Family Adventures – The Big Outside https://thebigoutside.com America’s Best Backpacking and Outdoor Adventures Fri, 06 Mar 2026 17:16:17 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.1 https://i0.wp.com/tbo-media.sfo2.digitaloceanspaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/06235325/cropped-Sier2-82-Granite-Park-Muir-Wldrnes.jpg?fit=32%2C32&ssl=1 Family Adventures – The Big Outside https://thebigoutside.com 32 32 159605698 Backpacking in the North Cascades—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-north-cascades-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-north-cascades-national-park/#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12148 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On my first trip to North Cascades National Park, I was sure I’d found heaven. The hard-earned views of a sea of jagged spires and snow- and ice-covered peaks stretching as far as you could see instantly cemented the place as one of my favorite mountain ranges. I’ve returned many times since, backpacking, dayhiking, climbing, ski mountaineering, including with my family.

But not many hikers and backpackers know much about Washington’s North Cascades, a region that includes one of America’s least-visited national parks and surrounding wilderness and national recreation areas that offer a rare combination of stunning beauty and solitude.

And the season for planning trips into the backcountry there is upon us.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Glacier Peak looming above Image Lake in Washington's Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Glacier Peak looming above Image Lake in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

The North Cascades National Park complex includes the park itself—nearly 700,000 acres, 93 percent of which is designated as the Stephen Mather Wilderness—as well as the adjoining Ross Lake and Lake Chelan national recreation areas. To the north and south of the park complex, within the broader North Cascades region, are the equally beautiful Pasayten, Glacier Peak, and Alpine Lakes wildernesses. Ecosystems range from virgin rainforest of giant cedars, hemlocks, and Douglas firs, to sub-alpine meadows carpeted in wildflowers, and alpine areas hosting about 60 percent of all the glaciers in the Lower 48. Everywhere, waterfalls pour down cliffs.

Few mountain ranges compare for the ruggedness, raw beauty, and remoteness and solitude of the North Cascades.

A backpacker near Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.

North Cascades National Park also has one of the most mind-blowing backcountry campsites in the country at Sahale Glacier camp (the top left image in the gallery below and one of my 25 best backcountry campsites ever).

Check out these photos and scroll past the gallery for links to stories at The Big Outside. I think it will persuade you to put this region and at least some of these trips high on your list.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

See all stories about backpacking in the North Cascades at The Big Outside, including “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” “Backpacking the Pasayten Wilderness—On and Off the Beaten Track,” and “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop.” Like most stories about trips at this blog, anyone can read much of those stories for free, but reading those stories completely, including expert tips on planning those trips, requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan a trip in the North Cascades. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-north-cascades-national-park/feed/ 6 12148
7 Great Southwest Backpacking Trips for Beginners https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-southwest-backpacking-trips-you-should-do-first/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-southwest-backpacking-trips-you-should-do-first/#comments Sun, 01 Mar 2026 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24684 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

You want to explore the best backpacking in America’s desert Southwest, but you’re not sure where to begin, or how some of these trips you’ve read about compare for scenery and difficulty. You’ve heard about the need to carry huge loads of water, and environmental challenges like dangerous heat, rugged terrain, flash floods and even (gulp) quicksand. Or you want to take your kids and make sure you pick an appropriate trip for them. Or you’ve taken one or two backpacking trips there and now you’re hungry for another one and seeking ideas for where to go next.

Well, I gotcha covered. The seven trips described in this story comprise what might be called a Southwest Backpacking Starter Package. They are all beginner- and family-friendly in terms of trail or route quality, access, and navigability, and some have good water availability. But most importantly, regardless of their relative ease logistically, they all deliver the goods on the kind of adventure and scenery you go to the Southwest hoping to find.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Narrows.

I draw this list from more than three decades of backpacking throughout the Southwest, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and much longer running this blog. I present these seven trips in no particular order of priority; in reality, competition for a backcountry permit will dictate when you’re able to take the most-popular ones, such as those in the Grand Canyon, Zion, and Canyonlands—and those are trips you need to plan months in advance to get a permit reservation for the prime seasons of spring and fall.

Learn more in my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

See my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips, including “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park” and “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures or any trip you read about at The Big Outside; you’ll see hundreds of comments on that page from readers of this blog who have received my custom trip planning.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, this one is partly free for anyone to read, but seeing the full list of trips described below is an exclusive benefit for subscribers. Please consider subscribing to gain access to all stories at this blog and support my work on it.

Please share your comments, questions, or tips about any of these trips or another you believe belongs on this list in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A hiker near Skeleton Point on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail on a rim-to-rim dayhike. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon’s Corridor Trails

The Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.
The Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.

So many writers (including me) and other people have written and said so much about the Grand Canyon that it’s hard to find words that sound unique and inspiring to describe it. You won’t encounter that problem when actually going there, though—every hike is unique and inspiring.

But the very aspects of the GC that make it such a unique place—its severe topography and aridity—also ramp up the difficulty of any multi-day hike into the canyon.

That’s precisely why the park manages its “corridor” trails—the Bright Angel and South and North Kaibab trails—to accommodate backpackers (and dayhikers) will little to no experience hiking there.

Those well-maintained trails have established campgrounds and relatively frequent, reliable water sources, and offer a variety of route options, from an easy (by canyon standards) overnight trip to backpacking a full, rim-to-rim traverse of the canyon.

See all stories about hiking across the Grand Canyon and backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside, including “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” plus my story about another relatively beginner-friendly GC hike, the 25-miler from Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim
and dayhiking the canyon rim to rim.

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in Zion’s Narrows. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

The Narrows in Zion

No surprise that Zion’s Narrows is one of the most sought-after backcountry permits in the National Park System. With sandstone walls that rise up to a thousand feet tall, the Narrows of the North Fork of the Virgin River in Zion squeezes down to just 20 to 30 feet across in places.

Day one in the upper Narrows, Zion National Park.
Day one in the Narrows, Zion National Park.

On this 16-mile, two-day hike, you’ll walk in the river most of the time—with the water coming up to thighs and hips in places—marveling at the constantly changing, towering walls, and oddities like a waterfall pouring from solid rock, creating an oasis of greenery clinging to a cliff.

I don’t want to understate the challenge—and it may not be a good choice for complete novices or young kids. Despite it being a very gradual descent for its entire distance, the Narrows can feel surprisingly strenuous because you’re walking much of the time on riverbed cobbles and in water.

The water and air temperature vary seasonally, and it can feel cool or downright cold, which saps energy over several hours. And there’s certainly flash-flood danger—don’t go without a forecast for sunny skies. But the park also closes the Narrows at times of flood hazard.

Still, this is one classic hike to get to whenever you can.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” (which includes tips on planning this trip, though not nearly as much detail as my e-book, linked above), and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”
And click here now to see all expert e-books at The Big Outside.

Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

The Needles District in Canyonlands

Backpacking Squaw Canyon in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Backpacking Squaw Canyon in the Needles District, Canyonlands.

Multi-colored candlesticks of Cedar sandstone stand 300 feet tall, appearing ready to topple over with bulbous crowns wider than their base. Waves of rock ripple into the distance, looking like a petrified, burnt-red ocean. Stratified cliffs stretch for miles.

The Needles District of Canyonlands National Park holds the kind of geological formations that fascinate both kids and adults. It also has over 60 miles of trails zigzagging over a high plateau spliced by canyons.

But unlike big, deep canyons, most trails here don’t involve much elevation gain and loss. While water is scarce, you don’t have to hike great distances to reach backcountry campsites and explore. And established trails to Chesler Park, Big Spring, Squaw, and Lost canyons, and the Peekaboo Trail are easy to follow.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” and all stories about Canyonlands National Park at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

Father and son backpackers standing below Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
My son, Nate, then age 12, and me standing in Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Coyote Gulch, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area

Backpackers in Utah's Coyote Gulch.
Backpackers in Utah’s Coyote Gulch.

On a three-day, roughly 15-mile backpacking trip through southern Utah’s Coyote Gulch with young teen and ‘tweener kids, my family and another hiked across ancient dunes hardened to rock; squeezed through a claustrophobically tight, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall (not as hard as it sounds and quite fun); and stood atop a cliff overlooking a vast landscape of redrock towers and cliffs (photo at top of story), including Stevens Arch, measuring some 220 feet across and 160 feet tall.

And that was just in the first hour.

With its short distance, a reliable, perennial stream, and lack of flash-flood hazard, Coyote Gulch ranks as one of the Southwest’s most beginner-and family-friendly backpacking trips.

But that description, while true, almost diminishes the raw beauty of a hike that features a natural bridge, two of the region’s most distinctive natural arches—and one deeply overhung cliff with amazing echo acoustics.

In many ways, Coyote delivers a complete canyon-hiking experience—without the common hardships and hazards.

See my story “Playing the Memory Game in Southern Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon.”

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

The Kolob Canyons Viewpoint in Zion National Park.
The Kolob Canyons Viewpoint in Zion National Park.

Zion’s Kolob Canyons and West Rim Trail

Backpacking Zion's West Rim Trail.
Backpacking Zion’s West Rim Trail.

Zion may lack the extensive trail network found in parks like Grand Canyon, Glacier, or Yosemite, but it does harbor a classic backpacking trip widely recognized as one of America’s best—The Narrows—and other trails that compete with it for I-can’t-believe-my-eyes panoramas.

Sheer red walls towering above the vibrant, green forest, plus easy hiking and the perennial La Verkin Creek made the Kolob Canyons an enjoyable overnight hike for my family when our kids were nine and six.

Our overnight on the West Rim Trail on the same trip was a bit harder—and we (the parents) had to carry extra water—but it was within our kids’ abilities; and the views from the West Rim of Zion Canyon and the maze of canyons and white-walled mesas dicing up the Zion backcountry look like something from another planet.

Road access to both areas of Zion, and local shuttle services, allow for short overnight hikes or longer outings that are ideal for beginners.

The more ambitious can make a north-south traverse from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon, about 40 miles, depending on how many side hikes one takes (such as the incomparable Zion must-do, Angels Landing).

See all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside, including “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery” and “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

Hike all of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Like this story? Check out “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners.”

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-southwest-backpacking-trips-you-should-do-first/feed/ 5 24684
The View From Mount St. Helens, One of America’s Best Hikes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-view-from-one-of-americas-best-hikes-mount-st-helens/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-view-from-one-of-americas-best-hikes-mount-st-helens/#respond Wed, 25 Feb 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26661 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

More than four decades after it last erupted, Washington’s Mount St. Helens has become one of the most sought-after summits in the country—for good reason. Hikers on the standard Monitor Ridge route, on the mountain’s south side, emerge soon from the shady, cool, temperate rainforest onto a stark, gray and black moonscape of volcanic rocks, pumice, and ash, with little vegetation and sweeping views of the Cascade Mountains, including several other snow-covered volcanoes. The views could steal the breath from God.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


From atop crumbling cliffs at the crater rim, hikers look out over the vast hole—2,000 feet deep and nearly two miles across—created by the 1980 eruption that decapitated St. Helens. Ice-capped volcanoes dominate three horizons: Rainier, Adams, Hood, and Jefferson. Scroll down to the photo gallery below from my family’s three-generation hike up St. Helens, and you’ll see why I consider it one of “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

A permit is required for every climber above 4,800 feet on Mount St. Helens. It costs $20/person for the permit plus $6 for every permit transaction during the quota season of April 1 through Oct 31, when there are daily limits on the total number of climbers permitted on the mountain.

For each month during the quota season, permits go on sale at recreation.gov/permits/4675309 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on the first day of the preceding month; for example, permits for hiking the mountain in July go on sale on June 1. Permits sell out very quickly. See fs.usda.gov/r06/giffordpinchot/recreation/mount-st-helens-summit for information.

Read my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Pushing Limits on Mount St. Helens,” about my family’s three-generation hike of Mount St. Helens, with more photos, a video, and tips on how to pull it off yourself.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

See a menu of all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside and “The 5 Best Tips For Hiking With Kids.”

Get full access to my story about hiking Mount St. Helens and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-view-from-one-of-americas-best-hikes-mount-st-helens/feed/ 0 26661
The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-dayhikes-in-yosemite/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-dayhikes-in-yosemite/#comments Mon, 23 Feb 2026 10:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19950 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The natural beauty, variety, pristine quality, and scale of America’s National Park System have no parallel in the world. Still, a handful of flagship parks rise above the rest—including, unquestionably, Yosemite. Created in 1890, our third national park harbors some of the most breathtaking and inspiring wild lands in the entire parks system. And you can reach much of Yosemite’s finest scenery on dayhikes.

This story shares my picks for the 12 best dayhikes in Yosemite, from popular hikes like Half Dome, the Mist Trail, and Upper Yosemite Falls to some trails and peaks you may not have heard of—including the nearly 11,000-foot summit known to have “the best 360 in Yosemite.”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker atop Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton atop Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley. Click photo to learn how to hike Half Dome.

This list of Yosemite’s best hikes is drawn from my numerous trips dayhiking and backpacking all over the park going back more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. Use this story as your guide and you will see the best scenery in Yosemite that’s accessible on a moderate to full day of hiking.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first six hike descriptions below are free for anyone to read, but reading the remaining six descriptions—which include some hikes you may not see on many other lists of Yosemite’s best dayhikes (such as the one that a retired backcountry ranger who hiked all over Yosemite for decades told me was his favorite in the park)—is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Please share your thoughts on any of these hikes or your own favorites in Yosemite in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

May Lake in Yosemite National Park.
May Lake in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

May Lake and Mount Hoffmann

2.4 to 6 miles, 500 to 2,100 feet up and down

From the 10,850-foot summit of Mount Hoffmann (lead photo at top of story) in the geographic center of Yosemite—often described as having “the best 360 in Yosemite”—you’ll look out over virtually the entire park, seeing Half Dome, Clouds Rest, and Yosemite Valley, the Clark and Cathedral Ranges, and the sea of peaks sprawling across northern Yosemite. The hike culminates with a steep, third-class scramble up the final 200 feet to the summit, where you stand at the brink of cliffs with serious exposure (although you don’t have to stand at that dizzying edge).

A hiker on the summit of Mount Hoffmann in Yosemite National Park.
The summit of Yosemite’s Mount Hoffmann.

May Lake alone is a worthwhile destination, tucked into a bowl ringed by cliffs and forest, and an easy hike of 2.4 miles round-trip with 500 feet of elevation gain; it’s reached on a good trail that begins at the top of a road signed for May Lake, off Tioga Road west of Tenaya Lake. Scaling Hoffmann adds another 3.6 miles and 1,600 vertical feet round-trip (six miles and 2,100 feet total), following a steep, unofficial trail marked by cairns.

See more photos and a video in my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A hiker on Half Dome's cable route in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking Half Dome’s cable route in Yosemite.

Half Dome

16 miles, 4,800 feet up and down

One of the most iconic and sought-after dayhikes in the entire National Park System, Half Dome is an incredibly scenic, challenging, long day that will validate every step of effort you put into it. A roughly 16-mile round-trip from the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, with 4,800 feet of elevation gain and loss, the hike ascends the Mist Trail past the shower constantly raining down from 317-foot Vernal Fall and past thunderous, 594-foot Nevada Fall. Climbing the cable route up several hundred feet of very steep granite slab to the summit plateau delivers a thrill that largely explains the hike’s enormous popularity.

A hiker on "The Visor" of Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt on “The Visor” of Half Dome in Yosemite.

The 8,800-foot summit of Half Dome—where many hikers complete the experience by standing on The Visor, a granite brim jutting out over Half Dome’s 2,000-foot Northwest Face—delivers an incomparable view of Yosemite Valley, and a 360-degree panorama of a big swath of the park’s mountains. Descend via the John Muir Trail for a classic look back at Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall (and it’s less steep than descending the Mist Trail). Tip: Start at or before first light, because it’s a very different experience if you beat the crowds to the top.

A permit is required for this popular dayhike, and a lottery for most of the permits issued throughout the hiking season takes place March 1-31; there’s also a daily lottery for far fewer available permits during the hiking season, which for Half Dome runs from late May through mid-October, depending on conditions. See lottery details and apply at recreation.gov/permits/234652.

See my story “Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit” and more photos from Half Dome and a video in my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows.” Find information about getting a permit to dayhike Half Dome at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/hdpermits.htm, and see nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/hdpermitsapps.htm for statistics on permit demand that could help you choose your date to hike it.

Want to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” which features Half Dome.

A backpacker hiking Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton backpacking up Clouds Rest in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Tenaya Lake to Clouds Rest

14 miles, 1,800 feet up and down

Of all the hikes on this list, maybe one other begins with a view as soul stirring as the one you get standing on the beach at the southwest corner of Tenaya Lake, gazing across its waters—often mirror-like in the calm of early morning—at a turbulent sea of granite domes and cliffs.

A backpacker hiking Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite.

This 14-mile, round-trip hike is one of the least busy on this list, partly for the distance, no doubt, but also because Clouds Rest just isn’t as well known as Half Dome—even though its 9,926-foot summit offers an even bigger and more dramatic view than its more famous sibling to the southwest. But it’s not as strenuous as the distance suggests, with just under 1,800 feet of elevation gain and loss.

This ascent culminates in 300 yards of the most gripping hiking you may ever do on a maintained trail, traversing the sidewalk-width summit ridge, with a drop-off of several hundred feet on the left and a cliff on the right that falls away a dizzying 4,000 feet—that’s a thousand feet taller than the face of El Capitan. And you get to walk it a second time on the descent. Start early to get off the summit by midday, to avoid possible thunderstorms.

Bonus: For a really big and spectacular day, link up Clouds Rest and Half Dome on a 21-mile traverse from Tenaya Lake to Yosemite Valley.

See more photos from Clouds Rest and a video in my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows.”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A hiker on North Dome, overlooking Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm on North Dome, overlooking Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park.

North Dome

10.4 miles, 3,200 feet up and down

Hiking down the nearly treeless southern end of Indian Ridge, you gaze, transfixed, at the sheer face of Half Dome looming enormous just across the deep chasm of Yosemite Valley. Reaching the broad summit of North Dome—at 7,542 feet, some 3,000 feet above the Valley—you step into a heart-stopping panorama spanning from Clouds Rest and Half Dome to Glacier Point, El Capitan, and beyond.

A backpacker hiking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite.

But here’s the unique quality of this hike: Unlike other, popular trails around the Valley, you might share North Dome with just a few other hardy dayhikers and backpackers. It feels like a little secret—despite the fact it’s widely recognized as one of the best overlooks of Yosemite Valley.

There are a few ways to reach North Dome. Most direct and easiest: Hike south from the Porcupine Creek Trailhead at 8,100 feet on Tioga Road, a short distance east of Porcupine Flat, about 10.4 miles out-and-back, with about 3,200 feet of both uphill and downhill. Add 0.6-mile out-and-back and 400 feet up and down to see Yosemite’s only natural arch, Indian Rock at 8,522 feet.

Coming from Yosemite Valley, it’s a stout round-trip hike of nearly 16 miles with about 5,000 feet of both up and down from the Upper Yosemite Falls Trailhead—but you’ll add spectacular Upper Yosemite Falls and Yosemite Point plus other overlooks from the Valley’s North Rim.

See more photos in my story about backpacking through this part of Yosemite, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Read all of this story and get full access to all Yosemite stories
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Upper Yosemite Falls and Half Dome (far right) in Yosemite Valley.
Upper Yosemite Falls and Half Dome (far right) in Yosemite Valley. Click photo to get my help planning your Yosemite adventure.

Upper Yosemite Falls

7.2 miles, 2,700 feet up and down

After climbing this sometimes hot and dusty trail for about 90 minutes, you’ll turn a corner to see Upper Yosemite Falls, a curtain of water plunging a sheer 1,430 feet off a cliff, ripping through the air and showering hikers on the trail below with the mist rising from the rocks at the waterfall’s base (which is not very close to the trail). Yosemite Falls, consisting of the upper falls, the 400-foot-tall Lower Yosemite Falls (reached on a separate, flat, one-mile loop trail), and several hundred feet of cascades in between is the tallest in North America at 2,425 feet. The hike to a ledge at the very brink of Upper Yosemite Falls is 7.2 miles round-trip and ascends 2,700 feet, finishing with an exciting catwalk along a ledge where the trail crosses the face of a cliff.

Young children hiking near the brink of Upper Yosemite Falls in Yosemite National Park.
My kids near the brink of Upper Yosemite Falls.

Tip: If you’re fit and fast, start in the afternoon, when you’ll have shade for much of the hot ascent, and most other hikers will be coming down (bring a headlamp). Bonus: Continue 0.8 mile beyond Upper Yosemite Falls to Yosemite Point, overlooking Yosemite Valley and the Lost Arrow Spire—where, if your timing is right, you may see rock climbers scaling that slender blade of rock, or crawling across a rope strung between its summit and the rim.

See more photos and a video in my story “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls.”

Got a trip coming up? See my review of the 10 best daypacks.

A hiker on the John Muir Trail in Yosemite overlooking Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall.
My wife, Penny, on the John Muir Trail in Yosemite overlooking Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall.

Mist Trail-John Muir Trail Loop

6.3 miles, 2,000 feet up and down

The Half Dome hike without Half Dome—that’s this classic and very popular, 6.3-mile lollipop loop, with 2,000 feet of vertical gain and loss, to Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall. But that makes it sound like a letdown, and it’s anything but. Fun for kids when you walk through the rain falling from an often-blue sky—created by Vernal Fall pounding the rocks at its base—this beautiful hike passes by slabs at the top of both Vernal and Nevada, either of them a good lunch spot with a great view down the canyon.

Depending on the Merced River’s volume—generally at its peak between late May and late June—Vernal’s “mist” can vary from just that to a fire hose of water slamming into you (which I’ve experienced). A swimsuit on a hot day or a rain jacket is appropriate attire for passing below Vernal Fall. From the Happy Isles Trailhead, ascend the Mist Trail and descend the John Muir Trail from the top of Nevada Fall.

See more photos and a video in my story “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls.”

Want more? See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

See all stories about Yosemite National Park and California’s national parks at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-dayhikes-in-yosemite/feed/ 18 19950
The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-utahs-national-parks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-utahs-national-parks/#comments Sat, 21 Feb 2026 10:00:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27113 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

From natural arches, hoodoos, and hanging gardens to balanced rocks and towering mesas, slot canyons and vast chasms, the desert Southwest holds in its dry, searing, lonely open spaces some of America’s most fascinating and inspiring geology. The writer “Cactus Ed” Abbey no doubt had this region in mind when he said there “are some places so beautiful they can make a grown man break down and weep.” Much of it sits protected within southern Utah’s five national parks: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, Canyonlands, and Capitol Reef.

The good news? Many of the best sights can be reached on dayhikes of anywhere from a couple hours to a full day.

A hiker below the Wall of Windows on the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.
Cyndi Hayes hiking below the Wall of Windows on the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


The list below of the best dayhikes in southern Utah’s national parks draws from numerous trips I’ve made to each of these parks over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. Use my list as your compass, and I guarantee you will knock off the best hikes in these parks.

Like many stories at this blog, part of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading it in full and seeing the full list of hikes described below is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

I’d love to read your thoughts about my list—and your suggestions for dayhikes that belong on it. Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments, and as I continue to explore more trails, I will regularly update this story.

A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Angels Landing and West Rim Trail, Zion National Park

Angels Landing unquestionably belongs on any list of the best dayhikes in Utah. The five-mile, nearly 1,500-foot round-trip hike of Angels Landing culminates in one of the airiest and most thrilling half-mile stretches (actually, 0.4 mile) of trail in the entire National Park System. You scale a steep, knife-edge ridge crest of rock, using steps carved out of sandstone and chain handrails in spots. And the 360-degree panorama from the summit takes in all of Zion Canyon.

Two tips: If you can hike a strong pace, start in very early morning or wait until mid-afternoon (when the lower section of trail falls into shade) to avoid the crowds and the heat of midday. And after summiting Angels, continue up the West Rim Trail for another mile or two before turning back—you will ditch the crowds and explore a sublimely beautiful area of giant beehive towers and white walls streaked in red and orange.

Due to the hike’s enormous popularity, Zion National Park holds a seasonal lottery four times per year at recreation.gov for permits to dayhike Angels Landing. Key lottery dates for Zion’s two peak hiking seasons, spring and fall, are Feb. 13-25 for hiking permits from March 1 through May 31, held at recreation.gov/permits/4675310; for hiking dates from Sept. 1 through Nov. 30, the lottery dates in 2025 were July 1-20 and held at recreation.gov/permits/4675325, but the lottery dates for fall 2026 have not been announced yet. The permit is only required for hiking the spur trail up Angels Landing; anyone can hike as far as Scout Lookout without a permit.

A separate lottery for dayhiking permits is held daily before 3 p.m. Mountain Time the day before you want to hike it. Learn more and find the link for a day-before permit at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/angels-landing-hiking-permits.htm.

See my stories “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know” and “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A hiker on the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.
My then-81-year-old mom, Joanne Lanza, hiking the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.

Navajo-Queens Garden and Peek-a-Boo Loops, Bryce Canyon National Park

If the view of Bryce’s stone forest of multi-colored hoodoos is breathtaking from roadside overlooks, hiking in their labyrinthine midst is mesmerizing. Combine the popular and short Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop—which features one of the park’s best-known formations, Thor’s Hammer—with the Peek-a-Boo Loop (also shown in lead photo at top of story), and you will lose the crowds while walking through a maze of multi-colored limestone, sandstone, and mudstone towers.

The hike, mostly on good trails that are easy to follow, weaves among tall hoodoos, passes through doorways cut through walls of rock, and wraps through amphitheaters of wildly colored, slender spires that resemble giant, melting candles. The six-mile loop, with a total elevation gain and loss of about 1,600 feet, begins and ends at Sunset Point.

See “The Two Best Hikes in Bryce Canyon National Park,” and all stories about Utah national parks at The Big Outside.

Hike all of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.

Navajo Knobs Trail and Hickman Bridge, Capitol Reef National Park

While other hikes on this list are likely on your radar, Capitol Reef’s Navajo Knobs Trail may not be—and it absolutely should. This may sound like hyperbole, but there are few dayhikes in the entire National Park System, never mind in Utah’s parks, that compare, step for step, with the consistently mind-blowing Navajo Knobs Trail (lead photo at top of story).

A 9.4-mile, out-and-back hike with 1,620 feet of uphill and downhill, it starts at the same trailhead as the immensely popular Hickman Bridge Trail, winding upward to the Rim Overlook at 2.3 miles from the trailhead, with a sweeping view of the cliffs and the Waterpocket Fold from 1,000 feet above the Fremont River Gorge. The lightly traveled trail then meanders along the canyon rim, below enormous cliffs and towers in a variety of shapes and sizes, with continuously expanding panoramas of Capitol Reef, ending with some easy scrambling to the top of one of the pinnacles known as the Navajo Knobs.

The Navajo Knobs Trail presents delightful surprises around every turn and a unique perspective on the fascinating topography of Capitol Reef National Park. The short and easy Hickman Bridge Trail, less than two miles out-and-back with 400 feet of up and down, loops around the natural bridge, which spans 133 feet—a terrific hike for a young family.

See “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Hikers on the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

Chesler Park, Canyonlands National Park

Hiking to Chesler Park in the Needles District of Canyonlands has the quality of approaching the Emerald City in the land of Oz. Multi-colored, 300-foot-tall towers of Cedar Mesa sandstone form a castle-like rampart, looming ever larger as you approach Chesler. The trail then leads steeply uphill through a break in the row of pinnacles—the doorway into Chesler Park, a horseshoe of sandstone spires arcing around a patch of desert more than a mile across.

From ledges between the spires of Chesler, you get views of the park’s pinnacles and the sprawling badlands outside its walls, where giant, white-capped mushrooms of stone sprout from the earth, and more red spires rise in the distance. It’s roughly 10 miles out-and-back hike to Chesler without probing into it. But if you have the time and stamina, hike the path almost three miles around the park to the Joint Trail, which passes through a very narrow, sheer-walled slot in solid rock.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks.”

Want more? See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park.
Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park.

Delicate Arch at Sunset, Arches National Park

The trail to what is probably Utah’s most famous natural arch is certainly a well-traveled path. But here’s the smart hiker’s strategy: Do it in the evening, timing your arrival at Delicate for shortly before sunset. The final stretch of the trail traverses the face of a small slickrock cliff before suddenly depositing you on the rim of an amphitheater of solid rock, looking across the broad bowl at Delicate Arch, with the La Sal Mountains, snow-covered in spring, visible through its keyhole. Then hold your jaw in place while watching as the low-angle sunlight seems to electrify the sandstone’s burnt color.

Just three miles round-trip with minimal elevation gain, it’s an easy stroll, even returning by headlamp; and that time of day is far more pleasant than trudging it during the morning or afternoon heat. Tip: Bring a headlamp and jacket and linger for a while after sunset, until most other hikers have departed, and you’ll enjoy a quieter, enchanting walk under a sky riddled with stars.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” and all of my stories about Arches National Park.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

The Riverside Walk and the Narrows, Zion National Park

Along the Riverside Walk, in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Along the Riverside Walk, in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

From the Temple of Sinawava, at the upper end of Zion Canyon, you’ll walk the flat and very scenic, wheelchair-accessible, mile-long Riverside Trail, paralleling the North Fork of the Virgin River beneath red cliffs and shady cottonwood trees whose leaves turn golden in fall. At the end of that trail, you can either turn back or enter the typically ankle- to calf-deep river and follow it upstream to explore the Narrows, a canyon up to a thousand feet deep, with walls that close in enough to cut off direct sunlight in places, where waterfalls pour from rock walls, nurturing hanging gardens.

At Orderville Canyon, a narrow side canyon about 2.5 miles from the trailhead (on the right when walking upstream), you enter the roughly two-mile-long stretch of the Narrows known as Wall Street, where the river often spans the deeply shaded canyon wall to wall. Wall Street ends just before Big Spring, a lush and large hanging garden about five miles up, beyond which hiking is prohibited without a backcountry permit.

One of the most magnificent and unique hikes in the national parks and enormously popular, the lower Narrows teems with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dayhikers on hot days of late spring and summer, when the river is low and warmer.

See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

 

A hiker relaxing in Partition Arch in Devils Garden, Arches National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm relaxing in Partition Arch in Devils Garden, Arches National Park.

Devils Garden, Arches National Park

Much of the mass popularity of Arches owes to the ease of viewing many of its signature features on short to very short hikes and roadside walks. That’s exactly why Devils Garden is the best hike in the park (at least among hikes that follow established trails). Besides being really scenic—you can view seven arches, including the park’s largest, 306-foot-long Landscape Arch—it’s much more adventurous.

The hiking is flat and easy for nearly one mile to Landscape Arch (almost two miles round-trip); beyond it, though, you’ll discover part of the magic of Devils Garden: immersing yourself in the landscape off the trail. You will scamper up and down steep sandstone fins and out onto exposed overlooks, and you can even scramble up into Partition Arch. Hike to all seven arches in the Devils Garden area, and you’ll cover about eight miles by the time you return to the Devils Garden Trailhead, at the end of the park road through Arches.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” and all stories about Arches National Park at The Big Outside.

See my 5-level difficulty rating system in my story
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A hiker at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Todd Arndt at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

Cohab Canyon and Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park

Of southern Utah’s five national parks, Capitol Reef plays the Cinderella role as the unappreciated beauty—which hikers who love the place consider a fortuitous break. I’ve explored much of this park’s lonely backcountry, and it’s worth all of the time and effort it demands. But to sample Capitol Reef’s Utah-caliber scenery on a relatively easy hike of two to three hours, head up the Cohab Canyon Trail, through a defile of walls sculpted with countless “windows.” From the clifftop ledges at the North Fruita Overlook and South Fruita Overlook, reached by hiking several minutes on spur trails, you’ll get breathtaking views from about 400 feet above the valley of the Fremont River.

Take a short, out-and-back detour onto the Frying Pan Trail: Within about 20 minutes of leaving Cohab Canyon, you’re on top of the nearly 100-mile-long Waterpocket Fold, soaking in a mind-boggling landscape of creamy-white, burgundy, and blazing-orange domes and cliffs. The Cohab Canyon Trail extends just 1.7 miles between UT 24 near the Hickman Bridge Trailhead and its other trailhead across the park’s Scenic Road from Fruita Campground; shuttle vehicles or a bike to hike it end-to-end, or hike out and back from either trailhead.

I describe the outstanding 11-mile hike combining Cohab Canyon and Frying Pan Trail in my story “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park.” See also “Playing the Memory Game in Southern Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon.”

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.
Click here now to learn more.

See menus of stories at the All National Park Trips and Family Adventures pages at The Big Outside.

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-utahs-national-parks/feed/ 10 27113
The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-20-best-national-park-dayhikes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-20-best-national-park-dayhikes/#comments Mon, 09 Feb 2026 10:00:49 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23740 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

America’s most stunning landscapes are protected within our 63 national parks, and some of the very finest scenery within our national heritage can be reached on dayhikes. Some of these hikes you may not have done yet or heard of. Others are famous, but there’s a reason for that: They are mind-blowingly gorgeous, so they stand out even in parks with multiple, five-star footpaths. You take these hikes for a one-of-a-kind experience.

Based on more than three decades of exploring most major U.S. national parks—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—and numerous trips to popular parks like Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Glacier, Grand Teton, Zion, and others, I’ve assembled this list of the best dayhikes in our parks. Many can be done by novice hikers and kids (and my kids have done many of them, at various ages), while others are burlier adventures.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Todd Arndt at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

While you don’t usually set out on some these hikes expecting solitude, you can find it by doing them early or late in the day or outside of peak season; I offer tips below on the best times to do some of these hikes.

Use this as your tick list of great national park dayhikes to knock off, and I guarantee you’ll experience the best miles of trail our National Park System has to offer. By the way, this story actually describes 26 hikes—yea, there’s a bonus hike. And like many stories at this blog, much of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading it all and seeing the entire list of hikes is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

If I’ve missed an outstanding, favorite hike of yours, please suggest it in the comments section below to give me ideas for future trips. I regularly update and expand this list whenever I knock off a new trail that belongs here, and I try to respond to all comments.

A hiker near Skeleton Point on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon

You can’t go wrong on any dayhike in the Grand Canyon, but the South Kaibab is widely considered the premier trail in the Big Ditch. Following the crest of a narrow ridge that descends all the way to the Colorado River, it delivers expansive canyon views beginning minutes after leaving the trailhead.

It’s seven miles and 4,780 vertical feet one-way from the South Rim to the Colorado River—a one-day round-trip appropriate only for extremely fit hikers with desert-hiking experience, who are carrying enough food and water for a big day (there’s no water along the trail). Many people attempting a rim-to-river-to-rim dayhike descend the South Kaibab and ascend the less-steep Bright Angel Trail (9.5 miles and almost 4,500 feet uphill). But you can turn back at any point, choosing the length and difficulty of your hike—keeping in mind that going back up requires much more time and effort than going down. Start at first light and you’ll not only share the trail with far fewer people, you’ll be looking out over the Grand Canyon as the prettiest light of the day spills across it.

See all stories about the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail and all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Do the canyon right. Get my expert e-book to dayhiking rim to rim
or my e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

 

The bottom curtain of water from Upper Yosemite Falls, Yosemite National Park.
The bottom curtain of water from Upper Yosemite Falls, Yosemite National Park.

Upper Yosemite Falls, Yosemite

Besides its towering granite walls, Yosemite Valley is famous for waterfalls that plummet hundreds or thousands of feet. The tallest, Upper Yosemite Falls, drops a sheer 1,400 feet (2,425 feet including the middle cascades and Lower Yosemite Falls, making the total drop the world’s sixth tallest). Near its brink, you’ll traverse a catwalk chiseled out of a granite wall to a ledge (with a safety rail) where you can peer down at the freefalling water and out over Yosemite Valley, nearly 3,000 feet below.

The round-trip hike to the top of Upper Yosemite Falls is 7.2 miles and 2,700 feet, but you can turn back at any point, such as at Columbia Rock (a mile and 1,000 feet uphill from the trailhead), which has a broad view of Yosemite Valley; or a half-mile farther, near the base of the upper falls, where you can stand in the rain of its intense mist.

See “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” and “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls,” and all stories about Yosemite at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip you read about at this blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

Highline Trail, Glacier

From 6,646-foot Logan Pass, the high point on Glacier’s Going-to-the-Sun Road, the Highline Trail traverses north across rolling, alpine terrain above treeline, with uninterrupted views of the park’s jagged peaks and soaring cliffs. It’s common to see bighorn sheep and mountain goats along the trail, and occasionally sight a black bear or even a grizzly (bring binoculars).

Hike in daylight as a bear-safety precaution, but start early morning, before most hikers, for the best chances of seeing wildlife. Distance options include turning around at any point or hiking 11.8 miles to The Loop on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, which, like Logan Pass, is a stop on the park’s free shuttle bus. Or hike the 7.6 miles from Logan Pass to Granite Park, spend the night at the Granite Park Chalet (make a reservation months in advance); and the next day, either backtrack to Logan Pass or continue over Swiftcurrent Pass and descend to Many Glacier, another 7.6-mile day.

See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

A hiker on Angels Landing in Zion National Park.
David Gordon hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Angels Landing and West Rim Trail, Zion

The 2.5-mile, 1,500-foot (one-way) ascent of Angels Landing culminates in one of the airiest and most thrilling half-mile stretches (actually, 0.4 mile) of trail in the entire National Park System: You scale a steep ridge crest of solid rock, on a path at times just a few feet wide, with steps carved out of sandstone and chain handrails in spots (see lead photo at top of story). Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, Angels Landing really has no peers.

Two tips: If you can hike a strong pace, start early morning or late afternoon to avoid the crowds and the heat of midday. And after summiting Angels, continue up the West Rim Trail for another mile or two; you’ll not only lose the crowds, you will enjoy increasingly dramatic views of Zion Canyon and venture into a quieter, sublimely beautiful area of giant beehive towers and white walls streaked in red and orange. The trail eventually climbs through exposed switchbacks to the West Rim, roughly five miles and 2,000 feet from The Grotto Trailhead where the hike begins.

Due to the enormous popularity of Angels Landing, Zion National Park has implemented a permit system for dayhiking Angels. Find out more at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/angels-landing-hiking-permits.htm.

See “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks,” and all stories about Zion at The Big Outside.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.
The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.

North Rim Trail, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone

With more than 10,000 geothermal features, including hot springs, mud pots, fumaroles, and at least 300 geysers—two-thirds of the planet’s known geysers—Yellowstone is a land of marvels. Plus, you have a virtual guarantee of seeing more bison and elk than you can count and possibly other wildlife like wolves, bald eagles, trumpeter swans, and grizzly and black bears.

But of all the trails in the park, I’ll posit that the North Rim Trail, hundreds of feet above the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, is the most spectacular. Traversing the rim for 3.2 miles from Inspiration Point to the overlook of 109-foot Upper Yellowstone Falls, the trail passes several dramatic overlooks of the canyon’s crumbling, golden walls. Don’t pass up the side trip down the steep switchbacks of the half-mile-long Brink of the Lower Falls Trail, which, as advertised, leads to the very lip of 308-foot Lower Yellowstone Falls.

See “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” which includes the North Rim Trail, and all stories about Yellowstone at The Big Outside.

Want more? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

A backpacker hiking Sahale Arm, North Cascades National Park.
David Ports hiking Sahale Arm, North Cascades National Park.

Cascade Pass and Sahale Arm, North Cascades

North Cascades is one of the wildest, most rugged and spectacular, and least-visited parks—and after several trips, one of my favorites. With 9,000 feet of severe relief between the highest, jagged summits and deepest, rainforest valleys, more than 300 glaciers, and year-round snow coverage, the range has earned the nickname the “American Alps.”

But with 93 percent of its nearly 700,000 acres designated as wilderness, much of this park can only be seen by people willing to hike long distances over multiple days. Lucky for dayhikers, the 7.4-mile, 1,800-foot round-trip hike to Cascade Pass delivers views usually reserved for backpackers and climbers. Continue past it up wildflower-strewn Sahale Arm for steadily expanding views of a sea of pinnacles, ice, and snow. It’s another 4.4 miles and 2,300 feet to the trail’s end at Sahale Glacier Camp, but turn around at any time.

See my story “Exploring the ‘American Alps:’ The North Cascades,” and all stories about the North Cascades region at The Big Outside.

See Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades in my story
Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

Dave Simpson in Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton N.P.
Dave Simpson in Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton N.P.

Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton

The Tetons are another mountain range where some of the best views are enjoyed only by hiking many miles or tying into a rope. But Garnet Canyon, where soaring granite walls form a horseshoe beneath the Grand, Middle, and South Tetons and neighboring peaks, offers arguably the best views in the park that you can reach on a moderate dayhike.

From the Lupine Meadows Trailhead, it’s about four-and-a-half miles with more than 2,200 feet of vertical to the grassy area known as The Meadows, where there are campsites by a creek. The last stretch to The Meadows crosses an area of massive boulders beyond the end of the maintained Garnet Canyon Trail, but the views are just as good before the boulders.

Hiking to Amphitheater Lake, ringed by cliffs and forest high on Disappointment Peak and reached by a trail that forks off the path to Garnet Canyon, adds four miles out-and-back.

See my stories “Great Hike: Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton National Park” and “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all stories about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail
and the best short backpacking trip there.

A hiker on the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.
My then-81-year-old mom, Joanne Lanza, hiking the Peek-a-Boo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.

Navajo-Queens Garden and Peek-a-Boo Loops, Bryce Canyon

Descend into Bryce Canyon on the Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop and you’ll walk through a maze of the multi-colored, limestone, sandstone, and mudstone spires called “hoodoos,” which resemble giant, melting candles, including one of the park’s best-known formations, Thor’s Hammer. But continue beyond that popular and short hike onto the Peek-a-Boo Loop, and you will lose the crowds—and discover the scenic heart of Bryce Canyon, hiking below row after row of towers in shades of flourescent red and orange, like the aptly named Wall of Windows.

The hike, mostly on good trails that are easy to follow, weaves among tall hoodoos, passes through doorways blasted through walls of rock, and wraps through amphitheaters of wildly colored, slender spires—a delightful, half-day hike that constantly changes character. The six-mile loop, with a cumulative elevation gain and loss of about 1,600 feet, begins and ends at Sunset Point.

See “The Two Best Hikes in Bryce Canyon National Park,” and all stories about Utah national parks at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here to learn how.

A hiker on Half Dome's cable route in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking Half Dome’s cable route in Yosemite National Park.

Half Dome, Yosemite

One of America’s most iconic and sought-after hikes, the trek to Half Dome’s 8,800-foot summit—a tough 16 miles round-trip from Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, with 4,800 feet of elevation gain and loss—reaches its literal and emotional apex at the several hundred vertical feet of cables the park installs on the steep slab leading to the vast summit plateau. At the top, many hikers venture to the ledge known as The Visor that overhangs Half Dome’s famous Northwest Face, posing for photos on that granite gangplank thousands of feet above Yosemite Valley. Nothing compares with this hike.

Ascend the steeper Mist Trail past 317-foot Vernal Fall and 594-foot Nevada Fall, and after climbing Half Dome, descend the John Muir Trail—which has a classic view back toward Nevada Fall, the granite dome Liberty Cap, and the back side of Half Dome. Tip: Start an hour before sunrise to get ahead of most other hikers on this popular route.

See “Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit,” “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” and “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls” for details on hiking the much shorter and easier, classic loop of the Mist Trail and John Muir Trail to Vernal and Nevada Falls.

Want to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in southern Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Navajo Knobs Trail, Capitol Reef

There are few dayhikes in the entire National Park System that compare with the Navajo Knobs Trail. There, I’ve said it. At 9.4 miles out-and-back hike with 1,620 feet of elevation gain and loss, it’s just moderately difficult, yet sees little hiker traffic beyond its split from the trail to Hickman Natural Bridge—but really stunning every step of the way. It first climbs to an overlook of Hickman Natural Bridge and then winds upward and along the top of cliffs that offer sweeping views from 1,000 feet above the Fremont River Valley of the rumpled topography of the Waterpocket Fold and the Henry Mountains in the distance.

The trail continues meandering along the rim, below soaring cliffs and towers with continuously expanding panoramas of Capitol Reef and distinctive formations like Pectols Pyramid, The Castle, and Fern’s Nipple. At its far end, you’ll do some easy scrambling to the tiny summit of one of the pinnacles named the Navajo Knobs, worth the effort for the prospect it offers of the varied and fascinating geology and topography of Capitol Reef National Park.

See “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park” and all stories about Capitol Reef at The Big Outside.

Gear up right for your hikes.
See the best hiking shoes and the 10 best hiking daypacks.

A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Clingmans Dome and Appalachian Trail, Great Smoky Mountains

Set aside the fact that over 12 million people annually visit the Great Smokies—America’s most popular park—and thousands hike the half-mile-long, paved walkway to the observation tower atop 6,643-foot Clingmans Dome, the park’s highest point. Still, the 360-degree panorama of the overlapping, forested ridges of the Southern Appalachians will steal your breath away (if the steep hike up didn’t).

Then head west on the Appalachian Trail—the 2.2 miles one-way to the Goshen Prong Trail junction is far enough—for a much quieter experience of walking the rocky, up-and-down crest of one of the East’s tallest mountain ranges, passing numerous overlooks of the rugged peaks and valleys on the North Carolina and Tennessee sides of the park. Double back to the Clingmans Dome parking lot and hike 3.6-mile out-and-back (for a total distance of nine miles) on the Forney Ridge Trail to 5,920-foot Andrews Bald, the highest grassy bald in the Smokies, where the views span a broad expanse of North Carolina’s mountains; azalea and rhododendron bloom spectacularly from mid-June to early July.

See more photos and info in my story “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains,” about a trip that included Clingmans Dome, the Appalachian Trail, and Andrews Bald, and see all stories about hiking and backpacking in the North Carolina mountains at The Big Outside.

A young boy hiking the coast of Olympic National Park near Strawberry Point.
My son, Nate, hiking the coast of Olympic National Park near Strawberry Point.

Third Beach to Strawberry Point, Olympic

Stone pinnacles called sea stacks rise up to some 200 feet out of the pounding Pacific Ocean. Sea otters, seals, and whales swim offshore and bald eagles fly overhead. Mussels, sea stars, and sea anemones carpet boulders in tide pools. In one of Earth’s largest virgin temperate rainforests, Sitka spruce and western red cedar grow to 150 feet tall, with diameters of 10 or 15 feet, and Douglas fir and western hemlock soar well over 200 feet.

The 73 miles of coast in Olympic National Park comprise the longest strip of wilderness seashore in the contiguous United States, remote and mostly accessible only to backpackers. But dayhikers can sample it on the relatively flat, 10-mile, out-and-back dayhike from Third Beach Trailhead on La Push Road to Strawberry Point, one of the spots with a cluster of offshore sea stacks. Up for 14 miles round-trip? Continue to Toleak Point, where at low tide you can scramble out onto some sea stacks.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” and all stories about Olympic National Park at The Big Outside.

The Pacific Northwest is a wet place.
Get one of “The Best Rain Jackets for Hiking and Backpacking.”

Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park.
Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park.

Delicate Arch at Sunset, Arches

Just three miles out-and-back with less than 500 feet of elevation gain, the well-traveled path to what is probably Utah’s most famous and most-photographed natural arch is best done in the evening, timing your arrival at Delicate Arch for before sunset. Although still popular as a sunset hike, it’s more pleasant than trudging it during the heat of the day, and the sunset light seems to electrify the sandstone’s burnt color.

One of the pleasures of the hike is how the final stretch of the trail traverses the side of a small slickrock cliff before suddenly popping you out on the rim of an amphitheater of solid rock, looking across the big bowl at Delicate Arch, with the La Sal Mountains, snow-covered in spring, visible through its keyhole. Tip: Bring a headlamp and jacket and linger until well after sunset, when most other hikers have already started back, and you’ll enjoy a quieter walk under a sky riddled with stars.

See “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks,” and all stories about Arches National Park at The Big Outside.

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A young girl hiking the Skyline Trail above Paradise in Mount Rainier National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Skyline Trail above Paradise in Mount Rainier National Park.

Skyline Trail, Mount Rainier

The 5.5-mile, 1,500-foot Skyline Trail loop from Paradise, on the southern flank of Mount Rainier, delivers everything you go to this park to see: in-your-face views of The Mountain and the cracked face of the Nisqually Glacier; thick carpets of lupine, mountain heather, and other alpine wildflowers; waterfalls, and marmots perched on trailside boulders.

You might also see climbers on their way up to or returning from Camp Muir, the base camp for ascents of the standard Disappointment Cleaver route up Rainier. Have lunch at Panorama Point, at nearly 7,000 feet, with a sweeping view of the Tatoosh Range and sister Cascade Range volcanoes like Adams, St. Helens, and Hood. At the footbridge over Myrtle Falls, follow the short spur trail descending to a better view of the waterfall, There are a variety of interconnected trails above Paradise to create shorter or longer loops. Tip: Often buried in snow until early August, this hike is prettiest when the wildflowers are in full bloom, around mid-August.

See “The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park” and all stories about Mount Rainier National Park at The Big Outside.

See my five-level difficulty rating system in “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Dawson-Pitamakan Passes Loop, Glacier

The rare trails that run for miles high above the treetops, with jaw-dropping panoramas of jagged, icy peaks stretching to the horizon, bring hikers about as close as we get to the feeling of being an eagle soaring through the mountains. This loop from the Two Medicine North Shore Trailhead over Dawson and Pitamakan passes—both of which reach nearly 7,600 feet—does just that.

For more than five miles between the passes, this hike offers 360-degree panoramas of the peaks in Glacier’s remote heart, as well as deep, green valleys carved into classic U shapes by ancient glaciers, and shockingly blue alpine lakes. Watch for bighorn sheep and mountain goats. Shorten the 17.6-mile loop (with 2,500 vertical feet of elevation gain and loss) to 14.8 miles by catching an early boat shuttle across Two Medicine Lake (see glacierparkboats.com); do that at the hike’s outset in order to get off the alpine traverse, which is exposed to severe weather, earlier in the day. Shortest option: Dayhike 9.4 miles (with the boat shuttle) out-and-back to Dawson Pass—although you’ll miss most of the alpine traverse that makes this dayhike so special.

See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and my stories “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” and “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” for more photos of the Dawson Pass Trail between Dawson and Pitamakan passes, and all stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Glacier and other parks using my expert e-books.

An alligator in the East River in the Everglades.
An alligator in the Everglades.

Anhinga Trail, Everglades

Nothing prepares you for your first immersion in the unbridled wildness of the Everglades—and the Anhinga Trail may be the best introduction to one of the planet’s greatest biological preserves. Less than a mile long and flat—easy enough and a wonderful experience for young kids, and accessible to people in wheelchairs—the trail meanders between footpath and boardwalk through a sawgrass marsh, where you will see an uncanny number of large, exotic birds like herons, egrets, and anhingas.

Most shockingly, you will stand possibly within reach of alligators—but make sure it’s only from the safety of an elevated boardwalk: Before I set out on the Anhinga Trail, I saw a gator on the lawn outside the Royal Palm Visitor Center, where the hike begins, that hissed menacingly enough at tourists approaching it with cameras to send them scattering. Don’t do that.

See my story “Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades.”

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A hiker descending the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking down the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

Lake Solitude, Grand Teton

Full disclosure: Unless you take this dayhike outside the peak summer season or start early, don’t expect Lake Solitude to deliver on the promise in its name: On a nice summer day, this hike sees scores of hikers. But they spread out so it mostly doesn’t feel crowded—and there are good reasons so many people make this considerable trek: Vividly blue Lake Solitude nestles in a basin ringed by tall cliffs in the very heart of the Tetons, and the views down the North Fork of Cascade Canyon are among the best in the entire park.

At just over 15 miles and 2,300 feet out-and-back from the boat landing on the west side of Jenny Lake, this stroll up Cascade Canyon and its North Fork is challenging but certainly within the abilities of many fit hikers. Tip: Catch the first boat shuttle across Jenny Lake to get a jump on the crowds and possibly enjoy a bit of actual solitude at the lake; you might even see wildlife like moose along the trail (as I have three times in Cascade Canyon and the North Fork).

See “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons” and all stories about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.


Decorate your walls with beautiful photos from your favorite wild places. Click here now to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


Are you a backpacker? You may like my stories “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips” and “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip.”

See a menu of all stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-20-best-national-park-dayhikes/feed/ 19 23740
10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-to-find-solitude-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-to-find-solitude-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Sun, 08 Feb 2026 10:15:25 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=14350 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Is it possible to find solitude backpacking in a national park as popular as Glacier? The answer is an unequivocal yes—even in Glacier’s relatively short peak season of mid-July through mid-September. And the strategies for doing so are remarkably simple and will not compromise the quality of your experience in other ways—in fact, encountering fewer people only increases the chances of encountering wildlife. This article describes five backpacking trips where you are virtually guaranteed to enjoy serious solitude in Glacier National Park.

For backpackers, Glacier delivers one of the most inspiring and unique wilderness experiences in the country, with scenery almost unmatched and a high likelihood of spotting megafauna seen in few places in the Lower 48, including mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and black and grizzly bears. I have enjoyed stretches of solitude on each of the several backpacking trips I’ve taken in Glacier over the past three decades—including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. Most recently, I backpacked a variation of much of the Continental Divide Trail through the park, one of the trips described below.

This story describes 10 backpacking trips that deliver a high degree of solitude over most of their route—and a few represent the very best backpacking trips in Glacier, while also striking an optimum balance between five-star scenery and a high solitude quotient. This article really presents a list of the best multi-day hikes in Glacier, with a focus on avoiding the huddled masses most of the time. Each writeup below provides details on the overall degree of solitude on that trip and where you’ll find it, plus links to full stories at The Big Outside (which require a paid subscription to read in full; in this story, too, the first six trip descriptions below are free for anyone to read and the last four trips require a subscription  to read).


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to this trip.

Key Details About Glacier

A Glacier backpacking permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Glacier holds two early-access lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. General reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1, running through Sept. 30. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Full disclosure: Complete solitude is rare during summer because most available permits get used, but you can walk for hours, even on some popular trails that are farther from trailheads and see few or no people; and by avoiding the easily accessible, very scenic areas like Lake McDonald, Many Glacier, Logan Pass, St. Mary, and Two Medicine, which attract the most dayhikers and backpackers.

Go after Labor Day and you’ll probably see fewer people than in July or August. Keep in mind that you could certainly see a snowstorm in September (or even in late August). Check the forecast before you head out, and have good base layers, insulation, and rain shells, waterproof-breathable boots, a warm bag, and a good tent. Snow at that time of year tends to melt away as soon as the sun comes out again, but be ready for any weather. And certainly carry pepper spray in grizzly country.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

A backpacker on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip in Glacier.

See my feature stories about a 90-mile backpacking trip in northern Glacier, part of which is a 65-mile hike that I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier; a 94-mile traverse of Glacier mostly on the Continental Divide Trail; and my family’s three-day backpacking trip on Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail. (Those stories require a paid subscription to read in full; in this story, too, the first six trip descriptions below are free for anyone to read and the last four trips require a subscription to read.)

As I suggest in the very first of my “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking,” the best strategy for finding solitude in a popular park like Glacier is to head to the less well-known areas of the park. Large parts of each trip described in this story do exactly that, and every one of them has Glacier-caliber natural beauty and a high likelihood of seeing wildlife.

Want to explore Glacier on dayhikes? See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park” and “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park.”

Tell me what you think of these trips, or offer your own, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

Chief Mountain to Many Glacier

Distance: 20 miles
Solitude: Virtually the entire hike except south of the Iceberg Lake spur trail.

Arrange a shuttle from Many Glacier to the Chief Mountain customs station on the Canadian border, and hike from there up the Belly River Trail and Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail back to Many Glacier; an awesome 20-mile trip over two to three days. If you can, add the 8.6 miles (but not much elevation gain) out-and-back to Helen Lake, and camp there; the trail ends there, so you could have the place to yourself, and the lake sits in a deep mountain cirque below the soaring cliffs of Ahern Peak.

Even though Iceberg Lake is a popular dayhike, the short side trip out to it is well worth the time and putting up with the crowds—although dayhikers are generally there mostly during the middle hours of the day. See photos from these areas in my feature stories “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier.”

After Glacier, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Dawn Mist Falls in Glacier National Park.
Dawn Mist Falls in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-books to backpacking trips in Glacier and other parks.

