Coros presents its Nomad smartwatch as the definitive companion for those who refuse to be confined by ordinary boundaries—a device that aspires to accompany its wearer from tranquil yoga studios to treacherous mountain summits. Marketed as a truly “go-anywhere, do-anything” piece of gear, the Nomad combines GPS accuracy with detailed offline mapping, promising users the freedom to explore without dependence on a phone connection. It tracks a remarkably broad spectrum of activities, ranging from meditative practices like yoga to more physically demanding pursuits such as bouldering. Central to its marketing narrative is the so‑called “Adventure Journal,” a feature advertised as a digital chronicle designed to capture every footstep, every triumphant catch, and each hard-won summit. However, while the Nomad is commendably priced and features a solid array of essential outdoor functionalities, it omits the embellishments and specialized tools that define higher-tier competitors like Garmin’s advanced models. The device is strategically positioned for campers, backpackers, and outdoor enthusiasts who seek something more rugged and focused on exploration than mainstream multipurpose options such as the Apple Watch.
When my colleague Victoria Song drew my attention to the Nomad, I decided to test Coros’ bold claims firsthand. Fulfilling my unofficial role as The Verge’s self-proclaimed “resident dirtbag” and avid adventurer, I took the watch for an extensive trial on the Tahoe Rim Trail—a 165‑plus‑mile trek renowned for its beauty, elevation changes, and unpredictable weather. Outdoor recreation, after all, is an increasingly lucrative sector, with data from the Outdoor Industry Association indicating a growing presence of high-income participants earning upwards of $100,000 annually. Hiking leads in popularity within this space, raising an intriguing question: given their passion and purchasing power, why do hikers and trail runners remain so undemanding of their gear, accepting watches that cater primarily to road runners?
Backpackers, particularly those who engage in long-distance thru-hiking, are known for their near-fanatical obsession with gear optimization. Conversations along my Appalachian Trail hike earlier this year revolved relentlessly around equipment—lighter packs, more efficient stoves, and smarter technology. This culture of continuous tinkering and innovation means that a genuinely brilliant device would hardly require aggressive marketing; positive word-of-mouth alone would ensure its success. The ultralight hiking community, for example, quickly popularized the Haribo Mini Power Bank—the lightest 20,000mAh battery available—based purely on performance and peer recommendations. And considering Garmin’s top-tier smartwatches can exceed $1,000, there’s an enormous opportunity for a brand like Coros to appeal to a practical but price-conscious demographic. Even Garmin’s budget-friendly Instinct 3 starts at a steep $399 and still lacks the ability to download maps, something the $349 Nomad already offers. Having been unimpressed by Garmin’s cost-to-value ratio a decade ago, I approached Coros with cautious optimism.
During my month-long training and the full Tahoe Rim Trail journey, I found the Nomad a strong performer in several foundational aspects—especially given its cost—but it felt curiously designed for a different kind of athlete. Everything from interface design to app emphasis suggested that its creators envisioned their customer base as weekend warriors, suburban distance runners, or recreational cardio enthusiasts rather than self-sufficient backcountry adventurers. In essence, the watch promises a certain all-encompassing ruggedness, but its underlying philosophy still orbits around conventional running metrics.
That isn’t to say the Nomad lacks strengths. Its most undeniable victory is battery endurance, which decisively outperforms my aging Apple Watch Series 6. Over the course of my 11‑day expedition—174 miles according to my FarOut navigation app—the watch required only a single recharge midway. Before departure, I fully charged it, and it lasted through nearly six days and forty-plus hours of active tracking before depleting. After replenishing once on day six, it powered through the remainder of the trip effortlessly. For any long-distance hiker accustomed to juggling battery packs and solar chargers, this kind of sustained reliability is a luxury.
