The Best Camp Shoes for Backpacking (2026)

Every long trail has a uniform, and below the ankle, after 6 p.m., the uniform is this. The Crocs Classic became the thru-hiker camp shoe the honest way: hikers with 2,000 miles to think about it kept converging on the same ugly clog. The reasons are all function. The closed-cell foam absorbs no water, so a soaked pair is dry by the time dinner is. The fit is cavernous by design, which is exactly what feet that have swollen a half-size over a long day want, and it is the only shoe in this guide that comfortably swallows a thick camp sock on a cold night, which quietly makes it the only real three-season pick here. The closed toe means the midnight walk to the bear hang does not end with a stubbed toe on a root. And the strap flips back for a surprisingly secure heel when you need to actually walk somewhere.

Now the equation, honestly. The Classic is the heaviest shoe in this guide: a pair in a mid men's size lands well above the Z-Trail pair, and the exact figure swings with size, so we will not pretend to a decimal point. Crocs partisans answer the weight charge two ways. First, the clog can ride on your feet at every break and around every camp chore, so it is worn more hours than any sandal, and gear you use more earns more. Second, the recovery case: two hours in a dry, airy, roomy clog is what lets macerated, blister-prone feet firm back up overnight, a practice hikers have understood forever, and the Classic delivers that recovery with socks on when the temperature drops, which the open sandals cannot.

The ultralight case against camp shoes has always been the carry, so Xero attacked the carry. The Z-Trail EV lists at 5.4 oz per sandal in a mid men's size, a number small enough to end most arguments, and, just as important, the whole sandal is a thin, flexible slab that packs flat. That flat pack is quietly the bigger deal: a camp shoe that slides inside the pack or lies flush against it changes the daily annoyance calculus in a way raw ounces do not, because nothing snags, swings, or drums against your pack for 20 miles.

The second argument is double duty. The Z-Trail's three-point strap system holds the sandal on your actual foot, not just under it, which makes it a genuine water-crossing shoe: fords and creek braids get done in the Xeros while your trail shoes and socks stay dry on your pack, and dry trail shoes are the whole point of the wet-feet recovery game. The barefoot-style sole is thin by philosophy, ground feel over cushion, so hikers raised on plush foam should expect an adjustment, and gravel underfoot is a presence, not a rumor. In camp it is airy and fast-drying, exactly what macerated feet want in summer; on a frosty October night, an open sandal is a popsicle machine, and no strap system fixes that.

Somewhere between the clog partisans and the barefoot minimalists is a hiker who just wants a comfortable sandal that costs almost nothing. The Hurricane Drift is that answer. It takes the strappy Hurricane silhouette Teva has been putting on river guides for decades and molds the whole thing, straps and all, from one piece of EVA foam. One-piece EVA means there is nothing to absorb water, nothing to delaminate, and nothing to rot: hose it off, and it is new. It also means feather-class weight; Teva builds it light enough that the carry argument mostly evaporates, though the company's listed figures vary by size and we will not pin a decimal on it.

In camp it is the most conventionally comfortable of the three: the molded footbed has actual contour and squish, kind to feet that have been pounding descents all day, and the heel strap means walking to the water source is a walk, not a shuffle. The trade-offs are the honest ones of cheap molded foam. The one-piece straps do not adjust, so fit is take-it-or-leave-it and between-sizes feet should size up. Like every EVA shoe it gets slick on wet rock, and like every open sandal it is a fair-weather instrument: no sock nights, no toe protection, and gravel finds its way under the footbed on dusty approaches.