Bowman Lake to Kintla Lake

Distance: 37 miles
Solitude: The entire hike except within a few miles of Bowman or Kintla Lake.

The first backpacking trip I did in Glacier was a nearly 37-mile, point-to-point hike from Bowman Lake to Kintla Lake in the park’s northwest corner, via Brown Pass and Boulder Pass. It’s a beautiful hike in a less-accessible corner of the park, going from forest and lakes to alpine terrain with views of peaks and glaciers and likely sightings of mountain goats.

The three high camping areas along the route—Brown Pass, Hole in the Wall, and Boulder Pass—are all excellent, with views of the peaks in that corner of the park. I rode my mountain bike between the trailheads instead of arranging a vehicle shuttle; I recall it being less than an hour from Kintla (where I left our car) downhill to Bowman.

I can help you plan your Glacier hike or any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A backpacker above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking toward Redgap Pass in Glacier. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Traverse Glacier on the CDT

Distance: about 90 miles, with shorter options
Solitude: Most of the trip, except the Many Glacier and Two Medicine areas and within dayhiking range of the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

The Continental Divide Trail crosses Glacier from north to south (but you can hike it in either direction), traversing some of the richest scenery and loneliest corners of the park—as well as, to be sure, a few popular areas where you’ll see more hikers, like Many Glacier, the southwest end of St. Mary Lake, and Two Medicine. Still, for the price of those short periods within range of dayhikers, you’ll enjoy the jaw-dropping vistas in those marquis spots while spending most of this gorgeous trip just in the company of your companions.

The CDT through Glacier has a primary and an alternate route. I wrote about combining parts of both on a 94-mile traverse I designed to hit much of the park’s best backcountry, including the high, alpine trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass that’s among the best high-level hikes I’ve ever done (see lead photo at top of this story). Over six days, we saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a griz, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening (it was September). Many shorter trips on pieces of the CDT are possible.

I wrote about two slightly different variations of this hike in my feature stories “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier.” My downloadable e-guide “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park” explains all you need to know to plan and execute that trip—and it describes several shorter alternative itineraries that hit parts of Glacier that provide the best opportunities for solitude.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail, Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail, Glacier National Park.

Flattop Mountain

Distance: 28 to 31.5 miles
Solitude: Much of the trip, except the southern Highline Trail, Granite Park, and anywhere close to the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

This three- to four-day hike incorporates a piece of the exceptional Highline Trail with another high trail that sees far fewer hikers, starting from a trailhead that sees much less demand for a wilderness permit than starting at Logan Pass or Many Glacier. Plus, the dayhiking crowds on the southern end of the Highline Trail diminish greatly beyond a few miles north of Logan Pass—and it’s hands-down one of the most spectacular trails in the park. (The lead photo at the top of this story was taken on the Highline Trail just north of the Fifty Mountain backcountry campground.) You can also take in the awesome vistas from Sue Lake Overlook and Ahern Pass, both reached on short spur trails.

Take the free park shuttle bus to The Loop, west of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, and hike from there north on the less-traveled Flattop Mountain Trail to the Fifty Mountain backcountry campground, then return south on the Highline Trail to finish either at The Loop (28.1 miles total) or go all the way to Logan Pass (31.5 miles); I recommend the latter, but hike the busier section, the 7.6 miles from Granite Park to Logan Pass, in early morning to see fewer hikers.

See “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park.”

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Early morning at Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

Glacier’s Northern Loop

Distance: 52 to 65 miles
Solitude: Most of the trip, except the southern Highline Trail, Many Glacier area, and within dayhiking range of the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

The popular, 52-mile Northern Loop takes in some of the most scenic and best-known areas of the park, including the northern section of the Highline Trail, the Ptarmigan Tunnel, and Many Glacier. It also may be the park’s most sought-after permit, or certainly one of them. And yes, you’ll see plenty of dayhikers along some of this route and Many Glacier feels like a small town. A 65-mile variation of the Northern Loop that I’ve hiked—which I consider the best multi-day hike in Glacier—adds stunning Piegan Pass below the Garden Wall and the entire Highline Trail.

Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

But long stretches of both options for this route still deliver a satisfying degree of solitude. As I suggest in tip no. 6 of my “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking,” go deeper into the backcountry and you will find solitude. On most of this hike, you’ll walk through remote parts of the park’s northern tier, occasionally encountering only other backpackers. You’ll also see some of the park’s finest wilderness lakes and high country. And you might not mind spending one “backcountry” night in the Many Glacier campground and gorging on a restaurant dinner and breakfast.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” photos of part of this loop in my story “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” and my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park,” which covers all the details on planning that trip, including my tips on the best way to do it and best campsites.

Nyack Creek-Coal Creek Loop

Distance: 45 miles
Solitude: The entire trip except when near either trailhead.

The approximately 45-mile Nyack Creek-Coal Creek loop, in the park’s much less-visited southwest corner, will deliver solitude, remoteness, and wildness in spades. Highlights of it are where Nyack Creek drops steeply over waterfalls through a narrow, rocky gorge; views of peaks on the Continental Divide along upper Nyack; Buffalo Woman Lake, which has a pretty waterfall and is ringed by mountains (Beaver Woman Lake is hard to reach—there’s no trail to it); and where the Coal Creek Trail passes through a large burned area with sweeping views of surrounding peaks.

Here on the west side of the Divide, the terrain is mostly less vertiginous than found in areas like Many Glacier, Logan Pass, and St. Mary, and much of this loop remains in forest; plus, sections of trail around Surprise Pass may be overgrown. There is a ford of the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, which can run high and fast in early summer, and several fords of Coal Creek, which is shallow; it may be more convenient to hike in water shoes or sandals for a while there.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

See the two Glacier trips that rank among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside. Note that most of those stories require a paid subscription to read in full.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-to-find-solitude-in-glacier-national-park/feed/ 9 14350
10 Outdoor Adventures to Put on Your Bucket List Now https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-adventures-to-put-on-your-bucket-list-now-winter/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-adventures-to-put-on-your-bucket-list-now-winter/#comments Mon, 02 Feb 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=43882 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Are you looking for great trip ideas for your bucket list? Well, you’ve clicked to the right place. This freshly updated story spotlights some of the most iconic wildlands in the U.S., including Glacier (photo above), Yosemite, Mount Rainier, North Cascades, and Sequoia national parks, southern Utah’s national parks and monuments, two wilderness areas, and two international adventures that may not be on your radar—all of them worthy of your bucket list.

All of them are also trips that you must start planning now or very soon to take them this year—including rapidly approaching backcountry permit-reservation dates for many national parks.

The 10 trips described below all stand out in personal memory among the countless trips I’ve enjoyed over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. They all have links to stories at The Big Outside with many more images and info, including my expert tips on planning and taking each trip. (Those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full.)


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking to Vogelsang Pass in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt hiking to Vogelsang Pass in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I update this list regularly to feed you fresh and timely ideas—and to help your bucket list, like mine, continually refresh as you steadily tick off new trips.

I can help you plan any of these trips—see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how and to read hundreds of comments from people like you whom I’ve helped plan an unforgettable adventure. See also my E-Books page for my expert e-books to many of America’s best backpacking trips, and my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

I’d love to read any thoughts, personal experiences, or suggestions you want to share in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Backpackers hiking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Backpackers hiking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Southern Utah is Huge. Get Busy

Okay, you know of and maybe have dayhiked or backpacked in some of Utah’s Big 5 national parks: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, Canyonlands, and perhaps even lesser-known Capitol Reef—which together protect landscapes that almost defy description and a density and breadth of parks and other wild lands that’s arguably unmatched in the country. You almost certainly haven’t finished with them yet.

A hiker at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Todd Arndt at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

But have you backpacked gems like Paria Canyon, Coyote Gulch, or Owl and Fish canyons? Or taken more obscure and challenging backpacking trips like Dark Canyon, the Death Hollow Loop in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, or the Maze District of Canyonlands? Or even taken classic adventures like backpacking Zion’s Narrows, Kolob Canyons or West Rim Trail or floating the Green River through Canyonlands? Not to mention the countless great dayhikes of all distances, like the beloved slot canyons Peek-a-Boo Gulch and Spooky Gulch.

I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve returned to southern Utah—it’s dozens—but I’m far from done there. You’ve probably only scraped the surface of this region. Treat southern Utah as a lifetime commitment and every new adventure will amaze you. Spring and fall are the prime seasons and some of these trips require reserving permits months in advance.

See “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest,” “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks,” all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking over Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.

Get Lonely in the North Cascades

On at least three major lists of the least-visited national parks, North Cascades ranks in the top five (and most of the top 10 are in Alaska). For backpackers who prefer to have a beautiful wild place almost to themselves, that’s a good thing.

Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex.
Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex.

A sprawling swath of glacier-clad mountains and thickly forested valleys, North Cascades has long been one of my favorite parks—and it has one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever slept in.

On my most-recent trip there, a friend and walked 80 miles through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex just as the huckleberries ripened and the larch trees blazed yellow with fall color in the last week of September. Our grand tour from Easy Pass Trailhead to Bridge Creek Trailhead took us through virgin forests of giant cedars, hemlocks, and Douglas firs, and over four passes, including Park Creek Pass, where you turn a 360 overlooking waterfalls and glaciers pouring off cliffs and jagged, snowy peaks amid a sea of mountains.

North Cascades National Park holds an Early-Access lottery for permit reservations from March 2-13, 2026—enter it especially if you’re seeking any popular backcountry camps in the park—and opens general permit reservations on April 29.

See my story “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” which has my tips on how to plan and take this trip, including shorter variations of the route, and all stories about North Cascades National Park at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip on this list?
Click here now for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A backpacker hikng the Continental Divide Trail south of Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Continental Divide Trail south of Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-books to backpacking in Glacier and other parks.

Backpack Incomparable Glacier National Park

Little wonder that Glacier ranks among the favorite national parks of backpackers: No place in the Lower 48 really compares with it. From its rivers of ice (which are disappearing rapidly due to climate change) pouring off craggy mountains and sheer cliffs that soar high above lushly green valleys, and over 760 lakes offering mirror reflections of it all, to megafauna like mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and grizzly and black bears, these million acres in the rugged Northern Rockies simply deliver an experience you can’t find in any park outside Alaska.

No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.
No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.

I’ve backpacked multiple times all over Glacier, most recently in September 2023 (lead photo at top of story), when two friends and I hiked for a week mostly on the Continental Divide Trail through the park—unquestionably one of the entire CDT’s best sections. The park’s more than 700 miles of trails enable trips of varying distances, from beginner-friendly to serious, remote adventures in deep wilderness.

My e-books describing two long and magnificent treks through Glacier, “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” detail all you need to know to plan and execute those trips safely. They also describe shorter variations on those routes.

And, of course, I can give you a customized plan for a backpacking trip of any length in Glacier; click here to learn how.

Glacier holds two early-access lotteries, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people, for a date and time between March 21 and April 30 when they can reserve a permit ahead of reservations opening to the general public on May 1. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits.

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Read any story linked here and ALL stories at The Big Outside.
Join now and get a free e-book!

A backpacker descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

Backpack the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier

Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm and Todd Arndt in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to the Wonderland Trail.

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail around glacier-clad, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier, one repeatedly sees “The Mountain” (as Washingtonians know it) fill the horizon—a sight that can stop you in your boots. If it’s fair to say that no multi-day hike in the contiguous United States is quite like the Wonderland Trail—and it is—that’s partly because there’s no mountain in the Lower 48 like Rainier.

But the WT isn’t just about views of Rainier. It also features some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever walk through, crystalline creeks and raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” countless waterfalls and cascades, and sightings of mountain goats, marmots, deer, and black bears.

The full Wonderland loop around Rainier is a seriously strenuous, 93-mile trip, with over 44,000 cumulative vertical feet of elevation gain and loss. But because it can be accessed from several trailheads, you can choose between thru-hiking all of it—which takes up to nine to 10 days—or backpacking shorter trips of varying lengths on sections of the trail.

And choices like where to begin the loop and which direction to hike it, and whether to take a popular detour onto the higher and more-scenic Spray Park Trail, all affect the trip’s overall difficulty—which I spell out in detail in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” about a 77-mile hike two friends and I took on much of the Wonderland (a route described as one of the alternate itineraries in my e-book).

Got an all-time favorite campsite? I have 25 of them.
See “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

A hiker on Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton on Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.

Take Yosemite’s Best Dayhikes and Backpacking Trips

Half Dome, the John Muir Trail, Tenaya Lake, Mount Hoffmann, the Mist Trail, Upper Yosemite Falls, Tuolumne Meadows, and the Cathedral Range and Cathedral Lakes—these names are nearly as famous as the park that harbors them: Yosemite.

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite.
The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite.

But in numerous trips backpacking, dayhiking, and climbing there over the years, I’ve discovered that other corners of Yosemite are equally spectacular if not as well known, including the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Clouds Rest, Red Peak Pass, Matterhorn Peak and Matterhorn Canyon, Burro Pass, Mule Pass, Benson Lake, and Dewey Point, among many.

This flagship park’s finest backpacking trips and dayhikes offer a variety of experiences that will awe you no matter how much time you have or how many times you’ve been there. For backpacking, plan to apply for a wilderness permit 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the week you want to start hiking.

If you want to backpack Yosemite this summer, the time to apply for a wilderness permit is now.

See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and all of this blog’s stories about backpacking in Yosemite, plus my expert e-books to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

See also “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls,” and all stories about Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

I know Yosemite’s unique wilderness permit system very well and I’ve helped many readers plan a backpacking trip in Yosemite—including helping some obtain a permit after they had failed applying on their own. Go to my Custom Trip Planning page to see how I can do that for you.

You want to backpack in Yosemite?
See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

A backpacker hiking into Titcomb Basin in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Todd Arndt backpacking into Titcomb Basin in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Explore the Wind River Range

Come up with a list of the best backpacking trips in America that do not require you to reserve a permit months in advance, and rank them in order of scenic magnificence, and Wyoming’s Wind River Range would have to reside near or at the top of that list. The Winds are also one of the few mountain ranges in the contiguous United States where—if you put in the effort to get beyond the very few popular trailheads—you can hike for days below 13,000-foot peaks and count more alpine lakes than people.

Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae's Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae’s Lake in the Wind River Range. Click photo to see this and many other photos from places I’ve written about at The Big Outside that are available to purchase as professional-quality enlargements suitable for framing.

Among the most recent of several trips I’ve made to the Winds, my wife, a friend, and I backpacked a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from one of the less-busy trailheads on the west side of the range, following some of the most scenic trails I’ve walked in the Winds to high passes and gorgeous lakes around every turn. On a four-day hike, a friend and I camped near a lake every night and crossed four passes, including a sort of “back door” entrance into the amazing Cirque of the Towers, and I left there thinking we’d just done the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

And just last September, on a solo, six-day hike mostly on the Continental Divide Trail through the Winds, I went entire days without seeing other backpackers and walked past too many heart-stopping lakes to count. Watch for my upcoming story about that trip.

See “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Wind River Range,” “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan a wonderful backpacking trip, ideal for them, in the Wind River Range. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog and see hundreds of comments from readers who’ve received my trip planning.

Get the right gear for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Puez-Odle, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My family trekking to Furcela dia Roa on the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Puez-Odle, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

Trek Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

A family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

Located in the northeastern Italian Alps, with one national park, several regional parks, and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the Dolomites thrust a dizzying array of spires and serrated peaks into the sky, gleaming like polished jewels in bright sunshine and virtually pulsing with the salmon hue of evening alpenglow. They strike a sharp contrast with the deep, steep-sided, verdantly green valleys and meadows. On a weeklong, hut-to-hut trek through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, my family hiked a 39-mile (62-kilometer) section of the roughly 112-mile (180-kilometer) Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends.”

An alpine footpath famous for scenery that puts it in legitimate contention for the title of the most beautiful trail in the world, the AV 2 is also known for comfortable mountain huts with excellent food—and a reputation for being the most remote and difficult of the several multi-day alte vie, or “high paths,” that crisscross the Dolomites. On one of the all-time best adventures I’ve ever taken, we discovered that it was all of those things and more.

See my story “The World’s Most Beautiful Trail: Trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomites.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking or hiking trip.
Want my help with yours? Click here to learn more.

Backpackers on the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.
Backpackers on the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park. Click either photo to read about this trip.

See the Glorious Southern Sierra in Sequoia National Park

With some of the highest mountains in the Lower 48 and a constellation of backcountry lakes, California’s southern High Sierra rank among the prettiest backpacking destinations in America. And Sequoia National Park hosts one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48—a pristine and incredibly photogenic land of razor peaks and alpine lakes so clear you could stand on the shore and read a book lying open on the lake bottom.

A young girl at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

On a six-day, 40-mile backpacking trip in Sequoia, my family hiked through a quiet backcountry grove of giant Sequoias and over 10,000-foot and 11,000-foot passes at the foot of 12,000-foot, granite peaks. We camped at two lakes that earned spots on my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

While many backpackers heading for the High Sierra point their compass at Yosemite and the John Muir Trail—creating enormous demand for those backcountry permits—far fewer set their sights on areas of Sequoia like where my family backpacked. That means it’s an easier permit to get, and the scenery rivals anywhere in the Sierra.

Apply for a permit up to six months in advance for a trip during the park’s quota period of late May through mid-September.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” about my family’s six-day, 40-mile loop hike there, and all stories about Sequoia National Park at The Big Outside.

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.

Dawn at Spangle Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Dawn at Spangle Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Wander Into Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

I have been hiking, backpacking, and climbing in Idaho’s Sawtooths—the wilderness in my back yard (or pretty close)—for almost 30 years. I’ve walked nearly every trail and some outstanding off-trail routes, from the most accessible lakes and mountain passes to the remote interior of the range, visiting numerous, incredibly picturesque alpine lakes that undoubtedly see few visitors. I’ve long thought that the Sawtooths look like they could be the love child of the High Sierra and the Tetons.

The unnamed lake where we camped in the lakes basin on the south side of Snowyside Peak, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
An unnamed lake in a lakes basin reached via a good use trail in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

I returned there again in August 2025 for a four-day hike that began with walking through a lovely lakes basin I had not seen before. That trip featured several more wonderful and remote lakes (including the above photo), and on which we crossed four high passes and summited one 10,000-foot peak. Watch for my upcoming story about that trip.

Looking for a beautiful Sawtooths adventure that’s a moderate distance? The multi-day hike I’d recommend is a four- to five-day, roughly 36-mile route in the scenic heart of the range.

See my story “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit” and my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” which tells you all you need to know to plan and pull off that trip and includes three alternate itineraries that allow you to shorten the hike to four days or extend it to six or seven days. And see all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan a wonderful backpacking trip, ideal for them, anywhere in the Sawtooths. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, too.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

Backpackers in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jasmine and Jeff Wilhelm backpacking in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.

Trek Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park

Trekkers on Besseggen Ridge in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jasmine and Jeff Wilhelm trekking through rain on Besseggen Ridge in Jotunheimen National Park.

Picture this: an Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, wildflowers, and lichen blanketing glacial-erratic boulders. Cliffs and mountains that look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. Thick, crack-riddled glaciers pouring like pancake batter that needs more water off starkly barren peaks rising to more than 8,000 feet. Braided rivers meandering down mostly treeless valleys, and reindeer roaming wild. Summit views of a sea of snowy, glacier-clad peaks rolling away to far horizons.

That describes my family’s weeklong, roughly 60-mile/97-kilometer, hut-to-hut trek through Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park—whose name means the “Home of the Giants.”

Our adventure combined pristine wilderness with the most luxurious huts I’ve ever stayed in—some featuring private rooms, hot showers, and restaurant-caliber meals—a trail network that allows for flexibility in route options, and optional side hikes to summits with mind-blowing views of mountains buried in snow and ice, including the highest peak in Norway. Some of us also hiked a spectacular ridge traverse known as “the most famous hike in Norway,” which I’d normally receive as a warning sign, but in this case, it’s a rigorous hike that I’d return to in a second.

Read “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.”

Find more ideas and inspiration in my All Trips List, which has a menu of all stories at this blog, and in “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-adventures-to-put-on-your-bucket-list-now-winter/feed/ 2 43882
10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-national-park-backpacking-trips-for-beginners/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-national-park-backpacking-trips-for-beginners/#comments Sat, 31 Jan 2026 10:00:39 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27013 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

So you’re a novice backpacker, or you’re planning your first backpacking trip in a big, Western national park, or you have kids you want to take on a relatively easy backpacking trip—and you want to sample the best scenery, trails, and backcountry campsites that experienced backpackers get to enjoy in our national parks. No worries. These 10 trips in Grand Teton, Zion, Grand Canyon, Glacier, Olympic, Rocky Mountain, Mount Rainier, Canyonlands, and two in Yosemite (photo above) are ideal for beginners and families, with easy to moderately difficult days and simple logistics, while delivering the spectacular vistas that each of these parks is famous for.

In fact, two of them (Yosemite and Grand Teton) were among the very first multi-day hikes I took as a novice backpacker more than three decades ago, and seven (Zion, Grand Teton, Glacier, Grand Canyon, Olympic, Mount Rainier, and Rocky Mountain) were among my kids’ earliest trips, which we took when they ranged in age from six to 10. They are also among the nicest multi-day hikes I’ve taken over more than three decades (and counting) of carrying a backpack, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Woman and two young children backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, with our kids, Nate and Alex, hiking up the West Rim Trail on a family backpacking trip in Zion National Park.

Besides delivering on all you expect from a backpacking trip in a flagship national park, any of these outings will help prepare you for bigger, more ambitious adventures. And like many stories at this blog, much of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading it all and seeing the entire list of backpacking trips is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

I can help you plan any of them—or any trip you read about at this blog, including beginner-friendly backpacking trips not in national parks, avoiding the need to reserve a permit months in advance. See my Custom Trip Planning page.

See also my stories “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips,” “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip.”

Please tell me what you think of these trip ideas or offer your own in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A young boy hiking in the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
My son, Nate, on a family backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to this trip.

Grand Teton’s Paintbrush-Cascade Canyons Loop

Distance: 19.7 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking to Paintbrush Divide in Grand Teton National Park.

The 19.7-mile loop linking up Paintbrush and Cascade canyons from String Lake offers something of a highlights reel of Grand Teton National Park and is undoubtedly among the most scenic sub-20-mile, multi-day hikes in the National Park System. With nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, the loop crosses one of the highest points reached via trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama takes in a jagged skyline featuring some of the highest summits in the Tetons. It also passes by beloved Lake Solitude, nestled in a cirque of cliffs, and below the striped cliffs of Paintbrush Canyon and waterfalls and soaring peaks of Cascade Canyon.

We backpacked this popular loop over three days with our kids when they were young, camping at Upper Paintbrush the first night and North Fork Cascade the second, and seeing moose in Cascade Canyon; I’ve also dayhiked it. It can be hiked in either direction—and the Paintbrush side is steeper and more strenuous whether going up or down it. But by going counter-clockwise, you enjoy a steady view of the Grand Teton looming high above the North Fork of Cascade Canyon; and you finish down Cascade Canyon, where most of the group can avoid the final slog through the woods and take the boat shuttle across Jenny Lake—with in-your-face views of the peaks—while someone hikes the last 45 minutes to retrieve the car at String Lake.

Click here now to get my expert e-book
to this beginner-friendly backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.

I can personally help you plan this trip (or any trip you read about at my blog), from permit to daily hiking plan, through my custom trip planning; click here to learn how—and to read hundreds of comments from others who’ve received my custom trip planning, many of which were for backpacking in the Tetons.

See all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside (some of which require a paid subscription to read in full), including “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail” about taking our kids at young ages on the TCT.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Best First Trip in the Grand Canyon

Distance: 21 to 23.5 miles
Difficulty: Moderate to strenuous

A hiker on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
A hiker on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

While this is one of the most strenuous trips on this list, for beginner backpackers or families with good stamina who are up for a somewhat bigger challenge, crossing the Grand Canyon from rim to rim constitutes one of the most scenically astonishing experiences in the entire National Park System. Beginning at either the South or North Rim, you will descend through a constantly changing environment and multiple layers of geology, from vistas encompassing a huge swath of the canyon to intimate side canyons with rushing creeks and waterfalls.

The distance ranges from 21 to 23.5 miles depending on whether you combine the South Kaibab Trail or Bright Angel Trail with the North Kaibab Trail, and the cumulative elevation gain and loss is well over 10,000 feet. Many backpackers spread it over three days. Still, water sources are regular and you’re hiking the best-constructed trails in the entire canyon.

Want a shorter Grand Canyon sampler? Hike 16.5 miles rim to river to rim: down the South Kaibab Trail and up the Bright Angel Trail over two or three days, with one night at Bright Angel Campground on the Colorado River and a possible second night at Havasupai Gardens Campground along the Bright Angel Trail to break up the long climb back up from the river.

See my story “Fit to Be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day” for photos from this trip and my tale of dayhiking rim to rim, “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

Click here now for my expert e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.
A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite. Click photo to get my expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

The Magnificent Heart of Yosemite

Distance: 37.2 miles (with shorter options)
Difficulty: Moderate

Anyone looking for a five-star introduction to backpacking in Yosemite that hits marquis highlights and is beginner friendly need look no further than this 37.2-mile loop from Yosemite Valley. From the popular Happy Isles Trailhead at the east end of The Valley, it winds through the core of the park, starting with ascending the Mist Trail past 317-foot Vernal Fall—which rains a heavy mist on hikers—and thunderous, 594-foot Nevada Fall. The distance includes the optional, out-and-back climb of the steep and exposed cable route up Half Dome, where the summit view of Yosemite Valley is arguably only outdone by the view you’ll get later on the hike from a thousand feet higher on the knife-edge summit ridge of Clouds Rest.

From a campsite on the edge of the alpine meadows at Sunrise, you’ll get a sweeping view of the granite castles of the Cathedral Range. And the hike, spread over four to five days, follows a couple stretches of the world-famous John Muir Trail, descending it on the last day past a calendar-photo vista of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall.

Vernal Fall, beside the Mist Trail in Yosemite National Park.
Vernal Fall, beside the Mist Trail in Yosemite National Park. Click photo to get my help planning your Yosemite adventure.

See my story “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite” for a description of this route, and a much more detailed description with complete trip-planning guidance in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” which also covers alternate multi-day hiking itineraries beginning and ending at various trailheads ringing this core area of the park, including routes from Tuolumne Meadows and stunning Tenaya Lake. Click here to see all e-books available at The Big Outside, including three trips in Yosemite.

This is Yosemite’s most popular area for backpacking; permits are hard to get. See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit.”

And check out “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite,” “Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

See my five-level difficulty rating system in “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

Young kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
My kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Glacier’s Glorious Gunsight Pass Trail

Distance: 20 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

Mountain goat along Glacier National Park's Gunsight Pass Trail.
Mountain goat along Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail.

Much of the more than 700 miles of trails in one-million-acre Glacier National Park traverse remote wilderness, requiring a commitment of multiple days backpacking in northern mountains thick with grizzly bears, where weather can shift. But the 20-mile traverse of the Gunsight Pass Trail, from Gunsight Pass Trailhead to Lake McDonald Lodge, is one of the logistically easiest and shortest multi-day hikes in the park. Both trailheads are on the Going-to-the-Sun Road and served by the park’s free shuttle bus.

Most of all, though, the hike takes in some of the park’s best scenery, including one of its largest rivers of ice, the Blackfoot Glacier (seen from a distance), scores of waterfalls, and backcountry camps at Gunsight Lake and Lake Ellen Wilson that rank among the prettiest in the park.

Spread it out over four days and add the optional, 6.6-mile, out-and-back side hike to Sperry Glacier—which involves more than 1,700 vertical feet of up and down and some steep sections, making it a relatively demanding side hike for many adults and children. That stunning trail ascends steadily across a barren, rocky, more recently deglaciated landscape, and passes through a narrow notch in the cliffs at Comeau Pass to reach an overlook of the Sperry Glacier.

Unlike trails around Logan Pass and Many Glacier, this route is not crowded with dayhikers. I’ve backpacked it twice—the second time with our kids when they were nine and seven, taking three days—and saw mountain goats near Gunsight Pass both times. The moderately graded trail never gets terribly steep, so it feels easier than the distances suggest, although the long descent to Lake McDonald is a thigh-pounder; still, hike it east to west because in the other direction, the day one uphill from Lake McDonald would be a strenuous and long slog, much of it exposed to the hot sun.

See my story “Jagged Peaks and Wild Goats: Backpacking Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A hiker on the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

Zion’s Otherworldly West Rim Trail

Distance: 14 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

A mother and young daughter backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, and our daughter, Alex, backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

Only in a national park that features The Narrows—which, admittedly, ranks hands-down as one of the best backpacking trips in America and certainly one of the best in the Southwest—could the West Rim Trail be overshadowed. More than a few longtime Zion backcountry denizens have told me the West Rim is their favorite trail in the park—and having dayhiked and backpacked it, I’d say it is, in many ways, just as enchanting as The Narrows.

From the plateau on the trail’s upper sections, you overlook a labyrinth of white-walled canyons and green-topped mesas. Then the trail drops about 2,500 feet in 4.7 miles, zigzagging down a cliff face and through a landscape of towering beehive rock formations and walls streaked in vivid burgundy and salmon hues.

The approximately 14-mile, one-way, north-to-south, mostly downhill hike from Lava Point on Kolob Terrace Road to the Grotto Trailhead in Zion Canyon—requiring a shuttle (available in Springdale)—can be done in one day by fit hikers. But an overnight at one of the campsites along the West Rim Trail lets you see this incomparable scenery in the glorious light of early morning and at sunset, and makes it a more feasible objective for families and novice backpackers. Add just just under a mile for the side hike up Angels Landing, one of the most spectacular and iconic summits in the National Park System.

See my stories about a family backpacking trip on the West Rim Trail, a 50-mile dayhike across Zion that included the West Rim Trail, my e-book to a two-day backpacking trip through Zion’s incomparable Narrows (another relatively beginner-friendly trip), and all stories about Zion at The Big Outside.

See also “7 Great Southwest Backpacking Trips for Beginners,” and read this story about another easy, one- or two-night hike in Capitol Reef National Park’s Spring Canyon.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A young boy backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.

The Wild Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles
Difficulty: Easy to Moderate

A young girl hiking past a boulder covered in mussels on the Olympic coast.
My daughter, Alex, hiking past a boulder covered in mussels on the Olympic coast.

Along the 73 miles of seashore within Olympic National Park, you can’t buy fried seafood, ice cream, or a T-shirt. The longest strip of protected wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States, it’s one of the few remaining pieces of ocean-view real estate in the Lower 48 that the explorer Capt. George Vancouver would recognize.

Backpacking the 17.5-mile southern stretch of the Olympic coast from the Hoh River north to La Push Road became one of my kids’ most memorable backpacking trips—mostly for the hours they spent playing in tide pools on the beach (they were nine and seven at the time). But it’s also a hike any adults would find gorgeous and fascinating.

You will walk surprisingly rugged and muddy overland trails in the deep shade of giant trees in one of Earth’s largest virgin temperature rainforests, and scale rope ladders dangling down eroding headlands. Along the beach, you will pass tide pools and boulders teeming with sea stars, mussels, and sea anemones, with sometimes mist-shrouded views of scores of tall stone pinnacles, called sea stacks, rising out of the ocean, some close enough to walk to them at low tide. You may sight seals, sea otters, whales (and to my kids’ delight, lots of slugs).

A fun, beautiful, beginner- and family-friendly trip, especially with school-age kids, it’s also less crowded than the more popular northern stretch of the Olympic coast, an easier permit to obtain—and one of America’s most unique backpacking adventures.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast.”

See my “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

See also “7 Great Southwest Backpacking Trips for Beginners,” and all stories about national park trips and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-national-park-backpacking-trips-for-beginners/feed/ 17 27013
Hike the World’s Most Beautiful Trail: The Alta Via 2 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-worlds-most-beautiful-trail-italys-alta-via-2/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-worlds-most-beautiful-trail-italys-alta-via-2/#comments Wed, 28 Jan 2026 10:00:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26783 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Hiking toward a mountain pass named Furcela dia Roa (photo above), on the first day of my family’s weeklong, hut-to-hut trek on the Alta Via 2 in northern Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, we stopped in an open meadow of grass and wildflowers overlooking a deep, verdant valley in Puez-Odle Natural Park. Across the valley loomed a wall of cliffs topped by jagged spires, like a castle a thousand feet tall. I looked at our map and back up at the stone wall before us, puzzled. After a moment, I realized: We have to get over that wall.

Scanning the vertiginous earth before us, I eventually picked out the trail snaking across the head of the valley and making dozens of switchbacks up a finger of scree, talus, and snow leading to the lowest notch in that wall: the Furcela dia Roa, the pass we had to cross.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A family hiking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My family hiking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

It was our first encounter with a lesson that would repeat itself many times over the course of our week of hiking on the Alta Via 2: These mountains are so steep and rocky that the trail often traverses ground that, from a distance, looks impassable without ropes and climbing gear.

But in reality, my family, including our young kids, were perfectly comfortable with the exposure, we never felt that any section was unsafe (although we avoided higher-elevation sections that were still snow-covered in July)—and our trek on the Alta Via 2, a footpath sometimes described as “the most beautiful trail in the world,” turned out to be a wonderful and unforgettable adventure .

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A trekker on the Alta Via 2 north of Ball Pass in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Alta Via 2 north of Ball Pass in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

My family spent a week trekking hut to hut on a 39-mile/62-kilometer section of the Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends,” a roughly 112-mile/180-kilometer alpine footpath through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, Italy’s Dolomites.

The AV 2 is famous for attributes that possess even more allure than a steaming plate of gnocchi: incredible scenery, comfortable mountain huts with excellent food—and, for the type of trekker who’s drawn to challenge, a reputation for being the most remote and difficult of the several multi-day alte vie (plural for alta via), or “high paths,” that traverse the Dolomites.

That last point also makes the AV 2 less crowded (read: easier to get hut reservations) than the more-popular and easier AV 1 and other hut treks in Europe. But it’s the scenery that makes this trek world-class, as the photos below demonstrate.

Scroll below the photo gallery for the link to my full story about this trek.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable hut trek on the Alta Via 2.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Read my story about that trip, “‘The World’s Most Beautiful Trail:’ Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains,” which has many more photos, a video, and expert tips for planning it yourself. (Like many stories at The Big Outside, reading that entire story requires a paid subscription.)

See “15 Adventures on Earth That Will Change Your Life” and all stories about international adventures and family adventures at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-worlds-most-beautiful-trail-italys-alta-via-2/feed/ 15 26783
Get Custom Backpacking Trip Planning from an Expert https://thebigoutsideblog.com/get-custom-backpacking-trip-planning-from-an-expert/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/get-custom-backpacking-trip-planning-from-an-expert/#respond Tue, 27 Jan 2026 10:07:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=46869 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

You’re trying to plan a backpacking trip to a classic national park like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Glacier, Zion, Grand Canyon, or some other park or wilderness area—but you’re not quite sure how to do it or where to go. Or the permit process and planning feel overwhelming. Or you want to ensure it’s the best trip possible. Or you just don’t have time to do all that planning and would rather have an expert do it for you.

Well, you have just landed on your solution.

For three decades, including 10 years that I spent as the Northwest Editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I have had the good fortune of hiking and backpacking all over America and the world. I’ve made a living identifying, planning, and writing about great trips.

Ready to get my custom trip planning? Click here now.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Right now, you can tap into my deep experience through my personalized custom trip planning—saving your valuable time and avoiding problems.

“Michael has opened up America’s spectacular outdoors to me, my son, and my best friend. For a few years now, I have been using his services and advice to visit some of the most beautiful national parks, and we have been able to do hikes that would have been otherwise very hard to plan without his detailed and thorough advice. From choosing where to go tailored to your level of fitness and outdoor knowledge and the time of the year, to every little detail regarding gear, food, permit (this would be particularly impossible without the knowledge of someone like him), etc., he provides a complete plan for any adventure. For us, everything has gone smoothly every time. I look forward to the many trips he will plan for us over the years to come.”

—Johann (comment posted at my Custom Trip Planning page)

Expert Custom Trip Planning

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.
Me below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park. The lead photo at the top of this blog post also shows me in Glacier.

Through my custom trip planning, you receive an in-depth trip plan from me—shaped by our back-and-forth communication to create the best trip for you—that covers all necessary planning, gear tips, detailed guidance on reserving a permit drawn from my deep experience in numerous parks, tips on wildlife, the ideal season and weather, a daily hiking itinerary with recommended campsites, and much more.

I will tell you how to execute your trip on the ground in the safest and most enjoyable way, answering all of your questions—and probably answering questions you didn’t think to ask.

Get the same positive experience that hundreds of other backpackers have enjoyed. See my Custom Trip Planning page for details and hundreds of comments from people like you whom I’ve helped plan a very successful adventure.

“Michael’s custom trip planning services save me many dozens of hours, but more importantly, with his expertise, we are able to have truly amazing vacations, making the most of our limited time together as a family. Michael planned a recent 9-day trip to Southern Utah for me, my husband, and our adult son. We had an incredible time. It’s only a few times a year that we get together and I feel like Michael’s custom trips make these vacations a ‘Wow!’ We hiked Angels Landing (scoring a last-minute permit on our first attempt w/ Michael’s advice). We hiked the spectacular Narrows. Michael’s planning services are a bargain for what you are getting—his top-tier advice on both strategy and tactics. Once you hire Michael, you’ll find yourself dreaming of taking another adventure vacation that Michael can make a reality.”

—Michele (comment posted at my Custom Trip Planning page)

Get my custom trip planning for your best adventure ever! Click here now.

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork of Cascade Canyon, while backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Me above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork of Cascade Canyon, while backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

Get the Best Deal: A Premium Subscription

With a premium subscription, you get the best deal available at The Big Outside: one custom trip plan from me, a one-year subscription giving you full access to ALL stories at my blog at 33% off the regular price, plus your choice of any e-book for free.

Or step up to my premier service level, a Talk to Michael subscription, which includes a comprehensive phone consultation with me to brainstorm trip ideas, discuss any trip you have in mind, and talk gear or any questions you have, plus one full, written custom trip plan and other benefits.

Wondering whether I can help you? Email me at info@thebigoutsideblog.com.

“Have done several trips with Michael… and he NAILED it again. We did the Alta Via 2 in the Italian Dolomites. Best scenery in my 45 years of backpacking. Michael’s trip planning was critical as choosing the routes and rifugios can be prohibitively time-consuming. Lots to consider from the altitude/distance each day to the ‘exposure’ of the trails. Michael’s planning made that part simple and enabled us to not only do something we would otherwise not had the time to do, but to focus on having fun and the scenery vs. being worried about logistics! As I have said, he has worked with us on domestic US/Canada trips as well, taking a lot of the time and work out of planning. I highly recommend him and his amazing breadth of experience.”

—John (comment posted at my Custom Trip Planning page)

Get my expert help planning your next trip and 33% off a one-year subscription.
Click here now to buy a Premium subscription to The Big Outside!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/get-custom-backpacking-trip-planning-from-an-expert/feed/ 0 46869
The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-national-park-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-national-park-backpacking-trips/#comments Mon, 26 Jan 2026 10:00:32 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27712 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Olympic, Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Glacier, Zion, Grand Teton, Mount Rainier, Canyonlands, Sequoia, Great Smoky Mountains. To backpackers, these names read like a list of America’s greatest cathedrals in nature—and no surprise, because these parks harbor some of the most scenic wilderness trails in the country. Hike any of them and it will earn a spot on your personal top-10 list. Knock off every trip on this list and you will experience some of the finest landscapes not only in the nation, but on the planet.

Over the past three decades—including the 10 years I was a field editor for Backpacker magazine and longer running this blog—I’ve had the good fortune of backpacking dozens of trips in our national parks—and multiple trips in the most-beloved parks. Countless thousands of miles later, this list represents my picks for the very best multi-day hikes you will find in America’s national parks.

Ready to be blown away? Read on and discover your next unforgettable trip.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

The descriptions below have links to feature-length stories about those trips, with numerous photos and often a video. While anyone can read part of those stories for free, reading them in full—including tips and details on planning those trips—is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

See my E-Books page for my detailed, expert e-books to several of the trips described below, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog, customizing it to your preferences and answering all of your questions about it.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail over Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Remember that all of these parks require a backcountry permit, which can be hard to get; apply for a permit reservation as soon as they become available, often months in advance. Find the smartest strategies for navigating that application process in my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Please share your thoughts or questions and offer your own trip suggestions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments and answer any questions.

Want to start with a fairly easy trip?
See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners.”

A young boy backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.

The Wild Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles, 2 to 3 days
Why It’s Unique: Sea stacks, giant trees, beach campsites, exciting rope ladders, abundant sea life.

A backpacker descending a rope ladder at the north end of the Goodman Creek overland trail on the southern coast of Olympic National Park.
My wife, Penny, descending a rope ladder at the north end of the Goodman Creek overland trail on the southern coast of Olympic National Park.

Backpacking the 17.5-mile southern stretch of Olympic National Park’s 73-mile-long wilderness coastline, you will walk in the shadow of scores of sea stacks rising up to 200 feet out of the ocean and giant trees in one of Earth’s largest virgin temperature rainforests. You will see tide pools and boulders teeming with sea stars, mussels, and sea anemones while hiking along the beach, traverse surprisingly rugged and muddy overland trails, and scale rope ladders dangling down eroding headlands.

You also just may spot seals, sea otters, and whales. A fun, beginner- and family-friendly trip, especially with school-age kids, it’s also less crowded than the more popular northern stretch of the Olympic coast and a relatively easier permit to obtain.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker hiking down the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking down the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for my e-guide to this trip.

Grand Canyon Traverse

Distance: 21 to 23.5 miles, 2 to 3 days
Why It’s Unique: Incomparable canyon vistas, geology older than life on Earth, unforgettable campsites, desert oases and wildflowers.

Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail.

Backpacking across the Grand Canyon via either of two possible routes on the three main “corridor” trails—the South Kaibab or Bright Angel with the North Kaibab—is truly a hike like no other in the world. From long vistas spanning the Grand Canyon’s staggering vastness of towering rock formations and almost 40 geologic layers, to immersion in tributary canyons with soaring walls and waterfalls, your perspective constantly changes. Every backpacker should take this trek or other multi-day hikes in the Big Ditch.

While there are no “easy” trips that descend into the Grand Canyon, this route is definitely the most amenable for beginner backpackers or first-timers there. My expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” lays out in detail everything you need to know to plan and take this trip.

But given the enormous demand for backcountry permits on those three trails, other options are easier to get a permit for. Experienced backpackers seeking a higher-level adventure may want to check out my stories “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop,” “‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” and my expert e-book to the last one, also titled “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.  

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” and the easier trip described above, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker hiking Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton backpacking up Clouds Rest in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Yosemite South of Tuolumne Meadows

Distance: 65 to 74 miles, 5 to 8 days
Why It’s Unique: Famous landmarks like Half Dome, Clouds Rest, Tenaya Lake, Nevada Fall, and Tuolumne Meadows, plus some of Yosemite’s most-remote wilderness.

A hiker on "The Visor" of Half Dome in Yosemite.
Todd Arndt on “The Visor” of Half Dome.

This just may be the perfect Yosemite backpacking trip: You see iconic vistas like the view from atop the sheer, 2,000-foot Northwest Face of Half Dome, and enjoy the solitude and scenery of one of Yosemite’s largest chunks of wilderness, the remote Clark Range in the park’s southeast quadrant.

Besides Half Dome, this 65-mile hike’s highlights include another of the best summits in the park, Clouds Rest (1,000 feet higher than Half Dome); thunderous, 594-foot-tall Nevada Fall; the stunning granite domes of Tuolumne and Tenaya Lake and the peaks of the Vogelsang area; the highest pass crossed by a trail in Yosemite, Red Peak Pass in the Clark Range; and the lakes and creeks at the headwaters of the Merced River. Permit and camping regulations and how you plan out the daily itinerary dictate whether you hike 65 or 74 miles (the latter involving more but shorter days as well as a bit of backtracking, but following a more moderate itinerary).

See my story about that trip, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” which provides basic details on planning it as a rigorous 65-mile hike (and requires a subscription to read in full); and my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” which gets into much greater detail about planning and taking that trip on a moderate 74-mile itinerary.

See also my story about a comparably remote and gorgeous, 87-mile hike, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my expert e-book to that trip, “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” which includes shorter variations of it.

Backpackers with less experience or hitting Yosemite for the first time may prefer to check out my story “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite” and my very popular e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Check out “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

You want to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

A backpacker on the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood backpacking the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

Glacier’s Northern Loop Made Better

Distance: 65 miles, 5 to 6 days
Why It’s Unique: Megafauna like mountain goats, bighorn sheep, moose, elk, and grizzly and black bears, breathtaking mountain scenery, primal wilderness.

Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Few places in the continental United States harbor the breadth of megafauna found in Glacier. You will likely see mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, and moose—and quite possibly black and grizzly bears. Neck-craning cliffs slash into Montana’s big sky, and glaciers pour down mountainsides.

This 65-mile route expands on the popular, 52-mile Northern Loop from Many Glacier, adding Piegan Pass and the entire Highline Trail to create arguably the best multi-day hike in Glacier. It also features the Many Glacier area, Stoney Indian Pass, the Ptarmigan Wall and Ptarmigan Tunnel, and some of the park’s finest lakes and most-remote wilderness. Have a sense of urgency about this trip: The park’s glaciers are on the fast track to extinction.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop and the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” and my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park,” which covers all the details on planning that trip, including my tips on the best way to do it and best campsites.

See also “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park.”

A traverse through Glacier on the Continental Divide Trail offers a similarly complete Glacier experience, overlapping part of the Northern Loop while taking in other areas that rank among the prettiest corners of the park. See my stories “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” my e-book “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A backpacker on day two in The Narrows of Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking on day two in The Narrows, Zion National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

Zion’s Narrows

Distance: 16 miles, 2 days
Why It’s Unique: A narrow canyon with towering, multi-hued walls, hanging gardens, and pools to wade.

A backpacker on day two in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
David Gordon in Zion’s Narrows.

Little wonder that Zion’s Narrows is one of the most sought-after backcountry permits in the National Park System. With sandstone walls that rise up to a thousand feet tall and close in to just 20 to 30 feet apart, the Narrows of the North Fork of the Virgin River has few, if any rivals among the canyons of the Southwest.

Hiking in shallow water for much of the route’s 16 miles, you’ll gradually descend deeper and deeper as the canyon scenery evolves, marveling at the sight of water pouring from solid rock and enjoying one of your most unusual nights of backcountry camping.

Backpacking The Narrows from top to bottom delivers a far superior experience to dayhiking it partway up from the bottom, with real solitude and some of the trip’s best scenery and tightest narrows in the upper canyon, which bottom-up dayhikers never see.

Read my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Do this trip right using my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

A backpacker at Lake Solitude on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at Lake Solitude in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

The Teton Crest Trail

Distance: 27-39 miles, multiple variations, 3 to 5 days
Why It’s Unique: Big views for much of its distance, beautiful wildflowers and campsites, and that incomparable, mind-boggling Tetons skyline.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon on the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon.

Unquestionably one of America’s premier multi-day treks, the Teton Crest Trail stays above treeline for much of its traverse through the range, with nearly constant, long views of the peaks. Certain spots along the TCT have entered the place-name vocabularies of Tetons aficionados: Death Canyon Shelf, Hurricane Pass, the South and North Forks of Cascade Canyon, Lake Solitude, and Paintbrush Divide, one of the highest points reached by trail in the park, at nearly 11,000 feet.

After more than 20 trips in the Tetons backpacking, climbing, and dayhiking—and most recently backpacking the Teton Crest Trail again in August 2019, with three friends who’d never been on the TCT and loved it every step of the way—I have learned that you can return repeatedly and never fail to be awed by these peaks.

I have also learned the ins and outs of every aspect of this trek, from successfully getting one of the most sought-after backcountry permits in the entire National Park System, to the pros and cons of the various possible hiking itineraries. I share my expert tips in my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I can also personally help you plan a Teton Crest Trail hike (or any trip you read about at my blog), from experience-based tips on navigating the permit process to a daily hiking itinerary. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how—and to read comments from hundreds of readers like you who’ve used my custom trip planning, many of them for the Teton Crest Trail.

See all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” and “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” about my most-recent trip on the TCT.

Didn’t get a Tetons permit? Check out an excellent hike in its neighbor park. See my story, “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon.”

Itching to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail
and the best short backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt on the Wonderland Trail west of Sunrise in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail

Distance: 93 miles, 8 to 10 days
Why It’s Unique: Roaring rivers gray with glacial “flour,” countless waterfalls, giant trees, incomparable wildflowers, and ever-changing views of ice- and snow-cloaked Mount Rainier.

Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

One of America’s best multi-day hikes—especially of more than a week—the Wonderland Trail makes a 93-mile, strenuously up-and-down circuit of the peak widely considered the queen of the Pacific Northwest, if not of the entire Lower 48: 14,411-foot Mount Rainier.

The Mountain boggles the mind. Seeing it appear as you round a bend can stop you in your tracks in disbelief over its staggering relief. The Wonderland Trail features innumerable waterfalls and views of Rainier, and some of the best wildflower meadows you will ever walk through.

Don’t underestimate this trip’s strenuousness: With a cumulative elevation gain and loss of over 44,000 feet, the trail regularly dishes up 2,000-foot and 3,000-foot ascents and descents. But the difficulty also depends on planning logistics like which direction you hike the loop and where to begin it, all of which I cover in detail in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

Plus, there isn’t another multi-day hike quite like it.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “An American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” about a recent 77-mile hike on what I consider the WT’s best sections (a route described as one of the alternate itineraries in my e-book), and “Wildflowers, Waterfalls, and Giant Slugs at Mount Rainier,” about a three-day, 22-mile family backpacking trip from Mowich Lake to Sunrise.

If you strike out on a Wonderland permit, consider another big multi-day hike a bit farther north in Washington’s Cascades that’s described in my story, “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades.”

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

Young kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Our kids hiking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

The Needles District of Canyonlands

Distance: 7 to 20+ miles, 2 to 3 days
Why It’s Unique: 300-foot-tall, candlestick-like pinnacles, natural arches, narrow slot canyons.

Young boy hiking the Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
My son, Nate, hiking the Chesler Park Trail in the Needles District of Canyonlands.

Waves of rippling rock look like a petrified ocean on a red planet. Sandstone spires rise up to 300 feet tall, with giant heads bigger around than the column on which they sit. Stratified cliffs stretch for miles.

The Needles District doesn’t have the severe, strenuous elevation gain and loss endemic to backpacking in the Grand Canyon and some other Southwest canyons. What it does have is fascinating geology that provides something of a Southwest canyons highlights tour.

Scarce water sources pose the biggest challenge, but the distances between them aren’t too great to prevent inexperienced backpackers from exploring Chesler Park and Big Spring, Squaw, and Lost canyons, as well as the Peekaboo Trail.

This relatively easy hike, with a variety of route options, explores a landscape that’s different in many ways from other favorite corners of the Southwest canyon country.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks.”

Are you up for a more difficult and remote multi-day hike with greater solitude and mind-blowing scenery? Check out my story “Farther Than It Looks: Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze.”

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
A campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Sequoia’s Mineral King Area

Distance: 40 miles, 4 to 6 days
Why It’s Unique: Beautiful lakes and campsites, jagged granite peaks, passes over 11,000 feet, and backcountry groves of giant sequoias.

A young girl backpacking in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Looking for a full-value High Sierra backpacking adventure?

This 40-mile loop from Sequoia’s Mineral King area delivers (see lead photo at top of story), from passes up to 11,630 feet high with sweeping views of the majestic southern High Sierra to tranquil backcountry groves of giant sequoias that you may have all to yourselves.

I found the scenery photogenic around every turn, with row upon row of huge, granite spires looming thousands of feet above deep canyons, and campsites beside crystalline mountain lakes reflecting cliffs and razor-sharp peaks—and campsites that made my list of the 25 best spots I’ve ever slept in the backcountry.

While the John Muir Trail and popular paths in Yosemite do not typically offer much solitude, this trip shows a quieter side of the High Sierra without compromising on natural beauty.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan this trip in Sequoia and others in the High Sierra. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help plan your next trip.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Bottom to Top in the Great Smoky Mountains

Distance: 34 miles, 3 to 4 days
Why It’s Unique: Unparalleled forest diversity, long views from the Appalachian Trail, and lovely streams and cascades.

Noland Creek in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Noland Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

While the Great Smokies may appear out of place on a list of Western national parks, there are good reasons why these forested mountains are beloved by backpackers.

I discovered their magic on a 34-mile loop from near Fontana Lake up to a stretch of the Appalachian Trail along the park’s crest. That grand tour of this half-million-acre park included rocky streams tumbling through cascades; some of the 1,600 species of flowering plants (76 listed as threatened or endangered); and gazing out over an ocean of blue ridges from 6,643-foot Clingmans Dome and the park’s highest bald, 5,920-foot Andrews Bald.

I also found a surprising degree of solitude, even during the fall foliage season.

See my story “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in western North Carolina at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-national-park-backpacking-trips/feed/ 16 27712
The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-yosemite/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-yosemite/#comments Mon, 19 Jan 2026 10:05:22 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28133 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

After more than three decades of exploring all over Yosemite on numerous backpacking trips, I’ve learned two big lessons about it: First of all, few places inspire the same powerful combination of both awe and adventure. And Yosemite’s backcountry harbors such an abundance of soaring granite peaks, waterfalls, lovely rivers and creeks, and shimmering alpine lakes—plus, over 700,000 acres of designated wilderness and 750 miles of trails—that you can explore America’s third national park literally for decades and not run out of five-star scenery.

Yosemite exceeds expectations in many ways, including this truth: Its reputation for crowds just doesn’t square with the reality of backpacking throughout most of the park. Yes, Yosemite Valley sees insane numbers of tourists, and a few of the park’s trails—like the Mist Trail and Half Dome—are among the most popular in the country.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


May Lake in Yosemite National Park.
May Lake in Yosemite National Park.

But most of the park’s backcountry isn’t crowded. I once interviewed a retired backcountry ranger who’d worked for 37 years in Yosemite, 25 years as wilderness manager, and had hiked every trail in Yosemite “probably about 10 times.” He told me that only about 10 percent of the park’s hundreds of miles of trails—from Happy Isles to Donohue Pass (mostly the John Muir Trail) and the Sierra High Camps loop—accounts for about 80 percent of all trail use. Little Yosemite Valley alone accounts for almost 20 percent. And the average length of backpacking trips is just two nights.

Consequently, he said, “There are areas of the park where you will see very few people.”

A hiker on Half Dome's cable route in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton scaling Half Dome’s cable route in Yosemite.

Wander into the park’s vast backcountry and you will find some of the very best scenery in Yosemite—along with a surprising degree of solitude.

This article describes the 10 best backpacking trips in Yosemite, from the core between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows—including Half Dome—to the John Muir Trail, the Clark Range and southeast corner, and the vast wilderness of northern Yosemite. These trips range in length from roughly 30 miles to nearly 90 miles, and from beginner friendly to serious adventures in the park’s wildest corners.

I’ve backpacked all of these trips—and others across Yosemite—over more than three decades of getting to know this park very well, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor with Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Each trip described below has a link to a story about it that provides more detail (reading those stories in full, including key trip-planning details, requires a paid subscription), and some descriptions have a link to one of my three Yosemite e-books, which provide much more detail on how to plan and prepare for that trip.

See my expert e-books to three great backpacking trips in Yosemite—including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite”—and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these classic adventures, variations of them, another Yosemite trip, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Please tell me what you think of the trips described below, share your questions, or suggest your own favorite backpacking trip in Yosemite in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite
and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.
A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Understanding Yosemite’s Wilderness Permit System

In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on daily trailhead quotas on the number of people, which vary between trailheads, with special rules for backpacking the John Muir Trail. For trips from late April through late October, 60 percent of trailhead quotas can be reserved through a rolling lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 that begins on the Sunday up to 24 weeks in advance of the date you want to start hiking and runs for a week, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the following Saturday.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

 

Looking northeast from Mule Pass in Yosemite National Park.
Looking northeast from Mule Pass in remote northern Yosemite. Click photo to read about this trip.

The remaining 40 percent of permits are made available at recreation.gov/permits/445859 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time seven days in advance of a trip start date.

Popular trailheads—including Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley and most of the trailheads in the Tuolumne Meadows area—fill very quickly. There are lower-demand trailheads in the park where you can more likely reserve a permit less than 24 weeks in advance.