Yet I quickly noticed clues that the Nomad’s software ecosystem had not been designed with people like me in mind. Opening the Coros app, I was greeted not by tools for endurance adventures but by prompts suggesting I set up a marathon training plan—a telling sign of its intended audience. While the interface allows for customization, offering the option to delete irrelevant sections, it fails to provide an equivalent replacement oriented toward trail-specific training. Many functions tailored for road-running metrics do not easily translate to off-road pursuits like hiking or trail running. The omission of a functional fitness test for trail conditions—where terrain complexity, altitude shifts, and balance requirements redefine performance—illustrates this gap. The device’s analytics, heavily grounded in pace and cadence, misinterpret or ignore the unique physiological challenges of technical terrains.
Equally puzzling are missing conveniences that seem basic in this category. An auto-pause function exists for runners but does not extend to hiking or walking modes, undermining usability for those who navigate uneven terrain punctuated by frequent stops. Furthermore, while its training calendar usefully integrates workout prompts and interval notifications for runners, it excludes an option for hikes altogether—effectively neglecting one of the very activities the Nomad ostensibly celebrates. Trail runners, hikers, and backpackers thus find themselves cut off from structured planning tools that road athletes enjoy.
Hardware performance fares better. The Nomad accurately tracked elevation gain and mileage, aligning closely with readings from my Apple Watch. Nonetheless, the data visualization proved unnecessarily complicated: a hiking session defaulted to five different screens, each overflowing with less relevant metrics. Key information like distance, pace, or elevation gain was distributed inefficiently across multiple swipes. On trail, readability is paramount, and the dense, modular display—with small typefaces and cluttered layouts—made quick glances nearly impossible. Simplifying these pages could have improved functional clarity without compromising analytical depth.
Another more substantial critique concerns the Nomad’s dependence on internet connectivity for core “safety” features. Marketing materials promise SOS alerts in emergencies, but these only function when paired with a phone that has cellular access. Without satellite messaging capability, such safety assurances become meaningless in remote wilderness settings. The irony of a supposedly off‑grid adventure watch that can’t summon help offline is hard to ignore.
During my Tahoe expedition, I experienced firsthand how crucial reliable weather and safety tools can be. Afternoon thunderstorms are common in the Sierras, and during my hike, they arrived daily for five consecutive days. Lacking an independent connectivity feature, the Nomad possessed no real mechanism for alerting me to these approaching storms unless my phone retained service—a rare luxury in that region. Only after returning home did I discover the built‑in barometer could offer storm warnings, a valuable safety function shamefully buried in obscure menu layers and toggled off by default. While tech-savvy users may enjoy exploring menus, most hikers would prefer straightforward guidance in a quick-start manual explaining such vital settings. When you’re twenty miles from civilization, intuition and immediacy matter far more than digital intricacy.
The deeper shortcoming is philosophical: Coros presents the Nomad as an all-around outdoor tool, but its software reveals priorities rooted in urban or athletic contexts rather than true wilderness immersion. The app’s recovery timers, training load insights, and endurance predictions all rely heavily on heart-rate algorithms that fail to accommodate activities outside steady-state cardio. Consequently, for non-cardio exertions—such as climbing or strength training—the metrics underestimate strain, yielding misleading recovery times. These analytical flaws are not unique to Coros; even giants like Apple and Fitbit struggle here. However, unlike generalist wearables, Coros purports to deliver specialized performance insights, making its inaccuracies more conspicuous.
Some of its niche sports modes fare better. The climbing or bouldering setting impressed me with its attention to sport-specific terminology and metrics, logging ascents, rest intervals, and grades. Nevertheless, even in such modes, the physiological tracking—particularly effort intensity—remained imperfect. The absence of a rucking option was an even bigger disappointment. For backpackers, walking with significant load is fundamental, yet almost no major smartwatch adequately supports it. Garmin recently introduced a rucking mode, imperfect but pioneering; Coros, notably, did not follow suit.
