whether they can actually continue.
Your boots need to be broken in. Not "worn around the house a couple times" broken in—properly broken in, with at least 50-100 kilometers of walking on varied terrain before you start. The leather (or synthetic materials) needs to mold to your foot. The insole needs to compress where it will compress. You need to discover that slightly rubby spot by your pinky toe before you're three days from anywhere that sells alternative footwear.
I would highly suggest starting your break-in period at least two months before your Camino. Wear your chosen footwear on every walk, every errand, every weekend hike you can manage. If you're doing training walks (which you should be), always do them in your Camino shoes or boots.
And while we're here: there's a debate about boots versus trail runners that's practically theological in Camino circles. I've walked in both. For the Francés in spring or autumn, I now prefer a solid trail runner like the Salomon X Ultra 4 GTX—lighter weight, faster drying, and enough support for the mostly well-maintained paths. For the Norte, with its rockier terrain and more variable conditions, I lean toward a lightweight hiking boot.
The right answer depends on your route, your season, and your personal preference. But whatever you choose, break it in until it feels like an extension of your foot.
Mistake #5: Overpacking Toiletries and "Comfort" Items
I'm going to say something that might sound harsh: you do not need your full skincare routine on the Camino. You do not need full-sized bottles of anything. You do not need the array of grooming products that live in your bathroom at home.I watched a guy on the Portuguese coastal route unpack a literal dopp kit the size of a small child. It had shaving cream, aftershave, separate face wash and body wash, moisturizer, sunscreen (okay, that one's fair), cologne, dental floss, mouthwash, and I think possibly hair gel? He was bald.
Here's what you actually need: a small tube of multi-purpose soap (Dr. Bronner's works for body, hair, and laundry), toothpaste, a toothbrush, sunscreen, and basic medical supplies. Everything else is negotiable. Deodorant? Sure, if you want, but get a small one. Chapstick with SPF? Smart. Hair product? Unless you're doing professional photos at the cathedral, leave it.
Transfer everything into travel-sized containers or, better yet, buy solid versions where possible. Solid shampoo bars, solid sunscreen sticks, solid deodorant—they weigh less, don't risk leaking in your pack, and last surprisingly long.
The same principle applies to "comfort" items. I've seen people carry full-sized pillows (there are inflatable ones that weigh 60 grams), multiple power banks (one good 10,000mAh one is plenty), and electronics they never use. Be ruthless here. Your comfort comes from arriving at the albergue with energy, not from having brought your entire apartment with you.
The Hidden Cost of Overpacking
What nobody tells you about these mistakes is how they compound. Each extra kilo makes the next kilometer slightly harder. That slight extra fatigue means you walk a bit slower, which means you arrive later, which means you get worse bed choices or miss the decent albergue entirely. Being more tired means you sleep worse, which means tomorrow is harder still.I've seen this spiral take genuinely fit, motivated pilgrims and turn them into exhausted, frustrated people questioning why they ever thought this was a good idea. And it's almost never about their physical capability—it's about the 4 kilos of unnecessary weight they've been carrying since Saint-Jean.
The Camino is not the place to prove you can carry more than everyone else. It's not a test of how much suffering you can endure. The pilgrims who seem to float along the path, who still have smiles at kilometer 30, who make it look effortless—they're not superhuman. They just packed smarter.
A Better Approach
If you're still in the planning phase, do this: lay out everything you think you want to bring. Then do a test walk with it. Not around your neighborhood—an actual 20-25 kilometer day on varied terrain. You'll learn more from that single day than from any packing list on the internet (including this article).Pay attention to what bothers you. What shifts uncomfortably? What feels unnecessary? What did you never reach for? Be honest with yourself about what you actually need versus what feels psychologically comforting to have.
When I plan your Camino with people now, I always emphasize that the pack is the single biggest controllable factor in your daily experience. Weather happens. Terrain is what it is. Your fellow pilgrims are unpredictable. But your pack? That's entirely within your control.
---
Go in knowing that you'll probably still make some version of these mistakes—everyone does, myself included, repeatedly. But the severity matters. Bringing one extra shirt isn't going to break you. Carrying an extra 5 kilos because you're worried about "what if" scenarios? That will actively make your pilgrimage harder than it needs to be.
The Camino provides what you need. There are farmacias in every town. There are gear shops in major cities. There are other pilgrims willing to share whatever you've forgotten. The safety net is built in. Trust it.
Your body is about to do something remarkable—walking hundreds of kilometers over weeks, pushing through discomfort, surprising you with its capability. The least you can do is not handicap it with preventable packing errors.
And if you're standing in your living room right now, staring at a pile of gear that definitely weighs more than 10% of your body weight, feeling overwhelmed about what to cut? That's normal. We've all been there. Just start removing things, one at a time, until it feels lighter than you think it should. Then remove one more thing.
You'll thank yourself somewhere around day five, when your knees still work and you're not the one shuffling into albergues at sunset, questioning your life choices.
Buen Camino. Pack light.
---
Try asking My Camino Guide:
- What's the ideal packing list for a spring Camino Francés?
- How can I reduce my pack weight for the Camino?
- What shoes should I wear on the Camino Norte?