See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Yosemite’s Best Backpacking Trips

A hiker atop Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton on The Visor of Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley, in Yosemite National Park.

Little Yosemite Valley and Half Dome

Let’s acknowledge this up front: Any list of Yosemite’s best backpacking trips must include this route from the park’s most popular trailhead to its most popular backcountry camp and the summit so famous and popular that the park requires a permit for hiking the cable route up it whether while backpacking or on a dayhike.

A hiker below Nevada Fall on the Mist Trail in Yosemite National Park.
My wife, Penny, below Nevada Fall on the Mist Trail in Yosemite National Park.

Many thousands of people attempt the strenuous hike up Half Dome, about 16 miles round-trip with almost 5,000 feet of elevation gain and loss from the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, in one big day. Backpacking it as an overnighter with a camp in Little Yosemite Valley spreads out the effort over two days—a more reasonable objective for many hikers.

Having the camp also makes it easier to reach the 8,800-foot crown of Half Dome ahead of the wave of more than 200 dayhikers permitted to hike Half Dome each day, enjoying something closer to solitude for the incomparable view of Yosemite Valley and 360-degree panorama of a big swath of the park’s mountains.

From Happy Isles, ascend the Mist Trail past 317-foot Vernal Fall and 594-foot Nevada Fall to reach Little Yosemite Valley. Dayhike Half Dome from your camp, and then descend the northernmost leg of the John Muir Trail back to Happy Isles—or skip Half Dome and turn this into an easy overnight of under 10 miles total, ideal for beginner backpackers or families with young kids. And understand: This is the hardest wilderness permit to get in Yosemite.

Read more about this hike in my blog post “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” and find much more detailed information on how to plan this trip, including variations of this route and insider tips in getting a permit for it, in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog—and I know the tricks for getting a Yosemite wilderness permit. Click here to learn more.

A backpacker hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click the photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Yosemite Valley to Half Dome, Clouds Rest, and Sunrise

A hiker on "The Visor" of Half Dome, above Yosemite Valley.
Todd Arndt on “The Visor” of Half Dome, above Yosemite Valley.

Planning your first backpacking trip in Yosemite and want to hit all the famous highlights—on a route that’s also beginner-friendly? Take this 37.2-mile hike from Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley.

Essentially an extended version of the above hike, this route from the Happy Isles Trailhead loops through the core of the park, including the Mist Trail past Vernal and Nevada Falls, the cable route up Half Dome, the spectacular summit of Clouds Rest, a section of the John Muir Trail, and a view of the Cathedral Range from your campsite at Sunrise. 

Probably the most popular backpacking trip in Yosemite of more than one or two nights—ranked behind its shorter variation to Little Yosemite Valley and Half Dome (above)—it usually includes at least one night at Little Yosemite Valley. Expect a lot of competition for this permit and plan alternative routes in case you don’t get it.

Read more about this hike in my blog post “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” and find much more detailed information on how to plan this trip, including variations of this route and insider tips in getting a permit for it, in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

See also my tips on hiking Half Dome.

Get full access to my Yosemite stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Backpackers hiking to Vogelsang Pass in Yosemite National Park.
Backpackers hiking to Vogelsang Pass in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Tuolumne Meadows to Tenaya Lake

The roughly 30-mile traverse from the Rafferty Creek Trailhead at the eastern end of Tuolumne Meadows to the Sunrise Lakes Trailhead at Tenaya Lake features not only those two amazing spots, but the panorama of mountains from Vogelsang Pass, the beautiful canyon of the Merced River, the view of the Cathedral Range from Sunrise, and relatively quiet sections of trail.

This hike passes three of the park’s High Sierra Camps—Vogelsang, Merced Lake, and Sunrise—where you can stay in tent cabins and have all meals prepared for you, or stay in DIY backpacker campgrounds. This route is popular because it’s relatively accessible, scenic, and offers the convenience of using the free shuttle buses that operate between trailheads throughout the Tuolumne area.

This is described as an alternative route in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” which provides a wealth of information on how to prepare for and take a backpacking trip in Yosemite.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

White Cascade (Glen Aulin Falls), near Glen Aulin in Yosemite National Park.
White Cascade (Glen Aulin Falls), near Glen Aulin in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my expert help planning your Yosemite trip.

The High Sierra Camps Loop

A hiker on the John Muir Trail below Cathedral Peak, Yosemite National Park.
Heather Dorn hiking the John Muir Trail in Yosemite.

One of the park’s most popular and scenic multi-day hikes, this roughly 47-mile loop from Tuolumne Meadows offers a signature Yosemite experience on a highlights tour around the Cathedral Range to the five High Sierra Camps: Glen Aulin, May Lake, Sunrise, Merced Lake, and Vogelsang.

You’ll enjoy views of granite domes and Cathedral Peak’s distinctive sharp profile; overlooks of the magnificent Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River and several waterfalls, including 594-foot Nevada Fall from a perch near its brink; gorgeous May Lake, Tenaya Lake, and Merced Lake; wildflower-choked meadows and crystalline creeks—and a surprisingly amount of solitude on sections of the loop, considering its easy access from several points.

There are ways to shorten the loop or lengthen it, options for side hikes to more lakes, waterfalls, and summits—including two of the best in Yosemite, Mount Hoffmann and Clouds Rest—and create alternate routes or start and finish from various trailheads, all of which can help you obtain a highly coveted wilderness permit. It’s also a beginner-friendly hike feasible for families and new backpackers, with amenities like toilets in all the backpacker campgrounds adjacent to the High Sierra camps (and the option of booking tent cabins in a High Sierra camp for every night and carrying only a daypack).

See photos and more about this area of the park in my stories “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite” and “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and find more detailed information on planning variations of this route in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

See some of Yosemite’s best scenery on “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite.”

Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley

Something of a classic ultra-dayhike or trail run—because it’s so darn beautiful but also predominantly downhill going in this direction—the approximately 19-mile traverse from the Cathedral Lakes Trailhead in Tuolumne to the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley follows an easy section of the John Muir Trail below the distinctive spire of Cathedral Peak; offers a choice between camping by or visiting the Cathedral Lakes or overlooking the meadows of Sunrise and the Cathedral Range; plus a chance to hike the cable route up Half Dome; and a second camp at Little Yosemite Valley before descending to the Valley via either the Mist Trail or JMT to the Valley.

Half Dome (left) and Yosemite Valley seen from the summit of Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Half Dome (left) and Yosemite Valley seen from the summit of Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.

Take the less-direct but thrilling detour from Sunrise to the 9,926-foot summit of Clouds Rest, one of the very best mountaintops in all of Yosemite (and far less busy than Half Dome), adding more than three miles and over a thousand feet of uphill and downhill. You will also have to choose between descending the more direct but steeper Mist Trail pass Nevada and Vernal Falls or the slightly longer and still scenic John Muir Trail, which bypasses the waterfalls.

This traverse requires a lengthy shuttle, but you can make the logistics much shorter and easier by finishing at the Sunrise Lakes Trailhead beside Tenaya Lake instead. And you could still hike Clouds Rest from the backcountry camp at Sunrise.

This hike crosses the popular area of the park described in my blog post “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite.” See also my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A backpacker hiking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite. Click photo to read about “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Yosemite Valley’s North Rim to Ten Lakes Basin

The 45-mile near-loop from Tioga Road may best illustrate the opportunities Yosemite offers to enjoy some of the park’s marquis scenery without running into conga lines of backpackers or dayhikers. The route scampers along one rim of Yosemite Valley—including one of the best Valley overlooks—and explores a lakes basin at 9,000 feet before finishing at one of the park’s prettiest lakes.

A friend and I spent our first evening in the backcountry alone atop a dome, soaking in a horizon that spanned from Half Dome to El Capitan and beyond; our second night beside a beautiful creek after a day of seeing few other people; and our third evening overlooking a lake, while hiking for hours at a time each day in solitude. And yet, almost incomprehensively, this area doesn’t see nearly the same demand for a coveted wilderness permit as Yosemite’s most popular trailheads. You could say this hike is hiding in plain sight.

I wrote about this trip in my feature story “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” which includes my tips on planning it yourself.

If you want to thru-hike the JMT, see “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit
and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-yosemite/feed/ 30 28133
My Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-25-most-scenic-days-of-hiking-ever/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-25-most-scenic-days-of-hiking-ever/#comments Sat, 17 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18847 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We can all remember specific places that we consider the best days of hiking we’ve ever had. I’ve been exceptionally fortunate: I have hiked many trails in America and around the world that would probably make anyone’s list of most-scenic hikes. From numerous trips in iconic national parks like Yosemite, Zion, Grand Canyon, and Glacier to the John Muir Trail and Teton Crest Trail and some of the world’s great treks, including the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, the Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Tongariro Alpine Crossing, Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails, and the icy and jagged mountains of Norway and Patagonia, here’s a list of the hands-down prettiest days I’ve ever spent walking dirt and rock footpaths.

I think you’ll find some places in here to add to your must-do list.

I’ve taken these adventures over the course of more than three decades working as an outdoor writer and photographer, formerly as Northwest Editor of Backpacking magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. Many of the photos in this story are from adventures widely recognized as classics, while others are from places you may not have heard of before.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route.
Justin Glass at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.

This list of my most scenic days of hiking runs to 39—yep, I know that seems like a lot of picks for a list of best days ever. (You should see some of the days I cut from this story.) I think as you go through this list of truly great hikes, you’ll understand my struggle to winnow it any further as you try to decide which of them to prioritize for your own to-do list. I think I’m giving you a whole lot of great choices.

Scroll through the photos and short anecdotes from each trip. They include links to stories at The Big Outside about those places, with my tips and information on how to plan those trips. Like many stories at this blog, part of those stories are free for anyone to read, but reading them in full, including my tips and information on how to plan those trips, is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

And I can help you plan any of these trips or any other you read about at this blog—giving you the benefit of my many years of professional experience identifying, planning, and successfully pulling off great adventures. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, and my expert e-books to some of America’s and the world’s best backpacking trips and treks.

I’d love to hear what you think of any of my photos or the places shown in them, or upcoming plans you have or are contemplating. Please share your thoughts or questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Happy trails.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A hiker atop Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton atop Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley.

Hiking Yosemite’s Clouds Rest and Half Dome

Traversing the slender summit ridge of 9,926-foot Clouds Rest, we walked what felt like a high wire between sphincter-puckering abysses in the heart of Yosemite National Park. Below one elbow, a drop-off of several hundred feet; on the other side, 4,000 feet—that’s a thousand feet taller than the face of El Capitan. It’s arguably the best summit view in Yosemite and one of the best reached by a trail in all of California’s High Sierra. On the first day of a 151-mile grand tour of that flagship park, four of us walked from the granite-framed shores of Tenaya Lake over Clouds Rest and on to one of America’s most famous summits: Half Dome. And after all that, we still weren’t even finished for the day.

See my story about that hike, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite,” “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

You want to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

A hiker near Skeleton Point on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim

We breezed down the narrow crest of the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail as the first light of day fell on one of the planet’s most magnificent and unfathomable landscapes: a mile-deep chasm with twisting side canyons, walls stacked in multi-colored layers, and an army of stone towers each standing thousands of feet tall. Three friends and I walked across the canyon from the South Rim to the North Rim, and back again—42 miles with over 22,000 feet of up and down—in one very long day. I’ve repeated the r2r2r running and hiking in one day and hiking it over two days. Wherever I hike for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll always rank hiking rim to rim among my greatest trail days ever.

See my stories “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “A Grand Ambition, or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” “9 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

A trekker on the Alta Via 2 north of Ball Pass in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Alta Via 2 north of Ball Pass in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

Trekking the Alta Via 2 in the Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains

Often described as “the world’s most beautiful trail,” the Alta Via 2 traces a roughly 112-mile/180km path through northern Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, which thrust a dizzying array of spires and serrated peaks into the sky, gleaming like polished jewels in sunshine and virtually pulsing with the salmon hue of evening alpenglow. On my family’s hut-to-hut trek of a 39-mile/62km section of the AV 2, jaw-dropping views became routine.

Trekkers on the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

But on the day we hiked from the Rosetta Hut (lead photo at top of story), in the sub-range known as the Pale di San Martino, down to the small mountain town of San Martino di Castrozza, we walked below one sheer limestone tower after another on a path that clung to vertiginous mountainsides, sometimes chopped from the face of a cliff.

See my story “The World’s Most Beautiful Trail: Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.”

Read any story linked here and ALL stories at The Big Outside.
Join now and you’ll also get a free e-book!

 

A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

Walking Across Zion

From the red-rock Kolob Canyons in the park’s northwest corner to the 2,000-foot, creamy white and blazing burgundy cliffs of Zion Canyon, Zion National Park harbors some of the most uniquely beautiful and beloved natural real estate in the entire National Park System. Hiking 50 miles across the entire park in a day, tagging highlights like Angels Landing and the West Rim Trail, seemed like the perfect way to experience a park without peer. That’s what several friends and I figured, anyway. Our adventure was proof that, even when events don’t proceed quite as planned, it can be a great day.

See my story “Mid-Life Crisis: Hiking 50 Miles Across Zion in a Day,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip on this list?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

Álftavatn Lake along Iceland's world-famous Laugavegur Trail.
Álftavatn Lake along Iceland’s world-famous Laugavegur Trail. Click photo to get a professional-quality print of this photo and others you see at The Big Outside.

Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails

Nearly every day that my family spent trekking hut to hut on Iceland’s 34-mile/55km Laugavegur Trail and 15.5-mile/25km Fimmvörðuháls Trail struck me as one of the prettiest days of hiking I’ve ever had.

A trekker on the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland.

Among those seven days of hiking, I feel compelled to spotlight four: The morning we spent dayhiking the peak named Bláhnúkur, from the hut at Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands (see the lead photo in this story); our third day on the Laugavegur, hiking from Álftavatn to Emstrur (photo above); and both days on the magnificent Fimmvörðuháls, hiking the spine of a narrow crest between two deep chasms and crossing a moonscape created by recent volcanic eruptions (photo at left) on day one, followed by descending a river valley past more than two dozen big, powerful waterfalls one after another—probably the single best waterfalls trail I’ve ever seen.

My advice: Just go trek both the Laugavegur and the Fimmvörðuháls trails.

See my feature story about my family’s hut trek on these two trails, “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails,” “9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road,” and “Earth, Wind, and Fire: A Journey to the Planet’s Beginnings in Iceland.”

Hike one of the world’s great treks using my e-book
The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

A backpacker on the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Geoff Sears hiking the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

Hiking from Many Glacier to Logan Pass, Glacier National Park

In the cool hours of early morning, my hiking partner and I set out from the Many Glacier complex on the east side of the park, heading toward Swiftcurrent Pass and eventually Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road: a traverse of 15.2 miles with about 2,000 feet of uphill. Neither of us had hiked these trails before, so we carried no expectations—and were amazed at every turn.

We walked below towering cliffs spliced by ribbon waterfalls, climbed to a notch hundreds of feet above the Grinnell Glacier, and followed the Highline Trail, an alpine footpath with sweeping views of the Northern Rockies where sightings of mountain goats and bighorn sheep are common.

See “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

A family trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.
My nephew Marco, daughter, Alex, and 80-year-old mom, Joanne, hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

Some hikes need no introduction. The Tour du Mont Blanc is one of them. One of the most storied, popular, and step-for-step majestic trails on the planet, the roughly 105-mile (170k) footpath around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot (4807m) Mont Blanc, passes through three countries—France, Italy, and Switzerland—delivering a cultural and culinary experience to match the scenery.

While there are few mediocre kilometers on the trek, one of our nine days walking it with family and friends really stood out scenically: day four, hiking from the Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini mountain hut into the resort town of Courmayeur, Italy, below a staggering array of knife-like spires.

See my story “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace.”

Save yourself a lot of time and avoid mistakes.
Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.
Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.

Backpacking the John Muir Trail from Evolution Basin to Mather Pass

The John Muir Trail, aka “America’s Most Beautiful Trail,” is a 211-mile journey through one of the most picturesque mountain ranges in the country—the High Sierra, which Ansel Adams dubbed “The Range of Light.” When a few friends and I knocked off the JMT in a week, we packed two or three normal days of hiking into each day. (The scenery was morphine for our aching feet.)

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, along the John Muir Trail in the Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your JMT hike.

But I have to give the edge to the day we ambulated from Evolution Lake in Kings Canyon National Park all the way to the Upper Basin of the South Fork Kings River: past the glassy lakes of the Evolution Basin, over 11,955-foot Muir Pass, through LeConte Canyon with its soaring granite walls, and over 12,100-foot Mather Pass, which we crossed as the setting sun set puffy clouds overhead afire.

I more recently returned to the Evolution Basin on a 130-mile hike, much of it on the JMT, and, yea, it’s still just as pretty as ever.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “10 Great Section Hikes on the John Muir Trail,” and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?

After the John Muir Trail, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Two Days Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Paintbrush Divide.

Having backpacked the Teton Crest Trail multiple times and taken perhaps two dozen hiking, climbing, and backcountry skiing trips throughout the Teton Range, I’ve gotten to know these incomparable peaks pretty well. But the two sections of the TCT that stand out scenically for me are the sections from Death Canyon Shelf to Hurricane Pass and from the North Fork of Cascade Canyon over Paintbrush Divide.

My experiences on those stretches of trail include a bull elk waking us by clomping around just outside our tents; early-morning moose sightings; uninterrupted views of these famously jagged mountains; and endless fields of wildflowers. I’ve had many magical days in the Tetons since my first backpacking trip there more than three decades ago, but I still consider those sections of the TCT its finest.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Hiking Capitol Reef’s Navajo Knobs Trail

Although it dwells in the shadow of the other four of Utah’s Big 5 national parks—Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, and Canyonlands—I’ve long seen Capitol Reef as chronically under-appreciated. And that was before I hiked the Navajo Knobs Trail, which I now consider one of the most beautiful dayhikes in the entire National Park System.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

A moderate, out-and-back hike (9.4 miles with 1,620 feet of up and down if you do it all, but the scenery is spectacular however far you go), it shares a trailhead with the short, very popular hike to Hickman Natural Bridge, but soon splits from it—and sees very light hiker traffic beyond that junction. The trail passes an overlook of Hickman Bridge, winds upward to a stunning viewpoint from the canyon rim 1,000 feet above the green Fremont River Valley, and then meanders along the rim, with almost constant views of the cliffs and rumpled topography of the Waterpocket Fold, giant formations like Pectols Pyramid, The Castle, and Fern’s Nipple, and the Henry Mountains in the distance.

It culminates with a fun bit of easy scrambling to the tiny summit of one of the pinnacles named the Navajo Knobs, worth the effort for the prospect it offers of the varied and fascinating geology and topography of Capitol Reef National Park.

See my story “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park.”

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

Dawn at Spangle Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Dawn at Spangle Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Two Days in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

The Sawtooths are another place where it’s difficult to pick just one or even a few standout days because there are so many—especially given how many days I’ve spent in those mountains that have been my home range for nearly three decades. But I feel comfortable spotlighting two (with the caveat that I could have chosen so many more).

On a July day some years back, my wife, Penny, and I started hiking in a cool, morning fog that hung thickly over the Sawtooth Valley and, four-and-a-half hours later—after almost seven miles and climbing 4,200 vertical feet uphill, after passing some beautiful alpine lakes and tarns, and culminating with a bit of airy scrambling, we stood on the small stone block that’s the 10,751-foot summit of Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Our reward (besides virtually every moment of the hike itself): a 360-degree panorama of the entire Sawtooth Range and the White Cloud Mountains across the valley.

A hiker on her way up Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, hiking Thompson Peak (the summit in upper right of photo), the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

And in August 2025, Penny and I, joined by two friends, backpacked a four-day route deep into the Sawtooths. On our third day, we hiked past several lovely and lonely wilderness lakes (including the lakes we camped by the previous night and that night), bagged two summits, and crossed three passes. It feels both hard to imagine a better day and yet such a common experience in the Sawtooths.

Watch for my upcoming story about that August 2025 trip. Meanwhile, see my story “The Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak,” my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths Mountains at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A backpacker above Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail (and the best sections of it).

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail

No multi-day hike in the contiguous United States compares with the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier—because there’s no mountain in the Lower 48 like glacier-clad, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier. The sight of “The Mountain” repeatedly filling the horizon at a seemingly unbelievable scale is thrilling every time. But this trail also features some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, countless waterfalls and cascades, crystalline creeks and raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and likely sightings of mountain goats, marmots, deer, and possibly black bears.

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt on the Wonderland Trail west of Sunrise in Mount Rainier National Park.

On the second day of a 77-mile hike on what I consider the WT’s best sections (a route described as one of the alternate itineraries in my Wonderland Trail e-book), two friends and I walked from the glorious meadows of Summerland on Rainier’s east side to more meadows west of Sunrise and eventually our campsite at Granite Creek, drinking in some of the best vistas along a path rich with amazing scenery.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “An American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.”

Want to hike the Wonderland Trail? Get my expert e-book
The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand's Tongariro National Park.
A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park.

Hiking New Zealand’s Incomparable Tongariro Alpine Crossing

I could create a separate list just of the most spectacular days I’ve spent in New Zealand. It would include day two on the Kepler Track, at least one day on the Dusky Track, and sea kayaking in Milford Sound and Doubtful Sound, all in Fiordland National Park, as well as days on the Cascade Saddle Route and the Whanganui River.

The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand.
The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

And in late fall 2024, I returned to New Zealand for my fourth trip, this one with my family, and we trekked the classic and popular Milford and Routeburn tracks—and the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. A 12-mile/19.4km traverse of Tongariro National Park in the central North Island, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing deserves ranking among the world’s great trails for its almost constant views of active, rugged volcanoes, massive craters, and lakes that all but glow with color. That’s why it’s on this list of mine.

See my stories “Hiking New Zealand’s Epic Tongariro Alpine Crossing” and “Super Volcanoes: Hiking the Steaming Peaks of New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park,” and all stories about adventures in New Zealand at The Big Outside.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A hiker in the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt hiking through the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.

Five Days Exploring the Wind River Range

Few places foil my attempts to pick favorite days of hiking more doggedly than the Winds—because few days walking through those mountains are mediocre. But I can spotlight a handful that feel extra special.

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake and Titcomb Basin in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake and Titcomb Basin in the Wind River Range.

A one-day, 27-mile, east-west traverse I made of the southern Wind River Range with friends felt like a stroll through mountain paradise. We spent much of our hike above 11,000 feet, drinking up vistas of peaks rising above 12,000 feet on the Continental Divide. We scrambled up 12,250-foot Mount Chauvenet, crossed the Lizard Head Plateau gaping at thick glaciers, and then put an exclamation point on our adventure by walking across the Cirque of the Towers, a horseshoe of sheer-walled granite peaks scratching at the clouds.

On the first day of a 39-mile backpacking trip, two friends and I hiked from the Elkhart Park trailhead, past Island Lake and several others, to camp in Titcomb Basin—an alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, where peaks on the Divide soar more than 3,000 feet above lakes rippling in the wind.

Backpackers hiking past a tarn off the Highline Trail (CDT) in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser and Penny Beach backpacking past a tarn off the Highline Trail (CDT) in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Three companions and I backpacked one of the most audacious and magnificent wilderness adventures in the country: traversing the range south to north on the 96-mile Wind River High Route. While most of that week arguably belongs on this list, our fourth day began with crossing Sentry Peak Pass and passing a tiny tarn reflecting a row of incisor mountains in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake (photo near the top of this story), moved on to a second 11,000-foot pass and eventually reached 12,000 feet on the Divide at Europe Peak.

A backpacker descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming. Click photo to get my help planning your next trip.

Backpacking a 43-mile loop, my wife, a friend, and I started our second day from one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had (photo above of reflection in a tarn), walked a stunning stretch of the Highline/Continental Divide Trail past two of the prettiest backcountry lakes I’ve hiked past and more lakes that came close, crossed three high passes, and finally, camped by a lake that reflected the alpenglow on the peaks.

Most recently, on a four-day hike in August 2023, a friend and I crossed three passes on our third day, the middle one, Texas Pass, depositing us in the Cirque of the Towers via a back door of sorts that may have sealed my impression that we were on the best multi-day hike in the Winds. Watch for my upcoming story about that trip.

See all stories about backpacking in the Winds at the Big Outside, including “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup,” “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range,” “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route,” and “A Walk in the Winds: Dayhiking 27 Miles Across the Wind River Range.”

I’ve helped many readers plan a great backpacking trip in the Winds that was ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, too.

Our 27-mile Winds dayhike is one of “America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

Backpacking The Narrows, Zion National Park

Tough call deciding whether the first or second day backpacking Zion’s Narrows deserves a spot on this list. But take this classic, two-day backpacking trip and you’ll get to decide for yourself. Walking down the mostly shallow North Fork of the Virgin River between close sandstone walls that rise up to a thousand feet overhead, with trees and lush hanging gardens contrasted against rock painted in a rainbow of colors, Zion’s Narrows keeps getting more spectacular with every step.

Read my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Click here now to get my e-book to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

A trekker overlooking the Grey Glacier on the "W" circuit in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chilean Patagonia.
Jeff Wilhelm overlooking the Grey Glacier on the “W” circuit in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chilean Patagonia.

Hiking Above the Gray Glacier, Torres del Paine National Park, Chile

A rumble of thunder ripped through the air, audible over the persistent wind—but it wasn’t thunder. A few hundred feet below our rocky overlook in Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park, a slowly widening ring of small bergs floated in the lake, shrapnel from a massive chunk of ice that had just calved off the snout of the Grey Glacier. We were ascending a trail over a mountainside scoured to bedrock by ancient ice, scaling hundred-foot-tall steel ladders anchored to the earthen walls of gorges, while looking out over a river of ice two miles across and 17 miles long. Part of the spectacular “W” trek in this park in Chile’s Patagonia region, it was a 19-mile day that ended when we walked up to the Paine Grande Lodge after dark, buzzing with excitement.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine,” and all stories about hiking in Patagonia at The Big Outside.

A family of hikers at the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the background.
Three generations of my family at the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the background.

Hiking Mount St. Helens

The catastrophic eruption that decapitated Washington’s Mount St. Helens on May 18, 1980, removing almost 1,300 vertical feet of mountaintop, ironically created one of America’s most strikingly beautiful, fascinating, and coveted dayhikes. On a climb up the mountain’s standard Monitor Ridge route—10 miles and 4,500 vertical feet up and down, most of it over a rugged and stark moonscape of loose rocks, pumice, and ash—you’ll soak up views of several Cascade Range volcanoes, and eventually stand atop the rim’s crumbling cliffs, gazing out over a vast hole 2,000 feet deep and nearly two miles across.

See my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Pushing Limits on Mount St. Helens.”

Got an all-time favorite campsite? I have a few great ones.
See “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Three Days on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier

On a couple of long, north-south traverses of Glacier in September 2018 and again in September 2023, mostly following two variations of the Continental Divide Trail from the Belly River Trailhead to Two Medicine, friends and I saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a grizzly bear, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening—and we enjoyed mountain views unlike anywhere else in America.

As difficult as it is to pick out which days on those hikes stood out, I can point to three in particular: hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail from the Belly River Valley to Many Glacier; hiking below the cliffs of the Garden Wall to cross Piegan Pass; and following the high, alpine Dawson Pass Trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass—jaw-dropping, all of them.

Glacier does that to me every time I go there.

See my stories about those two trips, “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Save yourself a lot of time. Get my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

Toleak Point, Olympic coast, Olympic National Park.

Backpacking Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, Southern Olympic Coast

You won’t find much on the longest strip of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States, the shore of Washington’s Olympic National Park—just seals, sea lions, sea otters, bald eagles, many species of seabirds and whales, and trees 10 to 15 feet in diameter and growing over 200 feet tall. On the middle day of a three-day, 17.5-mile backpacking trip, hiking from Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, my family explored tide pools and boulders coated with mussels, sea stars, and sea anemones, looked out on scores of stone pinnacles rising out of the ocean, and camped on a wilderness beach. I’m not sure who had more fun, the kids or the adults.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” and all stories about Olympic National Park at The Big Outside.

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Two young girls backpacking Paria Canyon in southern Utah and northern Arizona.
My daughter, Alex, and friend Sofi backpacking Paria Canyon in southern Utah and northern Arizona.
A backpacker hiking down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch.

Two Days Backpacking Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch

Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon yet again in April 2025, I was reminded just how uniquely spectacular they both are. With walls that rise to perhaps 200 feet tall and close in so tightly at times that an adult wearing a backpack can barely squeeze through, Buckskin is widely regarded as the longest slot canyon in America.

And Paria Canyon, hiked by itself or in combination with Buckskin, has long been widely considered one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest—and I would argue one of the top three or five, for its own deep narrows section stretching for miles.

Walking through these canyons always reveals that the greatest magic of narrow canyons is how the diffused light paints the orange and red walls in too many shades of those colors to quantify, as well as shades of brown and a deep black that looks like an oil spill—creating stark contrasts that delight and mystify the human eye and brain. Buckskin and Paria each deserve a day on this list.

See my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Explore the best of the Southwest on “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” and
The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A young girl at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Backpacking the High Sierra Trail, Sequoia National Park

We weren’t far into a nearly 40-mile family backpacking trip in Sequoia before I realized it promised to be one of the most photogenic places I’ve ever hiked. Part of one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48, it’s home to many of the highest mountains outside Alaska, lonely backcountry groves of giant sequoias, and crystal-clear alpine lakes.

On our third day, hiking the High Sierra Trail from Bearpaw Meadow toward 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap, we traversed a cliff face hundreds of feet above the deep Middle Fork Kaweah River. We stopped for lunch and a swim at the Hamilton Lakes, which are almost completely enclosed by towering cliffs and pinnacles. By late afternoon, we found campsites at Precipice Lake at 10,400 feet, its glassy, green and blue waters reflecting white and golden cliffs (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites).

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park.”


Decorate your walls with beautiful photos from your favorite wild places. Click here now to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Kris Wagner backpacking the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

Four More Days in the Grand Canyon

Deer Creek Falls on the Grand Canyon's Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.
Deer Creek Falls on the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.

If the Grand Canyon looms large in this story—and in others at The Big Outside, like “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest”—that’s because it looms even larger in my perspective and that of probably every backpacker who ventures into it. In fact, besides hiking rim to rim to rim (described above), I can think of at least a few more days of backpacking in the Big Ditch that rank among my most scenic ever.

Those would include the second day on the very rugged and infrequently hiked, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, which featured just about everything that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, a sandy beach beside the Colorado River, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens, a high solitude quotient—even some spicy scrambling and a fun rappel off a cliff—not to mention one of the best campsites in the entire canyon, below Royal Arch (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites).

It would also include the day that two friends and I traversed most of the Escalante Route, one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, on a 74-mile hike from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Lipan Point. And I’d have to include day three on yet another rugged and remote GC hike, the 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, which features some of the canyon’s loveliest waterfalls, narrows, and desert oases.

Oh, and then there’s almost any day on the Gems Route, the most remote section of the Tonto Trail, from the South Bass Trailhead to the Boucher Trail.

See my stories “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop,” “Let’s Talk Water: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” and “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

Click here now to get 20% off my e-books
to the best first backpacking trips in Yosemite and the Grand Canyon.

 

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

Backpacking the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canadian Rockies

My family’s second day on the 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park was long and hard—12 miles over two 7,000-foot passes—but we had the most effective painkiller: views that even impressed our 14- and 12-year-old kids. One of Canada’s most popular and stunningly scenic hikes—and really deserving a spot on the list of the world’s finest treks—it follows the base of an almost unbroken limestone cliff up to 3,000 feet (900m) tall. We started that day below 1,154-foot (352m) Helmet Falls, one of the tallest in the Canadian Rockies, and hiked to Numa Creek, crossing meadows carpeted in wildflowers below hanging glaciers, and sighting four mountain goats at Tumbling Pass.

See my story about backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A hiker near the summit of Galdhøpiggen (2469m), the highest peak in Norway.
My wife, Penny, near the summit of Galdhøpiggen (2469m), the highest peak in Norway.

Climbing Norway’s Highest Peak

Under a brilliantly blue morning sky in the highest mountains in northern Europe, my wife, Penny, our friend, Jeff Wilhelm, and I started a 5,000-foot climb of the highest peak in Norway, 8,100-foot Galdhøpiggen. It was the final day of a 60-mile trek in Jotunheimen National Park—another trip which every day could legitimately be the one chosen for this story—and we could have lounged in our last hut, but were glad we didn’t.

Ascending a treeless mountainside, we gained increasingly longer views of a rugged, Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers, where cliffs and peaks look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. At the chilly, windblown summit, we stood above a sea of snowy mountains and glaciers. And, of course, it being Europe, there was a hut at the summit where we could buy hot cocoas.

See my story “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park” and all stories about international trips at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-25-most-scenic-days-of-hiking-ever/feed/ 20 18847
Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-to-backpack-first-time-in-yosemite/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-to-backpack-first-time-in-yosemite/#comments Thu, 15 Jan 2026 10:00:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10632 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Ready for your first backpacking trip in one of America’s greatest national parks for backpackers? Having backpacked several times all over Yosemite, my advice for a first-time backpacker who wants to hit highlights like Yosemite Valley, the Mist Trail, and Half Dome is nearly identical to the itinerary I followed on my first trip more than three decades ago—but modified because now I know better.

This magnificent, beginner-friendly, four- to five-day, 37-mile loop from Yosemite Valley through the core of the park includes following the Mist Trail past 317-foot Vernal Fall and 594-foot Nevada Fall, ascending the cable route up Half Dome, reaching the equally spectacular (but much less busy) summit of Clouds Rest, walking a very pretty section of the world-famous John Muir Trail, and overlooking the jagged Cathedral Range from a campsite on the edge of alpine meadows at Sunrise.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click the photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley is probably the most popular trailhead in the park—it also happens to be the northern terminus of the John Muir Trail—and the park issues backcountry permits based on a daily quota of people starting from each trailhead, so it’s hard to get a permit to start at Happy Isles. But if you get it, hike up the Mist Trail to Little Yosemite Valley (also hugely popular) to camp your first night.

Get an early start that first day so you can get ahead of the Mist Trail crowds and hike Half Dome (lead photo at top of story is from the top of Half Dome) without your gear that first afternoon; by then, most hikers are coming down, you’ll share the summit with fewer people (but make sure no afternoon thunderstorms are threatening). Or even better, hike Half Dome really early on day two, ahead of just about everyone—I’ve done that, it’s when you’ll share Half Dome with the fewest people.

Click here now for my detailed, expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.
A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite. Click photo to get my expert custom trip planning for your Yosemite backpacking adventure or any trip you read about at this blog.

Day two, head north on the John Muir Trail to camp at Sunrise. Day three, from Sunrise, hike over Clouds Rest, one of the best summits in the park, and descend to camp again in Little Yosemite Valley.

Last day, hike down the John Muir Trail back to Happy Isles, passing a classic view of Nevada Fall, Liberty Cap, and the backside of Half Dome.

My popular, expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite” describes that route it in far greater detail, including suggested daily itineraries for hiking it in four or five days, plus alternate itineraries for backpacking trips in that spectacular core of Yosemite, between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows. It shares my insights on getting a coveted permit in Yosemite and my experience of multiple trips in this area of the park going back more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Yosemite.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A backpacker hiking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite. Click photo to read about “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

How to Get a Yosemite Wilderness Permit

In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas, with special rules for backpacking the John Muir Trail. Sixty percent of permit reservations are available by lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning at 12:01 a.m. Pacific Time on the Sunday up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the next Saturday. You will be notified of whether you get a permit reservation within two business days after the lottery closes.

The remaining 40 percent of permits are made available at recreation.gov/permits/445859 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time up to seven days in advance of a trip start date.

Check out “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite.”

Dying to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-books to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

Hiking the John Muir Trail below Cathedral Peak, Yosemite.
Hiking the John Muir Trail below Cathedral Peak, Yosemite.

Permits are valid for continuous wilderness travel from the park into adjacent wilderness areas; similarly, wilderness permits issued by other agencies for beginning a trip in another national park or forest in the High Sierra—including Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and the Inyo National Forest—is valid for continuous wilderness travel into Yosemite National Park.

See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

If you can’t get a permit to start at Happy Isles, you can do almost the same route starting at Glacier Point, following the Panorama Trail to Nevada Fall.

See all of my stories about backpacking in Yosemite, including  “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” about gorgeous multi-day hikes in the park’s most remote areas—trips to consider when you’re ready for a bigger adventure in Yosemite. (Most stories about trips at The Big Outside require a paid subscription to read in full.)

My e-books to those two hikes south of Tuolumne and north of Tuolumne tell you everything you need to know to plan and successfully pull off either trip.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-to-backpack-first-time-in-yosemite/feed/ 28 10632
The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/insider-tips-the-10-best-hikes-in-zion-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/insider-tips-the-10-best-hikes-in-zion-national-park/#comments Wed, 14 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30469 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

At a bit over 148,000 acres, Zion comes nowhere near America’s largest national parks in sheer immensity. Zion could fit inside Yosemite National Park five times, inside the Everglades 10 times, inside Yellowstone 15 times, and inside our largest park, Alaska’s Wrangell-St. Elias, 89 times. But if you’re a hiker, Zion harbors, mile for mile, some of the most breathtaking scenery to be found on any trails in the National Park System.

This story will point you to Zion’s 10 best dayhikes, based on my personal experience of many visits there over the past three decades, including formerly as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for about 10 years and even longer running this blog.

You will also find in this story my insider tips on how to avoid the crowds when hiking in what is one of the most-visited national parks. Follow those tips and you will discover an entirely different experience when you’re not sharing the trails with hundreds of other hikers—as are often seen on hikes like Angels Landing and the lower Narrows from spring through fall. Much of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading it all, including my tips for avoiding crowds plus the story’s last four hikes, is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter and receive great ideas for your next adventures. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker on the West Rim Trail, Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

The park’s free shuttle buses operate regularly between the visitor center, just inside the south entrance, to the end of the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive—which is usually closed to private vehicles—for most of the year. See the park’s Information Guide at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/publications.htm. The visitor center parking lot fills early in the day. The Springdale town shuttle connects to the park’s shuttles and there is public parking in Springdale, shown on this map. It’s often easiest to take the town shuttle to stop number one, just outside the park entrance, and use the pedestrian entrance and footbridge over the Virgin River, walking just minutes to the visitor center.

Trails and roads in Zion are occasionally closed due to rockfall, construction, or other reasons. Check current conditions at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/conditions.htm.

I’d love to hear what you think of these hikes or any suggestions for your favorite hikes in Zion, as well as your thoughts on my tips for avoiding what can be huge crowds on the most popular hikes. Share them—and read others—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.

Angels Landing

5 miles round-trip, 1,488 vertical feet up and down
Trailhead: The Grotto (shuttle bus stop no. 6)

You know Angels Landing belongs on any list of the best hikes in Zion—not to mention the best hikes in Utah’s national parks, and the best hikes in the entire National Park System. The five-mile, nearly 1,500-foot round-trip hike reaches its apex in one of the most thrilling half-mile stretches of trail in America. The “trail” follows a knife-edge spine of rock, with chain handrails and steps chiseled out of sandstone in spots. At the summit of this famous pinnacle, you can do a slow spin and see all of Zion Canyon—and its elevation 1,500 feet above the canyon bottom but still hundreds of feet below the canyon rims gives you a unique panorama of one of America’s prettiest natural wonders.

From the Grotto, the West Rim Trail ascends steep switchbacks that get morning sun and can be hot early, to Refrigerator Canyon—often shady and cool—and then the tight switchbacks of Walter’s Wiggles. At Scout Lookout, where the West Rim Trail continues upward, follow the 0.4-mile spur trail up the very exposed crest of Angels Landing to its summit, with fixed chains and steps chopped out of the rock in places. While the ridge offers only a few wider spots (where hikers can safely pass one another), the broader summit area has plenty of space to sit and enjoy one of the park’s best 360-degree panoramas.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A woman and girl at the summit of Angels Landing in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, at the summit of Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

If you have the time and energy, continue up the West Rim Trail into an area of towering beehives, multi-colored cliffs, and increasingly dramatic views of Zion Canyon—spectacular scenery however far you go. (See West Rim Trail description below.)

Angels has a well-deserved reputation as thrilling and scary for its exposure. For anyone who has a fear of heights, it can be terrifying. But hikers accustomed to a little exposure will likely find nothing more difficult than a few sections of short, moderately challenging scrambling. Young kids with the stamina for it, and who will follow instructions, are safe as long as you shadow them closely through exposed sections.

Scroll down to my insider tips for the smartest strategy for avoiding the crowds on Angels Landing and the West Rim Trail.

Due to the hike’s enormous popularity, Zion National Park holds a seasonal lottery four times per year for permits to dayhike Angels Landing at recreation.gov. Key lottery dates for Zion’s two peak hiking seasons, spring and fall, are Jan. 1-20 for hiking permits from March 1 through May 31, held at recreation.gov/permits/4675310; and July 1-20 for hiking dates Sept. 1 through Nov. 30, held at recreation.gov/permits/4675325. A separate lottery for dayhiking permits is held daily; apply for one before 3 p.m. Mountain Time the day before you want to hike it.

The permit is only required for hiking the spur trail up Angels Landing; anyone can hike as far as Scout Lookout without a permit. Learn more about the lottery and find a link to the daily lottery at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/angels-landing-hiking-permits.htm.

See my story “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know.”

Gear up right for hiking in Zion.
See the best hiking shoes and “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

A hiker at Observation Point in Zion National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at Observation Point in Zion National Park.

Observation Point

8 miles round-trip, 2,148 vertical feet up and down
Trailhead: Weeping Rock (shuttle bus stop no. 7)

Alternate route: about 7 miles round-trip, 800 feet up and down
Trailhead: East Mesa Trail

Unfortunately, two of the best hikes in Zion Canyon, the Observation Point Trail and Hidden Canyon (below, which can be combined), have been closed since a major rockfall in 2019, with no indications of reopening. The usual access, the East Rim Trail at Weeping Rock in Zion Canyon, is closed, barring access from there to Observation Point and to the Hidden Canyon Trail, as is Weeping Rock shuttle stop no. 7 in Zion Canyon.

Fortunately, there is an alternative route to Observation Point from the East Mesa Trailhead, at about 6,500 feet outside the park. To reach that trailhead, from the park’s East Entrance, drive 2.5 miles east on UT 9 and turn left onto North Fork County Road; follow it for 5.4 miles and turn left/west onto Twin Knoll/Pine Angle Road. Continue straight past the left turn onto Buck Road, then swing right/north onto Beaver Road, which could get rough before reaching the East Mesa Trailhead. The dirt roads on the East Mesa are passable for most cars when dry and can become impassable even for four-wheel-drive vehicles when wet; but the road to East Mesa Trailhead may require 4WD.

The East Mesa Trail leads west and southwest across the high, ponderosa pine-forested plateau, which lacks the constant, magnificent scenery of the East Rim Trail from Zion Canyon to Observation Point; but it may offer more solitude and does get much more interesting after it passes the head of Mystery Canyon (don’t wander down into that technical canyon) some two miles from the trailhead. At the junction of the East Mesa and East Rim trails, about 3.1 miles from the East Mesa Trailhead, turn right/west and follow that trail, with little uphill, to where it ends at Observation Point, high above Zion Canyon and distinctive Angels Landing below and across the canyon.

Hikers on the trail Observation Point in Zion National Park.

Hiking to Observation Point from the Weeping Rock Trailhead, the stunning views begin minutes after you start out and keep getting better all the way to Observation Point, where you stand at the brink of sheer cliffs more than 2,000 feet above Zion Canyon. In fact, it’s arguably prettier and more varied than Angels Landing. It’s also a longer and harder hike than Angels at eight miles and more than 2,100 vertical feet round-trip, but on a good trail that’s mostly solid rock or paved.

There are three distinctly different sections of the hike to Observation Point—all beautiful. The lower stretch zigzags up through a natural bowl in the cliffs above Weeping Rock (which you’ll get a view of below you), gaining elevation and more-expansive views rapidly with each switchback. The middle section enters the often-shady narrows of Echo Canyon, where a stream spawns greenery and pools of water reflect soaring red and white walls; watch for bighorn sheep at less-busy times of day. The upper section of trail breaks out into the sunshine while ascending switchbacks overlooking the dramatic geology of Echo Canyon (lead photo at top of story), then makes a high, airy traverse above Zion Canyon to Observation Point.

Fit hikers can easily combine this with the half-mile-long spur trail off it to Hidden Canyon; plan at least an hour round-trip for the latter, especially if you want to explore beyond the mouth of Hidden Canyon (see below).

Want my help planning any trip you read about at my blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A hiker in The Subway, Zion National Park.
David Gordon hiking The Subway in Zion National Park.

The Subway

9.5 miles, about 2,000 vertical feet downhill and 400 feet uphill
Trailheads: Upper end at Wildcat Canyon Trailhead, 15.5 miles up Kolob Terrace Road; lower end at Left Fork Trailhead, 8.2 miles up Kolob Terrace Road.

Zion’s most-famous, technical slot canyon, the Subway takes its name from a bend where flash floods have bored a colorful, round passage that resembles a subway tunnel. But it’s so much more than that one, oft-photographed spot. Descending it 9.5 miles from top to bottom—which requires only beginner-level canyoneering skills and a popular, one-day permit that’s difficult to get—takes you through a canyon at times wider than a soccer pitch, with trees growing in the shade of walls hundreds of feet tall, which narrows to a slot barely more than shoulder-width across. Like Angels Landing, the Narrows, and arguably Observation Point, the Subway is considered by some to be one of the most scenic and certainly most adventurous one-day outings in the National Park System.

A hiker wading a pool in the Subway, Zion National Park.
David Gordon wading a pool in the Subway, Zion National Park.

Also known as the Left Fork of North Creek, the top-to-bottom descent (from the Wildcat Canyon Trailhead to the Left Fork Trailhead) has long sections that do not follow a maintained trail. After following the Wildcat Canyon Trail and turning south onto the Northgate Peaks Trail, watch for a small sign indicating the start of the Subway route. Marked by occasional cairns, it still requires route-finding to descend Russell Gulch, which becomes quite steep and loose near its bottom. Once in the Left Fork Canyon, you will clamber over giant boulders in a twisting canyon of wildly sculpted, kaleidoscopic walls, wade or swim a few deep, frigid pools (bring a dry suit, which can be rented in Springdale), and make three rappels (the longest of them 30 feet, the other two much shorter).

It can also be dayhiked partway from the bottom up, a strenuous more than six miles out-and-back from the Left Fork Trailhead on Kolob Terrace Road, getting as far as the famous subway tunnel before you have to turn around at the base of cliffs. The bottom-up hike features rugged terrain and a creek crossing in each direction. But that’s a very different experience because you see much less of the canyon’s best sections—and you encounter a lot more people. It also requires a one-day permit. If you have the skills for it, do this hike from top to bottom.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 1: Hiking Zion’s Subway,” for many photos and details on how to get a popular one-day permit for this classic hike. Don’t enter the Subway with rain in the forecast.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

The Riverside Walk and The Narrows

2.2 to 10 miles round-trip, nearly flat
Trailhead: Temple of Sinawava (shuttle bus stop no. 9)

Along the Riverside Walk, in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Along the Riverside Walk, in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

One of the most magnificent and unique hikes in the national parks, the Narrows begins at the upper end of Zion Canyon, where the North Fork of the Virgin River has, over eons, carved out a canyon with sheer walls that tower up to a thousand feet overhead and, at times, squeeze so closely together that they turn daylight to dusk. Hiking much of the time in the river, you will find yourself craning your neck up at a canyon that changes with every bend. Springs create waterfalls pouring from rock walls, nurturing hanging gardens in the desert.

The hike begins on the flat, wheelchair-accessible, 1.1-mile (one-way) Riverside Trail, itself a fine, very easy hike, paralleling the river beneath red cliffs and shady cottonwood trees whose leaves turn golden in fall. At the end of that trail, you enter the river and follow it upstream, turning back anytime; it’s usually easy to avoid any sections of deeper, slightly faster current. At Orderville Canyon, a narrow tributary about 2.5 miles from the trailhead (on the right when walking upstream), you enter the deepest and darkest portion of the Narrows, the roughly two-mile-long stretch known as Wall Street, where the river often spans the canyon wall to wall. Wall Street ends just before Big Spring, roughly five miles up the Narrows, beyond which hiking is prohibited without a backcountry permit.

Enormously popular, the lower Narrows teems with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dayhikers on hot days of late spring and summer, when the river is low and warmer. Scroll down to my insider tips for avoiding crowds when hiking in Zion; it includes two tips specific to the Narrows.

Hikers in the lower Narrows in Zion National Park.

You are often walking directly in the river, which is typically ankle- to calf-deep, occasionally up to thigh- or waist-deep, frequently with slippery cobblestones underfoot. That will slow your hiking pace more than expected for a flat hike. Use poles or a walking stick. The water is cold in spring and fall, and there’s little direct sunlight in the Narrows, where the temperature can be about 10 degrees cooler than in Zion Canyon; plus, the wind frequently blows down canyon, making it feel colder. Bring multiple clothing layers—especially if hiking in early morning in spring or fall—and if you don’t own canyoneering boots, neoprene socks, and dry pants, rent them in Springdale. (One rental place is located in the parking lot right across the footbridge leading into the park.) Don’t hike the Narrows with rain in the forecast.

Carry all of the drinking water you’ll need for the Narrows; the river is often murky. You can also refill water at Big Spring if you get that far; you may want to treat it, although I often drink spring water untreated when captured right at its source. (See my favorite water-filter bottles and other water treatment in my review of essential backpacking gear accessories.)

See my feature story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows,” about a top-to-bottom, overnight trip down it.

Click here now to get my expert e-book to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

Hikers on the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion National Park.

Hidden Canyon

2.2 miles round-trip, 1,000 vertical feet up and down
Trailhead: Weeping Rock (shuttle bus stop no. 7)

Note: Hidden Canyon has been closed since a major rockfall in 2019, with no indications of reopening, and remains inaccessible.

In a place with crazy, mind-boggling scenery around every corner, the 2.5-mile round-trip hike to Hidden Canyon is arguably the most beautiful hike under three miles in the park.

Beginning from the same trailhead as the Observation Point hike, the trail to Hidden Canyon diverges to the right less than a mile up. It ascends switchbacks and traverses the canyon wall, including a section traversing the cliff face that’s wide and safe but exposed.

It’s quite scenic all the way to the mouth of Hidden Canyon, where the trail officially ends. If you’re up for a little scrambling, continue beyond the mouth of Hidden Canyon into the slot canyon, where tight walls rise high overhead; I’ve seen an owl napping in a small tree in this slot canyon. Before long, you’ll reach a sign marking the turnaround point.

See below my tips on avoiding the crowds while hiking in Zion, which include a specific plan for combining Hidden Canyon with two of the other best hikes in Zion Canyon in a single, big dayhike (if the park reopens Hidden Canyon).

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.

West Rim Trail

16.6 miles (top to bottom), about 800 vertical feet up and 3,600 feet down, or shorter variations
Trailheads: bottom end is the Grotto (shuttle bus stop no. 6), top end is the West Rim Trailhead near Lava Point

I’ve met longtime locals who call this their favorite trail in all of Zion, and it’s easy to see why. Stretching nearly 17 miles from near Lava Point off the Kolob Terrace Road to the Grotto in Zion Canyon, the West Rim Trail traverses a high plateau dividing the almost impenetrable labyrinth of canyons and mesas on its west side from the Narrows and Zion Canyon to the east and southeast. Some of the best backcountry viewpoints in the park are along this footpath.

It can be dayhiked or backpacked in either direction—though it’s mostly downhill going from top to bottom—or dayhiked out-and-back from the Grotto for as far as you’d like to go. The most scenic stretch of the West Rim Trail lies between Refrigerator Canyon (below Walter’s Wiggles and the spur trail to Angels Landing) and the upper junction with the Telephone Canyon Trail (just south of Potato Hollow). So you can see all of that on an out-and-back dayhike from the Grotto that’s the same distance as hiking the West Rim Trail from top to bottom, without requiring a shuttle—but of course, requiring you to hike up and down about 3,000 vertical feet.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Zion, Yosemite, and other parks using my e-books.

A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.
A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.

The three springs along the West Rim Trail— Beatty, Sawmill, and Cabin springs—are usually reliable, though they recharge slowly at times. Reach the upper West Rim Trailhead by driving 25 miles up Kolob Terrace Road, then turning onto the road to Lava Point and the West Rim Trailhead and continuing about two miles. That road get rough for standard cars in wet conditions, but you can start at Lava Point and hike down the road. Shuttle services are available in Springdale. Kolob Terrace Road is rendered impassable by snow in winter.

See my feature stories about backpacking in the Kolob Canyons and on the West Rim Trail with my family and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon and the East Rim Trailhead.

There are more dayhikes in Zion that could be on this list—not to mention backpacking trips and canyoneering adventures. Consider these 10 hikes a great starter list for a park you’ll want to explore further.

See all stories about Zion at The Big Outside, or scroll down to Zion on my All National Park Trips page. Planning to combine Zion and Bryce in one trip? See “The Best Hike in Bryce Canyon National Park.”

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/insider-tips-the-10-best-hikes-in-zion-national-park/feed/ 17 30469
Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-angels-landing-what-you-need-to-know/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-angels-landing-what-you-need-to-know/#comments Tue, 13 Jan 2026 10:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18317 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Thrilling, scenic, and enormously popular, an impressive feat of trail building, an intimidating and exposed scramble—these are some of the descriptions commonly given to Angels Landing in Zion National Park, all of them accurate. It also has a reputation as one of the scariest and most dangerous hikes in the National Park System—a claim that would seem somewhat overblown just by virtue of the fact that innumerable thousands of people, including many novice hikers, safely venture up and down it every year. For those willing to brave the exposure, the 5,790-foot summit offers arguably the best view of Zion Canyon.

Constructed nearly a century ago and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, now one of the classic dayhikes in America and certainly one of “The Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks“ and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” Angels Landing is safe for anyone exercising reasonable caution and should be in the sights of every avid hiker. This story explains what you need to know about it.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

I have hiked Angels Landing several times over the years—and taken my kids up it as young as age five. I’ve hiked it at times when the trail was packed with a conga line of hikers and at times when I’ve enjoyed it nearly to myself. I’ve seen the many faces of Angels Landing and enjoyed it every time.

The out-and-back hike begins from the Grotto Trailhead in Zion Canyon, shuttle stop number six on the free and frequent park shuttle buses that operate from mid-March through October. (Private vehicles are generally only permitted in upper Zion Canyon outside the season that the park shuttles operate.)

Due to the hike’s enormous popularity, Zion National Park launched on April 1, 2022, a permit system for dayhiking Angels Landing. A seasonal lottery held four times per year at recreation.gov makes permits available for three-month periods throughout the year. Key lottery dates for Zion’s two peak hiking seasons, spring and fall, are 13-25 for hiking permits from March 1 through May 31, held at recreation.gov/permits/4675310; and for hiking dates from Sept. 1 through Nov. 30, the lottery dates in 2025 were July 1-20 and held at recreation.gov/permits/4675325, but the lottery dates for fall 2026 have not been announced yet. The permit is only required for hiking the spur trail up Angels Landing; anyone can hike as far as Scout Lookout without a permit.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A young girl hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.

A separate lottery for dayhiking permits is held daily; apply for one before 3 p.m. Mountain Time the day before you want to hike it. Learn more about the lottery and find a link to the daily lottery at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/angels-landing-hiking-permits.htm.

Nearly five miles and 1,500 vertical feet round-trip, the route is paved for roughly its first two miles on the West Rim Trail, including the cool slot of Refrigerator Canyon and the 21 steep switchbacks known as Walter’s Wiggles. Then you reach Scout Lookout, at the beginning of the spur trail ascending the narrow, sandstone fin of Angels Landing, where hikers encounter steps carved into rock, steep scrambling, chain handrails anchored into the rock in the most intimidating spots, and drop-offs of 1,000 feet or more to each side.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Learn more here.

A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Anyone uncomfortable with the looks of Angels Landing can turn around at Scout Lookout. Beyond that point, many hikers who do not have a fear of heights generally have no trouble with the difficulty of the scrambling. There are fixtures in place in many spots to assist your ascent and descent.