Rucking’s renewed popularity among athletes and wellness enthusiasts makes this omission baffling. From neuroscientists like Andrew Huberman to lifestyle publications such as GQ and Women’s Health, many have lauded rucking for its cardiovascular and bone-density benefits. Its steady rise among female fitness communities underscores its broad appeal. For backpackers and thru-hikers, a rucking mode could provide indispensable training support. Currently, the only way to simulate pack-carrying performance on the Nomad is to manually approximate effort through hiking metrics, which fails to capture the physiological stress of additional weight.
In my own training regimen leading up to the Tahoe trip, I compensated for this absence with meticulous manual planning. Knowing my fully loaded pack would reach about thirty-two pounds—gear, food, and water combined—I trained using a slightly heavier setup to build strength. An intelligent smartwatch could theoretically automate such training cycles: adjusting pack-weight progression, monitoring recovery, and proposing mileage or elevation adjustments safely. That fantasy smartwatch still doesn’t exist, but it highlights what outdoor technology could achieve if designed for serious hikers rather than marathoners.
The Nomad’s VO₂‑max tracking is another example of misplaced priorities. The metric is buried within a “Running Fitness” menu that disregards walks, hikes, and even trail runs, rendering it effectively useless for outdoor professionals who spend most of their training time off pavement. When I performed long trail sessions, none of my exertion contributed to the algorithm’s understanding of my fitness trajectory—an oversight both frustrating and unnecessary.
While the Nomad’s hardware durability and battery life stand out as genuine triumphs, its software fragility and online dependency undermine its identity as an adventure companion. Even the watch’s signature “Adventure Journal” feature, which records routes enriched with photos and voice notes, requires an internet connection to function seamlessly. On multi-day expeditions beyond cell range, that translates to near-inoperability. For users who habitually keep analog trail journals or short written logs, the Journal may appear redundant. Its digital appeal lies mainly in convenience, yet without offline capability, that advantage evaporates.
Coros earns rightful praise for building robust hardware: the device feels hardy, resists scratches, and performs its core navigational duties with noticeable precision and minimal lag. But navigation alone doesn’t define the modern outdoor watch. True dependability derives from autonomy—offline functionality, reliable environmental alerts, and the ability to call for help when truly off-grid. These are exactly the qualities where the Nomad falters most.
Reflecting on my experience, I caught myself imagining the ideal backpacker’s smartwatch—a piece of equipment capable of genuine independence. Such a device would combine the Nomad’s efficiency of power consumption with direct satellite connectivity, merging the communication reliability of a Garmin InReach Mini with the convenience of a wrist-mounted tool. Existing examples, like the Apple Watch Ultra 3 and Garmin Fenix 8 Pro, come close yet remain prohibitively expensive and power‑hungry. If Coros—or any competitor—can engineer a lighter, longer-lasting, satellite-enabled model at a moderate price, it would revolutionize safety and accessibility in the outdoor world. The ability to send emergency signals or weather updates without relying on phones would transform not only ultralight adventuring but also empower more individuals—especially women hikers wary of isolation—to undertake solo trips with greater confidence.
In the long view, truly outstanding outdoor equipment is often born from extreme use cases. Innovations once reserved for elite ultramarathoners or long-distance thru-hikers eventually reach mainstream adventurers, lowering the barriers to entry for new explorers. The Coros Nomad, therefore, feels like a partial step toward that vision—ambitious but incomplete. It exhibits flashes of excellence, particularly in endurance and mapping reliability, yet its software and structural design stop short of fulfilling the brand’s “go-anywhere” promise.
If judged purely against its current competition, the Nomad is a strong value proposition: a tough, affordable smartwatch that outperforms Apple’s wearables in stamina while undercutting Garmin’s premium pricing. But when examined through the lens of its grand marketing narrative—a watch for boundless freedom—it remains a compelling prototype rather than a fully realized tool. The perfect adventure watch for obsessive outdoor enthusiasts and uncompromising thru-hikers does not yet exist. For now, the Nomad stands as an admirable attempt, a glimpse of what could be, waiting for the next generation of innovation to finally harmonize functionality with the wild realities of adventure.
Sourse: https://www.theverge.com/tech/798613/coros-nomad-thru-hike-rucking