The prime seasons are spring (April through June) and fall (mid-September through October), when temperatures are moderate and the trail is often dry. If the forecast calls for high temperatures (and to avoid the crowds), either start early in the morning, or if your party consists of strong hikers, wait until afternoon, when you’ll get more shade for the ascent and have beautiful, late-day sunlight slanting across the canyon for your summit view. Bring a headlamp for the descent and get off the Angels Landing spur trail in daylight. Avoid the hike in high winds, icy or wet conditions, or if lightning threatens.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Angels Landing has been the scene of several fatalities from falls, but if done with caution in dry weather, it’s safe for adults and school-age kids.

See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park” and a menu of all stories about Zion National Park, including feature stories about a family backpacking trip, a 50-mile dayhike across the park, hiking Zion’s Subway, and backpacking Zion’s Narrows, plus all stories about national park adventures, hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, and family adventures at The Big Outside.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-angels-landing-what-you-need-to-know/feed/ 8 18317
The Best Backpacking Trips in Zion National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trips-in-zion-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trips-in-zion-national-park/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59760 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

If you invited all of the major Western national parks to a big family dinner, Zion would sit at the kids’ table. At a bit over 148,000 acres, Zion is dwarfed by the iconic wilderness parks that are the most sought-after by backpackers, like Yosemite (which is five times larger), Glacier (nearly seven times larger), and Grand Canyon (eight times larger), all of them with hundreds of miles of trails for backpackers to explore. But what Zion lacks in size it more than makes up for in breathtaking scenery—and for backpackers, some of the most unique, wonderful, and relatively easy multi-day hikes in the National Park System.

This story describes the best backpacking tips in Zion, based on my personal experience of doing all of these hikes on many visits there over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

A Zion backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov/permits/4675338 for trips in Zion’s wilderness, except for overnight trips through Zion’s Narrows, for which reservations are made at recreation.gov/permits/4675339. Both types of permits are reserved on this schedule: March 5 at 10 a.m. Mountain Time for trips between April 1 and June 30; June 5 at 10 a.m. for July 1 to Sept. 30; Sept. 5 at 10 a.m. for Oct. 1 to Dec. 31; and Dec. 5 at 10 a.m. for Jan. 1 to March 31.

Half of the backcountry campsites in Zion can be reserved—and usually get filled within minutes after becoming available each month—and half are available for walk-in permits, obtained in person no more than one day in advance. See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Late March through May and mid-September through October are the prime seasons for backpacking in Zion, and the cottonwood trees in Zion Canyon turn golden in October. June through early September are typically too hot and heavy rainstorms are common in July and August, while snow prevents access to higher trails on the rims in winter and snowmelt raises the river level too high to backpack The Narrows through much of the spring.

A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

The park’s free shuttle buses operate regularly between the visitor center, just inside the south entrance, to the end of the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive—which is usually closed to private vehicles—for most of the year. Be aware of the shuttle schedule and when the last bus leaves the trailhead where you plan to finish a hike. Commercial shuttle services in Springdale provide rides to trailheads outside Zion Canyon.

The park has been warning hikers and backpackers against drinking water from any river or stream in Zion National Park due to a toxic cyanobacteria bloom. You will have to carry enough water for any hike or as needed between springs in the park, where you should filter the water. See more information at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/toxic-cyanobacteria-bloom-in-the-virgin-river-and-the-streams-of-zion-national-park.htm.

See my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips, including “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park,” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these hikes or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Please share your comments, questions, or tips about any of these trips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Looking for dayhikes? See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.”

The Narrows

There are many great canyon hikes in the Southwest, but a tiny number compare with The Narrows—which certainly ranks among the very best backpacking trips in the Southwest and the 10 best backpacking trips in America. Generally hiked over two days top to bottom, the route descends 1,500 vertical feet over 16 miles from the upper trailhead at Chamberlain Ranch to the Temple of Sinawava Trailhead at the end of the road in Zion Canyon.

A backpacker in the Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking on day one in the upper Narrows in Zion National Park.

This spellbinding adventure begins with easy hiking amid forested plateau country that offers no hints of the spectacle awaiting ahead. But you quickly enter and follow the North Fork of the Virgin River downstream, often hiking directly in the mostly ankle- to calf-deep water.

The canyon walls steadily rise higher and draw closer as you walk with the river deeper into the earth, sometimes wading pools up to thigh- or waist-deep. With the permit system limiting the number of backpackers, and dayhikers not permitted to hike from the bottom of The Narrows upstream beyond Big Spring (five miles up), you’ll enjoy a surprising amount of solitude—especially on day one—in this canyon that grows ever more spectacular. Water and tiny oases of greenery erupt from solid sandstone walls, which eventually reach a thousand feet tall and squeeze down to about 20 feet across in places where you’ll see only a slender strip of sky high overhead.

Early summer and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking The Narrows, which is frequently unsafe because of high water levels in April and May and sometimes into June, and during July and August, when heavy rainstorms are common.

Hiking in the river will slow your pace more than expected for a flat hike. Use trekking poles. The water is cold in spring and fall and with little direct sunlight in The Narrows, the temperature is often 10 or more degrees Fahrenheit cooler than in Zion Canyon; plus, the wind frequently blows down canyon, making it feel colder. Bring multiple clothing layers—especially if hiking in early morning in spring or fall—and if you don’t own canyoneering boots (which drain water and have traction for slippery cobblestones underfoot), neoprene socks, and dry pants, rent them in Springdale.

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in Zion’s Narrows. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

It’s popular and tough to get a permit for, but that’s because the park regulates the number of overnight hikers to preserve a sense of a wilderness experience: A friend and I saw only two other backpackers early on our first day, and no one else until we were a couple hours downstream on our second day.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and execute this classic backpacking trip.

See my feature story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows,” with many more photos and a video, plus basic trip-planning information (though not nearly as much trip-planning detail as provided in my Narrows e-book). Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading that story in full is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Woman and two young children backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, with our kids, Nate and Alex, hiking up the West Rim Trail on a family backpacking trip in Zion National Park.

The West Rim Trail

The Narrows and Angels Landing are more famous, but some locals who know the park like their back yard (because it is) call the West Rim their favorite trail in Zion. A 16.6-mile hike with about 800 vertical feet uphill and 3,600 feet downhill from the upper trailhead at Lava Point, at 7,890 feet off Kolob Terrace Road, to the Grotto Trailhead in Zion Canyon (shuttle bus stop no. 6), the West Rim Trail begins with a traverse across a high plateau overlooking a mind-boggling labyrinth of canyons and mesas.

A mother and young daughter backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, and our daughter, Alex, backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

The trail’s nine backcountry campsites lie spread out along its higher elevations, all located above Cabin Spring (the lowest of three springs along the trail), where the trail begins a steep drop of 2,500 feet over 4.7 miles into Zion Canyon, zigzagging through a landscape of towering beehive rock formations and wildly colored cliffs and passing overlooks with some of the best views of Zion Canyon.

Hiking the West Rim Trail top to bottom, usually done as an overnight trip, although some hikers and runners do it in a day, offers the opportunity to tag the summit of Angels Landing—not merely one of the best hikes in Zion, but one the best hikes in Utah’s national parks and in the entire National Park System.

At Scout Lookout on the West Rim Trail, take the nearly half-mile spur trail that follows a knife-edge spine of rock to the summit of Angels Landing, where you’ll drink up a 360-degree panorama of Zion Canyon.

The lower West Rim Trail, mostly a paved sidewalk, descends steeply at times through the tight switchbacks of Walter’s Wiggles and the often shady and cool Refrigerator Canyon before reaching the floor of Zion Canyon.

See my feature stories about backpacking in the Kolob Canyons and the West Rim Trail with my family and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon and the East Rim Trailhead.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A young girl hiking the La Verkin Creek Trail in Zion National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the La Verkin Creek Trail in Zion National Park.

La Verkin Creek Trail

At the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons area of Zion National Park, you get an immediate introduction to the enchanting scenery awaiting on the hike up the La Verkin Creek Trail, standing at an overlook of deep-red cliffs rising hundreds of feet tall, split by parallel canyons. (Tip: Drive a few minutes past the trailhead to the Kolob Canyons Viewpoint at the end of the road—you won’t regret it).

Plus, you’re starting out 2,000 feet higher in elevation than Zion Canyon, in an area of the park with cooler temperatures when it’s getting hot at the park’s lower elevations. Even more appealing, the Kolob Canyons draw far fewer people than the enormously popular trails in Zion Canyon and along the Zion-Mt. Carmel Highway.

La Verkin Creek in the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park.
La Verkin Creek in the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park.

A relatively easy, out-and-back hike of about 14 miles (more or less, depending on where you camp), with about 1,000 vertical feet both uphill and downhill, this is an ideal overnight or two-night hike for families with young kids and beginner backpackers but also a beautiful hike for anyone—and an opportunity to explore these remote canyons.

The trail follows perennial La Verkin Creek through a canyon with scattered cottonwood trees and lots of greenery, contrasting dramatically with the red cliffs. At 6.4 miles from Lee Pass, the trail reaches a junction with the Kolob Arch Trail, a 1.2-mile hike to an overlook of the 287-foot span, considered the world’s sixth largest, but you see it only from a distance.

Like many Southwestern streams, La Verkin Creek’s level varies significantly throughout the year, often running high and brown with silt in spring, while mellowing to a much lower, quieter, and clearer stream by late summer and fall. It can be challenging to ford in spring and usually easy by fall, but fording isn’t necessary for a dayhike or overnight trip on the La Verkin Creek Trail—only if you want to continue south from La Verkin to Hop Valley and Kolob Terrace Road, and perhaps through Wildcat Canyon to the West Rim Trail.

There are 10 backcountry campsites between Lee Pass and the Kolob Arch Trail on the La Verkin Creek Trail and three more farther upstream, beyond the junction with the Hop Valley Trail at 6.7 miles from the trailhead. The Lee Pass Trailhead just over two miles from the Kolob Canyons entrance in the park’s northwest corner, off exit 40 on I-15.

See my feature stories about backpacking in the Kolob Canyons and on the West Rim Trail and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon and the East Rim Trailhead.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A hiker on the West Rim Trail, Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon

The Hop Valley in Zion National Park.
The Hop Valley in Zion National Park.

Want to take the best long backpacking trip in Zion? The 37-mile, north-to-south traverse from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to the Grotto trailhead in Zion Canyon links up the La Verkin Creek, Hop Valley, Wildcat Canyon, and West Rim trails on a generally downhill route through these highlights of Zion’s backcountry, including, of course, Angels Landing,

Typically done in four days, this trip’s scenery justifies its logistical complications, such as transportation (there are commercial shuttle services) and limited safe water sources. But the few springs along the route as well as the opportunities to cache water at the Hop Valley or Wildcat trailhead on Kolob Terrace Road, approximately halfway through the trip, and replenish again in Zion Canyon, enable completing this hike without carrying onerous water weight. Seasonal timing is also key and springs often flow stronger from March through May than in the fall.

Hike “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A hiker on the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion National Park, a short side hike off the Observation Point/East Rim Trail that's currently closed.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion, a short side hike off the Observation Point/East Rim Trail that’s currently closed.

Zion Traverse

An owl in Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park.
An owl in Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park.

An unforgettable multi-day hike with few peers in the Southwest or the entire country—and a classic, one-day challenge for ultra-fit dayhikers and trail runners—the roughly 50-mile, north-south traverse of Zion from the Lee Pass Trailhead to the East Entrance Trailhead crosses the entire park, extending the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon trek (above) onto the East Rim Trail.

Unfortunately, the Observation Point Trail has been closed since a major rockfall in 2019, with no indications of reopening. The usual access, the Observation Point/East Rim Trailhead and the Weeping Rock shuttle stop no. 7 in Zion Canyon, are closed, barring access from there to the upper section the East Rim Trail as well as two great hikes, Observation Point and Hidden Canyon—and shutting down, for now, a critical link from the West Rim Trail to the East Rim Trail that’s necessary to complete the full Zion traverse.

For dayhikers and backpackers who want to access the East Rim area and Observation Point, there is an alternative route from the East Mesa Trailhead, at about 6,500 feet outside the park. See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

See all stories about backpacking in Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

 

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trips-in-zion-national-park/feed/ 4 59760
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-favorite-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-favorite-backpacking-trips/#comments Tue, 06 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17698 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

What makes for a great backpacking trip? Certainly top-shelf scenery is mandatory. An element of adventurousness enhances a hike, in my eyes. While there’s definitely something inspirational about a big walk in the wild, some of the finest trips in the country can be done in a few days and half of the hikes on this list are under 50 miles. Another factor that truly matters is a wilderness experience: All 10 are in national parks or wilderness areas.

I’ve probably thought about this more than a mentally stable person should, having done many of America’s (and the world’s) most beautiful multi-day hikes over more than three decades (and counting) of carrying a backpack, including my 10 years as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. In the final analysis, though, the criterion that matters most is more simple and intuitive: that it’s undeniably a great trip. And that character shows itself over and over in my picks for the 10 best backpacking trips in the country.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Each hike here merits a 10 for scenery. The longest trips on this list can be chopped up into smaller portions. Each description below includes a difficulty rating on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the hardest in terms of strenuousness and challenge. I’ve listed them in a random order that’s not intended as a quality ranking; I think that’s impossible.

I regularly update this list as I take new trips that belong on it—but it has remained largely unchanged for a while (I think you’ll see why), except for adding new photos and links to new stories each time I revisit one of these trails or parks; as well as adding some new Close Runners-Up trip suggestions, which accompany each hike in my top 10.

My advice: Do every one of these top 10 and runner-up hikes that you can, when you can—many of the top 10 are harder to get a permit for than the runners-up, so the latter group provide good backup plans. You won’t be disappointed with any of them.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my complete e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The descriptions and photos below link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance.

See my affordable, expert e-books to several of the trips described below and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these classic adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside. You might also find helpful tips in my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tipsand “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

If you have a trip to suggest, please tell me about it in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I hope to get to them all. It’s a tough assignment, but I’m on it.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A backpacker in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite. Click photo to see all of my expert e-books to backpacking in Yosemite and other parks.

A Grand Tour of Yosemite

Distance: 152 miles, with multiple shorter variations
Difficulty: 4

A backpacker hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

John Muir saw more than a few world-class wildernesses, and he focused much of his time and energy on exploring and protecting Yosemite. A lot of people would legitimately argue it’s the best national park for backpackers. After several trips there, I had thought I’d seen Yosemite’s finest corners, including many trails in the park’s core, its section of the John Muir Trail, and the summits of Half Dome and Clouds Rest.

Then, in two trips totaling seven days spread over two years, I backpacked 152 miles through the biggest patches of wilderness in the park, south and north of Tuolumne Meadows (also shown in the lead photo at the top of this story)—and discovered Yosemite’s true soul, a vast reach of deep, granite-walled canyons, peaks rising to over 12,000 feet, and one gorgeous mountain lake after another dappling the landscape. And after those two trips, I returned again to backpack a 45-mile hike that I subsequently dubbed “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

See my stories “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about the 65-mile first leg of that 152-mile grand tour of Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” about the nearly 87-mile second leg, “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne Meadows
and the 87-mile hike through northern Yosemite (which include shorter options).

A mother and young daughter backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes in Sequoia National Park.

Want more of a less-committing, introductory backpacking trip in Yosemite? See my story “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite.” The trip I suggest in that story is described in much greater detail in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.” That e-book offers planning tips and suggested daily itineraries for a primary route and alternate itineraries for backpacking trips in the spectacular core of Yosemite, between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows.

Close Runners-Up:

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” about a 40-mile family backpacking trip that featured campsites that made both my top 25 all-time favorites and my list of the nicest backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past, plus all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

Two Hikes in Glacier National Park

Distance of each: 90-94 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty of each: 3

Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-books to backpacking in Glacier and other parks.

With rivers of ice pouring off of craggy mountains and cliffs, deeply green forests, over 760 lakes offering mirror reflections of it all, megafauna like bighorn sheep, mountain goats, elk, moose, and grizzly and black bears, and over a million acres in Montana’s Northern Rockies, most of it wilderness, little wonder that Glacier is so popular with backpackers.

Two big hikes of over 90 miles—both of which have multiple possible shorter variations—deservedly grace this top 10 list. On both, my companions and I saw all of those sights and large beasts described above—yes, including grizzlies—and enjoyed a surprising degree of solitude even while hitting many of the park’s highlights.

One, a 90-miler through northern Glacier, split into 65- and 25-mile legs, was a variation of a hike known as the Northern Loop, following a route I customized to hit some of Glacier’s best scenery, including the entire Highline Trail, the Many Glacier area, Piegan Pass and Stoney Indian Pass, the Ptarmigan Wall and Tunnel, and some of the park’s finest lakes and most-remote wilderness.

On the second hike, three friends and I backpacked about 94 miles through Glacier, from Chief Mountain Trailhead at the Canadian border in the park’s northeast corner to Two Medicine, combining parts of the primary and alternate routes of the Continental Divide Trail, and adding the high, alpine trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass above Two Medicine. Yet again, we saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a griz, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening (because it was September)—not to mention vistas unlike anywhere else in America.

See my story about the two-stage, 90-mile hike “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” about the 94-mile hike, and “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” about my most recent, weeklong hike in Glacier on a variation of the CDT route.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop and the CDT through Glacier.

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

And check out “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Close Runners-Up:

Think of the Canadian Rockies this way: They resemble Glacier but with more and bigger glaciers and covering a much vaster area. For much of its distance, the 34-mile Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park passes below a long chain of sheer cliffs and mountains that conjure images of numerous El Capitans lined up in a row, but with thick tongues of glacial ice pouring off them. And the 27-mile Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park remains above treeline for more than half its distance, with nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains in every direction.

Retaining a surprising degree of anonymity considering that they’re situated between Glacier and Yellowstone, the Beartooth Mountains rise to over 12,000 feet and are most uniquely characterized by high, rolling, alpine plateaus over 10,000 feet. Like Glacier, the Beartooths have deep, glacier-carved canyons with remnant patches of ancient ice, and are home to moose, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, bald eagles, gray wolves, black bears, and grizzlies—plus hundreds of trout-filled alpine lakes. See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my Teton Crest Trail e-book.

Teton Crest Trail

Distance: 33-40 miles, multiple variations
Difficulty: 4

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon on the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon.

One of my first big, Western backpacking trips was on the Teton Crest Trail in Wyoming’s Grand Teton National Park, and it so inspired me that I’ve returned more than 20 times since to backpack, dayhike, rock climb, backcountry ski, and paddle a canoe in the Tetons. I can’t imagine that jagged skyline ever failing to give me chills.

Running north-south through the heart of the national park and adjacent national forest lands, the Teton Crest Trail stays above treeline for much of its distance, with expansive views of the peaks, but also drops into the beautiful South Fork and North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Paintbrush Canyon, and the upper forks of Granite Canyon, and crosses Paintbrush Divide at 10,720 feet.

Various trails access it, allowing for multiple route options, any of them making for one of America’s premier multi-day hikes.

See my stories  “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail,” plus all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped countless readers plan a perfect, personally customized itinerary on the Teton Crest Trail. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

Yearning to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail
and the best short backpacking trip in the Tetons.

Close Runners-Up:

A two- or three-day hike linking any of the east-side canyons in Grand Teton National Park, such as the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop (the most popular in the park). See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.” Or virtually any backpacking trip in the Wind River Range (see below).

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

The Wonderland Trail

Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm and Todd Arndt in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

Distance: 93 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty: 4

No multi-day hike in the contiguous United States compares with the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier—because there’s no mountain in the Lower 48 like glacier-clad, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier.

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail, one repeatedly sees Rainier fill the horizon at a seemingly unbelievable scale, a sight always thrilling and inspiring. This trail features some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, countless waterfalls and cascades, crystalline creeks and raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and likely sightings of mountain goats, marmots, deer, and possibly black bears.

Accessed from several trailheads, it can be thru-hiked in its entirety—commonly done over nine to 10 days—or you can backpack shorter trips of varying lengths on sections of the Wonderland. The full loop is a strenuous trip, with over 44,000 cumulative vertical feet of elevation gain and loss, and choices you make like which direction to hike the loop, where to begin it, and whether to take a popular detour onto the higher and more-scenic Spray Park Trail, all affect the trip’s overall difficulty—which I spell out in detail in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

This much I will guarantee: The Wonderland Trail is the kind of adventure that stays with you long afterward.

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “An American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” about a 77-mile hike on what I consider the WT’s best sections (a route described as one of the alternate itineraries in my e-book).

Close Runner-Up:

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail” about a trip very similar in character to the Wonderland Trail—but much shorter and requiring no permit reservation—the 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

Want to hike the Wonderland Trail? Get my expert e-book
The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

Zion’s Narrows

Distance: 16 miles
Difficulty: 2

The North Fork of the Virgin River carves out a uniquely deep, slender, and awe-inspiring redrock canyon in Utah’s Zion National Park, with walls up to 1,000 feet tall that close in to just 20 feet apart in places. Springs gush from cracks in the walls, nourishing lush hanging gardens. On clear nights, a black sky riddled with stars fills the narrow strip visible between the rock walls soaring overhead.

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

In the low-water levels when backpackers typically make the two-day descent of The Narrows, you’re walking most of the time in water from ankle-deep (most commonly) to, occasionally, waist-deep, over a cobblestone riverbed that makes for slow progress.

Click here now for my e-book to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

But you’ll feel no desire to rush through one of the most enchanting hikes in the National Park System (especially since the lower end is often crowded with dayhikers, while the trip’s first day and second morning are much quieter).

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Close Runners-Up:

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch
Traversing Zion National Park
The Needles District and Maze District of Canyonlands National Park
Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Death Hollow Loop, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, in the Evolution Basin along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

John Muir Trail

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Distance: 221 miles
Difficulty: 4

The John Muir Trail’s 211 miles from Yosemite Valley to the highest summit in the Lower 48, 14,505-foot Mount Whitney in Sequoia National Park, has often been described as “America’s Most Beautiful Trail”—and hyperbolic as it sounds, it’s hard to argue against that lofty claim.

The two- to three-week journey through California’s High Sierra (totaling 221 miles, including the 10-mile descent off Whitney, not actually part of the JMT) stays mostly above 9,000 feet as it traverses mile after jaw-dropping mile of a landscape of incisor peaks, too many waterfalls to name, and countless, pristine wilderness lakes nestled in granite basins.

You climb over numerous passes between 11,000 and over 13,000 feet, with views that stretch a hundred miles. Although not a place for solitude during the peak season (mid-July to mid-September), the JMT may be the one hike on this list that every serious backpacker probably aspires to accomplish.

The hardest part may be what comes long before you lace up your boots: getting a JMT permit, which necessarily requires figuring out your itinerary and how many days you will spend on the trail.

A backpacker hiking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra, California.
Jason Kauffman backpacking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” an “Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan” for a JMT thru-hike, and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?

Close Runners-Up:

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my story about a remote, partly off-trail, 32-mile traverse of the John Muir Wilderness, and all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Want to hike the Teton Crest Trail, John Muir Trail, or another trip on this list?
Click here for expert custom trip planning you won’t get elsewhere.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Gbookrand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

South Kaibab to Lipan Point, Grand Canyon

Distance: 74 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty: 5

Every backpacking trip I’ve taken in the Grand Canyon deserves a spot on this list—the place possesses all the qualities of a great adventure, in a landscape like nowhere else on the planet. But when a longtime backcountry ranger in the park told me this 74-mile hike was “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” of course I had to check it out.

After backpacking it, I decided: He’s right.

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to read about “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

For starters, the South Kaibab is one of the best trails in the entire National Park System. Beyond that, this route follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” in the canyon, the Escalante Route, which involves some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling. This hike also includes an outstanding section of the Tonto Trail, the beautiful and surprisingly rigorous Beamer Trail, and another lovely, rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

Plus, you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado River, and the kind of solitude that’s rare in many national parks.

See “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
and an easier alternative, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

I’ve helped many readers plan a perfect, personally customized backpacking itinerary in the Grand Canyon—a place where trip planning is complicated by seasonal temperature extremes and road access, scarce water sources, high competition for backcountry permits, and significant differences in character and difficulty between trails and routes.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your Big Ditch backpacking trip.

Close Runners-Up:

Almost any other trip in the Grand Canyon. See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Hike all of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”
For a beginner-friendly trip, see “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

 

A young boy backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.

The Southern Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles
Difficulty: 2

The 17.5-mile hike from the Hoh River north to La Push Road, on the southern coast of Washington’s Olympic National Park, is still one of my kids’ most memorable backpacking trips—mostly for the hours they spent playing in tide pools on the beach (they were nine and seven at the time). But it’s also one that backpackers of all ages find gorgeous and fascinating.

A backpacker descending a rope ladder on the coast of Olympic National Park.
My wife, Penny, descending a rope ladder on the coast of Olympic National Park.

It features giant trees in one of Earth’s largest virgin temperature rainforests; frequently mist-shrouded views of scores of sea stacks rising up to 200 feet out of the ocean; boulders wallpapered with sea stars, mussels, and sea anemones; rugged and very muddy hiking on overland trails around impassable headlands; sightings of seals, sea otters, whales, and to my kids’ delight, lots of slugs; and rope ladders to climb and descend very steep terrain—including cliffs.

Consequently, while just as scenic, it’s less crowded than the more popular northern stretch of the Olympic coast. The 73-mile-long finger of the park on the Pacific Ocean protects the longest stretch of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States—and one of America’s most unique backpacking adventures.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast.”

A backpacker at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt at Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.

Close Runner-Up:

Honestly, nothing.

But for classic wilderness trips in the Pacific Northwest, I suggest the hike to Cascade Pass and up Sahale Arm to Sahale Glacier Camp, in North Cascades National Park, with a jaw-dropping campsite view; this 80-mile hike (and shorter variations of it) in the North Cascades; the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness; and certainly, Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.

See all stories about Olympic National Park and stories about the North Cascades at The Big Outside.

See Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

A backpacker just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

The Wind River Range

Distance: multiple routes and distances
Difficulty: 3 to 5

The Winds can’t honestly be described as “undiscovered,” by any stretch. Still, as popular as a few corners are, much of this Wyoming range offers a rare combination of periods of solitude amid some of the most dramatic peaks and beautiful mountain lakes in the country—lots of lakes. Rank U.S. mountain ranges according to the best scenery and lakes, and I think the top two are the Winds and the High Sierra—and you could argue which is number one for as many years as it would take to visit every lake in the Winds.

I’ve taken several trips into the Winds over the past three decades, backpacking, climbing, and one really long dayhike—all of them outstanding, but a few places stand out.

A backpacker at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.
Justin Glass at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.

One was a camp in Titcomb Basin—where granite peaks rise to over 13,000 feet from lakes at over 10,000 feet—on a 41-mile loop where two friends and I hiked past a constellation of beautiful lakes and took a spicy off-trail route over 12,240-foot Knapsack Col.

On long stretches of a lonely, 43-mile loop in a less-visited area of the Winds, we enjoyed one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had, crossed four high passes, and walked one stunning trail after another past numerous alpine lakes, including two of the prettiest backcountry lakes I’ve hiked past without camping at.

I’ve climbed in and hiked through the Cirque of the Towers on multiple epic adventures, including a 27-mile, east-west dayhike across the Winds and a 96-mile, mostly off-trail, south-north traverse of the Wind River High Route. But most recently, a friend and I hiked across the Cirque to cap off a four-day loop from Big Sandy that crosses four passes and features camps by beautiful lakes—a route I consider the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

The Winds can seriously make you wonder: “Why don’t I just come here all the time?”

Don’t forget anything important! See “An Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist.”

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Wind River Range,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup,” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Close Runner-Up:

See my stories about another high, rugged mountain range where you can find solitude, northern Utah’s High Uintas: “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.”

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks?
Click here now for my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Distance: 36 miles, with longer and shorter variations
Difficulty: 2

The Sawtooths are one of the West’s most under-appreciated mountain ranges, with national park-caliber scenery, but nowhere near the numbers of hikers found in the most popular parks (although more and more backpackers are exploring the few popular areas of the Sawtooths).

Having backpacked and climbed through most of the range since settling in Idaho more than 20 years ago, the multi-day hike I’d recommend there is a five-day, roughly 36-mile route from Redfish Lake to Tin Cup Trailhead on Pettit Lake, including an out-and-back side trip to one of the finest lakes basins in the entire range.

Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Requiring a short shuttle that can be arranged locally—the Sawtooth trails aren’t conducive to creating long loop hikes—this trip crosses four passes over 9,000 feet and features campsites on some of the Sawtooths’ best mountain lakes, below endless jagged ridgelines.

See my story “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit.” My expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” tells you all you need to know to plan and pull off this trip and includes three alternate itineraries that allow you to shorten the hike to four days or extend it to six or seven days.

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains.

Close Runners-Up:

See my stories “Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths—A Photo Gallery,” “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” and “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” about a 57-mile hike in the more remote southern Sawtooths.

See also my story about the Idaho Wilderness Trail, a nearly 300-mile, long-distance trail I helped conceive that passes through the Sawtooths, and all stories about Idaho’s Sawtooths and neighboring White Cloud Mountains at The Big Outside; plus my story about another under-appreciated mountain range dappled with gorgeous lakes, northeastern Oregon’s Wallowas, “Learning the Hard Way: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Was this story helpful?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-favorite-backpacking-trips/feed/ 70 17698
Backpacking Glacier National Park: What You Need to Know https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-glacier-national-park-what-you-need-to-know/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-glacier-national-park-what-you-need-to-know/#respond Mon, 05 Jan 2026 14:05:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=69442 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I remember my first backpacking trip in Glacier National Park, more than 30 years ago, feeling magical—and a little bit intimidating, which is best illustrated by the fact that I had probably carried bear spray only once before. But I’m pretty sure my girlfriend (now wife) and I did not reserve a backcountry permit months before—we just showed up and got one. (Good luck doing that today.) We did little, if any, research on a route. We encountered some surprises and had what we considered a mostly wonderful adventure.

Today, though, with several multi-day hikes in Glacier under my hipbelt and knowing the park’s terrain, trails, climate, regulations, and permit system well, our uninformed strategy for planning that first, long-ago trip seems both quaint and like a formula that invites frustration and disappointment—especially in this era of much higher numbers of backpackers. Now, I take a very different approach to planning trips there.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

It’s not that planning a backpacking trip in Glacier is unnecessarily complicated. But familiarizing yourself with all that backpacking in Glacier entails—some of which is unique to Glacier—is far more likely to result in the experience that you’re hoping for.

So, what do you need to know about backpacking in Glacier?

This article will answer the biggest questions on how to go about planning and executing what is certainly one of the best of America’s 10 best backpacking trips—including details and tips on obtaining a wilderness permit that can be very hard to get. The information below draws on my several trips backpacking (and dayhiking) there over more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor with Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

See “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park” and all stories at this blog about backpacking in Glacier. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips and information on planning each hike. See also my expert e-books to two great multi-day hikes in Glacier and other parks, including “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan backpacking trips in Glacier and many other places, answering all of their questions (and many they didn’t think to ask) and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you and read hundreds of comments from readers like you who’ve received my custom trip planning.

Click on any photo below to read about that trip. Please share your questions, personal stories, or tips about backpacking in Glacier in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

After Glacier National Park, hike the other nine of
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

 

A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all of my e-books describing classic backpacking trips in Glacier and other national parks and wildernesses.

It’s Not as Hard as You May Think

With a few exceptions, Glacier’s trails are well-constructed, well-marked with signs at junctions, and mostly only moderately steep—built at what’s called a “horse grade” because many early visitors to the park traveled the trails on horseback. The topography, with the Continental Divide splicing the park into approximate halves and valleys filled with long, narrow lakes draining both sides of the Divide, allow for an extensive trail network that blends relatively easier hiking with ascents to and descents from passes that, with few exceptions, are not grueling.

A backpacker below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.
Mark Fenton below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.

Many backpackers who are reasonably fit and carrying packs weighing 25 to 40 pounds—basically, a total weight that doesn’t feel awful to them—will find hiking eight to 10 miles per day moderately difficult in Glacier, and a hiking pace of two mph feasible to maintain.

Also, trails in Glacier, even at the highest passes, remain below 8,000 feet, an elevation that doesn’t cause problems for most people beyond breathing harder when hiking uphill. That and the moderate grades of most trails result in daily elevation gain when backpacking 10 miles or less per day often totaling less than 3,000 feet and sometimes less than 2,000 feet; and 2,500 feet of uphill spread over 10 miles is an average relatively gentle gradient of 250 feet per mile.

Plus, the distribution of the park’s 65 designated backcountry campgrounds often enables planning days under 10 miles.

For those reasons, you may find that backpacking in Glacier is not as hard as on trails in parks with higher actual elevations, steeper trails, and/or greater elevation ranges between valleys and passes.

Water is generally plentiful throughout Glacier’s backcountry, although you may encounter waterless stretches of a few miles (perhaps two hours) or more when crossing passes. That means you almost never have to carry more than one to two liters, or about two to four pounds, of water. But be aware of water sources along your route. See the best water-treatment systems in my review of “Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories” and a menu of all reviews of water filters at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a backpacking trip in Glacier or any other trip you read about at this blog.

How to Get a Glacier Backcountry Permit

As in most major Western national parks (like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Mount Rainier, and others), Glacier permits are in high demand for dates in July, August, and the first part of September. First key step for success: Know when to reserve a permit. Fortunately, like many other parks, Glacier in recent years instituted a reasonably user-friendly system created to manage enormous demand.

Glacier conducts two early-access backcountry permit lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. Those lotteries provide the best chance of reserving a permit for popular trails and backcountry camps for trips between June 15 and Sept. 30, and all applicants during these 24-hour lottery periods have an equal chance of being selected.

Standard-group lottery winners will get an email from the park wilderness office on March 17 with a date and time between March 21 and April 30 when they can make one permit reservation (or anytime after their time slot). Large-group lottery winners will receive an email on March 3 with instructions for making their permit reservation for one of just five permit reservations the park issues annually for large groups.

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see how you can purchase a professionally printed enlargement of this image and many other photos you see at The Big Outside.

General reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1, running through Sept. 30.

Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season and limits daily hiking distance to 16 miles on reserved permits.

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park.”

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to consider at least two starting trailheads and a range of date options.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking trips in Glacier and elsewhere.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

A backpacker on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.

The Peak Season

While lower-elevation trails and backcountry camps in Glacier are often snow-free and open from mid-June into October, the peak backpacking season in Glacier generally begins around mid-July, when higher elevations and passes become mostly snow-free, and the season often extends into September, although the first snowstorm can arrive by early September or even late August.

But the best time for hitting the trails in Glacier is late July through early September, when the Rocky Mountains weather is typically idyllic: sunny days with very moderate temperatures, although afternoon thunderstorms are not uncommon, and comfortably cool nights and mornings.

And an early snowfall occurring before your late-summer trip isn’t necessarily a disaster. Snow from those early-season storms often melts away within a day or two after sunshine returns.

On one September backpacking trip, friends and I enjoyed sunny days with moderate temperatures, cool but not freezing nights, and dry trails—just a few days after a snowstorm hit the park. And we benefited from that storm occurring before our trip because it largely smothered a wildfire that was sending smoke throughout the park.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn about my custom trip planning.

Gear

During summer, given the generally good weather in Glacier and nighttime lows that don’t often drop below 40° F/4° C, you can use lightweight to ultralight gear, including your pack, tent, bag, and footwear. Still, look closely at the forecast and, if necessary, be prepared for heavy rain, particularly in thunderstorms, and possibly freezing temperatures.

Glacier National Park provides bearproof food-hanging systems or food lockers in all backcountry campgrounds, so backpackers do not have to carry a bear canister. See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/bears.htm.

Find categorized menus of gear reviews, best-in-category reviews, and buying tips at my Gear Reviews page, and all reviews of ultralight backpacking gear at The Big Outside.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Glenns Lake on the Northern Loop in Glacier National Park.
Glenns Lake on the Northern Loop in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

Trailhead Transportation Logistics

Depending on where in the park you’re backpacking and whether you’re hiking a loop or a point-to-point route between different trailheads—especially if those trailheads are far apart—travel logistics can be very easy or complicated.

If your backpacking trip starts or finishes (or both) along the Going-to-the-Sun Road, it’s definitely easiest and most convenient to use the park’s free shuttle, which makes several stops along that road. It’s truly much easier—and cheaper—than trying to drive your own vehicle. It runs regularly from early July through Labor Day; see nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/shuttles.htm.

In recent years, Glacier has required timed vehicle reservations to drive a private vehicle from mid-June through late September in two areas: the west side of Going-to-the-Sun Road and the North Fork. See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/vehicle-reservations.htm.

See my expert e-books to two great multi-day hikes in Glacier, “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips,” and the All Trips page at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Click here to join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

These articles at The Big Outside may be useful when planning a Glacier trip:

8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking
How to Plan Food for a Backpacking Trip
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
10 Pro Tips For Staying Warm in a Sleeping Bag
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking

And see all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-glacier-national-park-what-you-need-to-know/feed/ 0 69442
How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-expert-tips-for-planning-a-wilderness-backpacking-trip/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-expert-tips-for-planning-a-wilderness-backpacking-trip/#comments Tue, 30 Dec 2025 10:00:21 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38932 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Wilderness backpacking opens new worlds to us. While dayhiking can bring you to many beautiful places in nature, walking for days through the backcountry, carrying all you need on your back, inspires a liberating sense of self-sufficiency and solitude as you escape the crowds to explore places most people never see. This article lays out in 12 detailed steps all you need to know to plan a wilderness backpacking trip that’s safe and enjoyable for everyone on it.

More than three decades (and counting) and thousands of miles of backpacking all over the United States and around the world have convinced me that most of the success of any backpacking trip depends on how you plan and prepare for it. Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for planning a backpacking trip of any length from this article, which draws from the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to see my expert e-books to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and classic trips in Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and other parks.

Having made just about all the backpacking mistakes you can make when I was a newbie years ago and read about countless accidents, I will tell you this: “Epics” and accidents often result from bad planning or a simple lack of awareness of potential problems and hazards. Most are entirely avoidable.

I’d love to read what you think of my tips or any tricks of your own that help you plan your trips. Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Click on any photo to learn more about that trip.

A backpacker hiking the Continental Divide Trail above Pitamakan Lake in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Continental Divide Trail above Pitamakan Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

1. Pick the Place

Where do you want to go backpacking? That’s the first question to consider, and the answer often draws inspiration from a specific destination. Like many novice backpackers, one of my first trips was in Yosemite (and my most popular e-book is “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite”).

But new backpackers commonly commit the error of choosing a destination for their fixed vacation dates without considering the many factors that determine not only the ideal time of year for that trip, but also when you cannot take it. For example, many mountain ranges are inaccessible (without advanced skills and technical gear) for most of the year because of deep snow—trails may not become passable for hiking until June or July. Many also consistently receive a lot of rain and have thick clouds of mosquitoes at certain times of year, either of which can put a real damper on the experience.

Flip that flawed thinking around: Choose dates appropriate for your desired trip, or if your dates are not flexible, choose a trip appropriate for your dates. Do some research on the most special aspects of a destination and what times of year are best to see them, such as wildflowers, waterfalls, foliage color, or simply better weather.

See my story “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking.”

Find ideas for your backpacking adventures at my Trips Page.

Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for a menu of stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon.

2. Plan Ahead

I can’t remember the last backpacking or hiking trip I took without planning weeks or months in advance. Some destinations—particularly close to home, if they don’t require a permit reservation—may not require much advance planning. But the more complicated your life, the less likely you can pull off a last-minute getaway that entails multiple logistics and people.

Plan and make all needed pre-trip arrangements, from reserving any required backcountry permit to arranging any needed transportation and lodging.

Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm and Todd Arndt in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo to read about the Wonderland Trail.

Find planning resources (like my expert e-books and Custom Trip Planning) with detailed information about your trip, including:

• When and how to apply for a backcountry permit if one is required—which is months in advance of your trip dates for popular parks like Grand Teton, Yosemite, Mount Rainier, Glacier, and Grand Canyon. See my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”
• Topographical trail maps and a good description of your route, including section distances, difficulty, and details about any sections that require special skills or a comfort level with scrambling, exposure, water crossings, or other challenges and potential environmental hazards.
• Current trail and road conditions and seasonal or temporary closures due to unmaintained roads, wildfire, washouts, or other causes (often available at a park’s website).
• Travel logistics.
• Important regulations such as backcountry camping and party-size restrictions.
• Seasonal recommendations or restrictions.
• Seasonal climate and weather information.
• Water sources: If they are limited, know where they are and how much water you have to leave each source carrying—including whether you’ll need extra water if your next campsite lacks water.
• Wildlife concerns (more below).

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P., High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P. Click photo to see all stories about the JMT at this blog.

3. Choose a Route That’s Right for Everyone

Whether a family, your favorite person, or a group of friends, the group’s pace and some choices will inevitably be dictated by the slowest and least-comfortable person—who may be a child or an adult. If your trip plan isn’t designed with that person in mind, you will likely have problems.

I typically plan trips following one of these two strategies, and they usually—by intentional design for the benefit of everyone—result in very different experiences:

  1. If the trip involves a specific, challenging adventure—climbing a mountain or backpacking a challenging route, for instance—choose partners who have the physical stamina, skills, and comfort level for everything you will encounter.
  2. If the trip’s goal is a fun adventure for a specific group of people—your family or any mix of people with a range of experience, stamina, and abilities—choose a destination and plan an itinerary that’s going to be enjoyable for everyone, including the slowest, least-experienced members of the group.

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.

Teenage boys backpacking to the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, and two buddies, all age 15, backpacking to the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for a menu of stories about the Sawtooths.

Choose a destination and daily hiking distances that everyone can handle—keeping in mind that the cumulative elevation gain and loss affects the difficulty at least as much as the distance. (See my expert tips in my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”) Consider how trail quality and conditions—whether it’s extremely rocky or muddy or steep—or places with difficult scrambling or significant exposure will affect everyone in the group, weighing both their emotional comfort and their safety.

Whether it’s family or friends, to avoid the pitfalls that can arise related to tip no. 3, get everyone’s buy-in by involving them in the planning.

Plan a trip that’s appropriate for everyone in your group and you’ll all enjoy it more.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to tap into my experience planning your next trip.

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

4. Craft a Sensible Itinerary

Create an itinerary that’s appropriate for the time you have—trying to cram too much into too short a timeframe can force you to overextend yourself and compromise everyone’s enjoyment.

Avoid these mistakes:

• Squeezing your travel time so tightly that your entire trip could be ruined by a delayed flight or bad traffic. When traveling to remote locations, taking multiple flights (especially in winter, when delays due to bad weather are not uncommon), plan for delays.
• An itinerary that entails hiking more miles each day than is right for your group.
• Travel plans that deprive everyone of adequate sleep. When traveling across several time zones, expect to need sleep when you arrive at your destination.

Trips and travel don’t always go well. But few travel-related incidents feel more disappointing than the clearly avoidable ones that ruin a trip.

5. Talk to Someone Who’s Done It

Even after decades of hiking, backpacking, climbing, skiing, and paddling, I always try to tap into the knowledge base of someone who’s either done the specific trip I’m planning or something similar or in the same park or general area.

Every time I do that, I learn something unexpected.

That person could be someone you know, or any number of people with experience on the hike you’re planning: a backcountry ranger, a member of a hiking club, or an employee at a local outdoor-gear shop or another business near the destination. Ask questions and you’ll often get useful answers.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Not ready to join yet? Click here now to buy my expert e-book version of this entire story.

A backpacker just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

6. Have Gear That Works

Many of us get by with more-affordable gear when we’re starting out. But it still should meet a minimum threshold of functionality: It must perform well enough not only to survive more than one trip—otherwise, you’ve wasted your money—but to ensure against an unpleasant or even dangerous experience. An uncomfortable backpack can morph into a despised object. Inadequate or poorly fitting boots or a sleeping bag lacking sufficient warmth might make your trip a misery. A tent that fails poses real risks. You get the idea.

Are you taking a first trip with new gear—or your first-ever backpacking trip? Don’t head out for several days without giving new gear a test drive:

• Walk around in new boots, even on short, local hikes or around town, to make sure they’re not going to cause blisters, that they feel good—adequately supportive, not too hot—and to help break them in if needed. See my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”
• Pitch a new tent in your yard to familiarize yourself with it, just in case strong wind or steady rain greet you the first time you pitch it in the backcountry.
• Assemble all of your gear and food for the trip at home and load your pack the day before you depart, to get a sense of how best to organize everything in your pack and how it’s going to feel on your back once loaded. See my “Video: How to Pack a Backpack” and “An Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist.”

Time for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

A backpacker at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Tip: Loading your pack pre-trip helps you see whether you’re overpacking. See “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.”

See my expert gear-buying tips in these stories:

The 12 Best Down Jackets
5 Expert Tips For Buying the Right Backpacking Pack
5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent
How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You
5 Expert Tips For Buying a Rain Jacket For Hiking
Expert Tips For Buying the Right Hiking Boots
Pro Tips For Buying Sleeping Bags

And don’t miss my “10 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear.”

Get the right tent for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and “5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent.”

A backpacker below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.
Mark Fenton below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see my e-books to backpacking in Glacier and other classic trips.

7. Bring Clothing Layers for the Expected Weather

If the best weather forecast for the area where you’re backpacking provides conditions for the valleys, know that it will likely be at least 10 to 20 degrees Fahrenheit cooler in the mountains where you’re hiking. On average, the air temperature drops three to four degrees Fahrenheit for every thousand feet of elevation gain (or about 10 degrees Celsius for every 1,000 meters). The sun gets more intense at higher elevations, too, which means it feels warmer when the sun is out, but also cools off quickly when the sun sets or disappears behind clouds.

See my reviews of:

The Best Rain Jackets for Hiking and Backpacking
The 12 Best Down Jackets
The Best Base Layers, Shorts, and Socks For Hiking and Running

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

8. Don’t Overpack Food

This may seem counterintuitive, but the fact is that for the vast majority of backpacking trips, whether for a weekend or a week or more, we plan a specific number of days and finish when expected. These trips don’t generally turn into survival epics. A pound or two of extra food or snacks is prudent; you don’t need to carry several pounds more food than you intend to eat.

Over more than three decades of backpacking, I’ve underestimated how much food I needed only a few times. Like probably most backpackers, at least when we’re relative novices, I have far more often carried an unneeded surplus of food the entire length of a hike.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker hiking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah. Click photo to read about this trip.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-expert-tips-for-planning-a-wilderness-backpacking-trip/feed/ 6 38932
The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-southwest/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-southwest/#comments Sat, 20 Dec 2025 10:00:15 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21800 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We all love the majesty of mountains. But the vividly colored, sometimes bizarre, often incomprehensible geology of the Southwest canyon country enchants and inspires us in ways that words can only begin to describe. And while you will find very worthy dayhikes and even roadside eye candy in classic parks like Grand Canyon, Zion, and Canyonlands, you really have to put on a backpack and probe more deeply into those parks—and other canyon-country gems you may not know much about—to get a full sense of the scale, details, and hidden mysteries of these mystical landscapes.

Drawing from more than three decades of chasing the best backpacking trips in the Southwest—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—I’ve put together this list of my picks for the 12 very best multi-day hikes in America’s Southwest canyon country, from its acknowledged gems to trips you may not have heard of. While I’ve listed the trips in a specific order, I don’t intend that as a quality ranking. They all deserve five stars.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail, along the Thunder River-Deer Creek loop in the Grand Canyon.

The descriptions and photos below all link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including detailed tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance of a spring or fall trip.

See also “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First,” my expert e-books to some of the trips described below, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

I’d love to read your thoughts about my list—and your suggestions for trips that belong on it. Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A backpacker standing at Ooh-Ah Point on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
Todd Arndt standing at Ooh-Ah Point on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Rim to Rim Across the Grand Canyon

Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail.

Most multi-day hikes, including some of the best, feature stretches of hours at a time that are ordinary. Not the Grand Canyon. With huge physical relief and so little vegetation to obstruct views in this desert environment—except for brief stretches of forest at the South and North rims—there’s never a dull moment as you traverse a cross-section of a chasm stretching 277 miles long and averaging a mile deep and 10 miles across (as the crow flies—hiking distances on winding trails are much greater). It’s undoubtedly one of the most unique and spectacular treks in the world.

Although most trails here are quite rugged—and some routes on the map are not even maintained—the three so-called “corridor” trails, while strenuous, are maintained, don’t present the kind of scary exposure or difficult scrambling found on other trails, and have more frequent water availability. The typically three-day hike crossing from rim to rim (one-way, can be done in either direction) via the South Kaibab and North Kaibab trails is 21 miles with over 10,600 feet of cumulative ascent and descent; via the Bright Angel and North Kaibab, it’s 23.5 miles with over 10,100 feet of cumulative ascent and descent.

See my stories “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “A Grand Ambition, or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all stories about South Rim backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Do this trip right. Get my expert e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim
or my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

A backpacker on day two in The Narrows of Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking on day two in The Narrows, Zion National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking Zion’s Narrows.
A backpacker in the upper section of Zion's Narrows.
David Gordon backpacking on day one in Zion’s Narrows.

The Narrows, Zion National Park

One of the most uniquely magnificent and coveted hikes in the National Park System, The Narrows of the North Fork of the Virgin River in Zion squeeze down to the width of a hobbit’s living room in places, with walls of golden, crimson, and cream-colored sandstone that rise as much as a thousand feet tall. 

On this 16-mile, top-to-bottom hike—typically done in two days—you’ll walk in the shallow river most of the time and see very little direct sunlight, marveling at the constantly changing canyon and natural oddities like a waterfall pouring from cracks in solid rock, creating a hanging garden.

Enormously popular, the lower end of the Narrows teems with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dayhikers on hot days of late spring through early fall, when the river is warm and low. Many of those people don’t walk more than a mile or two upriver, while some go as far as Big Spring, at mile five, the farthest point dayhikers can venture without a wilderness permit. The hauntingly quiet upper Narrows can feel remarkably lonely.

Not surprisingly, this unrivaled adventure ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “My 25 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever,” and our campsite in The Narrows graces my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

Young kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Our kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Along the Chesler Park Trail.
My son, Nate, on the Chesler Park Trail.

The Needles District, Canyonlands National Park

Stratified cliffs stretch for miles. Stone towers, with bulbous crowns bigger around than the column on which they sit, seem ever at the verge of toppling over. Multi-colored candlesticks of Cedar Mesa sandstone, in more hues than Crayola has yet replicated, loom 300 feet tall, forming castle-like ramparts.

Trails marked by zigzagging lines of stone cairns lead across waves of slickrock slabs, up narrow water runnels and calf-pumping ramps. In the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, trails ignore the axiom of Euclidian geometry that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Hikers there navigate a maze without walls.

The Needles District encompasses a high plateau split by canyons. Erosional forces working over unfathomable gulfs of time formed this arid and tortured landscape; but it looks more like the work of giant children squeezing mud from their fists. That network of trails creates multiple options for short, relatively easy, but strikingly scenic backpacking trips and dayhikes through The Needles.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks.”

Want to read any story linked here, including my tips on planning these trips?
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch

A backpacker hiking down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch.

For much of the first three days of the five-day descent of Paria Canyon, you pass through its twisting narrows, where walls of searing, orange-red sandstone shoot up for hundreds of feet, so close together at times that a person can cross from one side to the other in a dozen strides.

Sunshine often ignites the upper walls and reflects warm light downward, painting every wave of rock in a subtly different hue. You’re often walking in the shallow river, and pockets of quicksand add an adventurous element to this trek.

The 38-mile hike down Paria Canyon has become famous among backpackers for its towering walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and sandy benches for camping, shaded by cottonwood trees.

It’s done alone or combined with its 16-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch—where the walls, in spots, are barely wider than a person.

See my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon.”

Want my help planning any trip on this list?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

A waterfall in Coyote Gulch.
A waterfall in Coyote Gulch.

On a two-family, roughly 15-mile backpacking trip through Coyote Gulch, we hiked across ancient, petrified dunes; squeezed through a less-than-shoulder-width, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall (which was fun and not as hard as it sounds); and stood at a cliff top overlooking a desert landscape of redrock towers and cliffs, including Stevens Arch, measuring some 220 feet across and 160 feet tall. And that was just in the first hour.

One of the Southwest’s easier backpacking trips—because of its short distance, lack of a narrows creating flash-flood potential, and the presence of a perennial stream (read: you don’t have to carry several pounds of water)—Coyote Gulch features a natural bridge, two of the region’s most distinctive natural arches, and one deeply overhanging wall some 200 feet tall with amazing echo acoustics.

Coyote’s sheer walls at times loom close and you walk in the creek; elsewhere, the upper canyon walls spread a quarter-mile apart and rise up to 900 feet overhead. In a sense, Coyote delivers a complete—and beginner-friendly—canyon-hiking experience.

See my story “Playing the Memory Game in Southern Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon.”

Coyote Gulch is one of “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. Click on the photo to get my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon’s ‘Best Backpacking Trip’

Wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route.

Whoa, you’re thinking—the “best backpacking trip in the entire Grand Canyon??” That was my initial reaction when a longtime backcountry ranger in the canyon whom I know, who’s hiked every mile of trail in the park, described this 74-mile route from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Lipan Point to me using those words. I mean, every hike in this place is amazing, right?

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

Then I backpacked it and found myself agreeing with him.

Besides the fact that the South Kaibab is one of the absolute best hikes in the entire National Park System, this route—which has shorter alternatives—follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, the Escalante Route, and incorporates the little-traveled and beautiful Beamer Trail, as well as another rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

There’s some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling, and water sources are sporadic—this high-level adventure is better for experienced and fit backpackers, ideally with a previous GC or other Southwest backpacking trips under their belts.

But you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado River (with the prospect of mooching real food from a river party).

See “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Aravaipa Canyon

A backpacker hiking into Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking into Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon from the West Trailhead.

Just 12 miles long from its west trailhead to its east one, southern Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon captures enough water flowing out of the Galiuro Mountains to sustain a vibrant, perennial stream and an oddity in the Grand Canyon state: a desert oasis, where cottonwood trees taller and more abundant than you’ll see in most Southwest canyons line both creek banks.

The lush greenery contrasts starkly against redrock walls that rise as much as 700 feet above the creek. But high up the canyon walls and the often-dry side canyons, the environment shifts abruptly to that of the surrounding, vast Sonoran Desert, with saguaro occupying the numerous cliff ledges like thousands of spectators in a strangely steep-sided, long, narrow, and winding stadium.

With no maintained trail in the canyon, backpackers follow whatever user trails get beaten into the sandy ground—or, more often than not hike directly in Aravaipa Creek, splashing through water that ranges from not too cold to chilly and rarely up to calf-deep. The max stay permitted is two nights and most backpackers set up a base camp and dayhike to explore this unique and truly lovely canyon.

See my story “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon.”

On the same Southwest trip that we backpacked in Aravaipa Canyon in early April, three of us from that group also backpacked one of the finest three-day sections of the Arizona Trail, Passage 16, during a wildflower superbloom. See my story about that surprisingly beautiful hike.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

Backpackers hiking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Backpacking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Owl and Fish Canyons, Bears Ears National Monument

A pool of clear water in Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
A pool of clear water in Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

The loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, begins and ends with rugged hiking and scrambling to enter and exit both canyons: You will use your hands at times going up and down, including the final, 12-foot corner in a cliff to reach the rim of Fish Canyon (aided by a fixed rope dangling down the cliff). The upper sections of both canyons present very steep terrain and, especially in Owl Canyon, debris from flash floods like knots of crushed vegetation and boulders bigger than a car to navigate around.

This hike isn’t for anyone who’s uncomfortable with mild to moderate exposure. But these canyons evoke better-known places in southern Utah, with tall, red cliffs, towers, the striking amphitheater surrounding Nevills Arch (see lead photo at top of story), rippled slickrock, pour-offs and seasonal waterfalls, flowering cacti, cottonwoods, and a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water in parts of both canyons.

Just 15 to 17 miles, hiked in two to three days, Owl and Fish canyons offer incredible scenery (and night skies), solitude, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips. That’s a rare find.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.
Click here now to learn more.

A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.

Traversing Zion National Park

La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park.
La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park.

Other Southwestern parks have natural arches, spires, and ancient cliff dwellings, but none really matches Zion’s grandeur: the giant walls of white and blood-red rock, with striations rippling across vast spans of sandstone.

While the park is best known for the 2,000-foot-tall cliffs of Zion Canyon and the justifiably popular dayhike up Angels Landing (which I consider one of the best dayhikes in the entire National Park System), backpacking a nearly 50-mile, north-south traverse takes you on a grand tour of this flagship park. And it can be broken into sections for shorter, beginner-friendly trips.

From Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons, where burgundy cliffs rise above verdantly green stream bottoms, you’ll pass between the black-streaked, red walls of Hop Valley, and follow the West Rim Trail—considered by some Zion aficionados the park’s best—high above a maze of deep, white-walled canyons.

After descending a sidewalk-wide footpath blasted out of cliffs, the traverse passes Angels Landing—a must-do side trip—before crossing Zion Canyon and taking the East Rim Trail past Weeping Rock, through Echo Canyon, and past the white beehive cliffs of the park’s east side.

See all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside, including “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery” and “Mid-Life Crisis: Hiking 50 Miles Across Zion in a Day.”

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A backpacker along the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon's Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking along the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.

Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Grand Canyon

Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.
Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.

Yes, this top-10 list has three hikes in the Big Ditch—and it could justifiably have more. There is no place like the Grand Canyon, period. But of all the backpacking trips I have taken there, the most unique, varied, and magical just may be this rugged and remote, 25-mile loop off the North Rim.

Long on the radar of in-the-know backpackers and river-rafting parties taking side hikes, the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop has an unusual abundance of a rare element in much of the canyon: water.

The two perennial creeks and one river (not counting the Colorado River, which this hike follows for a few miles) pour over some of the Grand Canyon’s loveliest waterfalls (see the photo near the top of this story), course through sculpted narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation.

Descending a vertical mile to the Colorado River and then climbing back up again, on often-rugged trails, with seasons limited by road access and heat often challenging to put it mildly, this hike is no walk in the park—which is why many backpackers take four days or more to complete it. But it packs in all the qualities you go to the Grand Canyon for.

See my feature story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker hiking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow Loop, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

Backpackers hiking down Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
David Gordon and Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

From crossing a high, sand and slickrock plateau on the Boulder Mail Trail, to descending the sometimes narrow and always dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, and finally ascending the upper canyon of the Escalante River between soaring, overhanging walls of red, brown, and cream-colored rock painted with desert varnish, the 22-mile Death Hollow Loop northeast of the town of Escalante delivers a primer on the rugged and adventurous character of a host of desert Southwest landscapes.

The Boulder Mail Trail’s circuitous route over waves of rippling Navajo Sandstone repeatedly rises and falls steeply—but nothing compares to the overlook of Death Hollow just before the trail plunges into it. Death Hollow poses flash-flood risk and, in the best conditions, involves walking in cold water ranging from below the ankles to mid-thigh or deeper—when you successfully skirt the deepest pools—with challenging obstacles and possibly wind blowing up or down the canyon to compound the water’s chill. Then there’s the poison ivy, which is, well, hard to exaggerate about.

But hit this route in good weather and safe water levels and you will be blown away by it.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop.”


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

The Maze District, Canyonlands National Park

Hikers on the Pete's Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Pete’s Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Descending the trail off Maze Overlook, we followed a wildly circuitous trail across slickrock, marked by cairns but otherwise unobvious and not visible on the ground, winding below redrock cliffs and towers, past mounds of shattered boulders resembling ancient ruins, and along the sloping rims of giant bowls of rippled stone. In several spots, we removed and lowered our packs to scramble through tight crevices or downclimb a ladder of shallow footsteps chiseled into a sandstone cliff face.

That was on the second morning of our five-day backpacking trip into the Maze—and it came after we had lingered long over the panorama at the brink of the white cliffs of Maze Overlook, above the vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons that could only be called the Maze. A very rugged, remote, and hard-to-reach corner of the Southwest, with few water sources that can dry up seasonally, the Maze is undoubtedly one of the hardest trips on this list—for many reasons.

But the adventurous character of its routes, jaw-dropping vistas and canyons, ancient pictographs, and deep solitude make it a holy grail for serious Southwest explorers.

See my story “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze.”.

See all stories about hiking and backpacking in Southern Utah and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Don’t miss any stories at The Big Outside. Join now and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-southwest/feed/ 49 21800
16 Photos From 2025 That Will Inspire Your Next Adventure https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2025-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2025-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/#respond Sat, 13 Dec 2025 17:28:31 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=69197 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

How was your 2025? I hope you got outdoors as much as possible with the people you care about—and you enjoyed adventures that inspired you. I’m sharing in this story photos from several backpacking and hiking trips I took this year, from the Grand Canyon in March and southern Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park, Buckskin Gulch, and Paria Canyon in April to Idaho’s Sawtooths in August and again in early October and Wyoming’s Wind River Range in September.

That felt like a pretty good year to me (although there’s an argument to be made that my 2024 was better). But I’m very fortunate to be able to get out a lot.

Going through my photos always reminds me not just about the details of these experiences and places—but most of all, what’s most important in my life and why I strive to make getting outdoors a top priority. I know you do, too—that’s why you read my blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Morning at Skull Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Morning at Skull Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

The photos in this story are selected images from my 2025 trips. Whether you want to learn more to take any of them yourself or simply draw some inspiration from them, I think you’ll enjoy this little escape.

Scroll through the photos and short anecdotes from each trip below. Some include links to stories about those places that I’ve already posted—many of which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on how to plan and take those trips. Watch for my upcoming stories about the other places described below. Click any photo to learn more about that trip.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

Dawn at Spangle Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Dawn at Spangle Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click on photo to see this and many other images from the Sawtooth Mountains, and other places I’ve written about, that you can purchase as professionally printed enlargements for framing.

I can help you plan any of these trips or any others you read about at The Big Outside—giving you the benefit of my more than three decades of professional experience identifying, planning, and successfully pulling off great adventures. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, and my expert e-books to some of America’s best backpacking trips.

I’d love to hear what you think of any of my photos or the places shown in them, or upcoming plans you have. Please share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Enjoy my pictures and start now planning your adventures for 2026.

Put more adventure in your life starting today. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon, high above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon, high above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon Tonto West to the Boucher Trail

In the last days of March, I returned yet again to a park where I have now backpacked and dayhiked in five of the past eight years (and several times further back in my past): the Grand Canyon. (And I just recently reserved a backcountry permit for another trip there in April 2026. I can’t get enough of it.) This time, with my wife, Penny, our 22-year-old daughter, Alex, and three friends—my longtime adventure partner David Ports, Penny’s great friend since college, Annie Black, and Alex’s close friend from college, Harper Meyer—we backpacked four days and roughly 36 miles from the Bright Angel Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead, finishing via the notoriously steep Boucher Trail. And having now walked all of the major trails off the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, I can testify that the Boucher’s reputation is not exaggerated.

Besides starting on the park’s two most popular trails, the South Kaibab (David and I took this somewhat longer start) and the Bright Angel, our route followed a magnificent stretch of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail west to Boucher Creek, crossing several tributary creek canyons with soaring cliffs and deep abysses and enjoyed three wonderful campsites, including one beside the Colorado River at Granite Rapids.

A backpacker hiking the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,”

We also discovered that the Boucher is as exciting, varied, and breathtaking as it is steep in spots (but not the entire trail). Every time we lifted our eyes from the rocks and dirt at our feet in the steepest sections to look around, the scenery would slam the brakes on whatever focus we had on simply going up and hijack our full attention. The Boucher eventually levels off and makes a long traverse high above the grandest canyon, reminding me yet again that this place looks even better from a remote and lonely trail in the backcountry.

And on that traverse, we passed an established campsite that was an easy pick for my list of the best backcountry camps I’ve hiked past.

See my stories “Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside, and my expert e-books to backpacking trips in the Grand Canyon and elsewhere.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Grand Canyon, Yosemite,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

A hiker standing atop Cassidy Arch in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm standing atop Cassidy Arch in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.

Capitol Reef National Park

An April trip to southern Utah began with my friend Jeff Wilhelm and I dayhiking a roughly 10-mile traverse from the Grand Wash Trailhead on UT 24 to the eastern Cohab Canyon Trailhead on UT 24, including the spur trail to Cassidy Arch. That hike gave us a magnificent window onto Capitol Reef’s varied landscapes, taking us from canyon floors in Grand Wash and Cohab to the high plateau of the Frying Pan Trail and its sweeping views of the towers populating this part of the nearly 100-mile-long Waterpocket Fold.

I have written before that I consider Capitol Reef one of America’s most underappreciated national parks, and this hike demonstrates why.

A hiker on the Frying Pan Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Frying Pan Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.

Capitol Reef has become something of a regular stop for me, even if only for a day or two on a longer trip, because after more than 30 years of steadily exploring more of it, I’m still walking some trails there for the first time (this was my first time across the entire Frying Pan Trail and to Cassidy Arch), and there are others that I’m eager to walk again. The variety and striking natural wonder of this underappreciated gem of Utah’s canyon country keeps me coming back. It’s as nice as southern Utah’s other four parks—but not as crowded, especially once you hike at least a couple miles from a trailhead.

See “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park” and “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside about these and many other trips,
including my expert tips on planning them, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon

A backpacker hiking down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch.

In mid-April, joined by friends David Gordon, Doug Jenkins, and Jeff Wilhelm, I backpacked an overnight hike down southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch to its confluence with the canyon of the Paria River, which flows south into Arizona and empties into the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon.

Then, having planned a longer hike but facing a forecast that promised to turn our lovely, sunny, warm weather abruptly into a full-blown snowstorm by afternoon on our second day, we pivoted upstream to finish at the White House Trailhead, the top end of Paria. (We finished as we had confidently planned we would, a couple of hours before the storm commenced—and very happy that we did.)

Unquestionably one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, these two canyons combine what’s often described as the country’s or the world’s longest slot canyon, Buckskin, with the much longer and more varied Paria Canyon, which itself has a narrows with high walls that extends for several miles.

I had first backpacked this exact same route more than 30 years ago (and Paria top to bottom, without Buckskin, about 10 years ago), and seeing Buckskin Gulch again after so much time made it feel almost brand new to me. Its walls, often slightly overhanging, rise to perhaps 200 feet high and the canyon widens briefly a few times. But it mostly remains a true, very narrow slot—sometimes barely wider than a person.

Gazing around, I was reminded that the greatest magic of slot canyons is how the diffused light paints the wildly rippled, orange and red walls in too many shades of those colors to quantify, as well as hues of brown and a deep black that looks like an oil spill—creating stark contrasts that delight and mystify the human eye and brain.

See my story about that trip “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon,” my story about a previous, two-family trip backpacking down the length of Paria Canyon, “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


The unnamed lake where we camped in the lakes basin on the south side of Snowyside Peak, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
The unnamed lake where we camped on our first night in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains in August.

The Sawtooth Mountains

In August, two good friends and regular backpacking compadres, Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton, joined my wife, Penny, and me on a four-day, roughly 31-mile, point-to-point backpacking trip through Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—a range that’s become my home mountains, having explored it extensively for almost 30 years since I moved to Idaho, from numerous backpacking trips to big dayhikes, bagging a bunch of peaks (adding yet another new one to my list in 2025; see the bottom of this story), backcountry skiing, and rock climbing some classic routes.

And it pleases me to say that, for as much as I’ve already seen of the Sawtooths, on this trip we hiked through areas that were entirely new to me—as well as new to Penny and Todd, who’ve also explored these mountains a fair bit, and entirely new to Mark, on his first trip here. He came away from it loving this wilderness and eager to come back.

A backpacker hiking Trail 7092 to the pass on the Edith-Imogene Lakes Divide in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My wife, Penny, backpacking Trail 7092 to the pass on the Edith-Imogene Lakes Divide in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

While most of our trip was on trails, we did hike over an off-trail pass that was steep at times but straightforward on one side and involved crossing some not-entirely stable talus on the side we descended; all in all, though, not bad. And that pass delivered us into a remote area of the Sawtooths that sees very few backpackers, despite an abundance of beautiful alpine lakes and more high passes with sweeping views of these sharply incised peaks. And Todd and I scrambled up a 10,000-foot summit, a very worthwhile and remote peak to bag (which I’ll describe in more detail in my upcoming story about this trip).

Watch for my upcoming story about this trip. Meanwhile, see “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside as well as my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking trips in the Grand Canyon, Sawtooths, Wind River Range, and elsewhere. Want my help with your next trip? Click here.

Sunset at Lower Cook Lake on a solo backpacking trip in the Wyoming's Wind River Range in September.
Sunset at Lower Cook Lake on a solo backpacking trip in the Wyoming’s Wind River Range in September.

The Wind River Range Solo

In the first week of September, after a good friend and longtime regular backpacking partner regrettably had to back out of this trip due to a persistent injury, I embarked on my first solo multi-day hike in probably a couple of decades (mostly because I prefer good company and I’m fortunate to have a great bench of partners).

But I wouldn’t have canceled because it was in one of my very favorite mountain ranges in America: Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Excited for it despite not having company, I walked about 64 miles in six glorious days, much of it on trails all new to me, including a big piece of the Continental Divide Trail through the Winds—which, by the way, is widely considered among thru-hikers (at least among the sizable sample I’ve now met) one of the two best sections of the CDT, along with Glacier National Park.

And what an adventure it was.

Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae's Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae’s Lake in the Wind River Range. Click photo to see this and many other photos from places I’ve written about at The Big Outside that you can purchase professional-quality enlargements of that are suitable for framing.

The Winds are known for its constellation of alpine lakes—estimates include 1,300 name and 1,600 total lakes—and this trip delivered on that reputation even more than I expected: I camped by gorgeous waters every night and walked past an untold number of gorgeous lakes at the foot of big, rocky peaks.

Watch for my upcoming story about that trip. Meanwhile, see “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

The right gear makes any trip go better.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A hiker on the 10,716-foot summit of Mount Cramer, second-highest peak in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Chip Roser on the 10,716-foot summit of Mount Cramer, second-highest peak in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Hiking the Second-Highest Peak in Idaho’s Sawtooths

In the first week of October, with the early-morning temperature bottomed out at a bone-chilling 19° F, my friend Chip Roser and I the hit the trail walking as fast as we could—partly just to warm up, but also because we had a big day ahead of us: hiking the second-highest peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, 10,716-foot Mount Cramer.

It was admittedly late in the season for hiking in the Sawtooths, but there wasn’t any snow yet at higher elevations and we had a forecast promising sunshine all day, comfortably cool temps, and little wind; and once the sun finally found us (we started early in the cold shade of the forest), we warmed up quickly and remained so all day. And what a day it was.

Morning at Hell Roaring Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
A 20-degree morning at Hell Roaring Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

From the Upper Hell Roaring Trailhead (requiring a high-clearance vehicle; otherwise, start at the Lower Hell Roaring Trailhead), we hiked Trail 7092 past a glassy-calm Hell Roaring Lake to the northeast corner of Imogene Lake. From there, we found a use trail leading to the start of the long scramble up the rocky east ridge of Cramer.

Cramer’s summit rises to a sharp point on a boulder resembling a very large arrowhead, From there, in the heart of the Sawtooths, you can see the entire range and pick out numerous other peaks and distinctive alpine lakes far below. We even ended that nearly 18-mile October hike, with more than 3,500 vertical feet of uphill and downhill, with a little daylight remaining.

By the way, if you’re interested in a great hike up the highest peak in the Sawtooths (and somewhat shorter than Cramer, but a full day), read about 10,751-foot Thompson Peak and other outstanding hikes in my story “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” (which I will update in 2026, adding this hike). And see all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

As you plan your trips for next year, see “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and my Trips page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2025-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/feed/ 0 69197
New Year Inspiration: My Top 10 Adventure Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-inspiration-my-top-10-adventure-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-inspiration-my-top-10-adventure-trips/#comments Mon, 08 Dec 2025 10:05:47 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=3411 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I often get asked the question, “What’s your favorite trip?” And I don’t have an answer. To pick just one from all the amazing adventures I’ve had the good fortune to take over more than three decades feels like an impossible task. Instead, I maintain this list of my 10 all-time favorites (so far). It includes some of America’s best backpacking trips, from the Teton Crest Trail and John Muir Trail to Glacier National Park, plus hiking across the Grand Canyon, trekking in Iceland, Patagonia, Norway, and Italy’s Dolomite Mountains (photo above), and some places that might surprise you.

As you’re planning your next great adventures—as you should be doing at this time of year—consider that my picks are chosen from scores of backpacking, dayhiking, paddling, trekking, and other trips I’ve taken, domestically and internationally, over a period of time that includes the 10 years I spent as a writer for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Trekkers overlooking Álftavatn Lake, along Iceland's Laugavegur Trail.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, overlooking Álftavatn Lake, along Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail.

Some of the trips described below—each with a link to the full feature story about it at The Big Outside, which has my tips on planning it (and those require a paid subscription to read in full)—are classics you’ve heard or read about. But others are places you may not know of—because I feel a list like this should introduce you to someplace new. That’s what adventure is all about.

See also my picks for “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips” for more ideas; some of these trips could have made either list. See also my expert e-books to some of America’s best backpacking trips and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

I’d love to hear what you think of this list and any suggestions for trips you think belong on it. Share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Start planning one of your best adventures ever right now—to ensure yourself a very happy new year.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Sea kayakers in Alaska's Glacier Bay National Park.
Sea kayakers in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park.

Sea Kayaking Alaska’s Glacier Bay

Few corners of the planet remain as pristine as this national park that’s the size of Connecticut, which sits at the heart of a contiguous protected wilderness the size of Greece. On a multi-day sea kayaking trip here, you can see massive tidewater glaciers explosively calving bus-sized chunks of ice into the sea, humpback whales, orcas, Steller sea lions, mountain goats, seals, sea otters, brown bears, and a variety of birds and wildflowers. It feels like traveling back in time to the end of the last ice age.

See my story about my family’s five-day sea kayaking trip in Glacier Bay, “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail

The Teton Crest Trail is, step for step, unquestionably one of the most gorgeous mountain walks in America, a true classic offering all the elements of an unforgettable backpacking trip: views of the incomparable skyline of the Tetons and deep, cliff-flanked, glacier-scoured canyons; wonderful campsites, wildflowers, mountain lakes and creeks; and a good chance of seeing moose, elk, marmots, pikas, mule deer, and black bears. I fell in love with the Tetons on my first visit, more than 20 years ago, and I’ve returned more than 20 times since to backpack, rock climb, dayhike, bag most of the major summits, canoe, and backcountry ski. I never grow tired of the sight of these peaks.

See my stories  “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail
and see this menu of all of my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips.

A backpacker at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail

If hearing the JMT described as “America’s Most Beautiful Trail”—as it often is—seems to you like a hyperbolic claim, then you really must go see for yourself. For mile after jaw-dropping mile, you walk below incisor peaks of clean granite, past more waterfalls than anyone could name in a thousand lifetimes, along pristine wilderness lakes nestled in rocky basins, and over passes topping 12,000 and 13,000 feet with views that stretch a hundred miles. Whether or not you agree with that nickname “America’s Most Beautiful Trail,” it will be one of the most wonderful research projects you’ve ever done.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” an “Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan” for a JMT thru-hike, and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?

Want my help planning your hike on the Teton Crest Trail, JMT, or another trip?
Click here now for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile's Patagonia region.
A guanaco in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile’s Patagonia region.

Trekking Patagonia: Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park

One of the most prized trekking destinations in the world, Torres del Paine National Park is a place of severely vertical stone monoliths thousands of feet tall, and some of the world’s largest glaciers pouring into emerald lakes. Of twisted lenga trees, raging whitewater rivers, and the maybe most relentless winds you’ve ever encountered. Patagonia is a dream destination for backpackers all over the world. Read this story to learn how to do Patagonia right.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine.”

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A hiker near Skeleton Point on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

Exploring Deep into the Grand Canyon

Know this before you go to the Grand Canyon: This place will steal your heart. That has been my experience from numerous trips over the years, from rim-to-rim-to-rim dayhikes to multi-day hikes on some of the canyon’s most remote and rugged paths. Now, every return visit just fuels my hunger to go back yet again to explore another corner I haven’t seen yet.

Choose the dayhike or backpacking trip that looks most appealing and suits your skills and experience, and just go see this seemingly infinite complex of shockingly deep and wide side canyons, walls stacked in multi-colored layers, and an army of stone towers. If you’re like me, you will end up going back again and again.

See my numerous stories about Grand Canyon National Park at The Big Outside, including “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim, dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim, and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A family trekking hut-to-hut on the Alta Via 2 through Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My wife and daughter on our hut-to-hut trek on the Alta Via 2 through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

The Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends,” a roughly 108-mile/180-kilometer alpine footpath through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, Italy’s Dolomites, is famous for many attributes, including comfortable mountain huts with excellent food; a reputation for being the most remote and difficult of the several multi-day alte vie (plural for alta via), or “high paths,” that crisscross the Dolomites; and scenery that puts it in legitimate contention for the title of the most beautiful trail in the world.

Read about my family’s weeklong, hut-to-hut trek on a 39-mile/62-kilometer section of the AV 2 in my story “’The World’s Most Beautiful Trail:’ Trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomites.”

See which section of the Alta Via 2 made my “30 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”
Click here to learn how I can help you plan this incomparable trek.

A backpacker on the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Backpacking in Glacier National Park

Think of Glacier National Park and you think of mountain scenery that truly justifies a severely overused adjective: awesome. You think of wildlife sightings that are possible in few places in the Lower 48: bighorn sheep, moose, elk, so many mountain goats you may lose count, and black bears and grizzly bears.

There are two 90-mile hikes in Glacier that make my list of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips:” The first is a tour of northern Glacier, broken up into two hikes, a 65-miler that’s my modified version of Glacier’s best backpacking trip, the Northern Loop, and a 25-miler on the beautiful Gunsight Pass Trail, simplified logistically by the park’s free shuttle buses. The second is a north-south traverse through Glacier mostly on the Continental Divide Trail, from Chief Mountain Trailhead at the Canadian border to Two Medicine.

Both trips deliver everything that makes Glacier a favorite of backpackers: sightings of bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and maybe even grizzlies. Go in September and you may hear elk bugling most mornings and evenings.

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside, including “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” about my most recent, weeklong hike in Glacier.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop
and the CDT through Glacier, which also describe shorter itinerary options.

Hikers descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands.

Adventuring in Iceland

Do you believe in elves? Icelanders do, or at least enough to route highways around places considered the abodes of elves and trolls. This belief may draw inspiration from a landscape of raw beauty that has shaped the values of its people. Smaller than Kentucky, the country has about 150 volcanoes, the greatest concentration in the world. While exploring rugged trails through old lava flows, thermal features spewing steam into the sky, and mind-boggling waterfalls and glaciers, I began to think of Iceland as like a first crush, a mountain cabin, or Alaska: easy to fall in love with, hard to leave. You will feel the same way.

I returned in July 2022 to trek hut to hut on Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails and drive the Ring Road to see more of this fascinating island nation on dayhikes.

Read my story about my family’s hut trek, “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.” See also “9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road,” and “Earth, Wind, and Fire: A Journey to the Planet’s Beginnings in Iceland.”

Take the world’s best trips.
See all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

Hikers in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
My family hiking in the Cares Gorge in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

Hiking Spain’s Picos de Europa

Just a few hours’ drive from a major airport in northern Spain lies a spectacular mountain range resembling the Dolomites, with huts and charming mountain towns—and it’s possible you’ve never heard of it. On a five-day, 52-mile hike through the Picos de Europa, my family walked below jagged limestone peaks rising to over 8,500 feet, over passes above 7,000 feet and across mind-boggling alpine terrain that conveys a sense of much bigger peaks. We spent nights either in huts or delightful B&Bs or inns with great food in quiet, beautiful little villages.

See my story, “The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

Backpackers in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jasmine and Jeff Wilhelm backpacking in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.

Trekking Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park

Hike every day through a starkly beautiful, Arctic-like landscape of mountains plastered with snow and ice, and valleys bisected by rushing streams or filled with iceberg-choked lakes. Then spend every night in the most comfortable mountain huts you have ever encountered, eating meals fit for a four-star restaurant—that’s trekking Jotunheimen. From the multi-cultural experience to exciting stream fords and the opportunity for more challenging, optional side hikes—like the steep scramble up a peak named Kirkja and the all-day hike to Norway’s highest summit, Galdhøpiggen—this adventure was a home run for everyone in our group, age nine to 75.

See my story “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.”

See also my story describing my top 10 family adventures, and a menu of every story about outdoor adventures at my Trips page at The Big Outside.

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-inspiration-my-top-10-adventure-trips/feed/ 10 3411
The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-family-adventures/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-family-adventures/#comments Mon, 08 Dec 2025 10:00:23 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=3364 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As a parent of two young adults who’s taken them outdoors since before they can remember, I’ll share with you the biggest and in some ways most surprising lesson I’ve learned from these trips: Our outdoor adventures have been the best times we’ve had together as a family—and not just because the places are so special. The greatest benefit of these trips is that they have given us innumerable days with only each other and nature for entertainment—no electronic devices or other distractions that construct virtual walls within families in everyday life.

For my family, our experiences together outdoors make up most of our richest and favorite memories. They have brought us closer together.

That’s a gift we’ve given ourselves as a family, one that I’ve cherished every minute of (well, most of the minutes, anyway). I also know our kids will appreciate it more and more as they get older—and perhaps they will pass this gift on to children of their own someday.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A rainbow created by mist below Vernal Fall, along the Mist Trail in Yosemite N.P.
A rainbow created by mist below Vernal Fall, along the Mist Trail in Yosemite National Park.

No matter where you go or what you do with your kids, you can reap that reward. But if you want to share with your family the very best experiences and places in nature, well, I have a pretty darn awesome list for you.

For this story, I’ve picked out the 10 very best adventures my family has taken and I’ve written about at The Big Outside—which also rank among the most beautiful and inspiring trips I’ve taken over more than three decades as an outdoors writer, including many years running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine.

This tick list includes seven national parks, three world-class paddling adventures, three trips that should be on every backpacker’s to-do list, America’s most scenic and fascinating volcano hike, and cross-country skiing or hiking among the greatest concentration of active geysers in the world.

Not surprisingly, all of these trips are extremely popular and require planning and making reservations months in advance.

The writeups below all link to my full feature story about each trip at The Big Outside, which include more images and detailed tips on planning each one yourself (and which require a paid subscription to read in full).

You may also want to peruse my list of 10 all-time favorite adventures, domestic and international—there are definitely trips that could be on either list.

I’d love to read your comments about any of these trips or the entire list, and other readers and I would appreciate any advice you have on any of these trips. Share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here’s wishing you many years of forging lasting memories together as a family.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Hikers on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the distance.
My kids, nephew, and mother on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the distance.

1. Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Hiking Mount St. Helens

I’ll make you this guarantee: Mount St. Helens is one of the coolest dayhikes in America, period. Hikers on the standard route, Monitor Ridge, soon emerge from shady rainforest onto a stark, gray and black moonscape of volcanic rocks, pumice, and ash, with infinite views of the Cascade Range, including other snow-capped volcanoes like Hood, Adams, and Rainier.

It’s also a tough hike at 10 miles round-trip and 4,500 vertical feet up and down, most of it on rugged terrain that varies from loose stones and dirt to ash that’s like hiking a giant sand dune. We had a special component to our trip up and down the mountain: a three-generation family group with a 66-year spread between the youngest, my 10-year-old daughter, and the oldest, my 76-year-old mother. When I scored last-minute permits to hike the mountain, I wasn’t sure everyone could make it. Then, hours into the ascent, events seemed to take an ominous turn.

Read my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Hiking Mount St. Helens” to find out how it all turned out.

Mount St. Helens was one of “My Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”

Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.
The view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.

2. The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls

Stand at the brink of a thunderous waterfall that drops a sheer 1,400 feet over a cliff. Hike a trail in the heavy shower of mist raining from a clear, blue sky. Dayhike through one of the most iconic landscapes in America—Yosemite Valley.

The Valley’s towering cliffs and waterfalls will awe any adult and even the most cynical teenager. But for kids, there are also the thrills of walking through the mist from a giant waterfall, and moments like traversing the narrow catwalk blasted out of granite on the final steps to the top of Upper Yosemite Falls. Hiking in Yosemite should be a must for every avid hiker.

See my stories “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls” and “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” and all stories about hiking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Grand Teton, Yosemite,
and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

A raft floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park.
A raft floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park.

3. Tackling America’s Best Easy, Multi-Day Float Trip

For 52 miles through Stillwater Canyon in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park, the Green River slowly unfurls beneath a constant backdrop of giant redrock cliffs and spires. Off the water, you camp on sandy beaches and slickrock benches, hike to centuries-old Puebloan rock art and cliff dwellings, and maybe even spot bighorn sheep scrambling around on precipitous rock faces.

An easy trip for beginners and families—our party of 17 ranged in age from four to 80 and included eight kids—floating the Green River stood, for years, as my family’s gold standard for river trips (eventually replaced, when our kids got older, by the last trip on this list).

See my story “Still Waters Run Deep: Floating the Green River in Canyonlands” and all stories about river trips at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

A family trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.
My nephew Marco, daughter, Alex, and 80-year-old mom, Joanne, hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.

4. Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

My list would be incomplete without one of the biggest, most beautiful and fun adventures my family has ever taken. And you’ll find the Tour du Mont Blanc (also the lead photo at top of story) on just about any list of the world’s greatest trails. The main reason is the sheer majesty of this roughly 105-mile/170-kilometer walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot/4,807-meter Mont Blanc. Passing through three Alpine nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—and over several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers almost constant views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “augilles,” and the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

Making this trip all the more special was the fact that we had three generations of my extended family represented, including my 80-year-old mother.

Read my story “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace.”

Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

A young boy backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the wilderness coast of Olympic National Park.

5. Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast

For our kids, who were nine and seven, this three-day backpacking trip on the wilderness coastline of Washington’s Olympic National Park ranked as a favorite for all the expected reasons that children love a wild ocean shore: playing for hours in water, exploring the variety of sea life in tide pools, and picking, awestruck, through the myriad flotsam from civilization like old, salt-worn buoys (my son took one home).

For adults, the scores of offshore sea stacks, giant trees, and natural beauty make the Olympic coast one of America’s classic backpacking trips.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast.”

See my “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

A young boy backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.

6. Dropping Into the Grand Canyon

Sure, any trip in the Big Ditch is worthy of a top 10 list—you could fill a top 10 list just with Grand Canyon hikes. But in this rugged terrain and unforgiving environment, choosing the right backpacking route becomes critical; most trails are rough, many trailheads remote.

This four-day, 29-mile hike combines two of the most spectacular and accessible trails coming off the South Rim—the Grandview and South Kaibab—with an easier, less-busy stretch of the Tonto Trail that delivers constant, big views.

See my story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon Grandview Point to the South Kaibab” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip that you read about at my blog?
Click here now for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A mother and young daughter paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, in Florida's Everglades region.
My daughter, Alex, and wife, Penny, paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, on the edge of Florida’s Everglades.

7. Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades

Seeing scores of large, exotic birds like brown pelicans, roseate spoonbills, white ibises, and black anhingas. Canoeing among remote islands to camp on a wilderness beach you have all to yourself. Watching a dolphin surface just off your canoe’s bow and swim a wide circle around you. Paddling a flatwater river shared with alligators (kept at a safe distance).

It’s hard to overstate how exciting and fun this park is for adults and children. And the trip my family took when our kids were ten and almost eight was one of the most beginner-friendly in the Everglades.

See my story “Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

West Rim Trail, Zion National Park, Utah.
Backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park, Utah.

8. Backpacking Zion, a Land of Otherworldly Scenery

Many hikers content themselves with exploring the trails of Zion Canyon and the popular dayhike up Angels Landing—all worthwhile. But backpack into the backcountry and you discover a sprawling landscape that’s unique even in the Southwest.

Cliffs of pure white and blood-red sandstone soar hundreds of feet overhead, rock ripples like water, and you walk along a high rim looking down on a labyrinth of slot canyons and isolated mesas. This trip’s moderate difficulty and multiple itinerary options make it ideal for families and beginner backpackers.

See “Backpacking Through the Otherworldly Scenery of Zion,” “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” and “The Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” at The Big Outside.

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A young girl cross-country skiing the Biscuit Basin Trail through the Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park.
My daughter, Alex, cross-country skiing the Biscuit Basin Trail through the Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone.

9. Exploring Yellowstone

Visiting the world’s first national park, Yellowstone, should be a requirement of American citizenship (and I would gladly contribute to a fund to make it affordable for every family). Besides the opportunity to see a range of wildlife that nearly mirrors what North America looked like before Columbus, you can watch geysers erupt and see natural hot springs, whistling fumaroles, bubbling mud pots, and some beautiful waterfalls.

I’ve visited many times, with my kids and before I had a family, in every season. It’s wonderful for everyone, at any stage in life, partly because so many of its highlight features can be seen on short walks. And to me, cross-country skiing the almost flat, 2.5 miles of trail through Yellowstone’s Upper Geyser Basin, past one-fourth of the active geysers in the world (and the greatest concentration of them), is one of the most fascinating experiences in the National Park System.

See my stories “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” “The Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” “Cross-Country Skiing Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone at The Big Outside.

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See the best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

 

The "kids raft" running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The “kids raft” running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

10. Rafting Idaho’s Incomparable Middle Fork Salmon River

For a complete package of sheer thrills, five-star scenery, immersion in a vast wilderness, beautiful campsites, repeated episodes of children shrieking with joy, and an experience guaranteed to be a family favorite that you’ll want to repeat—not to mention eating like every day was Thanksgiving—few trips we’ve taken as a family compare to our guided float down Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Flowing like an artery through the heart of the second-largest federal wilderness in the continental United States, the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork is widely considered second only to the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in terms of raw beauty. My family might argue it’s better—and we’ve take three Middle Fork trips.

See my stories “Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” and “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River,” and all stories about river trips at The Big Outside.

See my All Trips List, all stories featuring my expert outdoors tips, and all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-family-adventures/feed/ 18 3364
How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Mon, 01 Dec 2025 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=37275 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

For backpackers, the Teton Crest Trail really delivers it all: beautiful lakes, creeks, and waterfalls, high passes with sweeping vistas, endless meadows of vibrant wildflowers, a good chance of seeing wildlife like elk and moose, some of the best campsites you will ever pitch a tent in, and mind-boggling scenery just about every step of the way. And it’s a relatively beginner-friendly trip of 40 miles or less, which most people can hike in four to five days.

No wonder it’s so enormously popular—and there’s so much competition for backcountry permits.

In this story, I will offer tips on how to maximize your chances of getting a permit to backpack the Teton Crest Trail, sharing expertise I’ve acquired from at least two dozen trips in the Tetons and several on the Teton Crest Trail over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Lake Solitude, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Lake Solitude in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

See my story from my most-recent trip on it, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including basic information on planning a TCT backpacking trip. For much more information and expert tips on planning this trip, get my top-selling e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I’ve also helped many readers plan a backpacking trip in the Tetons and elsewhere, answering all of their questions and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you.

Please share any thoughts or questions about this story, or your own tips, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker above the South Fork Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton N.P.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Apply the First Day Possible in January

For backpacking trips between May 1 and Oct. 31, permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, 2026, and up to two days before your trip start date. But go online to make your reservation right at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on the day reservations open because most campsites that are available to reserve, especially along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up for the entire summer very quickly, often within minutes. Find more information at nps.gov/grte/planyourvisit/bcres.htm.

This point cannot be overemphasized: Given the huge demand for reservations and the fact that they get booked up so quickly, there’s effectively just one day every year—and for all practical purposes, just one brief window that may only last minutes—when you can reserve a permit for backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Be prepared to reserve one then.

See my story “A Teton Crest Trail Permit Shouldn’t Be So Hard to Get.”

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park.
Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Be Flexible With Your Dates and Itinerary

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to have flexibility with your dates and itinerary.

When going through the Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit reservation at recreation.gov , you will be able to check availability in real time for each camping zone on specific dates; thus, you will either finish the process with a permit, or you will be unable to finish the process and obtain a permit due to lack of availability on your dates.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Paintbrush Divide.

Plan in advance how far you want to walk each day and begin the process with a specific, day-to-day itinerary planned out—but also with a range of possible starting dates and camping zone options.

Many backpackers will find hiking eight to 10 miles per day moderately difficult on the Teton Crest Trail—but the TCT is accessed via trails up canyons on the park’s east and west sides, with backpackers primarily using (from south to north) Granite, Death, Cascade, and Paintbrush canyons on the east. The topography generally creates a strenuous uphill day (or two) at the beginning of a trip and a long descent at the trip’s end. Some backpackers may want to build in short days, which also creates time for side hikes.

Select a Mountain Camping Zone for each night in the backcountry. The camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail within Grand Teton National Park are spaced out at easy to moderate distances for most backpackers to hike in a day; some, like the zones in the North and South Forks of Cascade Canyon, are close enough to provide relatively short hiking days. Keep in mind that each camping zone is roughly a few miles long, so where you camp within each zone will determine each day’s actual hiking mileage.

See a basic map of camping zones in the park’s backcountry camping brochure and my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” for my two favorite areas to camp along the Teton Crest Trail.

I suggest side hikes and several itinerary options in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park,” which provides great detail on everything you need to know to plan and pull off this trip, including when and how to get a permit.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.

While your permit designates a specific camping zone each night, you are not assigned a specific site; you can choose any unoccupied campsite when you arrive in each zone. The boundaries of the camping zones are marked by small signs along the trail. In some zones, like the North Fork Cascade Canyon, individual campsites are marked by signs; in others, like Death Canyon Shelf, there are not marked sites, but you can select from numerous, established sites that have clearly been used before, to minimize impact.

There is a $20 non-refundable fee if you obtain a permit plus $7 per person per night. 

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to see “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.”

Keep Your Group Small

Grand Teton National Park issues permits for standard campsites for backpacking parties up to six people; parties of seven to 12 must reserve the group site in each zone. Whether making a permit reservation in January or trying to get a walk-in permit (see below), keeping your party smaller than seven will improve your chances of getting a permit in the zones of your choice, because the park limits the total number of people permitted nightly for each zone.

Sunset Lake, along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Sunset Lake, along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Try for a Walk-In Permit

You didn’t plan months in advance and now it’s too late to reserve a permit for camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail? There is a last resort: get a walk-in (or first-come) permit.

The park allows reservations for only about one-third of permits in advance—leaving two-thirds of backcountry camping available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, issued no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. Naturally, there’s high demand for walk-in permits. Show up at a park backcountry desk (there’s one in the park’s Craig Thomas Discovery & Visitor Center in Moose) at least an hour and ideally two or more hours before it opens, to get a spot near the front of the line.

Arrive there with a preferred hiking itinerary planned, including where you’d like to start and finish and camp each night, plus optional itineraries, and talk to a ranger about what’s available. You might get lucky and score a permit to start the same day. But expect to have to wait a day—if you’re fortunate enough to get a walk-in permit.

You can get the required bear canister on loan for free at the backcountry desk if you don’t have one. (See my favorite bear canister in my review of essential backpacking gear accessories.)

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf.

Go Outside Peak Season

I’ve always been amazed at how few backpackers there are in the Tetons in September, when you can often enjoy perfect weather. The peak season for backpacking runs from whenever the higher sections of trail and the passes become mostly snow-free, usually by mid-July, through around Labor Day.

That’s also the period with the greatest demand for backcountry permits.

Although there is the possibility of your plans being ruined by an unusual early-season snowfall, choose dates after Labor Day and your chances of getting a permit are much better.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “American Classic: The Teton Crest Trail,” “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail,” and “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” plus all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

My Custom Trip Planning page explains how you can get my personal help planning this trip or any trip you read about at my blog.

After the Teton Crest Trail, hike the other nine of
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/feed/ 10 37275
5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Mon, 01 Dec 2025 10:00:59 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26181 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On my first backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park, camped on Death Canyon Shelf, a broad, boulder-strewn and wildflower-carpeted bench at 9,500 feet, I awoke to the sound of heavy clomping outside my tent. I unzipped the tent door to investigate—and saw a huge bull elk standing just outside my nylon walls.

As I’ve come to learn over at least two dozen trips to the Tetons since that first one over three decades ago, that elk encounter symbolized just one of several compelling reasons why every backpacker should move the Teton Crest Trail to the top of their to-do list: the wildlife. Where it occurred illustrates another reason: After years of backpacking all over the United States—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—Death Canyon Shelf is still one of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

And I certainly consider the Teton Crest Trail one of the 10 best backpacking trips in America. It’s one I keep going back to again and again. (Read about my most recent trip.)

I think the five reasons I lay out below will give you insights into questions you might have about this classic hike—and inspire you to go do it.

But know this important planning detail: The park begins accepting permit applications at recreation.gov starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on a specific date in early January. (The date changes every year and gets announced by late autumn. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail” for details.) Apply then because most campsites along the TCT that are available to reserve for summer dates will disappear quickly—typically within minutes.

The park only issues reservations for about one-third of permits in advance, leaving two-thirds available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, which can be obtained no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. While there’s high demand for walk-in permits and popular camping zones will fill up first, it’s often possible to get a walk-in permit for a very good hike; and if you’re near the front of the line, perhaps for your first-choice route and camps.

My top-selling e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and pull off that trip. And I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a successful and memorable backpacking trip in the Tetons. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can create a personalized trip plan ideal for you.

If you’ve backpacked in the Tetons or have other thoughts or suggestions about this trip, I’d appreciate you sharing those in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here are the five reasons every backpacker must hike the Teton Crest Trail.

A backpacker at Lake Solitude on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at Lake Solitude in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo for my expert e-book to the Teton Crest Trail.

1. It’s Not Particularly Hard

Some big, wilderness parks are famous for steep, rugged terrain, high elevations, and/or severe weather. But with the exception of two or three long uphill slogs—like Paintbrush Divide from either direction, or climbing from the lower Death Canyon Trail to either Static Divide or Death Canyon Shelf—trails in the Tetons are not especially difficult. Most of the hiking is at elevations that flatlanders acclimate to fairly quickly and have no trouble with, other than occasional shortness of breath.

Like most of the Mountain West, the Tetons commonly see afternoon thunderstorms in summer, and snow can fall in September. But they generally receive stable, sunny weather with moderate temperatures during the peak hiking season, from mid-July through mid-September.

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Don’t expect an easy stroll (and keeping your pack light has the biggest impact on comfort and fatigue). But we took our kids backpacking in the Tetons for the first time when they were eight and six, on a three-day, 20-mile loop from String Lake Trailhead up Paintbrush Canyon and down Cascade Canyon—probably the park’s most popular multi-day hike, and it includes the highest and hardest pass on the TCT. (Click here now to get my e-book to that trip, which is the best beginner-friendly backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.) They were 10 and eight when we took took them on a four-day hike on the TCT.

In truth, on much of the TCT, you follow a good footpath, traversing a high plateau and descending and ascending canyons that are rarely steep. It is certainly tiring but not exceptionally strenuous.

See my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
A moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

2. There’s a Good Chance of Seeing Wildlife

I’ve seen elk (and heard them bugling in September), moose, deer, pronghorn antelope, marmots, and pikas in the Tetons. Both times I’ve backpacked with my family there, we’ve seen moose fairly close (though at a safe distance). There are black and grizzly bears in the Tetons, but bear encounters are not common; in all of my trips there, I’ve seen one black bear, and it ignored me hiking down the trail while it fed on berries a short distance away. You should take appropriate precautions, of course, and the park requires carrying bear canisters for food storage.

Look for elk, marmot, and pikas at higher elevations in summer, moose in wet areas (like Phelps Lake, the forks of Granite Canyon, Death Canyon, and the main stem and forks of Cascade Canyon), pronghorn and bison in Jackson Hole, and deer everywhere. Hit the trail early in the morning or explore from your campsite in the evening hours—and be quiet—for the best chances of seeing wildlife.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in the Jedediah Smith Wilderness.
Todd Ardnt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Alaska Basin. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

3. It’s Not Crowded

Most dayhikers do not venture as far as the more-remote sections of the Teton Crest Trail, and climbers focus largely on the Grand Teton and other high peaks in the park’s core. Consequently, you’ll see only other backpackers on much of the TCT, and those numbers are managed to provide a wilderness experience. With the exception of a few spots that get busy at certain times of day—like misleadingly named Lake Solitude around midday in July or August, when dayhikers are streaming in, or Alaska Basin (which is actually outside the park, but along the TCT) on summer weekends, and in campsites in mornings and evenings—you will not see too many people in the Teton backcountry, especially after Labor Day.

Campsites are also fairly well spread out within the camping zones, keeping parties largely out of sight and earshot of one another.

See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Want a shorter trip? Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Paintbrush Divide.

4. It’s Not Experts-Only

Beginners who can read a map can backpack the TCT. Throughout Grand Teton National Park, you will find trails that are well-constructed, obvious, and clearly marked, including signs at junctions. You can hike moderate days and still complete a Teton Crest Trail trip in four days, or take an overnight or weekend trip on a section of it. In many ways, backpacking the Teton Crest Trail is relatively beginner-friendly.

Get good gear. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Todd Arndt above the South Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

5. It’s Drop-Dead Beautiful

However high your expectations may be from the many articles, photos, and videos of the Tetons readily available to anyone with wifi, a hike on the Teton Crest Trail will still wow you. From the campsites to the high passes, canyon bottoms, and virtually every step of the hike, the TCT offers a succession of soaring cliffs, vast fields of wildflowers (in mid-summer), waterfalls, and nearly constant but ever-changing views of one of the most dramatic and famous mountain skylines in America.

That’s why I consider it one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

See my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your Teton Crest Trail trip.

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

See all stories at The Big Outside about Grand Teton National Park and backpacking the Teton Crest Trail (which require a paid subscription to read in full), including:

A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail
How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail
Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail
The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park
10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons

See a menu of all stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/feed/ 18 26181
5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Mon, 17 Nov 2025 10:23:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50125 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Create a list of the attributes that constitute a great backpacking trip and the chances are very high that you will describe Glacier National Park. There’s the incomparable landscape, where the remnants of glaciers hang off craggy mountains, vertiginous cliffs tower above deeply green valleys carved in the classic U shape by ancient rivers of ice, and hundreds of mountain lakes reflect it all. And encounters with wildlife like bighorn sheep, mountain goats, elk, moose, and, yes, grizzly and black bears: Few places in the continental United States harbor such a breadth of megafauna.

Sprawling over a million acres in Montana’s Northern Rockies, most of it wilderness, Glacier exudes a sense of wildness and beauty that no longer exists in most of the country.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all of my e-books describing classic backpacking trips in Glacier and other national parks.

Little wonder that this park remains so enduringly popular with backpackers. After more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States and more than a decade running this blog, having taken many of the best multi-day hikes out there—some of them, like Glacier, multiple times—I think that Glacier is, in many respects, the best. (See my lists of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips”—and yes, of course, Glacier graces both lists.)

I’ve had the good fortune to get to know Glacier—and its extremely competitive permit system—very well.

A Glacier backpacking permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Glacier holds two early-access lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. General reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1, running through Sept. 30. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance. 

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker on the Continental Divide Trail above Medicine Grizzly Lake in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Continental Divide Trail above Medicine Grizzly Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside,

See also my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” both of which provide all you need to know to plan those trips, including detailed guidance on getting a high-demand backcountry permit, multiple itinerary options of varied lengths, the best campsites, plus expert advice on the ideal time of year, gear, and safety in bear country.

I’ve also helped many readers of my blog plan a very enjoyable backpacking trip designed specifically for them in Glacier. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

Want to explore Glacier on dayhikes? See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park” and “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park.”

Please share your thoughts on this article—or your favorite hikes in Glacier—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

1. Well, There’s All Those Critters

On nearly every backpacking trip I’ve taken in Glacier, I have seen bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and both black and grizzly bears (the last from a safe distance—most of the time, with the exception of this encounter). I’ve seen mountain goats on every trip. Go in late summer or early fall and you may hear elk bugling every morning and evening (as I did on this mid-September trip).

While you can see all of those megafauna in some other parts of the Lower 48 and Alaska, very few places host such a density of them—which means you are more likely to see them in Glacier than other wildlands.

Every backpacker who walks through the wilderness of Glacier takes home a powerful sense of awe over this park—and a desire to return again and again.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

2. And the Mountains and Lakes—Wow

The Blackfeet who’ve inhabited this area for centuries called these mountains “the backbone of the world.” In 1901, the American anthropologist, historian, naturalist, and writer George Bird Grinnell, in campaigning for the creation of Glacier National Park, coined the phrase “Crown of the Continent,” and it stuck.

Today, Glacier’s one million acres comprise just one piece of a contiguous, protected ecosystem spanning nearly 13 million acres across the U.S.-Canada border.

But those words and numbers fail to even come close to conveying the majesty of these peaks. The Rocky Mountain chain arguably reaches its full glory in the Northern Rockies of Glacier, where giant axe and knife blades of rock erupt from the earth, slicing into a sky often strikingly blue in summer.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass, on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

More than 760 lakes dot Glacier’s landscape, many of them nestled among peaks so jaggedly dramatic that you’ll struggle to leave them—like Elizabeth Lake, Sue Lake, and Lake Ellen Wilson, to name just three that I list among the most gorgeous backcountry lakes I’ve ever seen.

Among Continental Divide Trail thru-hikers, the prevailing opinion is that the two greatest highlights of their multi-month trek were the Wind River Range and Glacier.

Of course, the best way to know this is to go and see for yourself.

Want my help planning any trip you read about at this blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A backpacker hiking the Continental Divide Trail toward Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Continental Divide Trail toward Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park.

3. It’s Not That Hard

Some big, mountainous parks are notorious for steep, rugged terrain, high elevations, and/or severe weather. But that’s not generally the case in Glacier. Most of the park’s trails are built at what’s called a “horse grade,” meaning never too steep for horses, which is less steep than many trails designed strictly for humans. Step for step, mile for mile, hiking here feels a bit easier than in many other parks.

A backpacker along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt beside Red Eagle Creek, along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.

Trail elevations in Glacier pose significantly less challenge than other parts of the Rockies or the High Sierra: With the highest passes on trails under 8,000 feet, most people feel little effects of altitude beyond shortness of breath hiking uphill.

Like most of the Mountain West, Glacier may see afternoon thunderstorms in summer, and snow can fall in September or even August, although that’s rare. But the park often sees stable, sunny weather with just about perfect temperatures during the peak hiking season of mid-July into mid-September, without as many biting insects as wetter climates.

Don’t expect an easy stroll (and keeping your pack light has the biggest impact on comfort and fatigue). But we took our kids backpacking in Glacier for the first time when they were nine and seven, on a three-day hike on the Gunsight Pass Trail—and they loved it.

The biggest challenge of backpacking in Glacier is staying safe in bear country—and park management all but eliminates the possibility of the most common mistakes people make, with designated backcountry campgrounds all equipped with bearproof food-hanging systems. That delivers another great benefit of relieving you of the weight of a bear canister that’s required in many other parks, from Grand Teton to Yosemite, the parks and national forests of the High Sierra, and other destinations.

See my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click on photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

4. Finding Solitude and a Wilderness Experience

Sure, you will encounter other backpackers and dayhikers on some trails. But as in many major national parks, Glacier’s management limits the number of backcountry permits issued to backpackers. While virtually all available permits get claimed during the peak summer season, every time I’ve backpacked in Glacier, my party has enjoyed hours every day seeing few other people—especially the farther you hike from any road (and the park has very few roads).

See “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park.”

Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.

Certain areas of the park attract the most visitors—including Logan Pass and Many Glacier. But in a park that spans over a million acres, mostly wilderness, it’s not hard to get away from the hordes, especially in more-remote areas like the North Fork, Goat Haunt, and Nyack/Coal Creek areas and even some sections of the Continental Divide Trail.

Yes, it’s hard to get a backcountry permit in Glacier—and that’s a good thing. The wilderness experience remains protected—and amplified by all the factors noted above.

Want deeper solitude? Follow tip no. 2 (“Go outside the peak season”) in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking” and backpack in Glacier in late September or early October, when average temperatures range from highs in the 50s and 60s Fahrenheit to lows in the 30s to around freezing. While precipitation is more likely than in August, September and October both average just over two inches of total precipitation—and none on two out of every three days—falling mostly as rain in September, while the shift to snow occurs sometime in October.

In other words, you can see snow in late summer and early fall, but the weather is dry more often than not, with moderately cool temps. Watch the forecast and take advantage of a good weather window.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

5. Because It Will Blow You Away

Backpacking my own variation of Glacier’s Northern Loop with two friends who’d never been to the park before, as we reached Piegan Pass—and a view that stopped us in our tracks—one of them remarked, with joking sarcasm, “I can’t see why you wanted to take us here, Mike. It’s not like there’s much to see.” And that was just our first day.

As was the case the first time I backpacked much of the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier with three other friends (I more recently hiked a slight variation of that same route), every day felt like a walk through a time 10,000 years before the present, when nature was pristine (mostly, although human-caused climate change is rapidly causing the park’s glaciers to melt away) and North America’s full complement of original animal species still roamed the mountains. Those two trips culminated with a crossing of the high and stunning Dawson Pass Trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass, overlooking some of the biggest peaks and glaciers and most-remote wilderness in the park’s core—and seeing yet more bighorn sheep.

That’s what awaits you in Glacier. Go there.

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside, including “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and “Jagged Peaks and Wild Goats: Backpacking Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail.” Like many stories at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan your backpacking trip in Glacier.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/feed/ 2 50125
The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-beginner-backpacking-trip-in-grand-teton-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-beginner-backpacking-trip-in-grand-teton-national-park/#comments Fri, 07 Nov 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28264 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As we backpacked up Paintbrush Canyon on the first day of a three-day family hike on the nearly 20-mile loop of Paintbrush and Cascade canyons in Grand Teton National Park, I kept a close eye on our kids. Our son, Nate, then eight years old, had taken a few backpacking trips with me already; I figured he’d do fine, but still, he was young. Our daughter, Alex, then six, was on just her second backpacking trip. I knew that making it fun for them would be an important first step toward nurturing in them a love for future wilderness trips.

We could hardly have chosen a better multi-day hike than the Paintbrush-Cascade Canyon loop: Offering a highlights reel of Grand Teton National Park’s backcountry, it is probably among the most scenic sub-20-mile hikes in the National Park System—and I’ve taken many of the best over the past few decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Paintbrush Divide.

With nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, the loop crosses one of the highest points reached by trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama spans a jagged skyline of peaks and spires in every direction, including 12,605-foot Mount Moran to the north and the 13,776-foot Grand Teton and 12,000-footers Mount Owen and Teewinot to the south. It also passes by Lake Solitude, nestled in a cirque of cliffs, and below the striped cliffs of Paintbrush Canyon and the waterfalls and soaring peaks of Cascade Canyon. Wildflowers carpet the ground from late July well into August.

On my family’s second evening, camped in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, with a jaw-dropping view of the Grand Teton towering thousands of feet above us, I thought the kids would be exhausted from the hike over Paintbrush Divide. But Nate and Alex played for hours in the creek. When I asked Alex if she was tired, she started doing jumping jacks in front of me.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my popular e-books to the Teton Crest Trail
and the short backpacking trip described in this story.

Descending from Paintbrush Divide into the North Fork Cascade Canyon. A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Young kids hiking to Paintbrush Divide, Grand Teton National Park. A backpacker at Lake Solitude on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. The North Fork of Cascade Canyon. Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail below Paintbrush Divide, Grand Teton National Park. The North Fork of Cascade Canyon.

I’ve backpacked and dayhiked this popular loop and parts of it on longer trips several times. In a park that arguably ranks among the top five for backpackers, the 19.7-mile loop linking up Paintbrush and Cascade canyons from String Lake is the best beginner-friendly introduction to backpacking the Tetons for the scenery, relatively short distance, and good trails and campsites.

But that doesn’t mean the scenery or experience are second-rate; this hike’s as outstanding as any other in the park, a very worthy weekend trip for new and experienced backpackers or a fun, scenic, big day for fit hikers and trail runners.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Tetons.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
A moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo for my best-selling, expert e-book to the Teton Crest Trail.

As we hiked down Cascade Canyon on our last morning, we stopped to watch two bull moose grazing not far off the trail. The kids loved the shuttle boat across Jenny Lake, craning our necks up at the peaks above us. We celebrated with ice cream afterward. And we didn’t lose any stuffed animals.

All in all, it was a win. My kids are young adults now and probably don’t remember much about this hike. But I look back on it as an important step toward molding them into the avid, seasoned backpackers they are today.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners,” “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside, including this story about my family’s backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail when our kids were a little older.

Get full access to all Tetons stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-beginner-backpacking-trip-in-grand-teton-national-park/feed/ 14 28264
10 Tips For Getting Outside More https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-outside-more/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-outside-more/#comments Mon, 03 Nov 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12323 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Do you get outside as much as you’d like, either locally or on longer trips away from home? Who does? For many of us, work, home, and other responsibilities erect roadblocks to getting out as much as we’d like—even as spending time outdoors feels ever more urgent and necessary. This story shares 10 simple strategies to help you sate your appetite for getting outdoors, both on short outings near home and longer trips away from home.

While my work as an outdoors writer and photographer for more than three decades—including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—enables me to spend a lot of time outside every year, like most people, I serve many masters and balance many commitments.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Mark and Pam Solon backpacking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah. Click photo to see “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

In fact, my professional need to get out frequently on trips—along with my desire to get out regularly on shorter, local hikes, runs, cycling, and skiing for anywhere from an hour to a day—has, over the years, taught me many tricks for accomplishing those objectives within the framework of a busy life as a working parent with a spouse who works.

In the past year, for instance, I took several backpacking and hiking trips—some of them with various combinations of my family (see tip no. 2 below)—including backpacking in the Grand Canyon in late March and in April in southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon and dayhiking in Capitol Reef National Park; yet another incredible backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains in August; a six-day solo hike mostly on a section of the Continental Divide Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range in September; and a three-week family trip to New Zealand back in late autumn 2024 to trek the Routeburn and Milford tracks and do some mountain biking and dayhiking—including arguably the best dayhike in New Zealand, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. Watch for my upcoming stories about these trips that I haven’t yet written about.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

A backpacker at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to see all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at this blog.

But the point is not whether you’re getting out as much as someone else or where you go—it’s whether you’re doing what’s necessary to satisfy your need for the release and happiness the outdoors provides, or at least come as close to that ideal as possible.

In many respects, most people reading this story face similar challenges and obstacles and I think you will find that these tips can help improve your life. Please share your thoughts on them, or your own tricks for getting out more, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click on the photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

No. 1 Plan Trips Weeks or Months in Advance

When was the last time you had the freedom to take off on the spur of the moment? Probably been years, right?

Many people lack that flexibility, which means that your outdoor recreation, like your work, has to be scheduled or it doesn’t happen. That’s true whether it’s your regular, short local hikes and other outings or longer trips backpacking, hiking, and camping in many national parks, such as Grand Teton, Yosemite, Glacier, and Grand Canyon, or an international adventure like trekking hut to hut in Iceland (lead photo at top of story), which require making reservations months in advance.

I usually have at least three trips in some planning stage; and by late April every year, I typically have blocks of my summer booked with trips long and short. For years, I’ve also maintained a list of trip ideas with some details or links to information; that document is now nearly 23,000 words and the list keeps getting longer, not shorter.

I need to get busy. So do you.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A teenage boy and tweener girl standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington.
My son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington. Click photo for a menu of all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.
A mother and young daughter backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, and our daughter, Alex, backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

No. 2 Involve Your Family

As a parent, the best way to get outdoors more is to get your kids involved at a very young age—carrying them on hikes and other activities before they’re walking, then letting them move under their own power as soon as they can walk. Since our kids were babies, we’ve taken them on adventures that were realistic for their ages and abilities. Now young adults, they have—to our joy, for many reasons—grown into enthusiastic and very capable backpackers, climbers, skiers, and whitewater boaters.

I believe part of the reason for that is that, for years, I took annual father-son and father-daughter trips, which my kids loved and looked forward to as much as I did—and we still do, even as they’ve become independent and busier with their own lives.

The benefits of that include creating additional opportunities for me to get outside and ingraining in our children a love for the outdoors that my wife and I have always shared.

Plus, by getting my family out as much as they’re willing to go, they occasionally don’t mind when I take off without them on a trip with friends (or maybe they’re just happy to get a break from me).

Like this tip? You may also like my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids
and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

A backpacker descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my Wonderland Trail e-book.

No. 3 Get Organized

If the thought of packing up your gear for a weekend erects a mental hurdle to going, lower that hurdle. Get organized and efficient not just about packing for a trip, but also about storing gear after trips; having it ready to go helps you get out the door more quickly. Keep supplies like stove fuel and backpacking food on hand. That way, taking off for a night or two of camping or backpacking doesn’t feel like mobilizing an army.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Teenage boys backpacking to the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Wilderness.
My son, Nate, and two friends backpacking to the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness. Click photo for my expert e-book to “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

No. 4 Be the Planner

Just about anyone appreciates much of the trip planning being done for them. I look at my list of trip ideas and propose specific adventures to my family and friends. By repeatedly coming up with ideas for great trips and facilitating them, I motivate my family and have cultivated a stable of capable, fun friends to choose from, depending on the nature of the trip.

While it requires some time from me, I enjoy thinking about and planning new adventures. Plus, when you’re taking the lead-planning role, other people are often willing to have duties delegated to them.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

A hiker atop Ryan Mountain in Joshua Tree National Park.
David Ports atop Ryan Mountain in Joshua Tree National Park.

No. 5 Build Extra Time Into a Business Trip

Whether it’s a week or more, a weekend, a day, or even a morning or afternoon before catching a flight home, when traveling for work, schedule time to get outside. Before you depart on the trip, find out about the local recreation options where you’re headed—the choices may pleasantly surprise you.

For example, on a visit to Joshua Tree National Park, I added two days to a business trip, and a good friend who lived in California was able to schedule a work trip to that area at the same time. We enjoyed bonus days hiking and rock climbing together without incurring more travel time or expense.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

A backpacker along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt beside Red Eagle Creek, along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn more about backpacking in Glacier.

No. 6 Get a Regular Partner

Self-motivating is hard. Find a partner for regular, local hikes, rides, or trail runs who’s compatible with your style and pace. Even better, find or organize a group of like-minded people who enjoy the same activities. Besides pushing each other to work a little harder, you’ll motivate one another to stick to the commitment.

No. 7 Schedule Your Weekly Outings

Don’t treat exercise and outdoor recreation as something you’ll get to at the end of the day or on the weekend if there’s time after everything else gets done—that’s the best way to ensure it doesn’t happen.

Schedule your regular, local outings during the week, like short hikes or trail runs, bike rides, and gym workouts, just like you schedule work or personal appointments.

Carve out time for it on your calendar—and promising a partner that you will be there (tip no. 6)—creates a stronger commitment to the activity and helps turn it into part of your regular routine. That’s one critical key to creating more satisfaction and happiness in your life.

Score a backcountry permit in popular parks like Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Grand Teton
using my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

 

The view of Mount Rainier from the Eagle Peak Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
The view of Mount Rainier from the Eagle Peak Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo to see “The Best Uncrowded National Park Dayhikes.”

No. 8 Get Up Early

Whether I’m itching to knock off a quick hike that my family’s not interested in at the end of a vacation, or I’m trying to squeeze in a trail run or ride on a weekend at home, getting up early, before them, and getting it done fast has long been a strategy that works for me.

I’ve taken some really nice hikes in national parks—like the Eagle Peak Trail in Mount Rainier National Park (photo above), which I consider one of “The Best Uncrowded National Park Dayhikes”—and other places, that I would not have otherwise fit in, just by getting out really early. It’s also a cooler, often lovely time of day, when you might get the bonus of seeing wildlife or enjoying beautiful morning light.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


Runners and wildflowers in the Boise Foothills.
Runners and wildflowers in the Boise Foothills.

No. 9 Live Near Trails

Your ease of access to local trails and outdoor-recreation opportunities greatly affects how often you get outside. I’ve lived in rural areas where, ironically, I always had to drive to go hiking, trail running, or mountain biking. Now I live near the densely populated center of a city of over 200,000 people, but I can bike, run, or walk with minutes to access a trails network that spans over 200 miles.

While moving obviously isn’t an option for everyone, if you live inconveniently far from trails, bike paths, rivers, or other places where you enjoy outdoor recreation, maybe it’s just time to move closer. Or if you don’t have trails or parks near you, be an advocate for them with your local government.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A hiker scrambling Chickenout Ridge on Idaho's 12,662-foot Borah Peak.
My wife, Penny, scrambling Chickenout Ridge on Idaho’s 12,662-foot Borah Peak.

No. 10 Make a Deal With Your Spouse

My wife and I always gave each other the freedom to get out for daily exercise or occasional trips when our kids were little. Many parents find that’s a difficult stage in life, when you can easily fall off an exercise routine and not get outside much—and suddenly discover that five years have passed since you last got out on a real trip—unless you’re both willing to do these things separately, taking turns.

There’s a side benefit in that each of you will experience the rewards of some solo time with kids. If you don’t have children, you and your spouse may just not enjoy all the same activities or level of intensity. Give each other the space you each need to be happy.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-outside-more/feed/ 3 12323
Hiking and Backpacking the Canadian Rockies—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-and-backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-and-backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-a-photo-gallery/#comments Sat, 25 Oct 2025 09:00:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59939 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

While I always prefer to get as far from any road as possible whenever I visit a mountain range, one truth that may—and perhaps must—be said of the Canadian Rockies is that they will leave you smitten with an lifelong, unshakeable love before you even step out of the car. Driving to any trailhead along the 143-mile-long (232-kilometer) Icefields Parkway between Lake Louise and the town of Jasper, or along the Trans-Canada Highway across the mountains, and you will struggle to sound like a literate person as superlatives and simple gasps of “wow” roll repeatedly off your tongue. On my most recent visit we saw, in addition to countless, sizable glaciers tumbling off a chain of peaks stretching for miles, perhaps the largest grizzly bear of my life (a sow with two cubs), two bull elk with racks possibly broader than my wingspan, and a pod of bighorn sheep—all from the car in one afternoon on the Icefields Parkway.

But if you’re like me, you go to the Canadian Rockies to walk deeply into the mountains, either for a day or multiple days. This story will provide you with a window into that experience, sharing images from many of the backpacking trips and dayhikes I have taken in Canada’s Rockies over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking over Cataract Pass on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route in the Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking over Cataract Pass on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route in the Canadian Rockies.

Straddling the Continental Divide in the provinces of British Columbia and Alberta, the Canadian Rockies extend for about 1,000 miles/1,600 kilometers from northern British Columbia to Waterton Lakes National Park on the U.S.-Canada border, which bumps up against America’s Glacier National Park. Spanning over 5.8 million acres (over 9,100 square miles or 23,600 square kilometers), the Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks World Heritage Site encompasses four national parks (Banff, Jasper, Yoho, and Kootenay) . and three provincial parks (Mount Robson, Mount Assiniboine, and Hamber).

That’s a very large area—nearly equal to Yellowstone, Everglades, Grand Canyon, and Glacier national parks combined. The phrase “you could spend a lifetime exploring it” gets rolled out hyperbolically a bit too often, but when applied to the Canadian Rockies, the descriptor rings true.

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the Lower 48 that really compares with the Canadian Rockies. Seriously.

Floe Lake, along the Rockwall Trail in Canada's Kootenay National Park.
Floe Lake, along the Rockwall Trail in Canada’s Kootenay National Park.

In late July and August 2023, three-fourths of my family, joined by a father-daughter who are longtime friends of ours, backpacked a pair of three-day trips and took some dayhikes in Banff, Jasper, and Yoho national parks. We started with the Skyline Trail in Jasper (lead photo at top of story), a classic, three-day, 27.3-mile/44-kilometer traverse usually hiked south-to-north, from the Maligne Lake Trailhead to the Signal Mountain Trailhead, just southeast of the town of Jasper. For much of its distance, the Skyline stays true to its name, following the crest of a mountain range with constant panoramas of massive walls of rock rising in every direction.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A backpacker hiking along the Brazeau River on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route, Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking along the Brazeau River on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route, Canadian Rockies.

That was followed by the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route, a small sampler of the Great Divide Trail, a 698-mile/1,123-kilometer trail stretching from Waterton Lakes National Park to the GDT’s northern terminus in Kakwa Provincial Park. From a trailhead on the Icefields Parkway in northern Banff, we hiked over a first pass into a southern corner of Jasper, then up a valley sliced by the meandering, emerald-green, glaciated Brazeau River to cross a second pass below a hanging glacier, entering the White Goat Wilderness, where we spent two nights in an alpine basin ringed by rocky peaks, with yet another tongue of ice dangling off a mountain just beyond our camp.

This post also includes photos from my family’s four-day backpacking trip several years ago on the approximately 34-mile/54-kilometer Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park. Well known among Canadian backpackers but less so among Americans and other international trekkers, the Rockwall’s name comes from its defining geological feature: a massive limestone escarpment plastered with glaciers and towering in some locations about 3,000 feet/900 meters above the trail. Backpackers follow the base of this wall for more than 18 miles/30 kilometers. It’s no exaggeration to liken it to dozens of the tallest cliff in Yosemite Valley, El Capitan, lined up in a row stretching for miles.

Click on the photo gallery below to open it and use right and left arrow keys to scroll through it. Scroll below the gallery for a links to menus of stories about the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

See all stories about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Canadian Rockies and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-and-backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-a-photo-gallery/feed/ 2 59939
15 Adventures on Earth That Will Change Your Life https://thebigoutsideblog.com/15-adventures-on-earth-that-will-change-your-life/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/15-adventures-on-earth-that-will-change-your-life/#comments Mon, 20 Oct 2025 09:06:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15723 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Can travel “change your life?” How many experiences have such an enormous impact? I can name several that shifted my perspective on adventure or expanded how I view the world and other people. Exploring the surreal landscapes of Iceland and Patagonia. Walking among Earth’s highest mountains in Nepal, through remote villages where we experienced cultures far different from our own. Immersing myself in the mountain lifestyle on hut treks in the Alps like the Tour du Mont Blanc (photo above). And seeing unforgettable places like Norway’s Jotunheimen National ParkItaly’s Dolomites, and Alaska’s Glacier Bay through the unclouded eyes of my kids.

Our earliest and sometimes most inspirational experiences usually happen within our own national borders, and often close to where we grew up or live. (That was the case for me on a bicycle tour with two buddies in our home state when we were 19.) And without question, several U.S. national parks deserve a spot on any list of the world’s must-see destinations, among them Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Glacier, Zion, and the Everglades—not to mention several parks in Alaska, where you can see the breadth of wildlife that once existed all over the planet.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A mother and daughter hiking in the Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, on a trek through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

But there’s something about traveling abroad that puts everything you see, hear, and touch under a magnifying glass. Everything is exotic. People talk and think differently. Culture is alien, history a refreshing and informative new collection of stories.

Blend those elements into a hike through mountains you’ve never seen before, or paddling through a pristine landscape, and you have the formula for an experience that does alter our perception of the world and our place in it. Take a child on a trip like that and you may reroute the trajectory of a young person’s life—very much for the better.

A hiker overlooking the Naranjo de Bulnes peak in Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My son, Nate, overlooking the Naranjo de Bulnes peak in Spain’s Picos de Europa.

This article describes 15 adventures I’ve taken in the U.S., Europe, Canada, Asia, and New Zealand—all of them trips worth adding to your list. These short descriptions provide links to feature-length stories about each trip at The Big Outside that include many images and tips for planning those trips yourself. (Those stories are partially free for anyone to read but require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my planning tips.)

Please share your thoughts on any of these trips, or suggest others that have changed your life, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Setting off on a life-changing experience demands self-motivation and the journey begins with the planning. Get started now.

Bon voyage.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Hikers descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands.

Hiking in Iceland

Steam from hot springs and fumaroles rises from scores of points stretching to a distant horizon. The landscape is a kaleidoscope of color—paint-can spills of ochre, pink, gold, plum, brown, rust, and honey against a backdrop of electric-lime moss and July snowfields smeared across the highlands. An old, hardened lava flow pours down one mountainside in a jumbled train wreck of black rhyolite. And that’s just day one on the Laugavegur Trail.

Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.
Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.

A typically four-day, hut-to-hut trek in Iceland’s remote Central Highlands, it belongs on any list of the world’s most beautiful paths—as does the Fimmvörðuháls Trail, a two-day addition to the Laugavegur that’s arguably even more stunning. Cap the adventure of a lifetime taking dayhikes along the Ring Road.

Read my blog story about my family’s hut trek on these two trails, “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.” See also “9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road,” and “Earth, Wind, and Fire: A Journey to the Planet’s Beginnings in Iceland.”

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks? Click here now for my e-book
The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

A hiker on a trail overlooking the Mont Blanc massif in Switzerland.
A hiker on a trail overlooking the Mont Blanc massif in Switzerland.

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc

Look at any list of the world’s greatest hiking trails, and the Tour du Mont Blanc (photo at top of story) almost invariably occupies a spot at or near the top of it. The first reason is the sheer majesty of this roughly 105-mile (170k) walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps:” Crossing several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “aiguilles,” and the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

A young teenage girl descending from the Fenetre d’Arpette on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.
My daughter, Alex, descending the steep trail from the Fenetre d’Arpette pass on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Click photo for my e-book to the Tour du Mont Blanc.

But there’s also the rich cultural experience of passing through three nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—as well as some of the best food I’ve eaten on any international trip. Plus, the abundance of scenic mountain towns and villages and availability of public transportation allows hikers to customize their trek, choosing which sections to hike depending on difficulty, weather, and how they feel.

See my story “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace” at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Or click here now to get more than 20% off on my e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail!

 

The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand.
The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

Hiking New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park

Tongariro National Park, in New Zealand’s central North Island, looks like a place devastated by a very big bomb—which is sort of what happened, but countless times. Its volcanoes remain active: One erupted 45 times in the 20th century and another ranks among the world’s most active. And on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, a 12-mile/19.4-kilometer traverse of much of the park, you’ll soak up almost constant views of these rugged peaks, broad craters, and lakes that all but glow with color in this stark landscape.

A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand's Tongariro National Park.
A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park.

Arguably the best dayhike in New Zealand and among the best in the world, it’s no casual stroll, with nearly 6,000 feet/1,700 meters of combined uphill and downhill, including steep, loose terrain in spots. But among the highlights, the panorama from the rim of Red Crater overlooks several volcanoes, and the Emerald Lakes and Blue Lake make their names seem inadequately descriptive.

See my story from my most recent trip, “Hiking New Zealand’s Classic Tongariro Alpine Crossing” and my story from a previous hike, “Super Volcanoes: Hiking the Steaming Peaks of New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park.”

Read any story linked here and ALL stories at The Big Outside.
Join now and get a free e-book!

 

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail north toward Tekarra camp, Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

Backpacking the Skyline Trail in the Canadian Rockies

The Skyline Trail makes a 27.3-mile/44-kilometer traverse of the Maligne Range in Jasper National Park—the much-less-visited but larger sister park of its joined-at-the-hip sibling, Banff, in the Canadian Rockies. Remaining above treeline for about 15.5 miles/25 kilometers of its distance and riding the airy (and often windblown) crest of a high ridge at its apex, the Skyline has long been considered a Canadian Rockies classic for its nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains stretching to distant horizons in every direction.

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the 48 contiguous U.S. states that compares with the Canadian Rockies. Yes, I’m serious.

See my stories “Hiking and Backpacking the Canadian Rockies—A Photo Gallery,” “Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip you read about at this blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

Trekking Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

On a weeklong, hut-to-hut trek through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, Italy’s Dolomites, my family hiked a 39-mile (62k) section of the roughly 112-mile (180k) Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends.”

An alpine footpath famous for scenery that puts it in legitimate contention for the title of the most beautiful trail in the world, the AV 2 is also known for comfortable mountain huts with excellent food—and a reputation for being the most remote and difficult of the several multi-day alte vie, or “high paths,” that crisscross the Dolomites. On one of my family’s biggest adventures, we discovered that it was all of those things and more.

See my story “The World’s Most Beautiful Trail: Trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomites.”

Make your kids want to go again. See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

A hiker in the Cares Gorge, in northern Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking through the Cares Gorge in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

Hiking Spain’s Picos de Europa

What if I told you there’s a stunning mountain range in Europe that’s just a few hours’ drive from a major airport, has mountain huts and charming mountain towns, is surprisingly inexpensive to trek through—and you’ve probably never heard of it? Well, I’ve gotten around a fair bit, but I had never heard of northern Spain’s Picos de Europa until just months before my family’s five-day, 52-mile hike through them. Amid jagged limestone peaks rising to over 8,500 feet, we hiked over passes above 7,000 feet and across mind-boggling alpine terrain that conveys a sense of much bigger peaks.

My strong recommendation: Hire local guide Alberto Mediavilla Serrano, the best guide in the Picos; alberto.mediavilla@gmail.com. While following trails there isn’t terribly difficult in good weather, when we got a surprise snowstorm in June that reduced visibility and covered all trail markings, Alberto knew the mountains well enough to find the way in those conditions, advise us to change our plans to take a safer alternate route, and where we could find very reasonably priced rooms and good food in a village that night.

Read my feature story about my family’s trek, “The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains.”

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

A hiker in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile's Patagonia region.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile’s Patagonia region.

Trekking Patagonia’s Torres del Paine

Undoubtedly one of the most prized trekking destinations in the world, Torres del Paine National Park is Chile’s Yosemite. In the vast region known as Patagonia, it is a place of severely vertical stone monoliths thousands of feet tall: Imagine looking at Yosemite Valley stacked atop one of the deep valleys of Glacier National Park. Cracked glaciers stretch many miles long and wide, calving into emerald lakes, and the wind will occasionally knock you off your feet. Hiking hut-to-hut or camping on the roughly 31-mile (50k) “W” trek, on the south side of the mountains—where the weather is often better than the north side—takes in some of the park’s finest scenery.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine.”

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.

Trekkers hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, daughter, Alex, and Cat hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my e-book to trekking the Milford Track.

Trekking New Zealand’s Milford Track and Sea Kayaking in Milford Sound

The Milford Track in Fiordland National Park, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, has earned a reputation as one of the best multi-day hikes on the planet. Measuring 33.2 miles/53.5 kilometers, the trail makes a one-way traverse from giant Lake Te Anau, embraced by vividly green mountains, to Milford Sound, where sheer-walled peaks soar more than 5,000 feet/1,500 meters straight up out of this narrow corridor to the sea.

Sea kayakers in Milford Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Sea kayakers in Milford Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Along the way, you’ll walk through lush rainforest, below scores of ribbon waterfalls plunging hundreds of feet, cross the mountains at 3,786-foot/1,154-meter Mackinnon Pass, and spend nights in basic but comfortable mountain huts.

The Milford Track is also one of the hardest treks in the world to book hut reservations on. Instead (or in addition to trekking the Milford Track), spend a day sea kayaking in Milford Sound, soaking up views of cliffs wearing a thick fur of rainforest; you might even spot bottlenose dolphins and Fiordland crested penguins.

See my stories “Learning to—Love?—the Rain on New Zealand’s Milford Track” and “Photo Gallery: Sea Kayaking New Zealand’s Milford Sound,” and my story about a multi-day sea kayaking trip in Doubtful Sound in Fiordland National Park.

Get my expert e-book “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”
Or get 20% off on both of my e-books to New Zealand’s Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

 

Trekkers above Olavsbu Hut in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jeff and Jasmine Wilhelm above Olavsbu Hut in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.

Trekking Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park

Jotunheimen—which means “Home of the Giants”—contains the highest European mountains north of the Alps, starkly barren peaks rising to more than 8,000 feet. In this rugged, Arctic-looking landscape, vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers, cliffs and mountains look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe, braided rivers meander down mostly treeless valleys, and reindeer roam wild. My family’s 60-mile (96.6k), hut-to-hut trek across Jotunheimen combined pristine wilderness with the most luxurious huts I’ve ever stayed in, a trail network that allows for flexibility in route options, and side hikes to summits with mind-blowing views of mountains buried in snow and ice, including the highest peak in Norway.

See my story “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.”

Find the right synthetic or down puffy for you. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

A kayaker below the Lamplugh Glacier in Alaska's Glacier Bay National Park.
A kayaker below the Lamplugh Glacier in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park.

Sea Kayaking Alaska’s Glacier Bay

On a five-day, guided sea kayaking trip in Southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park, my family probed deep into one of the most pristine and largest wildernesses left on Earth. Surrounded by snowy peaks smothered in more than 50 glaciers, some of which explosively calve icebergs into the sea, Glacier Bay is a 65-mile-long fjord that opens a window onto what North America looked like when the last Ice Age drew to a close 10,000 years ago. A short list of the many critters you may see includes humpback whales, orcas, brown bears, Steller sea lions, and birds like black-legged kittiwake, pigeon guillemot, bald eagles, two kinds of puffin. Few trips in America are this wild.

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

Click here now to join The Big Outside and get full access to ALL stories,
including every story linked here, plus a FREE e-book!

 

Trekking the Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia.
Trekking the Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia.

Backpacking Unknown Patagonia: The Dientes Circuit

Billed as the southernmost trek in the world, the 22.7-mile (36.5k) Dientes Circuit around the jagged, rocky peaks of the Dientes de Navarino, or “Teeth of Navarino,” certainly qualifies as one of the most remote: At 55 degrees south latitude, the Dientes, which reach almost 4,000 feet in elevation, lie just 60 miles from the tip of South America and a short flight from the Antarctic Peninsula.

While renowned treks in Patagonia, like those in Torres del Paine (see above), attract thousands of international trekkers every year, you may not see anyone else in four days on the Dientes Circuit—giving you a sense of what Patagonia was like before it became a darling of the international trekkers’ set. That’s not only because of its remoteness: This is a very strenuous hike that demands expert backcountry skills—all part of the challenge and reward of this unique backpacking trip.

See my story “Unknown Patagonia: Backpacking the Dientes Circuit.”

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A trekker hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track, South Island, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track, South Island, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-books to trekking the Routeburn Track and Milford Track.

Trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn and Kepler Tracks

Two more of New Zealand’s Great Walks are neighbors of the Milford Track (above) in Fiordland National Park: the world-class, 33.1-kilometer/20.7-mile Routeburn Track, generally done in three days; and the three- to four-day, approximately 37-mile/60-kiloemeter Kepler Track.

A hiker on Mount Luxmore on the Kepler Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm on Mount Luxmore on the Kepler Track in New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park.

Both deliver a grand tour of diverse landscapes, from moss-blanketed beech forest to the tussock-carpeted high country, placing them among the most scenic and varied hut treks in a country blessed with a crazy wealth of gorgeous trails. And the Kepler, in particular, presents a relatively mud-, flood-, and hassle-free, hut-to-hut hiking experience—most notably, it’s easier to get hut reservations for the Kepler than the hugely popular Milford and Routeburn. That’s nice in a region where everything from weather to logistics can mess with your adventure plans.

See my stories “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Class Routeburn Track” and “New Zealand’s Best, Uncomplicated Hut Trek: The Kepler Track.” See also my story “Hiking New Zealand’s Hardest Hut Trek, the Dusky Track.”

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn Track.”
Or get 20% off on both of my e-books to New Zealand’s Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

 

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

Backpacking the Rockwall Trail in the Canadian Rockies

On the first day of a 34-mile/55-kilometer backpacking trip on the Rockwall Trail in Canada’s Kootenay National Park, my family walked below one of the tallest waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains, 1,154-foot/352-meter Helmet Falls—and that was merely the opening act of a nearly unbroken, 18-mile-long/30-kilometer row of peaks plastered with glaciers and towering as much as 3,000 feet/900 meters above the trail. Backpackers might think those peaks resemble numerous clones of Yosemite’s El Capitan standing shoulder to shoulder.

Well-known among Canadian backpackers but less so outside their country, the Rockwall Trail—and the Skyline Trail (above)—both deserve to be listed among the world’s greatest treks.

See my stories “Hiking and Backpacking the Canadian Rockies—A Photo Gallery,” “Best of the Canadian Rockies: Backpacking the Rockwall Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

 

Trekkers hiking toward the Thorung La mountain pass on Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Trekkers hiking toward the Thorung La mountain pass on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

Trekking Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit

The tiny mountain kingdom of Nepal has long held an exalted status in the minds of international trekkers, and the Annapurna Circuit stands beside the trek to Everest base camp as Nepal’s most popular and accessible. Over roughly three weeks, you’ll walk about 150 miles from village to village, below some of the world’s tallest peaks, glaciated giants so unfathomably big that, at times, they can seem drift farther away even as you approach them. You eat and sleep in teahouses while following an ancient trade route over the Thorung La, a mountain pass at 17,769 feet. After three decades of adventures all over the world, this remains one of the most culturally fascinating and beautiful trips I’ve ever taken.

See my story “Himalayan Shangri-La: Trekking Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.”

I’ve learned a lot traveling the world. See my “10 Tips For Doing Adventure Travel Right.”

A paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Our party’s paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River

Three times now, my family and about 20 good friends have taken one of the classic multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—and arguably, the greatest: a six-day, whitewater rafting and kayaking trip down the Middle Fork Salmon River with a team of top guides from Middle Fork Rapid Transit. Deep in the largest federal wilderness area in the Lower 48, central Idaho’s 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork has some 100 ratable rapids, many of them class III and IV, not to mention beautiful campsites and side hikes, hot springs, and world-class trout fishing. It’s also one of the prettiest rivers to ever carve a twisting canyon through mountains.

See my stories “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” and “Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” at The Big Outside.

See all stories about international adventures and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/15-adventures-on-earth-that-will-change-your-life/feed/ 16 15723
The Best Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-plan-for-hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-plan-for-hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc/#comments Sat, 18 Oct 2025 09:10:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30612 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

You want to hike the Tour du Mont Blanc, but you’re not sure how hard it is, whether you can do it all, or even whether to hire a guide? One of the world’s great treks, the TMB is easy to do self-supported—but it’s not easy to figure out how to do that. When I hiked it with 12 family and friends of varying abilities—including my 80-year-old mother—I spent many pre-trip hours mapping out a flexible daily itinerary that allowed some in our group to use local transportation to avoid hard sections or bad weather, and everyone had a wonderful experience. This guide will show you how to duplicate that trip or customize your own.

As I wrote in my story at The Big Outside, “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace” (which includes dozens of photos from the trip), everyone in our group was awed and delighted with the entire experience, from the scenery to the blend of cultures, the people, the mountain huts and inns, the towns and villages, and of course, the food: Even the most widely traveled among us agreed we enjoyed some of the best meals of our lives on the TMB.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Trekkers hiking to Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc, France.
Trekkers hiking to Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Click photo for my e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

That’s no surprise. Look at any list of the world’s greatest hiking trails, and the roughly 106-mile (170k) Tour du Mont Blanc invariably occupies a spot atop it or near the top. There are many reasons for that, but first and foremost is the sheer majesty of this walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot (4807m) Mont Blanc. Passing through three nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—and over several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “aiguilles,” and when it’s not engulfed in clouds, the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

Another reason for the TMB’s enormous popularity, though, is the abundance of towns and villages and transportation options along the trail, allowing hikers to customize their trek, choosing which sections to hike depending on difficulty, weather, how they feel each day, or how many days they have for it.

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks?
Get my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

A hiker trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc.
A hiker trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc. Click photo to read about this trip.

That gave some members of our group the flexibility to skip or shorten a few days while most of our group hiked all nine of the TMB’s stages that we planned to do. For example, on one day in Switzerland, we split into three groups: Some took a harder, higher, more scenic alternate route, some stayed on the primary TMB route, and a few took public transportation around it. We all rendezvoused at our lodgings every evening but one, when two in our group got a hotel room in a valley while the rest spent the night at a mountain hut (as we had planned).

Still, even those who only hiked relatively easier sections enjoyed some of the TMB’s best scenery.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A hiker on a trail overlooking the Mont Blanc massif in Switzerland.
Anna Garofalo on our final day trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc, when we followed a gorgeous alternate trail that’s described in my e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.” Click photo for the e-book.

We spent three of our eight nights on the TMB in mountain huts with views of towering peaks and heavily crevassed glaciers. But we slept most of our nights in comfortable hotel rooms in towns and villages, including in Chamonix the night before starting the trek and the day we finished it, enjoying excellent dinners every evening.

My expert e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc” describes the daily itinerary I created for hiking the TMB unguided. It provides detailed advice on day-to-day options for customizing a flexible TMB hiking itinerary on the first nine of the TMB’s 11 stages, including how and where to take transportation to shorten or avoid difficult sections or bad weather; how to plan and prepare for a TMB trek; and gear and safety tips. It also recommends shorter sections of the TMB to trek if your time is more limited.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

See many more photos in my story about our TMB trek, “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace” at The Big Outside. See also “My 30 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever” and all stories about International Adventures at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable hiking and backpacking adventures. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-plan-for-hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc/feed/ 2 30612
Trekking Spain’s Picos de Europa https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-trekking-spains-picos-de-europa/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-trekking-spains-picos-de-europa/#respond Thu, 16 Oct 2025 09:02:01 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=48324 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As my family hiked up the Cares Gorge in northern Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park, which looks like an impressionist painting with its soaring, white and gray limestone cliffs dappled with greenery, I was struck by one curious fact about this mountain range: how it has retained a surprising degree of anonymity.

Until just months before this trip, in fact, I had never heard of the Picos de Europa—which also bear a striking resemblance to Italy’s world-class Dolomite Mountains and lies just two flights from major U.S. airports and obviously a much shorter distance from numerous European cities—and I’ve made a living for years seeking out the world’s best hiking trails.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker at dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu in Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
Dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

I went to the Picos with my wife, Penny and our teenage son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, to trek about 52 miles (84k) over five days through the highest and most rugged and vertiginous peaks of the Picos de Europa, in the part of the range known as the Central Massif. We stayed in lodging in villages and in mountain huts while hiking a loop through the heart of these mountains.

Overlapping three very different regions of northern Spain—Asturias, Cantabria, and Castilla y León—the Picos were part of Spain’s first national park when the Massif de Peña Santa was declared the National Park of Covadonga Mountain in 1918. In 1995, it became Picos de Europa National Park.

Scroll through the photo gallery below for a sense of what it’s like to trek through Spain’s Picos de Europa or go straight to my full story about this world-class adventure, “The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains” (which, like most stories about trips at The Big Outside, anyone can read in part for free, but only subscribers can read in full, including my tips on planning those trips).

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

See all stories about family adventures and international adventures at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-trekking-spains-picos-de-europa/feed/ 0 48324
Hiking New Zealand’s Epic Tongariro Alpine Crossing https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-classic-tongariro-alpine-crossing/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-classic-tongariro-alpine-crossing/#respond Tue, 14 Oct 2025 22:47:41 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=68393 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

When we arrive at the Mangatepōpō Road end to start one of New Zealand’s most beloved dayhikes, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, the air remains cool, a bracing wind rips across the almost barren, volcanic landscape, and the cloud ceiling hangs so low you can almost reach up and swipe a hand through the fog’s underbelly. But this is New Zealand, where if you’re going to pass on a hike because of a little inclement weather, you’re going to miss out on a lot of hikes. We—and scores of other hikers all around us—are suited up for the elements and ready to go.

Besides, we’re just happy that the Department of Conservation (DOC), which functions something like America’s National Park Service, opened the Tongariro Alpine Crossing today. It had been closed in recent days because of extreme winds and rain, and I had received an email from our shuttle service yesterday morning warning of the possibility of it getting closed again today. (A follow-up email by the end of the day confirmed that the crossing would open today.)


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Hikers above Emerald Lakes, along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
Hikers above Emerald Lakes, along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

It’s late November—late spring here in New Zealand—so strong wind and rain are as common as friendly Kiwis.

My wife, Penny, our 21-year-old daughter, Alex, and I are dayhiking one of the most famous and popular tracks, or trails, in New Zealand: the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, a 19.4-kilometer/12-mile traverse of Tongariro National Park in the central North Island. New Zealand’s first national park, Tongariro was established in 1894—less than two decades after the world’s first national park, Yellowstone, was established in 1872—and is also a dual World Heritage area.

A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand's Tongariro National Park.
A hiker at the rim of Red Crater in New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park.

With more than 650 meters/2,100 feet of uphill and a long descent of more than 1,100 meters/3,600 feet, it’s a full day of hiking in mountainous terrain. But those basic metrics don’t fully communicate the difficulty, including the steepness for sustained stretches, the treacherously loose rocks in sections—and the way that strong, chilly wind and rain can amplify your fatigue and threaten inadequately prepared hikers with hypothermia.

But the Tongariro Alpine Crossing deserves to be ranked among the world’s great trails for its almost constant views of active, rugged volcanoes, massive craters, and lakes that all but glow with color. Not to be confused with the 44.9-kilometer/27.9-mile Tongariro Northern Circuit, one of New Zealand’s 11 Great Walks, typically done over three to four days with nights in mountain huts, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing enables hikers to see much of Tongariro National Park’s most dramatic scenery in a day.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Exposed to the Elements

Not long after we set out from the Mangatepōpō Road end, hiking steadily and, at times, steeply uphill, the rain and wind begin slowly growing more intense; by the time we start across the broad and pan-flat South Crater—now fully exposed to the elements in a moonscape where the occasional vegetation consists of moss and lichen and a few scattered plants growing barely above ankle height—the rain flies horizontally on powerful gusts, pelting us. We push forward, leaning into the tempest, completely suited up in rain jackets with hoods up and rain pants.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

Hikers on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
Hikers on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

Somewhere off to our right, the tall and steep-sided, rocky cone of Mount Ngāuruhoe looms above us, and to our left rises another volcano, Mount Tongariro—but right now, it’s all lost in this pea soup. The rain and wind intensify as we make the hard grind up the day’s steepest ascent, about 150 meters/500 vertical feet to the rim of Red Crater, the track’s high point at 1,868 meters/6,129 feet.

And then the rain suddenly fizzles out and stops, although we remain fogged in.

Descending the steep north side of Red Crater, over loose volcanic rocks large and small, I’m taken completely by surprise when my feet fly out from under me and I’m airborne for an instant before landing on my butt (unhurt). Back on my feet quickly and continuing downhill, just minutes later, it happens again—completely surprising me again.

The reason, it occurs to me, is that these loose rocks and scree consist of scoria, a type of volcanic rock fragment that’s very light and often somewhat rounded and more prone to roll underfoot than the rocks in non-volcanic mountain ranges. For the rest of this steep descent, which is only about 90 vertical meters/300 vertical feet, I take an even slower and more cautious pace than I normally take in terrain like this (which I’ve hiked hundreds of times over the years).

And then, something happens that is not unusual in New Zealand: The weather changes abruptly.

Within minutes, the clouds shred into non-threatening, cute little cotton balls floating across the sky. Although the wind continues and still feels cool, the sunshine bathes us in warmth and starts drying out our rain shells. The three aptly named Emerald Lakes, two of them small and the third just a tarn, barely larger than a swimming pool, appear below us, brilliantly green in the sunlight.

Join now to read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book!

 

The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand.
The largest of the three Emerald Lakes along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, North Island, New Zealand. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

Emerald Lakes and Blue Lake

Alex, Penny, and I stop at the largest of the Emerald Lakes, which sits beside the track, walking along its shore and taking pictures. Other hikers are doing the same, luxuriating in the sudden warm sunshine and the otherworldly colors of the lake water and the geology. On the lake’s far side, crumbling slopes of white, golden, and black rock appear to be traveling in erosion’s passing lane.

Minutes beyond the Emerald Lakes, we stop at an overlook above the larger Blue Lake, known also by its Māori name Te Wai Whakaata o te Rangihīroa, cradled in a rocky bowl at the foot of the peak Rotopaunga—yet another black cone of crumbling rock. The lake sits on the edge of another pan-flat basin, the Central Crater, encircled by walls of dark, volcanic rock, with Mount Tongariro—now fully visible to us—rising over the far side of that crater.

I’ve hiked all over the U.S. and the world and I’ve personally seen very few treks through volcanic landscapes that compare to Tongariro (although Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail certainly comes to mind).

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

A trekker hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding daypack, rain jacket and pants, and fleece hoodie I used on this hike.

See my story about my first hike in Tongariro National Park (several years before the New Zealand Department of Conservation began strongly discouraging hikers from visiting the summits of the park’s volcanoes), plus all stories about trekking in New Zealand, including my stories about hut treks on the Routeburn Track, Milford Track, and Kepler Track, all stories about adventures in New Zealand, and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

These blog posts may also help you prepare for the Tongariro Alpine Crossing or other hikes in New Zealand:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-classic-tongariro-alpine-crossing/feed/ 0 68393
The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-grand-teton-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-grand-teton-national-park/#comments Sat, 11 Oct 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41708 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Here’s a truth I’ve learned from at least two dozen visits to the Tetons since my first backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail over 30 years ago: That incomparable, jagged skyline of peaks never fails to ignite a sense of awe and joy. Walking for days through these mountains, with their endless fields of wildflowers, long alpine vistas, and hypnotic mountain lakes, creeks, and waterfalls never grows old. I’m pretty sure I could backpack through Grand Teton National Park 20 more times without the experience ever growing ordinary.

While I rank the Teton Crest Trail among the 10 best backpacking trips in America—a list that draws on more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States, including 10 years as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and longer than that running this blog—the truth is, any backpacking excursion into the Tetons will probably hold a cherished place among the prettiest and most memorable multi-day treks of your life. It will very likely feature some of the most scenic backcountry campsites you’ve ever slept in; a couple of Tetons camps populate my personal list of all-time favorite backcountry campsites.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert Teton Crest Trail e-book.

The five backpacking trips described below, ranging from nearly 20 miles to about 39 miles, represent my picks for the best multi-day hikes in Grand Teton National Park—a place I have dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed extensively. This list includes my favorite itinerary for a Teton Crest Trail hike, the best short (two- or three-day) backpacking trip in the park, and various options that offer different distances, varying levels of solitude, and opportunities to see different areas of the park.

The peak backpacking season in the Tetons generally begins in mid-July, when higher elevations and passes become mostly snow-free, and runs into September. Some high passes, most notably Paintbrush Divide, can remain snow-covered and potentially dangerous into late July, depending on the previous winter and spring’s snowpack and weather in spring and early summer.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon.

In early January, the park opens up permit reservations at recreation.gov for backpacking trips from May 1 through Oct. 31, and you can make a reservation up to two days prior to a trip start date. Apply promptly at 8 a.m. Mountain Time the first day reservations open, because many campsites that are available to reserve, especially along the Teton Crest trail, disappear quickly (and the process can feel maddeningly chaotic).

However, the park issues reservations for only about one-third of permits in advance—leaving two-thirds available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, issued no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. High demand makes walk-in permits for camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail and other popular camps hard to get.

See my stories “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit,” “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit” and “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

My popular, expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and pull off either trip.

And I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a successful and memorable backpacking trip in the Tetons. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

If you’ve backpacked in the Tetons or have other thoughts or suggestions about the best backpacking trips there, I’d appreciate you sharing those in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See the “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon near Hurricane Pass along the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Death Canyon to String Lake

Having hiked and backpacked all of the side canyons that access the Teton Crest Trail from the park’s east side as well as some on the west side and the full TCT route starting from its southern terminus, my favorite Teton Crest Trail itinerary (and the one I planned for my most recent TCT hike with three friends going there for the first time) is this nearly 36-mile hike from Death Canyon Trailhead to String Lake Trailhead.

Done in anywhere from a rigorous three days to a more moderate five, this route delivers the complete Tetons experience: miles of hiking open meadows and above treeline with endless panoramas, amazing campsites, one of the highest passes crossed by a trail in the range, wildflowers in abundance, enchanting lakes, creeks, and waterfalls, and likely wildlife sightings. Hike south to north and the scenery gets better every day.

Get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my expert e-books to the Teton Crest Trail
and the best short backpacking trip there.

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
A moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to read about that trip.

Paintbrush Canyon to Cascade Canyon

The park’s most popular backpacking trip for logical reasons—scenery and access—the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from String Lake offers a highlights reel of Grand Teton National Park condensed into a two- to three-day hike (or a big dayhike or trail run). It’s probably among the most scenic sub-20-mile hikes in the National Park System and great for beginners, young families—we took our kids at ages eight and six—and any backpackers seeking a short outing.

Involving nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, the loop crosses one of the highest points reached via trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama takes in a jagged skyline featuring some of the highest summits in the Tetons. It also passes by beloved Lake Solitude, nestled in a cirque of cliffs, and below the striped cliffs of Paintbrush Canyon and waterfalls and soaring peaks of Cascade Canyon.

Get my e-book to this trip, “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A backpacker hiking to Fox Creek Pass, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking to Fox Creek Pass in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Death Canyon to Static Peak Divide

This 25-mile loop from Death Canyon Trailhead will not take you through the majestic core of the Teton Range below the Grand, Middle, and South Tetons. However, it makes a circuit through some of the nicest terrain in the range, including Death Canyon Shelf—with some of the best backcountry camping along the Teton Crest Trail—Alaska Basin, some magnificent and surprisingly lonely alpine hiking, and one of the highest passes reach by trail in the range, plus the opportunity to reach an 11,000-foot summit.

From Static Peak Divide, with sweeping panorama of Jackson Hole and the southern Tetons, an unmaintained but easy trail leads about 15 minutes uphill to the 11,303-foot summit of Static Peak, where the vistas expand, including a dramatic view across an abyss to 11,938-foot Buck Mountain. Lastly, this loop is logistically simpler than many Teton backpacking trips, with no shuttle required and possibly no permit if you hike it as an overnight in Alaska Basin.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Tetons.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Granite Canyon to String Lake

The 38-mile traverse from Granite Canyon Trailhead to String Lake Trailhead is almost identical to my favorite Teton Crest Trail itinerary (described above) and arguably more tantalizing to some backpackers. It explores another of the cliff-flanked eastern canyons and more of the southern Teton Range—and offers another appealing itinerary option when seeking a permit that’s hard to get.

Granite Canyon compares with Death Canyon for scenery, camping options, and the chance of seeing moose, and this route also brings you past pretty Marion Lake, which sits in a bowl at the base of the cliffs of 10,537-foot Housetop Mountain, and the distinctive spire of Spearhead Peak, in the area where the Teton Crest Trail ascends onto the high plateau that it traverses for numerous miles all the way to Hurricane Pass.

A trip like this goes better with the right gear.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Lake Solitude in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Lake Solitude in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The Full Teton Crest Trail

The Teton Crest Trail’s southern terminus is the Phillips Pass Trailhead, off WY 22 east of Teton Pass. From there, the TCT runs north for about 39 miles to the String Lake Trailhead in Grand Teton National Park. Beginning in the Jedediah Smith Wilderness, the trail passes through the much lonelier southern Teton Range—crossing Phillips Pass at 8,932 feet, the headwaters of Granite Canyon’s Middle and North Forks, Marion Lake, and Spearhead Peak, before reaching Fox Creek Pass, Death Canyon Shelf, and the better-known core of the Tetons farther north.

The southern end of the range lacks the cathedral-like skylines of the Teton core, but the landscape evokes a sense of classic, sprawling Western mountains, and much of this terrain is moose and elk country. Plus, much of the southern range lies outside the park, where no permit is needed.

Get my expert expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

See all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park, “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-grand-teton-national-park/feed/ 18 41708
Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Sat, 11 Oct 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=35217 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As we backpacked up the North Fork of Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park, moments after the path emerged from the forest into a meadow strewn with boulders and still dappled with blooming wildflowers in late August, my friend David turned to look over his shoulder and blurted out, “Oh, wow, look at that view!” Behind us, the sheer north faces of the Grand Teton and Mount Owen towered a vertical mile above us, shooting straight up over the canyon like fireworks (photo above).

By that point on our trip, though, uncontrolled outbursts of awe were occurring several times a day. That’s what it’s like to backpack the Teton Crest Trail.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Three friends and I backpacked a 36-mile traverse of Grand Teton National Park, mostly on the Teton Crest Trail, in late August—in many ways, an ideal time to hike there. While I’ve backpacked the TCT several times now, it was the first time for all three of them.

Seeing the reactions of these friends—every one of them very experienced backpackers who’ve taken numerous trips with me—to the scenery along this classic trek, reaffirmed my opinion that few multi-day hikes offer so much grandeur almost every step of way like the Teton Crest Trail. But I’ll let the photos in this story make that case.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to get my customized help planning your trip.

I count the Teton Crest Trail unquestionably among the top 10 best backpacking trips in America, and two camping areas on it—where my friends and I camped on this most-recent trip—among my list of top 25 favorite backcountry campsites of all time (although, honestly, other spots where I’ve pitched a tent in this park would make almost anyone’s list). After at least two dozen trips into the backcountry of the Tetons, I can’t get enough of these sharply serrated peaks and deep, cliff-flanked canyons, the alpine lakes and icy creeks, campsites with jaw-dropping views, or the explosion of wildflowers in summer.

A Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. The park issues just one-third of available permits in advance, so two-thirds are available first-come, for walk-in backpackers, no more than one day before your trip begins. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit” and “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” tells you all you need to know to plan and take this trip, from how to get a very popular backcountry permit to describing the various route options and pointing out the best places to camp, as well as how to prepare for this trip.

I feel so attached to these mountains that I made a point of taking my kids there as soon as they were both capable of a trip that rugged: When our daughter was six and her brother eight, we spent three days backpacking the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from the Leigh Lake Trailhead, an adventure that concluded with a close-up sighting of two bull moose in Cascade Canyon. Two summers later, we returned for a longer family backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.

The photos below are from my most-recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

See my feature story about my latest trip, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail, including “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.”

See also my popular “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-teton-crest-trail/feed/ 6 35217
10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-epic-grand-canyon-backpacking-trips-you-must-do/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-epic-grand-canyon-backpacking-trips-you-must-do/#comments Sat, 04 Oct 2025 09:01:42 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30238 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

This is, in a way, a story about obsession. Or a love affair. Or both. Those metaphors best describe how the Grand Canyon constantly lures me back when I’m thinking about spring and fall hiking and backpacking trips.

It is that rare kind of natural environment that exists on a scale of its own, like Alaska or the Himalaya. There’s something soul-stirring and hypnotic about its infinite vistas, the deceptive immensity of the canyon walls and stone towers, and the way the foreground and background continually expand and shrink as you ascend and descend elevation gradients of a vertical mile or more—all of which validates enduring the wilting heat and trails that sometimes seem better suited to rattlesnakes and scorpions than bipedal primates.

For backpackers seeking adventure, challenge, and incomparable natural beauty, the canyon stands alone.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker at Ooh-Ah Point on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt at Ooh-Ah Point on the South Kaibab Trail. Click on the photo to see my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

This story will show you, in words and photos, why one or more of these Big Ditch backpacking trips deserves top priority as you’re planning your next trip. Although some of these trips are not for everyone—and some are not a good choice for a first GC backpacking trip—I think this story will help you quickly understand why the Grand Canyon has increasingly become one of my favorite places over more than three decades (and counting) of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a longtime field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

And the time to start planning your Grand Canyon adventure is right now.

Each of the 10 trips described below can be hiked within a week and some in a few days. Each description links to a feature story about that trip at The Big Outside, and those include many photos and my expert tips on planning and pulling them off—including how to acquire one of these hard-to-get permits. (Those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full.)

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Any of these hikes will thrill and amaze you—and just may inspire in you an urge to go back again and again. Whenever I’m looking for a long, remote, incredibly beautiful, wilderness backpacking trip in the Southwest, the Grand Canyon seems to consistently emerge on top. Even though it lies a day’s journey from my home, I’ve been there numerous times for backpacking trips and ultra-dayhikes.

It seems the more I go there, the more I want to go back—in spite of how hard it is (and maybe that’s one of the reasons I keep going back).

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

A Grand Canyon backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” both of which are updated regularly with detailed information on how to obtain a permit.

See my expert e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these trips or any trip you read about at this blog.

I’d love to hear if you’ve done any of these trips or want to suggest others in the Grand Canyon. Please share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A hiker on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click on the photo to see my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

If there’s an archetypal Grand Canyon hike, this baby is it. Crossing the canyon via the North Kaibab Trail combined with either the South Kaibab (one of prettiest of the 25 best national park dayhikes) or the Bright Angel Trail delivers the goods on epic scenery. You get views that span from both rims all the way down to the Colorado River, the huge vistas of the South Kaibab, the Bright Angel’s panoramas and desert oases (I’ve also see bighorn sheep on that trail), a walk through the narrow, sheer-walled gorge of lower Bright Angel Creek, waterfalls, and airy sections where the North Kaibab clings to cliff faces.

Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail.

Although most GC trails are quite rugged, these three so-called “corridor” trails, while strenuous for their vertical relief, have better footing, more reliable water availability at regular intervals, and much less of the loose terrain, quad-pounding ledge drops, and occasionally scary exposure of other canyon footpaths.

A one-way canyon traverse, typically backpacked in three days (in either direction), is 21 miles with 4,780 feet of descent and 5,761 feet of ascent via the South Kaibab and North Kaibab trails (going south to north), or 23.5 miles with 4,380 feet of descent and 5,761 feet of ascent via the Bright Angel and North Kaibab (also going south to north). Shuttles are available between the rims, and you can also double the trip by backpacking across and back.

Another excellent—and popular—itinerary, especially among first-timers here, is to forego the long ascent to the North Rim, and instead hike 16.5 miles rim to river to rim: down the South Kaibab and up the Bright Angel. Many backpackers take two or three days, with one night at Bright Angel Campground on the Colorado River and a possible second night at Havasupai Gardens Campground along the Bright Angel Trail to break up the long climb back up from the river.

Demand is enormous for a permit for backpacking the corridor trails in spring or fall, with upwards of three-quarters of applications denied. Read my story “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

Do this trip smartly. Get my expert e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim
or my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, hiking the upper South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Plus, growing numbers of uber-bit hikers and runners knock off a rim-to-rim (r2r) or a complete rim-to-rim-to-rim—across and back—(r2r2r) in a day. Consequently, in peak weather of mid-spring and mid-autumn, don’t expect the solitude you can find on some other canyon backpacking trips.

But if you want to take one of the most unique and spectacular treks in the world, without attempting any of the other significantly harder routes, this is the one.

See my stories “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” and “A Grand Ambition, or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all stories about South Rim hikes and South Rim backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim or my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River, Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see all of my expert e-books, including “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

South Kaibab to Lipan Point

When a longtime backcountry ranger in the canyon whom I know, who’s hiked every mile of trail in the park, told me this 74-mile route was “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” I’ll admit, I was a little dubious. After all, every hike in the Big Ditch is amazing. Then I backpacked it and found myself concluding: He’s right.

Besides the fact that the South Kaibab is absolutely one of the best hikes in the entire National Park System, this route—which has shorter alternatives—follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, the Escalante Route, which involves some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling. This hike also incorporates the beautiful and surprisingly rigorous Beamer Trail, and another rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

Backpackers on the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any of these trips.

While water sources are sporadic, there are three perennial streams—one of them the Colorado River—and you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado. And you might get invited to an outstanding dinner by a river party.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

Hermits Rest to Bright Angel

The Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.
The Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.

Outside the three corridor trails, the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead may be the park’s most popular, for many good reasons. Although it does not go all the way to the Colorado River—unless you take any of a few side trails off this route that descend to the river (each adding several miles round-trip)—this linkup of the Hermit, Tonto, and Bright Angel trails nonetheless offers an experience similar to a rim-to-river-to-rim hike that’s in many ways easier.

The rigorous Hermit Trail—the hardest section of this hike—snakes through one of the dramatic tributary canyons of the Colorado River, below colorful, striated cliffs of the canyon’s Supai and Redwall layers. You’ll follow a 13-mile stretch of the Tonto Trail across the gently rolling Tonto Plateau, where prickly-pear cacti and other wildflowers bloom and the views span from the rims to the river.

That stretch of the Tonto crosses five major tributary canyons of the Colorado River, including passing directly below the tall, slender rock spire and soaring burgundy cliffs in the canyon of Monument Creek, and the mind-boggling heights and three-dimensionality of the Inferno.

One more advantage of this hike: There are three reliable water sources along or a short distance off this route.

Read “One Extraordinary Day: A 25-Mile Dayhike in the Grand Canyon” about dayhiking Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead (a route I’ve also backpacked).

I can help you figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for your group.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.

South Kaibab to Grandview Point

Like Hermits Rest to Bright Angel, the 29-mile hike from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Grandview Point provides backpackers with a full-immersion experience in the Big Ditch without as much elevation gain and loss as going all the way to the Colorado River. (In fact, this trip offers just one optional side hike to the river—down the South Kaibab Trail.)

Descending the South Kaibab Trail as the light of early morning streams across the Grand Canyon is one of the most sublime hiking experiences in America. And the Grandview Trail offers constantly changing perspectives of the canyon spreading out before you. This hike also traverses a long stretch of the scenic Tonto Plateau, with views reaching to the South and North rims and the river, crossing a handful of tributary canyons like Grapevine Creek, which itself is staggeringly deep and broad. All along this route, some of the canyon’s most distinctive formations, like the towering Zoroaster Temple, seem to grow and shrink as you approach and move away from them.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail between the South Kaibab and Grandview trails in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail between the South Kaibab and Grandview trails in the Grand Canyon.

You can combine this hike with the Hermits Rest to Bright Angel hike (above), or partly overlap the two—going from Hermits Rest to South Kaibab or Grandview Point to Bright Angel or doing either in the opposite direction. There are four water sources along this route, but only one is perennial (Grapevine Creek), so it’s better done in spring, when the other three creeks usually have water.

See my story “Dropping Into the Grand Canyon: A Four-Day Hike From Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trail” at The Big Outside.

See the “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop

Accessible for shorter spring and fall seasons than most backpacking trips off the South Rim, the remote, 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim has become a prized destination for in-the-know backpackers and river-rafting parties taking side hikes, primarily for an unusual abundance of a rare element in the canyon: water.

A backpacker beneath Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.
Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.

The two fast-moving, perennial creeks and one river (in addition to the Colorado River) that backpackers hike along on this trip pour over some of the Grand Canyon’s prettiest waterfalls, course through spectacular narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation. Your first sighting from above of the Thunder River can seem like a mirage, seeing it burst in a—yes—thunderous waterfall from the face of a cliff.

Although the upper parts of this loop are dry and nearly devoid of shade—they can be brutally hot—the vistas reach to the South Rim and for miles up and down the canyon, revealing its majestic breadth and depth.

This isn’t a trip for beginner backpackers or Grand Canyon first-timers: You’ll descend a vertical mile to the Colorado and climb back up again, on often-rugged trails, possibly in heat that pushes the edges of human tolerance.

But backpackers ready to rise to the challenge will explore one of the most unique corners of the Grand Canyon.

See my story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.”

 

Hike all of the “12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

See all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-epic-grand-canyon-backpacking-trips-you-must-do/feed/ 26 30238
12 Wonderful National Park Adventures to Take With Kids https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-favorite-national-park-adventures-with-kids/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-favorite-national-park-adventures-with-kids/#respond Sat, 27 Sep 2025 09:00:36 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18610 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

America’s 63 national parks preserve over 52 million acres of uniquely beautiful and genuinely awe-inspiring places in nature, and the payoff for our country’s foresight in protecting them is a lifetime’s worth of unforgettable experiences—many of them entirely feasible, safe, and really fun for families with kids of all ages. Best of all, you’ll find that sharing these adventures will create your best times together as a family, as they have for mine.

And here’s an insider tip: These adventures aren’t just for families. Adults with a wide range of outdoors experience—including little to none—will find these trips thrilling, fascinating, and inspirational.

This story describes 12 of the very best adventures my family has taken, many of them personal favorites from among the countless trips I’ve taken over three decades as an outdoors writer, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Each trip description below offers a suggested minimum age—which will certainly vary based on every child’s (and parent’s) personal experience and comfort level—and links to a full feature story at The Big Outside, which share more images (and those stories require a paid subscription to read in full, including my detailed tips on planning each trip).

Not surprisingly, all of these trips require planning and making reservations months in advance. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

Please share your experiences, questions, and advice on any of these trips, or suggest your own favorite national park family adventures in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Two school-age kids standing under the General Sherman Tree in Sequoia National Park.
My kids standing under the General Sherman Tree in Sequoia National Park.

Stand in the Shadow of a Giant Sequoia

Any Age

If you’re going to be a tree hugger, you might as well go big. The giant sequoias of Sequoia National Park can live more than 3,000 years, grow as tall as a 26-story building, and have a base diameter of 36 feet. The General Sherman Tree is the largest in the world at 52,508 cubic feet (1,487 cubic meters), 275 feet tall, and estimated to weigh 2.7 million pounds. The General Grant Tree is the second largest at 46,608 cubic feet (1,320 cubic meters). Try hugging them.

A young girl backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park (also the lead photo at the top of this story).

The Giant Forest in Sequoia contains half of the Earth’s largest trees, more than 8,000 sequoias. You can stand under scores of them, including the General Sherman Tree, on a hike of an hour or less. From Wolverton Road, off the Generals Highway, a half-mile trail leads to the General Sherman Tree. The 0.7-mile Big Trees Trail begins at the Giant Forest Museum.

Is your family ready for a bigger adventure? Read about my family’s 40-mile backpacking trip in Sequoia, where we had a wilderness giant sequoia grove all to ourselves, plus see photos of the General Sherman Tree and Grant Grove in my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park.” And see all stories about Sequoia National Park at The Big Outside.

Make every adventure better with my “10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors
and “5 Tips for Hiking With Young Kids from an Outdoors Dad.”

 

A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

Feel the Magic of Yellowstone

A family at Grand Prismatic Spring in the Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone.
My family at Grand Prismatic Spring in the Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone.

Any Age

Since Americans first began exploring the Yellowstone region, people have stood in awe of its marvels: megafauna like elk, bison, and grizzly bears, spectacular waterfalls, and more than 10,000 geothermal features, including hot springs, mud pots, fumaroles, and at least 300 geysers—two-thirds of the planet’s known total.

We first took our kids to Yellowstone when they were four and two years old, and although they don’t remember that visit, they delighted in the animals and thermal features—and they could enjoy them because so many of Yellowstone’s highlights can be seen on short walks or hikes that are easy enough to do with very young kids.

Some of my favorite spots, like Grand Prismatic Spring, the park’s largest, in the Midway Geyser Basin, require only a short stroll on a boardwalk. An easy walking tour of Mammoth Hot Springs, the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, and even the Upper Geyser Basin (which includes Old Faithful) can be done in an hour or two.

See my stories “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” “Cross-Country Skiing Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone National Park at The Big Outside.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A raft floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park.
A raft floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park.

Float the Green River Through Canyonlands National Park

Ages 4 and Up

Our son was six and our daughter barely four when we took a five-day, five-family float trip mostly on the Green River in southern Utah’s Canyonlands National Park. From the put-in at Mineral Bottom through 52 miles of Stillwater Canyon on the Green and then four miles more on the Colorado River to the takeout at Spanish Bottom, the river slowly unfurls beneath a constant backdrop of soaring redrock cliffs and spires.

A hiker in early morning high above Stillwater Canyon on the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking in early morning high above Stillwater Canyon on the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.

Our flotilla of rafts, two kayaks, and a canoe quickly morphed into a slowly drifting party of water-gun fights and occasional swims to cool off, interspersed with frequent moments of gazing at brilliantly red canyon walls rising hundreds of feet above us. Off the water, we took side hikes to high overlooks of the canyon and centuries-old Puebloan rock art and cliff dwellings and camped on sandy beaches and slickrock benches. You might even spot bighorn sheep scrambling around on the canyon’s precipitous rock faces.

The flat water is ideal for beginners, campsites are spacious and lovely, and the scenery is out of this world from put-in to takeout. Rentals of boats and river gear, plus shuttles to the put-in and from the takeout (via a very scenic motorboat tour) are available from local outfitters in nearby Moab.

See my story “Still Waters Run Deep: Tackling America’s Best Multi-Day Float Trip on the Green River” and all stories about floating the Green River at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

My son, Nate, underneath Double Arch in Arches National Park.

Climb Into Natural Arches

Ages 5 and Up

Arches National Park in southeastern Utah has many geologic wonders to recommend it, but from a kid’s perspective, one of the coolest experiences is scrambling up underneath an arch like Double Arch in the park’s Windows Section or Partition Arch in Devils Garden—the first a short walk, the second a hike of two to three hours round-trip.

Skyline Arch in Arches National Park.
Skyline Arch in Arches National Park.

For short, easy walks to several arches, feasible with young kids, start in the Windows Section, where you can get up close and personal with Double Arch, Turret Arch, and South Window. For a longer but relatively flat hike of up to a half-day (although you can shorten it), explore Devils Garden, including Pine Tree, Navajo, and Partition arches, and the park’s longest, Landscape Arch.

Skyline Arch, which is a short hike but sits by itself and thus attracts fewer people, sits high on the wall of a narrow canyon, and you can scramble up the canyon’s opposite wall for a bird’s-eye view of the arch. If you have a full day, take a ranger-guided tour of the Fiery Furnace, a maze of narrow canyons.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” and all stories about Arches National Park at The Big Outside.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets
and “How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

 

A teenage boy hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking Angels Landing in Zion National Park.

Hike Zion’s Breathtaking Trails

Ages 6 and Up

Even among America’s flagship national parks—gems like Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Yellowstone—Zion stands out for having several dayhikes that would make the top 10 list of many avid hikers. Angels Landing, The Narrows, the West Rim Trail, Hidden Canyon, and Observation Point, to name just a handful that begin right in Zion Canyon, feature scenery that actually does justice to the adjective “breathtaking.” No other place really compares to Zion.

Woman and two young children backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, with our kids, Nate and Alex, hiking up the West Rim Trail on a family backpacking trip in Zion National Park.

If your family is ready for a multi-day backpacking trip, Zion offers some of the best in the national parks, including an overnight hike in the Narrows and trips of two to four days in the Kolob Canyons and on the West Rim Trail or combining those two areas of the park on a beautiful traverse. And among technical dayhikes that require appropriate gear and skills like rappelling and navigating and wading slot canyons with cold pools of water, few compare with Zion’s Subway.

These hikes and others range widely in distance, difficulty, and gut-churning excitement quotient, and comfort level doesn’t always correlate directly with age. Stop in the park visitor center for information about these hikes, including current conditions; rangers can let you know when to avoid some of them.

See my stories “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know,” “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery,” “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows,” my expert e-book to backpacking Zion’s Narrows, and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A hiker on the John Muir Trail in Yosemite overlooking Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall.
My wife, Penny, on the John Muir Trail in Yosemite overlooking Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall.

Stand Beneath Yosemite’s Waterfalls and Summit Half Dome

Ages 7 and Up

Yosemite Valley and its surrounding high country was an early inspiration for creating a system of national parks—and the source of that inspiration becomes clearer when you explore beyond the Valley’s busy roads, hiking to its justifiably world-famous waterfalls and the summit of one of Yosemite’s iconic landmarks, Half Dome.

Upper Yosemite Falls in Yosemite National Park.
Upper Yosemite Falls in Yosemite National Park.

Dayhike the 7.2-mile, 2,700-vertical-foot Upper Yosemite Falls Trail to the brink of that waterfall, which plunges a sheer 1,400 feet through the air; or hike only about an hour to 90 minutes up that trail to a spot close enough to the base of the waterfall to feel the light rain of its mist.

The 6.3-mile, 2,000-vertical-foot loop on the Mist Trail and John Muir Trail takes you through the raining mist of 317-foot-tall Vernal Fall—which can be drenching in late spring—and both below and above the thunderous plume of nearly 600-foot-tall Nevada Fall.

Fit hikers—including older kids—with strong endurance can continue past Nevada Fall to dayhike up the exposed cable route to the summit of Half Dome, a 16-mile, 4,800-foot round trip that requires a permit. Adventurous families can venture beyond dayhiking distance, with myriad choices for five-star backpacking trips of virtually any length and difficulty.

See my stories “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls,” “Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit,” “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite,” and all stories about Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

See also my e-books to three amazing backpacking trips in Yosemite.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable adventures in Yosemite and elsewhere.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

A young boy hiking in the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
My son, Nate, on a family backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

Ascend Into the Tetons

Ages 7 and Up

Regular readers of this blog know that the Tetons are one of my favorite mountain ranges—I’ve made more than 20 trips dayhiking, backpacking, climbing, and backcountry skiing there—and I rank the Teton Crest Trail among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
My son, Nate, and friend Mike Baron backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

But the TCT is an ambitious and moderately strenuous hike of at least four days for most adults. The first Teton backpacking trip I took my kids on, when they were eight and six, was a three-day hike of Grand Teton’s nearly 20-mile Paintbrush-Cascade Canyons Loop.

Probably the most popular backpacking route in the park because of its relatively short distance, easy access, and stellar scenery, it takes you through two of the park’s most stunning canyons and over one of the highest mountain passes reached by a trail in the park, 10,700-foot Paintbrush Divide (which can be difficult to cross, due to snow, until August). Campsites in Upper Paintbrush Canyon have views of soaring, striated canyon walls, and in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon you will drink in a stunning view of the Grand Teton framed by canyon walls—still one of my favorite backcountry campsites ever.

See all stories about backpacking Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside, including “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” my story about backpacking the TCT with my family, and “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” with tips relevant to applying for a permit for any trip in the park.

Click here now to get my e-book to the best short backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park. Click here to see all of my e-books.

A mother and young daughter paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, in Florida's Everglades region.
My daughter, Alex, and wife, Penny, paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, on the edge of Florida’s Everglades.

Immerse Yourself in the Wild Everglades

Ages 7 and Up

Young kids playing on the beach near sunset on Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.
The kids playing on the beach near sunset on Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.

The Everglades is the kind of place that will shock you with its uniqueness and abundance of exotic fauna. Paddling sit-on-top kayaks on a placid river that flowed through mangrove tunnels, and canoes in the generally calm, shallow waters of the Ten Thousand Islands, my family watched an almost constant aerial parade of white ibises, black anhingas, tri-colored herons, brown pelicans and great blue herons fly just overhead.

On one paddling tour from the campsite we had to ourselves on a wilderness beach—where we watched the sun sink into the Gulf of Mexico—my son and I twisted around excitedly in our seats as a dolphin circled our canoe several times. On another paddle with my daughter, we exchanged long gazes with a gaggle of roseate spoonbills perched in a tree.

Much of the Everglades is a vast wilderness—at 1.5 million acres, the third-largest national park in the contiguous United States, bigger than Glacier or Grand Canyon and twice the size of Yosemite—offering opportunities for remote, multi-day, water-based adventures. But there are family-friendly options, like paddling canoes for a few hours on a well-marked water route to camp on a beach you have to yourselves.

See my story “Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades.”

Paddling the Everglades is one of “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

A young boy backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.

Hike and Camp on the Wild Olympic Coast

Ages 7 and Up

Starfish, mussels, anemones on a boulder, Olympic coast.
My son, Nate, standing atop a boulder wallpapered with starfish, mussels, anemones on the southern Olympic coast.

My kids, who were nine and seven when we backpacked this three-day, 17.5-mile traverse of Washington’s southern Olympic coast, remember playing for hours in tide pools; exploring a massive boulder wallpapered with mussels, sea anemones, and sea stars; and climbing up and down thrilling rope ladders on steep headwalls. Throughout their childhoods, they called it one of their favorite trips (and it’s one of my top 10 family adventures).

The adults on this hike remember it for the rich sea life and birds—we saw seals, a sea otter, a great blue heron, and other wildlife—as well as the scenery, with scores of sea stacks rising straight out of the ocean and giant trees behind the beach.

It’s a surprisingly rugged trip—which goes far in explaining why fewer backpackers hike the southern stretch of the Olympic coast compared to the less-strenuous northern stretch. But many kids who’ve done some dayhiking and backpacking will do just fine—and revel in the adventurousness nature of it. Parents would have to feel either comfortable guiding their kids on the mandatory rope ladders or confident in their kids’ ability to managing them on their own.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast” and all stories about Olympic National Park at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

Young kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
My kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Backpack in Glacier National Park

Ages 8 and Up

Mountain goat along Glacier National Park's Gunsight Pass Trail.
A mountain goat seen from the Gunsight Pass Trail, high above Gunsight Lake in Glacier National Park.

As my family hiked up the Gunsight Pass Trail on our way to that 6,900-foot pass in Glacier National Park, a mountain goat, as white as fresh snow, with sharp, straight horns, hopped onto the trail not 50 feet ahead of us, on a stretch where the path clings to the face of a cliff. We stopped, and my kids, then nine and seven, glanced back and forth between the goat and my wife and me, simultaneously amazed and wondering what came next.

We waited. And when the goat finally relinquished the trail to us, scrambling nimbly down the cliff below, we peered over the brink to see where it went—but it had disappeared. My daughter, Alex, muttered, “I can’t believe it went down there.”

The 20-mile Gunsight Pass Trail traverse from the Jackson Glacier Overlook to Lake McDonald Lodge, both on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, takes in views of glaciers and rocky peaks and features campsites at Gunsight Lake and Lake Ellen Wilson that sit beneath tall cliffs spliced by waterfalls. It offers a relatively short but incredibly scenic backpacking trip with easy transportation logistics: Both trailheads are served by the park’s free shuttle bus. It’s also not crowded with dayhikers like trails around Many Glacier and Logan Pass.

See my story “Jagged Peaks and Wild Goats: Backpacking Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” my two expert e-books to longer backpacking trips in Glacier, and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

See my “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

 

A young girl backpacking on Horseshoe Mesa in the Grand Canyon.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking on Horseshoe Mesa in the Grand Canyon.

Descend Into the Grand Canyon

Ages 8 and Up

The Grand Canyon looks impressive from its rim, but you really have to hike down into the Big Ditch to experience the full Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole sensation of its awesome scale. With virtually no vegetation obstructing the long vistas, towers thousands of feet tall appear to balloon to massive dimensions as you slowly approach them, until they dwarf their surroundings, then shrink into the background as you hike farther away. After many visits, I’ve yet to find a mediocre view or a bad backcountry campsite.

A school-age girl backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My daughter, Alex, at 10, backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Get that experience on a dayhike or backpacking trip into the canyon. Hike either of the easily accessed and best-constructed trails dropping into the canyon from the South Rim. Follow the Bright Angel Trail down as far as you want—there are numerous logical turnaround points within the first few miles, or go all the way to Indian Garden (nine miles and nearly 3,000 feet round-trip).

Or descend the South Kaibab Trail, one of America’s most scenic footpaths, with constant, ridge-crest views of a huge swath of the canyon. Accessible backpacking options off the South Rim allow for trips of two to five days or more.

See my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

Michael Lanza's family sea kayaking in Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.
My family sea kayaking in Johns Hopkins Inlet in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park.

Sea Kayak Back to the Ice Age

Ages 8 and Up

Southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay is the size of Connecticut and sits at the heart of a contiguous protected wilderness the size of Greece. There are simply few places of this size that are as pristine on the entire planet.

Steller sea lions on tiny South Marble Island, Glacier Bay National Park.
Steller sea lions on tiny South Marble Island, Glacier Bay National Park.

Glacier Bay has seen the fastest glacial retreat on Earth: Two centuries ago, there was no Glacier Bay, just a colossal river of ice 4,000 feet thick and 20 miles wide stretching 100 miles into the St. Elias Mountains. The ice has since pulled back 65 miles, creating a fjord with 1,200 miles of coastline that provides a living window into what the world looked like at the end of the last Ice Age.

On a multi-day sea kayaking trip, camping every night on a secluded, wilderness beach, you can see massive tidewater glaciers explosively calving bus-sized chunks of ice into the sea, humpback whales, orcas, Steller sea lions, mountain goats, seals, sea otters, brown bears, and a variety of birds and wildflowers—not to mention views of some of the more than 50 glaciers covering 1,375 square miles of the park, and peaks that rise to over 15,000 feet.

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

See also all stories about national park adventures and family adventures at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-favorite-national-park-adventures-with-kids/feed/ 0 18610
Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-grand-canyon-tonto-west-to-boucher-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-grand-canyon-tonto-west-to-boucher-trail/#comments Sun, 21 Sep 2025 20:27:59 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=68085 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

A thin, hazy overcast keeps the sun from frying my longtime friend and adventure partner David Ports and me as we descend the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail—a trail I’ve now hiked more times than I can immediately recall. And yet, watching how the marching, broken clouds cause the light to shift across the broad expanse of canyon visible to us, seeming to repaint and reshape the landscape every few minutes, it still feels fresh and thrilling to me.

Before long, though, as often happens in this canyon, the sun emerges to begin doing what the clouds had protected us from: frying us—figuratively speaking, of course.

It’s the first morning of our four-day, late-March backpacking trip from the South Kaibab to Hermits Rest, finishing via the Boucher Trail (pronounced BOO-shay), a notoriously steep route connecting the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon to the upper part of the Hermit Trail.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, and Annie Black backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

And I’ll admit that it feels a little repetitive and almost like an inside joke to use words like “notoriously steep” to describe the Boucher, because “steep” should be considered an assumed descriptor for at least portions of any footpath that descends from either the South or North Rim into the canyon’s interior—which typically involve at least 3,000 feet and often more than 4,000 feet of vertical relief over several miles.

The park website’s own ominous descriptions of trails reflect this truth, from the New Hance Trail (“may be the most difficult established trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon”) and Tanner Trail (“steep” and “one of the most difficult and demanding developed trails in the park”), to the Hermit Trail (“the upper section of the Hermit Trail is steep and sustained”), Bill Hall Trail (“quite steep and includes a 15-foot scramble”), and the Royal Arch Loop (“considered by many to be the most difficult of the established south side hikes”), to list just a handful of examples. (Note: Links in this story to many other stories at this blog require a paid subscription to read in full.)

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Backpackers hiking up the Boucher Trail in Grand Canyon National Park.
Annie Black and my wife, Penny, backpacking up the Boucher Trail in Grand Canyon National Park.

Still, we’ll discover on this trip’s last day that the Boucher is, indeed, even steeper than all of those trails (all of which I’ve backpacked). More precisely, the park’s description of it warns that “the trail is being slowly reclaimed by erosion—steep, narrow, and covered in a layer of ball bearing-like pebbles. Take your time!”

But while the hike ahead of us will feel challenging and leave us weary at the end of some days, we have a group of six who are ready for it—including a couple of Grand Canyon backpacking newbies who have the fitness and attitude for the difficulty. Besides David, who’s hiked in this canyon a few times, and me, that includes my wife, Penny, experienced in the GC and on countless other trips; Penny’s great friend since college, Annie Black, a first-time backpacker here but with much experience elsewhere; our 22-year-old daughter, Alex, herself with more multi-day hikes on her résumé than she can remember, going back to age five, including twice in this canyon (first time at age seven); and her good friend from college, Harper Meyer, on her first trip here and first with (most of) my family. Harper will meet and exceed our qualifications for backpacking partners: fit, fun, interesting, and badass.

The four women have started our hike by descending the Bright Angel Trail, the most direct route for backpacking west on the Tonto Trail toward the Hermit and Boucher. David and I will rendezvous with them at Havasupai Gardens. He and I have also been up and down the B.A. several times each and chose the South Kaibab because, well, it’s certainly one of the very best trails in the entire National Park System, and we will traverse the only piece of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail that I have not yet walked: the section that wriggles for about 4.5 miles between the South Kaibab and Bright Angel.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail west through Monument Creek Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Our group backpacking the Tonto Trail west through Monument Creek Canyon in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

At the Tipoff, where the South Kaibab crosses the Tonto Trail, 4.4 miles and more than 3,200 feet below the trailhead where we started out two hours ago (and still more than two trail miles and 1,500 feet above the Colorado River), David and I turn west onto the Tonto—and within minutes, as I’ve seen happen so many times when hiking one of the park’s three corridor trails (South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel), we’ve left behind a popular trail where we passed dozens of dayhikers and backpackers to find ourselves on a path with long views and, for most of the next couple of hours, not another person in sight.

Like other sections of the Tonto, here it mostly rolls over the Tonto Plateau, dropping slightly to cross the lush, tree-lined canyon of spring-fed Pipe Creek and then reversing that slight descent on the other side. We gaze up at tall cliffs to one side and, in the other direction, out over the Grand Canyon’s chaotic topography, our viewshed spanning the Colorado River to the distant North Rim.

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,”
and an easier alternative, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip or any trip you read about at this blog.

At Havasupai Gardens, we find the rest of our party waiting for us and all set out to hike another hour or more to our first camp at Horn Creek. To all of us, coming from northern states, the afternoon temperature feels hot: It’s in the low 80s Fahrenheit, a bit unusual for late March. But the Tonto Trail continues dealing us a generous hand of easy, nearly flat, and fast walking past spiky plants, the wildflowers not yet in bloom just a week into spring.

At Horn Creek, we have the established tent sites and thin shade of small cottonwoods all to ourselves. When the sun drops behind the canyon rim, the air calms and feels comfortably warm. We sit around trading stories until everyone is ready for sleep. I lay my bag and air mat out atop a large boulder at the edge of the creek bed that I remember sleeping on with Penny on a mild spring night like this one 26 years ago. With no moon, the sky becomes a silent blizzard of stars.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Horn Creek to Monument Creek and Granite Rapids

The sun already feels warm as we file out of camp in pairs around 9 a.m. Except for sitting in the patchy shade of boulders a couple of times today—and the extended break we’ll take in the deep shade of canyon walls at Monument Creek—the six of us will get no respite from the sun’s heat until it sets behind the canyon rim tonight.

The sun at mid-morning in late March remains low enough to throw both intense light and long, heavy shadows in almost equal distribution across the canyon. A breeze tantalizes us with its cooling effect on open bends in the trail around ridges tumbling off the South Rim, but abandons us as we walk along the lee sides of those ridges, where we feel every degree of the solar heat. 

An hour out, as David and I sit in the hard shade of a large rock, first Harper and Alex appear over the saddle between tributary canyons, joined within minutes by Annie and Penny. After a break huddled close together in that shrinking shadow, we all depart together but soon spread out, paired up according to our paces. In this very capable group of family and friends, nobody needs anyone to act as guide. But we always establish the next place where we’ll stop and regroup.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

 

Contact Grand Canyon National Park, nps.gov/grca. See trail descriptions, including water sources, at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/campsite-information.htm.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, sleeping bag, down jacket, air mattress, and stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-grand-canyon-tonto-west-to-boucher-trail/feed/ 2 68085
Backpacking Glacier National Park—a Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-backpacking-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-backpacking-glacier-national-park/#comments Sat, 20 Sep 2025 09:00:42 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6623 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

If you have ever backpacked in Glacier National Park, you know you want to return. If you haven’t yet, then isn’t it time? One of America’s flagship national parks, it’s a must-see destination for backpackers because of the eye-popping scenery, remoteness, and an extremely rare variety of megafauna—including mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and black and grizzly bears—as the photo gallery below from my numerous trips in Glacier shows.

And it’s not too early to start planning a backpacking trip in Glacier for next summer.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.

There are many good reasons I rank Glacier as one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” a list I base on having backpacked all over the country for more than three decades, including 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

On every multi-day hike I’ve taken there—such as the 65-mile route I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier—I have marveled at an ocean of mountains spreading out before us, soaring cliffs, some of the park’s 760 lakes, sightings of bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and bears (yes, including grizzlies)—and enjoyed a surprising degree of solitude even while hitting many of the park’s highlights.

See my expert e-books to two outstanding backpacking trips in Glacier
and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan every detail of your Glacier trip.

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail above Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail above Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

My advice: Start planning your Glacier adventure months in advance. Backcountry campsites can be reserved in advance starting March 15 for groups of one to eight people (although having a group of more than four gets much more complicated) and March 1 for groups of nine to 12. Permits for about 40 percent of backcountry campsites in Glacier are issued on a first-come basis no more than a day before a trip’s start date—but that’s a hard permit to get because of the high demand and backpackers on a multi-day hike may claim some of those walk-in sites farther in advance. 

Glacier holds two 24-hour lotteries for early-access times to reserve a backcountry permit, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. Standard group lottery winners will get a date and time when they can apply for a permit reservation. Large-group lottery winners will receive special instructions for applying for a permit reservation. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season.

Click any photo in the gallery to scroll through it. Scroll below the gallery for links to stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Read 5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside (many of which require a paid subscription to read in full, including expert tips on planning those trips), And find more info at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm.

See also my expert e-books to two outstanding backpacking trips in Glacier and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan every detail of a Glacier trip customized to your preferences.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-backpacking-glacier-national-park/feed/ 2 6623
Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail-a-photo-gallery/#comments Sat, 13 Sep 2025 09:05:47 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6538 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On the first afternoon of a five-day, late-summer backpacking trip covering much of the 93-mile Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, two friends and I were making a long ascent through meadows bursting with lupine when we spotted two mountain goats staring at us from rocks partly hidden by bushes—and within seconds, we counted nine goats. Not much later, the morning fog finally lifted, revealing Mount Rainier in all its glory, a vast mountainside of ice and snow rising nearly 8,000 feet above us. Crossing endless wildflower meadows in warm sunshine, a light breeze, and just about perfect hiking temperatures, we reached Panhandle Gap at 6,750 feet—the highest point on the Wonderland—with its expansive view of The Mountain. Below us, at least 18 mountain goats grazed in a flat meadow carpeted in green grass.

And that anecdote encapsulates scenes that occurred daily on the Wonderland Trail.

The Wonderland Trail certainly belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—and I have hiked most of the best (some of them multiple times) over more than three decades, including many years running this blog and previously as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years. The Wonderland possesses virtually all of the qualities that make for a great multi-day hike—including repeated views, from all sides, of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

Check out the photo gallery below from backpacking trips I’ve taken on the Wonderland Trail and my story about the 77-mile, late-summer hike I took with two friends, “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.” Like many stories at The Big Outside, including most stories about trips, that one requires a paid subscription to read in full.

For as special as it is, the Wonderland ranks among the hardest backpacking permits to get in the country. See How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit;” and get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier” to learn everything you need to know to plan and take this classic trip.

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack part or all of the Wonderland Trail or for any trip you read about at this blog.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker below the Tahoma Glacier on Emerald Ridge, on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Wonderland Trail on Emerald Ridge, below the Tahoma Glacier, Mount Rainier National Park.

If you’re looking for a beautiful introductory backpacking trip at Mount Rainier National Park, you could hardly do better than the three-day, 22-mile hike from Mowich Lake to Sunrise, much of it on the Wonderland Trail. Crossing the northern tier of the park, you’ll enjoy some of the best wildflower displays you’ve ever seen in Spray Park and Berkeley Park, get a close-up look at the massive Carbon Glacier, and gaze up awestruck at Rainier’s ice- and snow-clad north face from spots like Mystic Lake. See my story about taking that trip with my family when our kids were young, “Wildflowers, Waterfalls, and Slugs at Mt. Rainier.”

If you’re more interested in seeing the best parts of the Wonderland on dayhikes, see “The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park.”

If you have backpacked the Wonderland or have other questions or suggestions about it, please share them in the comments section below. I try to respond to all comments.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips. Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail-a-photo-gallery/feed/ 1 6538
10 Awe-Inspiring Wild Places in America’s West https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-10-awe-inspiring-wild-places/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-10-awe-inspiring-wild-places/#comments Tue, 09 Sep 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26400 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Over more than three decades of backpacking adventures throughout America’s West, I’ve been fortunate to explore deeply into our most cherished national parks, wilderness areas, and protected backcountry. All of them are special. But some places rise above the rest, inspiring a sense of awe that can motivate us to reorder our priorities and rearrange our lives—and they have that effect on us every time we return to them. This story spotlights those special places in the West and many trips that you can take in them.

From the High Sierra to the Wind River Range, the Cascades to the best of southern Utah, Glacier, the Tetons and Yellowstone to the Grand Canyon and more, the 10 places and more than 40 trips described below comprise a tick list of five-star adventures that will keep you busy for years. (They have done exactly that for me.)


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt at Park Creek Pass, North Cascades National Park.

All of these adventures possess unique qualities that make them feel extraordinary while you’re out there and stay with you for a long time afterward—and I say that from the perspective of having taken scores of backpacking trips all over the country for more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

The descriptions below all link to stories at The Big Outside with many more images and information. (Those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips on planning each trip.)

Please share your thoughts about my list or any suggestions you have for similarly awe-inspiring adventures in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

The Wind River Range

You could count on the fingers of one hand—without needing every finger—the number of Lower 48 mountain ranges where you can hike for days below rows of jagged 13,000-foot peaks, passing more of the prettiest alpine lakes you’ve ever seen than other people. And one of those places is Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

On a roughly 41-mile loop from Elkhart Park, two friends and I spent a night in one of the most awe-inspiring spots in the West, Titcomb Basin, an alpine valley at over 10,000 feet where evening alpenglow painted a granite wall of 13,000-footers above us golden. Our route crossed three 12,000-foot passes, one via an adventurous, off-trail route over that led into a lovely hanging valley.

Justin Glass at a small tarn on the Wind River High Route.

A few summers ago, three companions and I made a very rugged, seven-day, 96-mile south-to-north traverse of the Wind River High Route, two-thirds of which is off-trail—one of the most difficult and stunning adventures I’ve ever loved. I returned in late summer 2022, when three of us backpacked a 43-mile loop in an area I had mostly never seen before and—not surprisingly—walked through inspiring scenery every day while encountering few other backpackers.

And most recently, in August 2023, a friend and I hiked a four-day, 41-mile route that crossed the Continental Divide four times, enjoying a five-star campsite near a beautiful alpine lake every night and passing through one of the justifiably best-known areas of the Winds, the Cirque of the Towers.

As I’ve learned on several multi-day trips into the Winds: Being there can make you believe that these are the most magnificent mountains you’ve ever seen. And you might be right about that. The Winds keep pulling me back.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Wind River Range,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup,” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A tarn near Helen Lake, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
A tarn near Helen Lake, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

The High Sierra

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite.
The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite.

Every time I return to explore another area of California’s High Sierra—as I did again most recently in August 2022, backpacking about 130 miles in nine days, mostly on the John Muir Trail through Kings Canyon National Park and the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses—I’m reminded of just how magnificent and vast this mountain range is.

Spanning three iconic national parks—Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Yosemite—and several national forests and wilderness areas, with thousands of miles of trails and alpine lakes, the Sierra offers endless opportunities for backpacking trips of any length and enough adventures to fill multiple lifetimes.

My own many backcountry travels in the Sierra have included several backpacking trips and dayhikes in Yosemite, where the beauty never ends, even after you’ve hit all the best-known corners; hiking a 40-mile loop with my family in Sequoia, crossing passes up to 11,630 feet and marveling over a landscape the camera loved; climbing the Lower 48’s highest peak, Mount Whitney, with my son; and thru-hiking the JMT. All of those and other trips have given me a good base of knowledge about the Sierra—and only whetted my appetite for more.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my stories about thru-hiking the JMT and climbing Mount Whitney, my expert e-books to three stellar backpacking trips in Yosemite, plus all stories about backpacking the JMT and backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A backpacker descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

The Cascade Range

Stretching 700 miles from northern California through Oregon and Washington into southern British Columbia, the Cascade Range—with the notable exception of Mount Rainier—does not reach the heights of the Sierra. But the range is nearly twice as long and harbors some of the finest backpacking trails in the country, both famous and relatively obscure.

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

The 93-mile Wonderland Trail (lead photo at top of story) around Washington’s 14,410-foot Mount Rainier belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—for the countless, jarring views of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, numerous waterfalls and cascades, raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and sightings of mountain goats, marmots, and black bears.

See my stories about my backpacking trip on what I consider the best sections of the Wonderland and “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

Glacier Peak looming above Image Lake in Washington's Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Glacier Peak looming above Image Lake in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

The 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood rivals the Wonderland for wildflowers, waterfalls, and scenery, including frequent views of 11,239-foot Mount Hood. The Timberline also serves up challenges like potentially edgy creek fords—and it requires less than half the time of hiking the entire Wonderland, with no permit complications. See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

Check out these three other very worthy Cascades backpacking trips:

• The stunning and adventurous, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.
• A 44-mile loop in the sprawling Pasayten Wilderness, combining the Pacific Crest Trail and more-remote and lonely trails with equally great scenery.
• And an 80-mile hike, with shorter variations, that delivers a stellar tour of North Cascades National Park.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A backpacker descending the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Southern Utah

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

The national parks and other wildlands of southern Utah protect some of the best dayhikes and backpacking trips in America—period. But among all the multi-day hikes at the bottom of Utah, four stand head and shoulders above the rest: the Needles and Maze districts of Canyonlands National Park, Paria Canyon, and Zion’s Narrows.

In the more user-friendly Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, stratified cliffs stretch for miles and trails zigzag across waves of slickrock slabs below multi-colored sandstone candlesticks rising 300 feet tall. Across the Green River, in the Maze District, trails lead from overlooks of a vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons to circuitous routes through canyons that could only be called the Maze. With very rugged hiking through a hard-to-reach corner of the Southwest where water sources often dry up seasonally, the Maze is unquestionably hard—and a holy grail for serious Southwest backpackers.

Famous among backpackers for its towering walls of orange-red sandstone painted wildly with desert varnish and illuminated by reflected sunlight, hanging gardens where springs pour from rock, and campsites on sandy benches shaded by cottonwood trees, Paria Canyon is a must-do adventure made more, well, “interesting” by pockets of quicksand. Hike it top to bottom or combined with its 15-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch—which gets so tight that you must take off your pack and squeeze through sideways.

A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking The Narrows.

The Narrows of Zion National Park certainly ranks among America’s top 10 backpacking trips and the best in the Southwest. Much of the magic lies in seeing it change as you literally walk deeper into the earth, splashing down the river through deeply shaded, tight passages and seeing springs gush from solid rock, creating lush desert oases. Backpack the 14-mile route from top to bottom, spending a night in the canyon to savor the solitude of an evening below walls that soar 1,000 feet tall and a slice of black sky bursting with stars.

See my stories “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze,” “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

Glacier National Park

Few wild lands inspire feelings of awe as often and as intensely as Glacier. Besides almost constant views of mountains unlike any in America, on many multi-day hikes in Glacier you will see rivers of ice pouring off of craggy mountains and cliffs, some of the more than 760 lakes, and often mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose—possibly even a few grizzly and black bears: I’ve seen bears on every backpacking trip I’ve taken there.

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Early morning at Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

Those hikes have included what I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier as well as a 94-mile, north-to-south traverse of the park, combining the primary Continental Divide Trail route through Glacier and my hand-picked variations off it to hit what I believe comprise the park’s finest areas.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Glacier, Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-books.

Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.
Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon

If every American should visit Yellowstone National Park—and every American should—those who long to explore its unique and rich backcountry should embark on the park’s best backpacking trip, through Bechler Canyon. Hiking for miles along the Bechler River Trail, beside a five-star trout stream, you’ll pass several thunderous waterfalls—including 45-foot Iris Falls and Colonnade Falls, where the Bechler River plunges 35 feet over an upper falls and another 67 feet over a second drop.

The trip features bracing river fords—which pose little risk beyond chattering teeth (a friend and I made our trip’s last ford in strong, frigid wind and wet snow falling in late September)—possible sightings of bison, bears and other wildlife; the opportunity to explore Yellowstone’s largest backcountry geyser basin near the shore of one of the park’s biggest backcountry lakes; and the icing on the cake: soaking in a natural hot springs-fed pool called Mr. Bubble.

See my story “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon” and all stories about Yellowstone National Park at The Big Outside.

Any trip goes better with the right gear. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Backpackers on the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon

What can be said about the Grand Canyon that hasn’t already been said a thousand times? What words can measure up to the scale and majesty of this place—its infinite vistas, the deceptive immensity of the canyon walls and stone towers, the intimate side canyons where waterfalls pour through green gardens in the desert?

A backpacker on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports backpacking the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

In this landscape of incomparable scenery, multi-day hikes vary from beginner-friendly to notoriously strenuous and challenging. Having ticked off some of the canyon’s best multi-day hikes—South Kaibab to Lipan Point, including the Escalante Route and Beamer Trail, Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, Grandview Point to South Kaibab Trailhead, the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, the New Hance Trail to Grandview Point, the Royal Arch Loop, the canyon’s Gems Route, and the Utah Flats Route and Clear Creek Trail—and hiked and run rim-to-rim-to-rim multiple times in a day, I’m still scheming my next trip there.

The canyon has no peers. Every backpacker should go there.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

A hiker above the Middle Fork Salmon River in Idaho's Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.
Lisa Fenton hiking the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, part of the Idaho Wilderness Trail, in Idaho’s Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.

The Idaho Wilderness

Anyone following my blog for very long knows my affection for Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—my backyard wilderness. But central Idaho harbors nearly four million more acres of almost-contiguous wilderness beyond the 217,000 acres in the Sawtooths: the 1.3-million acre Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, which is larger than many national parks, including Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Glacier; and the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness (“the Frank”), largest in the Lower 48 and bigger than Yellowstone.

If this vast realm of mountains and canyons—divided by just one rural highway and two remote dirt roads—were contained within one national park, it would be America’s third-largest.

Several years ago, I asked the Idaho Conservation League to help me create a long-distance backpacking trail through the state’s three signature wilderness areas. The result is the 296-mile-long Idaho Wilderness Trail, which crosses mountain passes over 9,000 feet and meanders below dramatic spires from the Bighorn Crags in the Frank to the Sawtooths. It follows three designated wild and scenic rivers, the Middle Fork of the Salmon, Main Salmon, and the Selway, and traces the shores of innumerable alpine lakes.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

 

Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

It also traverses pristine lands that are home to mountain goats and bighorn sheep, elk and moose, black bears, a population of wolves estimated to be at least seven times larger than that in Yellowstone—and that protect some of the nation’s best remaining habitat in the Lower 48 for restoring wild salmon.

Perhaps most uniquely, the IWT offers the kind of solitude you simply cannot find on most long-distance trails. In fact, many backpackers have never even heard of the wilderness areas the trail traverses.

See my stories “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets
and “How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The Tetons

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon.

This list would not feel complete without Wyoming’s iconic Teton Range. Fairly beginner-friendly in terms of difficulty and navigation, a place where you may come upon a marmot, moose, elk, or black or grizzly bear, and so constantly picturesque from the campsites to the high passes and vast fields of wildflowers that it almost shocks the senses, these razor peaks never fail to dazzle.

I’ve returned to the Tetons more than 20 times over the past three-plus decades, most recently backpacking—again—my favorite variation of the Teton Crest Trail, universally considered one of the best backpacking trips in America. Two of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites lie along the TCT.

While the Teton Crest Trail captures the imagination of most backpackers, any multi-day hike in the Tetons will rank among the best hikes you’ve ever done. Want proof? Check out “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “10 Great, Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside, and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park,” which tells you everything you need to know to plan and pull off that trip—including how to get one of the most coveted and difficult-to-reserve backcountry permits in the National Park System.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.
Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

Rocky Mountain National Park

The Colorado Rockies, with 58 peaks that rise higher than 14,000 feet and another whopping 637 that stand between 13,000 and 13,999 feet, have drawn hikers and mountain climbers like mice to peanut butter for decades. But for many, the Colorado Rockies reach their scenic apex in Rocky Mountain National Park.

While not nearly as large as other Western parks like Glacier or Yosemite, Rocky nonetheless offers some excellent and relatively beginner-friendly options for multi-day hikes. I’ve backpacked there on both sides of the Continental Divide, including taking my kids when they were young on a short, three-day hike in Wild Basin, in the park’s southeast corner, south of the park’s tallest and most famous mountain, 14,259-foot Longs Peak.

We camped our first night beside a small creek where the kids played for hours, and our second night a short walk from the shore of lovely Ouzel Lake, nestled in ponderosa pine forest at just over 10,000 feet, below a striking wall of 12,000- and 13,000-foot peaks.

See my story about backpacking with my young kids in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Scroll through the All Trips List for a menu of stories at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-10-awe-inspiring-wild-places/feed/ 7 26400
The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-capitol-reef-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-capitol-reef-national-park/#respond Mon, 25 Aug 2025 09:00:50 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=64649 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Chances are, when you think about hiking in southern Utah, Capitol Reef National Park does not come to mind first. Or maybe even second or third. Ask many hikers and national parks fans to list Utah’s Big 5 parks—the others being Zion, Bryce Canyon, Arches, and Canyonlands—and Capitol Reef will probably bring up the rear on most people’s list. If they even remember it.

If you’re one of those people, this article will give you an entirely new impression of Capitol Reef and make you want to hike there. If you’ve already gotten a taste of the park and long to explore more of it, you’ll find below a tick list of hikes to take there.

I’ve experienced the beauty of Capitol Reef’s trails and backcountry through numerous hiking and backpacking trips there over more than three decades—most recently, visits in each of the past three years—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Todd Arndt at North Overlook above the Fremont River Canyon, reached via Cohab Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

I’m not sure how many times I’ve walked a trail or stood at an overlook somewhere in Capitol Reef’s backcountry as the setting sun painted the multi-colored cliffs and towering stone beehives, pyramids, and castles with shifting, vivid evening light that rendered the landscape deeper, broader, more powerful with each passing minute. The sunsets here are crazy gorgeous.

From broad canyons with soaring walls to narrow slots, short and easy hikes ideal for young kids to moderate-distance trails that most hikers would love and some very challenging outings—like my family’s descent of a slot canyon that required four rappels, an adventure our kids loved when they were 11 and nine; and backpacking a mostly off-trail traverse along the spine of the park’s signature geologic feature, the Waterpocket Fold—I have witnessed the variety and striking natural wonder of this underappreciated gem of Utah’s canyon country and concluded it’s just as nice as Utah’s other four parks. But not as crowded.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail (also shown in lead photo at top of story), in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Not among the ranks of our giant wilderness parks— at just over 240,000 acres, Capitol Reef could fit inside the Grand Canyon five times and Yellowstone nine times—it’s nonetheless the second largest of Utah’s Big 5, smaller only than Canyonlands (which is large enough to be geographically divided into four named districts) and nearly equals the area of Zion, Bryce, and Arches combined.

There’s plenty to explore in Capitol Reef. And this story will serve as your guide to doing just that.

A hiker near the Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.
My wife, Penny, hiking near the Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.

Spring and fall are the peak hiking seasons in Capitol Reef, though its higher elevations often ensure relatively comfortable temperatures extending into June and returning earlier in September than in lower hiking destinations like Zion Canyon. Be aware that some narrow canyons in the park pose flash-flood danger. Know in advance—you can inquire at the visitor center—whether you’re entering a narrow canyon and whether rain is in the forecast.

Please share your thoughts or questions about any of these hikes or your own favorites in Capitol Reef in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail (also shown in lead photo at top of story), in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Navajo Knobs Trail

I’ll state this up front: If you take one moderate-length dayhike in Capitol Reef, make it this one. There are few dayhikes in the entire National Park System, never mind in Utah’s parks, that compare with the Navajo Knobs Trail.

This 9.4-mile, out-and-back hike, with 1,620 feet of elevation gain and loss, starts at the same trailhead as the immensely popular Hickman Bridge Trail (below) but soon splits from it—and sees very light hiker traffic beyond that junction. The trail ascends to an overlook above Hickman Natural Bridge and then winds upward for 2.3 miles to the Rim Overlook (4.6 miles round-trip with 1,100 feet of uphill and downhill), with a sweeping view from 1,000 feet above the Fremont River Valley of the cliffs and the chaotically rumpled topography of the Waterpocket Fold and the Henry Mountains in the distance.

Continuing generally west past the Rim Overlook, the Navajo Knobs Trail meanders along the canyon rim, around dry draws and below enormous cliffs and towers, with continuously expanding panoramas of Capitol Reef and distinctive, giant formations like Pectols Pyramid, The Castle, and Fern’s Nipple.

At 4.7 miles from the trailhead, the trail concludes with some easy scrambling to the tiny summit of one of the pinnacles named the Navajo Knobs, at 6,979 feet, worth the effort for the prospect it offers of the varied and fascinating geology and topography of Capitol Reef National Park. But the Navajo Knobs Trail offers a five-star hike, however far you venture out before turning back.

The Navajo Knobs Trail starts at the Hickman Bridge Trailhead, on the north side of UT 24, two miles east of the park visitor center. The trailhead has a small parking lot that usually fills up, with motorists parking where possible along the highway; get there early for better parking access and to beat the heat on a hot day.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Hickman Natural Bridge seen from the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
Hickman Natural Bridge seen from the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.

Hickman Bridge

Immensely popular for great scenery starting right at the trailhead and continuing every step of the way as well as for its short, easy distance, the Hickman Bridge Trail loops around the base of the natural sandstone bridge, which spans 133 feet and rises 125 feet high. At less than two miles out-and-back with 400 feet of elevation gain and loss, it takes only about 90 minutes, great for families with young kids and adults not interested in longer hikes. It splits off the Navajo Knobs Trail (above) at a trail junction just a quarter-mile from the trailhead.

The Hickman Bridge Trailhead is on the north side of UT 24, two miles east of the park visitor center and has a small parking lot that usually fills up, with vehicles parking where possible along the highway.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

A family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My family backpacking up Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

Chimney Rock Loop and Chimney Rock Canyon to Spring Canyon

Rising 300 feet above UT 24, Chimney Rock is an unmistakable natural spire visible to travelers along the highway. But most of them drive past without experiencing the far superior scenery on the relatively easy, 3.6-mile Chimney Rock Loop, which climbs about 800 feet onto the mesa above Chimney Rock, offering a bird’s-eye view of the Fremont River Valley and the sheer redrock cliffs that rise above it. Most hikers make the lollipop loop counterclockwise, getting most of the uphill done at the front end.

While the loop hike is relatively popular, far fewer hikers venture beyond it to explore farther down Chimney Rock Canyon to Spring Canyon, where tall, deeply red and tan walls rise high overhead and boulders flank the trail in many places. Following Chimney Rock Canyon’s trail down to its confluence with Spring Canyon adds three miles out-and-back and minimal down and up to the loop hike—and you can turn around at any point or explore up or down Spring Canyon.

Hikers looking for a longer and more adventurous outing can continue downstream in lower Spring Canyon—reaching the perennial spring not too far below the Chimney Rock Canyon junction—to the canyon’s mouth at the Fremont River, exploring that canyon’s ever-changing contours and fascinating geology. From the Chimney Rock Trailhead, it’s about a nine-mile hike (slightly longer if you add the side trip on the Chimney Rock Loop) down Chimney Rock Canyon and lower Spring Canyon to the Fremont River, which you must ford to reach UT 24, about two miles east of the Hickman Bridge and Cohab Canyon trailheads. Be prepared for a long day with a lot of sun exposure and look at the river where you’ll have to ford it before committing to the full canyon descent to make sure it’s low enough to ford safely.

The Chimney Rock Trailhead is on UT 24, three miles west of the park visitor center. The lot often fills in spring and fall so arrive early.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

A hiker on the Cohab Canyon Trail above Fruita in Capitol Reef National Park.
Todd Arndt hiking the Cohab Canyon Trail above Fruita in Capitol Reef National Park.

Cohab Canyon

Want to sample Capitol Reef’s Utah-caliber scenery on a relatively easy hike of two to three hours? Head up the Cohab Canyon Trail.

Although it extends for only 1.7 miles one-way between UT 24 and Fruita, with a bit over 400 feet of uphill, the Cohab Canyon Trail leads you through a fascinating defile of walls sculpted with countless “windows,” across rock gardens and sloping slickrock, and along the rim of a slot canyon—and offers the option of very worthwhile, short side trails to dramatic clifftop ledges at the North and South Fruita Overlooks (see photo in this story’s lead paragraphs).

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

From the west end of the Cohab Canyon Trail, you’ll ascend switchbacks for about 400 feet in a half-mile to a high overlook of Fruita—another great early-evening or sunset view. From there the trail descends steadily to UT 24.

Slightly more than a half-mile west of UT 24, don’t pass up the side trail that winds uphill over ledges a short distance to a plateau and then forks at spur trails to the North Overlook (0.4 mile from the Cohab Canyon Trail) and South Overlook (0.5 mile from the Cohab Canyon Trail), which have breathtaking views from about 400 feet above the valley of the Fremont River.

Cohab Canyon’s eastern trailhead is on the south side of UT 24, two miles east of the park visitor center, a short distance east of the Hickman Bridge Trailhead. The west end of the Cohab Canyon Trail is across Scenic Drive from Fruita campground.

Gear up right for your hikes. See the best trekking poles
and “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

 

Frying Pan Trail

Immediately east of the North and South Overlooks trail junction in Cohab Canyon, the Frying Pan Trail diverges south. On a short, out-and-back side trip from Cohab Canyon onto the Frying Pan Trail, within about a quarter-mile you’ll climb to a sweeping panorama of countless creamy-white, red, and orange domes and cliffs—among the best views on any trail in the park.

For a longer outing, continue south on the Frying Pan Trail, which extends for 2.9 miles from Cohab Canyon to the Cassidy Arch Trail, traversing a high portion of the nearly 100-mile-long Waterpocket Fold. Although relatively few hikers venture the length of this trail, it’s one of the park’s finest.

Young girls hiking the Frying Pan Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
My daughter, Alex, and friend Kellen hiking the Frying Pan Trail in Capitol Reef National Park.

You can hike it about 3.3 miles one-way from Cohab Canyon to Cassidy Arch and backtrack to Cohab Canyon—or continue another 3.6 miles and several hundred feet downhill to the bottom of the Cassidy Arch Trail in Grand Wash, turn east, and hike through the nearly flat Grand Wash, between tall, vertical, close walls frequented by bighorn sheep, back to the Grand Wash Trailhead on UT 24, about five miles east of the visitor center.

Best hike: Make a roughly 11-mile traverse from the eastern Cohab Canyon Trailhead on UT 24, through all of Cohab Canyon (as far as the Fruita overlook at the west end of Cohab Canyon, with some backtracking) and taking in the North and South Overlooks, plus the spur trail to Cassidy Arch, to the Grand Wash Trailhead on UT 24, three miles east of the Cohab Canyon Trailhead (a short car or bike shuttle—or it’s easy enough for one or two people to hitch a ride to retrieve your car).

Is that hike right for you?
See my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A hiker standing atop Cassidy Arch in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm standing atop Cassidy Arch in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.

Grand Wash and Cassidy Arch

In many respects, the popular and easy Grand Wash has come to represent what hiking in Capitol Reef is all about. Nearly flat hiking between the tall, vertical, close walls frequented by bighorn sheep, it snakes for 2.2 miles end-to-end through the Waterpocket Fold from the eastern trailhead on UT 24, at 5,200 feet, about five miles east of the visitor center, to the western trailhead, also called the Cassidy Arch Trailhead, at over 5,400 feet, reached via a short dirt road, passable for cars, off Scenic Drive, 3.4 miles south of the visitor center.

You could hike the full length of Grand Wash out-and-back from either trailhead—and add the 2.8-mile, out-and-back side trip up the Cassidy Arch Trail, with more than 800 feet of uphill and downhill. But many hikers explore Grand Wash from the eastern trailhead. From that end, within maybe 20 minutes you’ll reach the start of the narrows section, where the canyon shrinks to the width of a residential street (not a true slot canyon, but still dramatic), and can hike as far as you like before turning around.

Hiking to Cassidy Arch from the eastern end of Grand Wash and back creates a round-trip hike of 6.8 miles and 1,000 feet up and down.

Watch for bighorn sheep on the ledges and terraces on the walls of this deep and dry canyon. Hike in early morning and late afternoon to get shade from the walls of Grand Wash.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

A hiker on the Golden Throne Trail in Capitol Reef National Park.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Golden Throne Trail in Capitol Reef National Park.

Capitol Gorge and the Golden Throne Trail

Ancient Native Americans and, later, pioneers from the eastern United States used the dry streambed of Capitol Gorge as a road through the Waterpocket Fold; evidence of their passages remains on its walls today in the form of petroglyphs and the pioneer register, which bears names and dates carved, painted, and even shot into the rock wall.

The trail into the gorge is a mile-long, flat and easy hike between soaring, colorful walls. Less than a mile into the gorge, the Tanks Trail leads a quarter-mile and about 200 feet uphill to an area where large basins, or tanks, carved into the rock by flowing water in storms, hold pools of water and periodically get replenished by rain and depleted during spells of hot, dry weather.

Four miles round-trip, with 730 feet of up and down, the Golden Throne Trail—an entirely separate hike from Capitol Gorge, although their trailheads are next to one another—winds uphill below tall cliffs and crossing side canyons above Capitol Gorge to a viewpoint of the giant, very prominent formation aptly called the Golden Throne.

Hikers in Capitol Gorge in Capitol Reef National Park.
Hikers in Capitol Gorge in Capitol Reef National Park.

Each of them alone—or combining the two hikes—offers another great window into the variety of hiking in Capitol Reef National Park.

The Capitol Gorge and Golden Throne trailheads are reached by driving to the end of Scenic Drive and turning left onto the dirt Capitol Gorge Road, passable for cars, and following it for about two miles to its end.

See my stories about two family trips to Capitol Reef, “Plunging Into Solitude: Dayhiking, Slot Canyoneering, and Backpacking in Capitol Reef” and “Playing the Memory Game in Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking Capitol Reef National Park and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Find more information about trails in Capitol Reef at nps.gov/care/planyourvisit/hiking.htm.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-capitol-reef-national-park/feed/ 0 64649
The Two Best Hikes in Bryce Canyon National park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-favorite-hike-in-bryce-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-favorite-hike-in-bryce-canyon/#comments Sat, 23 Aug 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7911 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Bryce Canyon’s relatively easy, nearly three-mile Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop regularly draws a steady stream of hikers for good reason, with constant views of hoodoos—the multi-colored, limestone, sandstone, and mudstone spires that look like giant, melting candles, including the famous formation called Thor’s Hammer. But once turning onto the Peekaboo Loop (photo above), you lose the crowds—and discover the scenic heart of Bryce Canyon while hiking below the Wall of Windows and row after row of towers in fluorescent shades of red and orange.

Similarly, the Fairyland Loop in Bryce includes a short, busy section of the Rim Trail, but over most of its length offers a quiet, lightly traveled hike through an area of Bryce that abounds in hoodoos, where you can lose the crowds and the scenery changes with every turn in the trail.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


The Wall of Windows along the Peekaboo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.
The Wall of Windows along the Peekaboo Loop in Bryce Canyon National Park.

When the Rim Trail and other easily accessible parts of Bryce get overcrowded and noisy—which occurs most days in spring and fall—both the six-mile linkup of the Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop with the Peekaboo Loop and the eight-mile Fairyland Loop enable hikers to escape the crowds and enjoy a quiet, very scenic, and only moderately strenuous tour of Bryce’s hoodoos and amphitheaters on well-graded, generally smooth trails. Hike both and you’ll enjoy an excellent tour of Bryce Canyon National Park.

Spring and fall are the prime seasons for hiking in the desert Southwest and Bryce Canyon’s trails lie between roughly 7,000 feet and 9,000 feet, so hiking here is generally cooler than places like Zion Canyon, extending the season of moderate temperatures into June and resuming it sometime in September.

Please share your comments or questions about these hikes in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

Queens Garden/Navajo Loop and Peekaboo Loop

Start the Queens Garden/Navajo Loop from either Sunrise or Sunset Point and hike it clockwise for views overlooking the Bryce Canyon Amphitheater when descending the Queens Garden Trail; those views are behind you when hiking that trail uphill (counterclockwise). At the junction of the Queens Garden Loop and the Navajo Loop, in an area labeled South Hall on park maps, follow a connector trail leading briefly east to a junction where you’ll turn south onto the Peekaboo Loop, which will return you to this same junction; then backtrack that connector trail to finish the Navajo Loop.

While the entire six-mile combination of the Queens Garden/Navajo Loop and Peekaboo Loop—which takes about three hours—is beautiful, the Peekaboo Loop feels more sublime because there are so many fewer hikers on it. The trail system in Bryce allows you to shorten the hike to about five miles by combining only the Navajo and Peekaboo loops, or hike the Peekaboo Loop from Bryce Point (5.5 miles with almost 1,600 feet of up and down), or use the park shuttle buses to traverse 4.6 miles from Bryce Point to Sunrise Point, hiking one side of the Peekaboo Loop (clockwise) and the Queens Garden Trail.

See nps.gov/brca/planyourvisit/qgnavajocombo.htm and nps.gov/brca/planyourvisit/peekabooloop.htm.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Fairyland Loop

Many hikers start this eight-mile loop—which has at least 1,500 feet of uphill and downhill and takes about four hours—at Sunrise Point Trailhead, following the Rim Trail north briefly and turn onto the Fairyland Loop to hike it counterclockwise. You’ll initially descend past walls and towers of red, orange, and cream-colored stone, reaching the short spur trail to Tower Bridge (the sight of which instantly explains its name).

The trail climbs again to follow the plateau rim overlooking Boat Mesa, drops into Fairyland Canyon, then ascends once more to Fairyland Point. The loop then follows the Rim Trail south back to Sunrise Point, with long views of the Bryce Amphitheater. The entire Fairyland Loop is gently graded. You can also start the Fairyland Loop at Fairyland Point, but parking is very limited there and it’s not served by the park’s shuttle buses.

See nps.gov/brca/planyourvisit/fairylandloop.htm.

See my story about a trip to Bryce and other southern Utah parks for more about hiking the Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop and Peek-a-Boo Loop and tips on planning a trip to Bryce and other parks, and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside. Many of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips and information on planning each hike.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-favorite-hike-in-bryce-canyon/feed/ 12 7911
Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails-a-photo-gallery/#comments Sun, 10 Aug 2025 09:05:54 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=54617 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We followed the trail upward through innumerable, short switchbacks to the summit of a battleship-gray, treeless, steep-sided peak called Bláhnúkur in the remote Fjallabak Nature Reserve of Iceland’s Central Highlands, one of the most active geothermal areas on Earth. At the summit, we turned a slow 360, gaping at a mind-boggling, kaleidoscopic landscape painted in more colors than there likely were species of plant life—none of it more than knee-high—on the volcanic slopes surrounding us. An old, hardened lava flow poured down one mountainside in a jumbled train wreck of razor-sharp black rhyolite. Barren peaks and ridges wearing the white splotches of July snowfields reached to every horizon.

My family spent six days trekking hut to hut on the roughly 54-kilometer/33-mile Laugavegur Trail followed immediately by the 25-kilometer/15.5-mile Fimmvörðuháls Trail—a trip I’d wanted to take with my family since I first set foot in that place on another raw, windy, and wet July day 16 years earlier.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A trekker on the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland. Click photo for my e-book to the Laugavegur and Fimmvorduhals trails.

It has been my considerable good fortune to have hiked many of America’s and the world’s great trails over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

But very few, if any, compare with the world-famous Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails—where every day presents new and different, jaw-dropping vistas. We walked across highlands littered with steaming hot springs and fumaroles and down river valleys between small, starkly barren peaks, some of them vividly green despite their lack of vegetation more than calf-high. We traversed a high plateau carpeted with snow and nearly barren valleys choked with twisted boulders of black lava rock. We hiked, stunned at every turn, downstream along a river with more thunderous waterfalls than I have ever seen in one day in my life.

Save yourself a lot of time and headaches.
Get “The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.
Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.

But I will let the photos in this story speak to the scenery on these two trails.

The photo gallery below includes some favorite images from the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails. Click on the gallery to open it and use right and left arrow keys to scroll through it.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Read my blog story about my family’s hut trek on these two trails, “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails,” which has dozens of photos and is partially free for anyone to read but requires a paid subscription to read in full. Scroll past the gallery for links to more stories about international adventures.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails” will tell you all you need to know to plan this trip yourself.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

See also “9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road,” my story about my first trip to Iceland, “15 Adventures on Earth That Will Change Your Life,” “My Top 10 Adventure Trips,” “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips,” and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable hiking and backpacking adventures. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails-a-photo-gallery/feed/ 8 54617
9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road https://thebigoutsideblog.com/9-great-hikes-and-walks-along-icelands-ring-road/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/9-great-hikes-and-walks-along-icelands-ring-road/#comments Sun, 10 Aug 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=55036 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Driving Iceland’s Highway 1, or Ring Road, in the country’s southeast on the kind of sunny day that’s almost as rare here as the sensation of boredom, we reached the seacoast—and the landscape and seascape suddenly seemed to exceed the capacity of our vision and minds to take it all in. The two-lane highway snaked along this island nation’s ragged edge, weaving in and out of one fjord after another, each as impossible to comprehend in its magnificence as it was to pronounce. The ocean crashed up against starkly barren yet wildly colorful mountains as we crossed bridges over intricately braided rivers, gazing up valleys where multiple, cracked glaciers tumbled nearly to sea level.

As stupefying as the scenery was the near absence of traffic in early August, owing to the remoteness and unpopulated character of this part of Iceland: We saw an empty highway more often than we saw another vehicle.

Yes, all of the hikes of widely varying distances and the short walks we took along the Ring Road were exceptional; but even the scenery through the car windows—like the random images in the above gallery—often left us breathless and wanting to simply stop at the roadside and spend a few minutes appreciating it all (which was never hard to do, given how few other vehicles we encountered).

Although I’m usually constitutionally opposed to labeling one travel experience as “the best,” I cannot think of another scenic drive I have taken that rivals the splendor of Iceland’s Ring Road—and I have taken many over the past three-plus decades, from the American West, Alaska, and Hawaii to many of the world’s most cherished landscapes, including the years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and for many years running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker on the Fimmvorduhals Trail above Iceland's Skógá River.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Fimmvorduhals Trail above Iceland’s Skógá River.

Capping off a nearly three-week family trip to Iceland that included trekking hut-to-hut on the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails, we spent a week driving the Ring Road and taking many of the best dayhikes and walks along it. This story describes the hikes and short walks we took, listed in the order we hiked them when driving the Ring Road clockwise from Reykjavik.

This article includes Iceland’s second- and third-tallest waterfalls, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe, and a trail that passes more than two dozen eye-popping waterfalls; both the deepest and the longest fjords in Iceland and the longest river canyon; probably Iceland’s most famous glacial lagoon; a great dayhike to waterfalls and overlooks high above glaciers in Iceland’s largest national park; and in a more casual vein, a walk along a black-sand beach. (Like many stories at The Big Outside, reading this entire story and other stories linked below requires a paid subscription to this blog.)

The Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon, along the Ring Road in southeast Iceland.
The Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon, along the Ring Road in southeast Iceland.

With each hike, we mapped the driving route on a smartphone, which worked fine even on remote dirt roads off the Ring Road. Although some interior roads require high-clearance, 4WD vehicles, all of the roads mentioned below are fine for standard cars.

Please share your own experiences on any hikes along Iceland’s Ring Road or questions about them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Want to take one of the world’s great hut treks?
See my story “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

Glymur Waterfall

3.8 miles/6.1km, 1,180 feet/360 meters up and down.

At 650 feet/198 meters tall, Iceland’s second-highest waterfall, Glymur, thunders into a deep and narrow chasm located at the head of the deepest fjord in Iceland, Hvalfjörður. The first view of the falls one gets when hiking the trail up that canyon will stop you in your tracks and the overlooks only keep getting better as you climb higher.

Iceland's second-tallest waterfall,, Glymur, at the head of the fjord Hvalfjörður.
Iceland’s second-tallest waterfall,, Glymur, at the head of the fjord Hvalfjörður (also shown in lead photo at top of story).

Sometimes hyperbolically described as a “well-kept secret,” the three- to four-hour out-and-back or loop hike (the latter requires fording the wide, shallow, and frigid river well above the waterfall) rarely offers any real solitude: Arrive at the trailhead early to beat the crowds because the large parking lot often fills by mid-morning. But the steep and rugged trail, a bit of exposure, and a river crossing on a log (or fording it) not far into the hike—in addition to the optional ford to make it a loop hike—makes it long and hard enough to dissuade the masses of tourists that frequent Iceland’s most famous and accessible waterfalls.

Hikers at an overlook of Iceland's second-tallest waterfall, Glymur, at the head the country's deepest fjord, Hvalfjordur.
Hikers at an overlook of Iceland’s second-tallest waterfall, Glymur, at the head the country’s deepest fjord, Hvalfjordur.

Reach the trailhead on a 90-minute drive north from Reykjavik and follow the well-signed trail up the canyon, with stunning views from below and above Glymur itself, which does not come into view until you get close to it. The drive along the shore of Hvalfjörður is beautiful and feels quite remote, despite its proximity to Reykjavik.

Like what you’re reading?
Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Mount Sulur

6.2 miles/10km, 2,887 feet/880 meters up and down.

Mount Sulur sits near the head of Iceland’s longest fjord, Eyjafjordur, and above the town of Akureyri, Iceland’s second-biggest city with fewer than 20,000 residents, centrally located on the northern coast. I hiked it alone on a rainy day with limited visibility; the weather seems very often wet in the north, which is on the Arctic Ocean.

But the hike was enjoyable, pretty, and certainly very quiet nonetheless—and on a clear day the panorama takes in the long fjord and mountains embracing it. The trailhead can be a little hard to find (we did use a phone mapping app to get there) and the trail meanders gradually uphill across slopes often wet and muddy; wear good, waterproof boots and I recommend using trekking poles.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

Iceland's Dettifoss, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe.
Iceland’s Dettifoss, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe.

Dettifoss Waterfall

10-minute walk from the parking lot or a 1.6-mile/2.5km, easy hike to two or three waterfalls.

Not far off the Ring Road in northeast Iceland, Jökulsárgljúfur National Park’s 144-foot/44-meter-tall and 328-foot/100-meter-wide Dettifoss ranks as the highest-volume waterfall in Europe. The drenching mist from it creates double rainbows over the canyon in the right light. Jökulsárgljúfur—which means “glacial river canyon”—is Iceland’s longest river canyon at 16 miles/25km, one of the country’s deepest canyons, and known for its series of waterfalls: Selfoss, Dettifoss, Hafragilsfoss and Réttarfoss.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Hikers at an overlook of Iceland's Dettifoss, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe.
Hikers at an overlook of Iceland’s Dettifoss, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe.

From the Ring Road, there’s a paved road to a large parking lot on the west side of Dettifoss (we used a mapping app to find it easily); that road is often closed in winter. From the parking lot, it’s a 10-minute walk to see Dettifoss and several minutes farther to a viewpoint near the waterfall’s brink, where you can literally feel the power of it shaking the ground. The trail is rocky and often wet and slick.

On the day we visited, heavy rain driven by strong winds made a longer hike unappealing, but the waterfall is nonetheless impressive, and we walked the trail several minutes farther downriver to another overlook of Dettifoss. The west side of the river gets much of the heavy spray created by the waterfall, so wear a rain jacket even on a sunny day. Returning to the parking lot, look for signs directing you toward Selfoss, a smaller but pretty waterfall a half-mile/1km upriver. If you hit all the viewpoints, it’s a 1.6-mile/2.5km hike with very little up and down.

If we’d had a better day, I would have preferred to visit these waterfalls from the east side, which has a dirt road to a small parking lot that apparently fills most mornings (arrive early, before the parking lot fills and traffic backs up on the dirt road with motorists waiting for parking spaces to open up); the road is passable for cars but watch for potholes. There’s also a 1.6-mile/2.5km hike on the east side with up-close, better views of Dettifoss, Selfoss, and Hafragilsfoss—and the east side doesn’t get the heavy mist.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

A hiker below the waterfall Gufufoss on Trail 51, along the Fjardara River above Seydisfjordur, in Iceland's east.
My daughter, Alex, below the waterfall Gufufoss on Trail 51, along the Fjardara River above Seydisfjordur, in Iceland’s east.

Fjardara River Valley

4.4 miles/7.1km and 1,150 feet/351 meters, with shorter and longer options.

One of the most beautiful little towns we visited and spent a night in was Seyðisfjörður, which sits at the head of a deep fjord in Iceland’s remote east, with peaks rising abruptly for thousands of feet on both sides of town, Mount Bjolfur to the north and Mount Strandartindur on the south side. The drive to Seyðisfjörður follows one of Iceland’s most spectacular roads, Stafirnir Road (Route 93, off the Ring Road), over a high ridge and down the north side of the Fjardara River Valley.

Trail no. 51 follows the Fjardara River for 4.4 miles/7.1km and 1,150 feet/351 meters one-way, passing numerous waterfalls and cascades. Waterfalls are also visible on the mountainsides above from the trail, which is muddy in places and marked by wooden stakes with tips painted yellow.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

See “15 Adventures on Earth That Will Change Your Lifeand all stories about international trips at The Big Outside, the Lonely Planet guidebook Iceland’s Ring Road—Road Trips,” and more information at visiticeland.com.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/9-great-hikes-and-walks-along-icelands-ring-road/feed/ 2 55036
15 Awesome Fall Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-awesome-fall-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-awesome-fall-backpacking-trips/#comments Mon, 04 Aug 2025 09:00:03 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20463 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The imminent end of summer always feels a little melancholy. After all, it marks the close of the prime season for getting into the mountains. But it also signals the beginning of a time of year when many mountain ranges become less crowded just as they’re hitting a sweet zone in terms of temperatures, the lack of bugs, and foliage color. Autumn also stands out as an ideal season for many Southwest hikes, with moderate temperatures and even some stunning color.

From Yosemite to Yellowstone, Grand Canyon to Grand Teton, the Great Smokies to the White Mountains and hikes that may not be on your radar, like the North Cascades (lead photo, above), Ruby Crest Trail, and several great ones in the Southwest, this story describes 15 backpacking trips that hit a nice season or their prime season sometime between mid-September through November—all of them standouts among the innumerable trips I’ve taken over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor at Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Backpacking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Click on links below to read the feature-length stories about these trips, which contain numerous photos. While much of those individual stories is free for anyone to read, reading them in full, including my tips on planning those trips, is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside. See also my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Don’t stay home and lament the end of summer—get out and make the most of autumn, an ideal time of year in the backcountry.

Please share your questions or suggestions for fall backpacking trips in the comments section at the bottom. I try to respond to all comments. Click any photo to read about that trip.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness

“Ara-what?” Yea, that was my reaction when I first heard about this place from a friend—whose tip I wisely followed. (Thanks, John.) Five of us backpacked into Aravaipa for three days, dayhiking from a base camp to explore this lushly green, 12-mile-long defile between redrock walls that reach up to 600 feet tall.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpacking out to the West Trailhead on our last day in Aravaipa Canyon.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous public lands, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous Southwest oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing tall cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro cacti grow in giant armies on the rims overhead. With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, no water scarcity typical of Southwest desert backpacking trips, abundant shade, the low elevation and southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a relatively casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—but fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

See my story “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

The High Sierra

Like Yosemite (below), demand for wilderness permits throughout the High Sierra, especially in Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, grows fierce during the summer. But most backpackers fail to realize that the real peak season for exploring the incomparable High Sierra begins in late August—when the wilting afternoon heat and ravenous mosquitoes of early to mid-summer start to abate—and often continues through September and into October.

Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park, High Sierra, California.
Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

And the options are virtually unlimited in this contiguous wilderness spreading over nearly three million acres—an ocean of jagged peaks rising as high as 14,000 feet and a constellation of shimmering alpine lakes—from weekend trips to a week or longer, including five-star section hikes of the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail or variations off them into less-well-known corners of the Sierra. After backpacking many hundreds of miles throughout the Sierra over more than three decades, I have yet to run out of great hikes to do there.

See all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking the John Muir and Ansel Adams Wildernesses,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

A backpacker near Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.

North Cascades National Park

Larch trees reflected in Rainbow Lake, in Washington's North Cascades.
Larch trees reflected in Rainbow Lake, in Washington’s North Cascades.

In the last week of September, with huckleberries ripe and tasty and the larch trees blazing yellow with fall color (lead photo at top of story), a friend and I took an 80-mile hike through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex, a sprawling swath of heavily glaciated mountains and thickly forested valleys. Our grand tour from Easy Pass Trailhead to Bridge Creek Trailhead took us through virgin forests of giant cedars, hemlocks, and Douglas firs, and over four passes, including Park Creek Pass, where waterfalls and glaciers pour off cliffs and jagged, snowy peaks.

We enjoyed five sunny, glorious early-fall days; but of course, snow can fall in these mountains in September, so watch the forecast. North Cascades has long been one of my favorite parks (it has one of the most inspiring backcountry campsites I’ve ever slept in). But not many backpackers know this place: It’s one of America’s least-visited national parks. That’s good if you like to have a beautiful wild place to yourself.

See my story “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” which has my tips on how to plan and take this trip, including shorter variations of the 80-mile route, and all stories about North Cascades National Park at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan a backpacking trip of almost any length in the North Cascades. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Backpackers hiking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Mark and Pam Solon backpacking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Owl and Fish Canyons

Like other Southwest canyon country backpacking trips, the approximately 17-mile loop through Owl and Fish Canyons in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument features tall, red cliffs, towers, and natural arches (Nevills Arch spans 140 feet); walking up or down rippled slickrock slabs; plus flowering cacti and other prickly desert flora in spring and the greenery of cottonwoods.

A backpacker hiking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
My wife, Penny, backpacking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Unlike other multi-day hikes in the Southwest, Owl and Fish have a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water, creating an unexpected desert oasis—and enabling backpackers to avoid carrying an onerous burden of extra water. The hike also involves quite rugged terrain in parts of both canyons—scrambling, steep sections of loose rocks, and a bit of exposure. Hiking in one of the least-populated parts of the country, you might see the darkest night skies of your life: Sleeping out without tents, friends and I awakened after moonset to a Milky Way glowing with a rare luminescence against a coal-black sky riddled with stars.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about Southwest backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A backpacker above Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking above Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail in northern Nevada’s Ruby Mountains.

Ruby Crest Trail

Maybe like me, you’ve had Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail in your sights for several years. When I finally made it there, I wondered why I’d waited so long.

Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.
Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.

The four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail goes from a high-desert landscape speckled with granite monoliths to aspen and conifer forests and alpine terrain high above treeline, with constant views of the craggy Ruby Mountains. We passed some stunning mountain lakes—one of which ranks among the prettiest backcountry lakes and best backcountry campsites I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy.

While my family backpacked the Ruby Crest Trail in mid-July, when wildflowers bloom and moderate temperatures prevail, late summer and early fall bring even greater solitude to a wilderness that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to many parks and mountain ranges. If you’re trying to pull together a last-minute trip, the Ruby Crest Trail also offers the convenience of requiring no permit reservation.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Cyndi Hayes backpacking above Crack-in-the-Wall and Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Coyote Gulch

A hiker in Coyote Gulch in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Cyndi Hayes hiking in Coyote Gulch in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

From one of the trailheads, you begin the roughly 15-mile hike through Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, by crossing ancient dunes hardened to rock to stand atop a cliff overlooking redrock towers and cliffs, including massive Stevens Arch, which spans 220 feet across and 160 feet tall. From that clifftop, you scramble down to squeeze through a tight, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall—which is quite fun and not as hard as you might think.

Once in Coyote Gulch, you’ll often hike directly in the mostly shallow but energetic, perennial stream that nurtures lots of greenery, while hiking below some classic features of Southwest canyons: a natural bridge, one of the region’s most distinctive natural arches—and one deeply overhung cliff with amazing echo acoustics that delighted the kids when my family and another spent three days exploring this canyon. With relatively few hazards associated with Southwest canyons, Coyote Gulch represents one of the Southwest’s most beginner-friendly backpacking trips while earning five stars for scenery.

See my story “Playing the Memory Game in Southern Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon.”

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Iris Falls on the Bechler River, Yellowstone National Park.
Iris Falls on the Bechler River, Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone National Park

Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone.
Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone.

Imagine this: You’re partway through a wilderness backpacking trip when you reach a natural hot spring-fed pool in the backcountry… and soak for hours. That’s what awaits you in Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon, where the famous Mr. Bubble forms a wide, hot pool at a perfect temperature for soaking.

A friend and I enjoyed a long soak in Mr. Bubble on a five-day, roughly 55-mile hike through Bechler Canyon. We also saw thunderous waterfalls and cascades along the Bechler River Trail, which also, in sections, is a quiet, tree-lined waterway with world-class trout fishing. We saw a black bear, heard elk bugling, and explored the largest backcountry geyser basin in the park—which we had almost entirely to ourselves.

September and early October are the best months to backpack in this corner of Yellowstone—after the notorious summer mosquito season, with frequently pleasant weather, when the multiple, cold fords of the Bechler get a bit lower.

See my story about that trip “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon” at The Big Outside.

Use The Big Outside to plan your next adventure.
Join now and a get free e-book!

 

A backpacker descending Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow Loop

The 22-mile Death Hollow Loop in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument begins with the Boulder Mail Trail’s wildly meandering, up-and-down route across steep-walled canyons and over a slickrock plateau of rippling Navajo Sandstone. That first day culminates at an overlook at the rim of Death Hollow that steals your breath away, right before the trail abruptly plunges to that Escalante River tributary.

A backpacker hiking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

On the second day’s sometimes narrow and constantly surprising descent of Death Hollow, you’ll hike in cold water ranging from ankle- to thigh-deep—provided you successfully avoid slipping into the deeper pools—while encountering a succession of terrain obstacles. (Full disclosure: The poison ivy is insane.) Then you’ll ascend the upper Escalante River canyon between soaring walls of red, brown, and cream-colored rock painted with desert varnish.

The Death Hollow Loop poses significant challenges to take seriously. But at every turn, you will stumble upon scenes as pretty as you’ll find in any canyon in the Southwest. This adventure will blow your mind.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop.”

Time for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight packs.

Noland Creek in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
Noland Creek in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Unquestionably one of the East’s premier backpacking destinations, the Great Smokies have two peak seasons: spring, when about 1,600 species of flowering plants—more than found in any other national park—come into bloom; and fall, when dry air and moderate temperatures settle in, insects have mostly disappeared, and the forest paints itself in the brilliant hues of autumn foliage.

A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
A view from the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

While you’ve probably seen many photos of the classic vistas from Great Smokies summits of overlapping rows of blue, wooded ridges fading to a distant horizon, I’ve found that much of the park’s magic resides in its rocky streams tumbling through cascades, and a diverse forest where you may hear only the sound of birds.

On a 34-mile, October hike in the park, beginning near Fontana Lake and traversing a stretch of the Appalachian Trail, I enjoyed a grand tour of this half-million-acre park, including 6,643-foot Clingmans Dome and the park’s highest bald, 5,920-foot Andrews Bald. I also found a surprising degree of solitude, even in the very popular fall hiking season.

See my story “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains” and all stories about Great Smoky Mountains National Park and hiking and backpacking in western North Carolina at The Big Outside.

Get the right puffy jacket to keep you warm in fall. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

A backpacker hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River in Yosemite.

Yosemite National Park

Want to know the hardest thing about backpacking in Yosemite? Getting the permit. Well, okay, the hiking itself can be tough at times. But the competition for wilderness permits in this flagship park is stiff, especially for popular trailheads in and around Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows. That’s one reason why backpackers in the know go after Labor Day. Another reason is that while early-season snowstorms occasionally slam the High Sierra in autumn, nice weather often lasts through September—my favorite time in the High Sierra—and sometimes into October.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite.
The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite.

With less demand in late summer and autumn, you can often score a last-minute permit for a five-star hike of almost any distance, hitting top Yosemite summits like Clouds Rest and Mount Hoffmann, and the incomparable Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, plus remote areas like Red Peak Pass, the highest pass reached by trail in Yosemite.

The park issues 40 percent of wilderness permits online from seven days to three days before the trip start date at recreation.gov/permits/445859. That enables backpackers who didn’t apply months ago to plan a trip about a week out and arrive at the park with the assurance of having a permit reservation. And outside the park’s popular core area between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows, a permit is much easier to get.

Then the only hard aspect of the hike will be… you got it: the hike.

See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” and “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I’ve helped numerous readers of my blog figure out how and where they can get a last-minute, walk-in wilderness permit in Yosemite, and then laid out the route for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Grand Canyon National Park

You already know that spring and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking in the Grand Canyon. But while weather can be unstable in either season, in spring you’re aiming for a window between when snow and ice melt off the rims in April and when the scorching temps hit the inner canyon in May. In fall, though, you’ll enjoy dry trails, a surprising amount of color in the sparse desert vegetation, and pleasant temperatures often lasting into November (which was when I backpacked there with my 10-year-old daughter).

A backpacker above Royal Arch Canyon on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
Kris Wagner backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop.

Backpacking permits for the corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—are in high demand. Sure, grab those campsites if available; but if not, I recommend the 29-mile hike from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead, or the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead—or even combining or overlapping them. Both feature sublime campsites, stretches of flatter hiking along the Tonto Trail with views reaching from the Colorado River to the South and North rims, and crossings of deep side canyons with flaming-red walls shooting straight up into the sky.

And backpackers ready for a bigger canyon route should see my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” a trip that is described in this e-book.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” or scroll down to Grand Canyon on the All National Park Trips page for a menu of all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Grand Teton National Park

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

Like Yosemite and Grand Canyon, Grand Teton is a park where securing a backcountry permit reservation requires being on top of the process months in advance, applying the minute reservations open in January; most reservable backcountry camping gets booked for the entire summer typically within minutes. But the park also sets aside about two-thirds of available backcountry campsites for walk-in permits, issued up to a day in advance of a starting multi-day hike. While demand is huge for those during July and August, as with other parks, it tails off steadily after Labor Day.

The combination of relatively high elevations and a northerly latitude brings a slightly higher probability that snow will fly in the Tetons in late summer or early fall. But beautiful summer weather, with pleasant days and crisp nights, can extend into late September, a season when you’ll see aspens turn golden and hear rutting elk bugling. And fewer backpackers show up at park offices seeking a permit—you can walk in, grab one, and go.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

See also my bestselling, expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

Get my expert help planning your backpacking trip and 33% off a one-year subscription.
Click here now to get a Premium subscription to The Big Outside!

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in Zion’s Narrows. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

Zion National Park

Here’s what I’ve discovered about Zion in numerous visits since my first three decades ago: The more time you spend there, the more you discover there is to do—so you need to keep coming back. But exploring Zion faces seasonal limitations, especially for its two premier backpacking trips.

A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.
A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.

The North Fork of the Virgin River often runs too high in spring to make the overnight descent of The Narrows; and while much of it is shaded and cool even on summer’s hottest days, the top and bottom are exposed to the broiling sun. And he approximately 40-mile, north-south traverse of the park from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon crosses high plateaus that often remain snow-covered into May, with one creek crossing that can be challenging in the high water of spring.

But September and October offer prime conditions for these hikes—and the cottonwood trees turn golden in October. I even backpacked The Narrows with a forecast for ideal weather in early November.

See my stories “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery.”

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A hiker at Zeacliff, overlooking the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton at Zeacliff, overlooking the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H.

White Mountains

If ever there were mountains that screamed to be explored in fall, these are those. New Hampshire’s rocky and steep White Mountains are where I wore out my first several pairs of hiking boots, and I still return every year for their awe-inspiring brand of suffering. While the fall colors that usually peak in early October are beautiful throughout the Whites, my top two picks for fall backpacking trips are a 32-mile loop around the Pemigewasset Wilderness and a 24-mile traverse from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch, mostly on the Appalachian Trail.

A hiker on Bondcliff, on the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire's White Mountains.
Mark Fenton on Bondcliff, on the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The 32-mile Pemi Loop from the Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway (NH 112) crosses eight official 4,000-foot summits, including the alpine traverse of Franconia Ridge—with its constant panorama encompassing most of the Whites—and a walk along the rocky crest of remote Bondcliff, in the heart of the Pemigewasset. Crawford to Franconia overlaps some of the Pemi Loop’s highlights, while adding killer views of Crawford and Zealand notches. (Tip: Definitely take the short side trip to the overlook at Zeacliff, photo above.) And you can add on the summits of Bond, Bondcliff, and West Bond by tacking on an out-and-back side trip that adds several miles.

See “The Best Hikes in the White Mountains,” “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” and “Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains,” about dayhiking the Pemi Loop.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

 

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail

A multi-day hike with views around almost every bend of a towering volcano draped in snow and ice, where you pass through forests of ancient, big trees—sounds like the classic Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, right? Actually, it’s the 41-mile Timberline Trail looping Oregon’s 11,239-foot Mount Hood, and it competes with the better-known Wonderland for scenic splendor, waterfalls, and wildflower meadows, while delivering a higher degree of excitement and challenge with its full-value creek crossings. Although the wildflowers are past bloom in September, the creek crossings become reassuringly easier, the crowds thinner, the air crisper, and the views no less stunning.

Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite, Timberline Trail, Mount Hood, Oregon.
Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite on the Timberline Trail, Mount Hood, Oregon.

Granted, the year’s first snowfall can certainly happen at Hood in September or October. That said, late summer and autumn deliver many days of glorious weather in the Pacific Northwest, and the Timberline is less than half the distance of the Wonderland, making it easier to knock off with a decent weather window. Plus, unlike the Wonderland, the Timberline involves no permit hoops to jump through. If the forecast promises a string of three to five reasonably nice days, aim your compass for the Timberline Trail.

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Backpacking Trip,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-awesome-fall-backpacking-trips/feed/ 16 20463
Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-mountain-lakes-of-idahos-sawtooths/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-mountain-lakes-of-idahos-sawtooths/#comments Sat, 26 Jul 2025 09:05:14 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20224 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I may be risking an impassioned debate here, but I think there are very few mountain ranges in America with as many drop-dead, gorgeous high mountain lakes as Idaho’s Sawtooths. Yes, a few mountain ranges clearly outnumber the Sawtooths in that department, like the High Sierra, Cascades, and Wind River Range. But I believe the Sawtooths deserve similar recognition, and I’ve seen many of those watery jewels over more than 20 years of wandering around Idaho’s best-known hills. This gallery of photos of many of them may persuade you to agree with me—and to see them for yourself.

I don’t make this claim about Sawtooth Mountains lakes lightly. I’ve hiked and backpacked all over the country as a past Northwest Editor for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog, and I’m a big fan of the High Sierra and the Winds, the Tetons, the Cascades (especially the North Cascades), the White Mountains (where I started hiking), and other mountain ranges. Anyone reading my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” or looking at my photo gallery of favorite backcountry lakes will see I’ve camped by a lot of nice lakes.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to see all the photos from this blog that are available for purchase, including this one, at my Outdoor Photography page.

Some lakes in the Sawtooths, like Alice and Sawtooth lakes, are well known. Others are more remote and obscure; you may have never seen a photo of some of these. All are only reached by hiking or riding a horse for miles into the wilderness. Seeing these incredible places requires time and effort.

When you consider the beauty and the sheer numbers of clear, high mountain lakes tucked in granite basins ringed by soaring cliffs and jagged peaks, I just think Idaho’s Sawtooths are up there with the best. I rank the Sawtooths among the 10 best backpacking trips in America.

Click on the photo gallery to open it and use right and left arrow keys to scroll through it. Find links below the gallery to stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

If you think I’ve overlooked an outstanding lake in the Sawtooths, or if you believe you know of a range with prettier mountain lakes, please suggest it in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside. Most stories about trips at The Big Outside require a paid subscription to read in full, including my expert tips on how to plan and take those trips.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-mountain-lakes-of-idahos-sawtooths/feed/ 13 20224
The Best Hikes in Yellowstone https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-10-best-short-hikes-in-yellowstone/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-10-best-short-hikes-in-yellowstone/#comments Mon, 21 Jul 2025 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=13338 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Yellowstone National Park is a place where the earth comes alive, with more than 10,000 hydrothermal features and 500 active geysers—that’s more than half the world’s geysers—as well as 290 waterfalls, not to mention having some of the greatest diversity of wildlife remaining in the contiguous United States. America’s first national park is also famously busy, drawing over 4.5 million visitors in 2023. Thankfully, most of those visitors never wander far from the roads, which means that hiking provides one of the best and quietest ways to explore Yellowstone.

While the summer months are busiest—and traffic gets very heavy—an early start each day can put you ahead of the crowds. Even better, go there either after the park roads open in spring or in autumn, when the weather is often dry and comfortably cool and the hordes of tourists have dissipated (at least somewhat).

A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.
A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.

The 10 hikes described below stand out as the best I’ve taken in Yellowstone on multiple visits over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. See also my “Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone” for ideas on the best spots to visit and take short walks while driving through the park.

Every American should see Yellowstone. Explore it on these hikes and you will see the best the park has to offer.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park.
Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park.

Mount Washburn

Mount Washburn is 6.4 miles and 1,400 vertical feet round-trip from the trailhead parking lot at Dunraven Pass, at nearly 8,900 feet, 4.5 miles north of Canyon Junction on the Grand Loop Road. The panoramas along the trail and from the 10,219-foot summit take in the Tetons, Beartooth and Absaroka Mountains, the Madison Range, as well as the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, and deliver a one-of-a-kind view of the primordial landscape of Yellowstone to the south.

The summit fire lookout tower has interpretive exhibits and restrooms. Snow doesn’t melt off these higher elevations often until early or mid-July, and the Indian paintbrush, lupine, and other wildflowers bloom in late July and early August. Hike it in early morning ahead of thunderstorms that commonly strike on summer afternoons and for a good chance of seeing bighorn sheep—but maintain a safe distance of at least 25 feet. Park officials discourage hiking Washburn in September and October, when grizzly bears frequent the area.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Hikers at Grand Prismatic Spring in the Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
My family hiking around Grand Prismatic Spring in the Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

Bunsen Peak

At 8,564 feet, Bunsen Peak overlooks a huge swath of the park, from the Gallatin Range to the west, across Mammoth Hot Springs, the Blacktail Deer Plateau, Swan Lake Flat, and the Yellowstone River Valley, to the Beartooth and Absaroka Mountains. While parts of the trail are forested, open areas along it offer good views as you gain elevation. The round-trip hike on the Bunsen Peak Trail is 4.4 miles and 1,300 feet up and down from the trailhead five miles south of Mammoth Hot Springs on the Grand Loop Road.

Lamar River Valley

The Lamar River Valley in the park’s northeast corner is a great area for seeing wildlife like bison and elk and occasionally wolves. Hike out and back as far as you want on the Lamar River Trail, which is nearly flat and passes through open terrain with big views.

Want to backpack in Yellowstone?
See my story “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park.
The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park.

North Rim Trail, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

The North Rim Trail along the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River (lead photo at top of story) is arguably the park’s most scenic walk and one of the best national park dayhikes in the country, with constant views into the deep canyon, including thunderous, 308-foot-tall Lower Yellowstone Falls. Various points of road access allow you to choose a hiking distance, but the entire trail is relatively flat and under five miles end to end, including all the side paths along it. While most visitors park at each lot along the road and take a short walk to each canyon overlook, hiking the entire trail certainly delivers a far better experience, including the chance to see wildlife and few people along parts of the trail.

Do not pass up the side trail that descends a steep 600 feet in 0.3 mile to the very brink of Lower Yellowstone Falls, where only a railing separates you from the river hurling itself over the cliff. Make sure to also walk out to the overlooks of 129-foot Crystal Falls and 109-foot Upper Yellowstone Falls. Start at the Wapiti Lake Trailhead, located on South Rim Drive just past the Chittenden Bridge over the Yellowstone River. Hiking the entire trail out-and-back is 8.2 miles; the side paths add more than a mile.

Fairy Falls

The Fairy Falls Trail, in the Midway Geyser Basin, leads to 197-foot Fairy Falls, one of the park’s nicest, passing views of the park’s biggest and most colorful hot spring, Grand Prismatic Spring. There are a couple ways to get there, both relatively flat, easy hikes. The shorter route, five miles round-trip, begins a mile south of Midway Geyser Basin, where you cross a steel bridge. The longer route of eight miles round-trip begins at the parking area at the end of Fountain Flat Drive. From the falls, you can continue 0.6 mile one-way to Spray and Imperial geysers, and then double back.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Old Faithful, Upper Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
Old Faithful, Upper Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

Upper Geyser Basin

The Upper Geyser Basin is home to the world’s largest concentration of geysers, hundreds of them, including Old Faithful. Walk the almost flat, five-mile loop trail that begins outside the Old Faithful visitor center and follows designated trails and boardwalk around the basin, passing dozens of geysers and thermal features along the Firehole River. Take the very worthwhile side trip to Observation Point and Solitary Geyser and you will drop most of the crowd. Get a map and guide to the Upper Geyser Basin and take time to explore it. This is one of Yellowstone’s greatest highlights: You don’t want to miss it.

Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone.
Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone.

Mammoth Hot Springs

Mammoth Hot Springs, multi-hued travertine terraces formed by thermal waters rising through limestone, is unquestionably one of the most inspiring areas of the park. Water constantly pools and trickles down the terraces and steam billows from them. Boardwalks weave through the lower terraces and a one-way loop road through the upper terraces. Plan to explore this area for an hour or more of leisurely walking for the dramatic light of early morning.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

Lone Star Geyser

The Lone Star Geyser Trail, which begins near Kepler Cascades, just south of Old Faithful, is an almost five-mile round-trip hike to Lone Star Geyser, which is several feet tall and erupts about every three hours. Go early in the morning to avoid the crowds and give yourself time to sit and wait for the geyser to blow.

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, Yellowstone National Park.
Along the Blacktail Deer Creek Trail in Yellowstone National Park.

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail

The Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, which begins about 6.7 miles east of Mammoth on the Grand Loop Road, winds north across gently rolling grasslands and meadows with long views of partly forested hills and a good chance of seeing a bison herd. The trail drops more than 1,000 feet in 3.7 miles to the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River, where, for a longer outing, you can hike either upriver or downriver along a trail through conifer forest, with views of the cliffs rising above the meandering river. But the first few miles of the Blacktail Deer Creek Trail are fairly easy, before it begins descending more steeply into the canyon, and you can turn back at any point.

See all stories about Yellowstone National Park and all stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-10-best-short-hikes-in-yellowstone/feed/ 16 13338
Mountain Lakes of the Wind River Range—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-wind-river-range-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-wind-river-range-a-photo-gallery/#comments Fri, 18 Jul 2025 09:00:14 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59578 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We followed the Doubletop Mountain Trail as it rolled over open plateau country above 10,000 feet in the Wind River Range, crossing one gorgeous lake basin after another where wildflowers still carpeted the ground in the week before Labor Day. In the distance, peaks along the Continental Divide soared to over 13,000 feet, jabbing at the underbellies of clouds. Turning onto the Highline Trail, we reached an unnamed tarn in late afternoon and walked beyond it to a flat, broad bench overlooking a meadow and lake below a pair of huge towers, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. It was a serendipitous find to make our home for the night.

But the real magic arrived the next morning, when nature served up a perfect stew of conditions—calm air, dappled light, still water, and a stunning backdrop—to create a scene that validates carrying all the weight on your back for days (and makes for a pretty good photo, above).


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route.
Justin Glass at a small tarn in the upper valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route.

I first began exploring Wyoming’s Wind River Range about 30 years ago and have returned many times since, drawn back again and again by its almost bottomless well of adventure potential. In that time, I’ve learned about the many reasons to walk for days through the Winds, which exist in the deep shadow of Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks just a couple of hours to the north—a state of relative anonymity that many backpackers celebrate. Its lack of national park status and sheer vastness enable a high degree of solitude for backpackers willing to make the considerable effort (and take the time) to explore more deeply into the range, which extends for nearly 100 miles north to south.

And few mountain ranges match the grandiosity of the Wind River Range. The Colorado Rockies and High Sierra reach greater heights and I would include both among the handful of ranges—certainly the Tetons and the Teton Crest Trail as well as Yosemite and the High Sierra, Glacier, the North Cascades, and the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier—that project the breathtaking grandeur of the soaring, jagged peaks of the Winds, where some 40 summits top 13,000 feet, including Wyoming’s highest, 13,804-foot Gannett Peak.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae's Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Pyramid Peak (right) and Mount Hooker (left of Pyramid), above Mae’s Lake in the Wind River Range. Click photo to see this and many other photos from places I’ve written about at The Big Outside that are available to purchase as professional-quality enlargements suitable for framing.

Plus, much of the Wind River Range lies within federally designated wilderness, meaning no visitor centers, no motors, no roads crossing the range anywhere.

But it’s the lakes that will steal your heart. With the notable exception of the High Sierra, no mountain range in America harbors as many beautiful alpine lakes and tarns as the Wind River Range. Backpacking there, you will hike past several every day where you will wish you were camping.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

I’ve carried a pack through many mountain ranges across the country over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. But there are just a handful of places I return to again and again as much as I do the Winds, which I count among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.” I think these photos of many of my favorite Wind River Range lakes might persuade you to explore these mountains.

But be forewarned: It can be habit-forming.

Click on the photo gallery to view each photo enlarged and scroll below the gallery to links to stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan a great backpacking trip in the Winds and elsewhere.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Wind River Range,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup,” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside. Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Get full access to all stories about the Winds
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-wind-river-range-a-photo-gallery/feed/ 2 59578
Backpacking Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-white-cloud-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-white-cloud-mountains/#respond Thu, 10 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19328 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Picture a chain of peaks rising to over 11,000 feet, some composed of chalk-like rock that looks, from a distance, like snow. Scores of crystal-clear lakes above 9,000 feet ripple in the breeze and creeks run with trout and salmon. Mountain goats, elk, bighorn sheep, black bears, even gray wolves roam this wilderness. And backpackers find the kind of solitude you can’t find in many wild lands.

That’s the White Cloud Mountains of central Idaho. Put this relatively new American wilderness on your radar—and get there before every other backpacker discovers how gorgeous and quiet it still is, as you’ll see in the photos below from the backpacking trips and long dayhikes I’ve taken in the White Clouds, including to Quiet Lake, below the range’s highest peak, 11,815-foot Castle Peak (lead photo, above).


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Hikers on Trail 47 near 10,000-foot Castle Divide in the White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.
Scott White and Chip Roser on Trail 47 near 10,000-foot Castle Divide on a 28-mile dayhike in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

After countless backpacking and hiking trips across the country over the past four decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I find myself drawn more and more to those places off the beaten path.

The White Clouds are that kind of place, less well-known but similar to the neighboring Sawtooth Mountains, which I rank among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

See all stories about the White Clouds at The Big Outside, including “Exploring a Wilderness Hopeful: Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains” and “Head in the Clouds: Hiking in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan memorable backpacking trips. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan every detail of a multi-day hike in the White Clouds or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-white-cloud-mountains/feed/ 0 19328
Hiking the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-the-kolob-canyons-of-zion-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-the-kolob-canyons-of-zion-national-park/#comments Wed, 09 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21908 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Hiking in the Kolob Canyons area of Zion National Park, you get down to business with five-star scenery with your first step from your car. At the Lee Pass Trailhead, Taylor Creek Trailhead, or the Kolob Canyons Viewpoint, you’re immediately greeted with views of crimson cliffs soaring hundreds of feet tall. Then it just keeps getting better.

Located in the far northwest corner of Zion, a one-hour drive and a world removed from the crush of tourists at the park’s south entrance in Springdale, the Kolob Canyons consist of a series of narrow, parallel canyons with walls up to 2,000 feet tall. Higher in elevation, it’s a cooler destination for hiking and backpacking when trails starting in Zion Canyon are too hot—not to mention considerably less crowded.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


I’ve backpacked with my family through the Kolob Canyons, started a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from there, and dayhiked the Taylor Creek Trail on a spring day when a thunderstorm bruised the sky above those red walls. The photo gallery below from Zion’s Kolob Canyons spotlights photos from those trips, and the video shows the view from Kolob Canyons Viewpoint and at Double Arch Alcove on the Taylor Creek Trail. You’ll find links to my Zion stories below the gallery and video.

The Kolob Canyons are just a few minutes’ drive from exit 40 on I-15, between Cedar City and St. George, Utah. The Taylor Creek Trail offers an easy and really scenic introductory hike: It’s five miles round-trip, gaining only 450 feet in elevation, to Double Arch Alcove, a pair of giant arches in the Navajo sandstone beneath the 1,700-foot-tall walls of Tucupit Tower and Paria Tower. The trail passes by two historic homestead cabins built in the early 1930s, the Larson Cabin and the Fife Cabin.

The right pack makes hiking better.
See the 10 best backpacking packs and the 10 best hiking daypacks.

For more photos and information about hiking in the Kolob Canyons, see my feature stories about a family backpacking trip and a 50-mile dayhike across the park, both of which began in the Kolob Canyons, and backpacking Zion’s Narrows, and a menu of all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside, including “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park” and stories about hiking Angels Landing and Zion’s Subway.

You can also see a list of all stories about Zion by scrolling to the bottom of the All National Park Trips page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-the-kolob-canyons-of-zion-national-park/feed/ 2 21908
Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-ruby-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-ruby-crest-trail/#comments Fri, 04 Jul 2025 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=40742 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Under a hot sun, but with a nice breeze keeping us cool, on our second day backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, we made the slow, 1,700-foot climb from the North Fork of Smith Creek to a pass at over 10,000 feet. It was a grind and my family spread out along the trail. But reaching the pass, we all stopped and smiled, mesmerized by a breathtaking view of the small basin that cradles Overland Lake and the mountains extending for miles beyond it (photo above).

Although our trip’s first two days had already been very scenic from the first steps, that pass heralded the upcoming character and magnificence of the Ruby Crest Trail, which does largely hew to the crest of this very alpine mountain range. I had long had the Ruby Crest Trail on my radar, but it exceeded expectations, with almost constant, long vistas and some mountain lakes that are among the prettiest I’ve seen in more than three decades of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker above Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada's Ruby Mountains.
My wife, Penny, above Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains.

My family backpacked a four-day, approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail, from Harrison Pass to Lamoille Canyon, in mid-July—a perfect time of year in the Rubies, with wildflowers blooming, moderate daytime temperatures and comfortably cool nights, and not as many mosquitoes as you’d see in many mountain ranges in July. But like many Western mountain ranges, the Rubies can be backpacked from sometime in July, when the highest sections of trail become mostly snow-free, well into September and, more rarely, in October.

If you are looking for a trip to take this summer, the Ruby Crest Trail offers easy logistics, with no permit reservation required and a relatively short shuttle between the north and south trailheads. And I can help you plan a trip on the Ruby Crest Trail. See my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

And it’s a beautiful hike. But I’ll let the photos below make that case.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

In many respects, the Ruby Crest Trail compares favorably with some trips on my list of the top 10 best backpacking trips in America. And our campsite by Overland Lake in the Rubies earned a place on my list of top 25 favorite backcountry campsites of all time.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough,” at The Big Outside.

Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-ruby-crest-trail/feed/ 6 40742
Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-high-uintas-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-high-uintas-wilderness/#respond Wed, 02 Jul 2025 09:05:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=53977 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Early on the third morning of a six-day hike through Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, I walked to the shore of the Fourth Chain Lake at 10,900 feet, where we had camped. Its waters sat absolutely still, offering up a perfect, inverted reflection of the mountains. By that afternoon, we reached 11,700-foot Trail Rider Pass, our second high pass of the day, with a view that took the edge off our weariness. Behind us, the valley of Lake Atwood, which we had hiked up, stretched for miles; ahead lay our destination, Painter Basin (photo above), an expansive, almost barren plateau at 11,000 feet below the highest peak in Utah, Kings Peak.

In those first three days of hiking, we encountered a grand total of two other people—and a whole lot of majestic scenery.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Teenage girls backpacking in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My daughter, Alex, her friend, Adele, and my wife, Penny, backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

On that trip, my family backpacked a six-day, nearly 50-mile loop through the High Uintas Wilderness—and “High” fits this place like a favorite, old sweater. Nearly all of our walk remained above 9,000 feet and at least half of it over 10,000 feet, including three passes over 11,000 and 12,000 feet. That’s higher than many multi-day hikes in the West, including much of Yosemite and the Teton Crest Trail, and it compares with (and provides good preparation for) backpacking the John Muir Trail and Wind River Range. On top of that, we summited 13,528-foot Kings Peak, Utah’s highest.

I returned to the High Uintas with my 24-year-old son during an unusual window of largely good weather in early October 2024. We backpacked nearly 60 miles, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail, enjoying great camps, vast lake basins and 12,000-foot alpine passes, brilliant sunsets, night skies streaked with the glow of the Milky Way. Perhaps most uniquely, we enjoyed a degree of remoteness and solitude that feels like discovering buried treasure.

There are many reasons to explore the Uintas—which span nearly 60 miles in northeastern Utah, one of the rare U.S. mountain ranges that extend east-west—and I think the photos in this story might help persuade you.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

A backpacker at Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking over Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The Uinta Mountains are home to an estimated 2,000 lakes, all of Utah’s peaks over 13,000 feet, and more than half of the state’s 12,000-footers. Outside popular destinations like Kings Peak, many trails and summits see little traffic, even though many pose no greater challenge than non-technical, off-trail hiking. Do some research and you’ll discover peaks where years pass between summit visitors.

For backpackers and mountain climbers willing to put in the effort, in the High Uintas Wilderness—Utah’s largest wilderness area at over 450,000 acres—solitude is as plentiful as the wildflowers.

See my stories “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” and “Big Scenery, No Crowds: 10 Top Backpacking Trips for Solitude.” Those stories, like most stories about trips at The Big Outside, require a paid subscription to read in full, including my tips on planning those trips yourself.

I’ve helped many readers plan a great backpacking trip in the High Uintas and elsewhere.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Get full access to my stories about the High Uintas
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-high-uintas-wilderness/feed/ 0 53977
The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-what-are-the-best-hikes-in-idahos-sawtooths/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-what-are-the-best-hikes-in-idahos-sawtooths/#comments Fri, 27 Jun 2025 09:00:43 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9616 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Our group of three adults and six teenagers crossed the 9,200-foot pass on the Alice-Toxaway Divide, separating Alice and Twin lakes from Toxaway Lake, on our third straight bluebird August afternoon backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Before us, an arc of spires and jagged peaks wrapped around a pair of alpine lakes appropriately named Twin Lakes. And although I had hiked over this pass many times before, I stopped in my tracks and just stared at our vista. Perhaps most impressively, even the jaded teens with us found themselves awestruck, too.

Living in Idaho for over 25 years now, I’ve hiked most of the trails in the Sawtooths over the course of at least 20 trips there, and climbed a number of peaks. While there remain many climbs and off-trail areas I want to explore, I’ve gotten to know much of the range quite well. And having had the good fortune of dayhiking and backpacking in some of the prettiest mountain ranges in the country over the past three decades—including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—I’ve become convinced that few rival the Sawtooths for their jagged granite peaks and skylines and abundance of lovely alpine lakes.

I never tire of exploring the Sawtooths.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


This article describes several favorite dayhikes and backpacking trips in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, and includes links to several stories about trips I have taken in the Sawtooths (most of which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full). See my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your trip in the Sawtooths or any other trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Click any photo below to read about that trip. Please tell me what you think of these hikes or share your own questions or suggested hikes in the comments section at the bottom of this story; I try to respond to all comments.

Dayhikes

Much of the best scenery in the Sawtooths lies far enough from roads to be hard to reach in a day, but there are highlights you can knock off in several hours—or at least between sunrise and sunset.

Sawtooth Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Sawtooth Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Sawtooths trip.

Sawtooth Lake

A hiker along the shore of Sawtooth Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains
David Ports hiking along the shore of Sawtooth Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Very photogenic Sawtooth Lake is one of the most-visited corners of the Sawtooths; expect to see other hikers here on nice summer weekends and to compete for campsites with backpackers. At 8,430 feet, it’s about 8.5 miles round-trip and 1,700 vertical feet from the Iron Creek Trailhead. The trail up the Iron Creek Valley ascends past a long, pinnacled ridge, and you can make a short side trip en route to Alpine Lake, tucked in a granite bowl.

Get an early start because the glassy waters of Sawtooth Lake on a calm morning offer up an unforgettable mirror image of Mount Regan. Scramble the steep but non-technical west face of 9,861-foot Alpine Peak for the best perspective on the natural stone bathtub the lake sits in.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Backpackers above the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, and two buddies backpacking above the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Baron Divide

The pass known as Baron Divide, at over 9,000 feet along the high ridge separating the gorgeous Baron Lakes basin from the valley of Redfish Lake Creek, is a stout but doable dayhike from the Redfish Inlet transfer camp boat landing at the southwest corner of Redfish Lake. At some 14 miles round-trip, with about 2,700 feet of elevation gain and loss, it’s no light stroll. But the trails are good all the way, the grade rarely gets difficult, and the scenery is top-notch beginning with the boat shuttle across Redfish Lake.

At Redfish Lake Lodge, two miles off ID 75 about five miles south of Stanley, go to the marina and get the 10-minute boat shuttle across the lake. On the other side of the lake, follow trail signs up the Redfish Lake Creek Valley toward Alpine Lake and Cramer Lakes. About three miles up, at Flatrock Junction, turn north onto Trail 101 toward Alpine Lake and the Baron Lakes; this switchbacks that follow are arguably the hottest and toughest stretch of the hike, before you reenter forest for a while.

Eventually, the trail emerges from the forest, passes a pretty tarn, and reaches the alpine pass at Baron Divide, with sweeping views of the peaks to either side, including the serrated ridge of Monte Verita and Warbonnet Peak. Return the way you came.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A hiker below Thompson Peak in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My wife, Penny, hiking below Thompson Peak, the highest in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Thompson Peak

Thompson Peak, crown of the Sawtooth Range at 10,751 feet, can be tagged on a rugged, partly off-trail hike of about 13 miles and 4,200 vertical feet round-trip. A fun, easy, short, third-class scramble at the very top places you on a blocky summit with space for just a few people and head-spinning drop-offs on all sides. See more photos in my story “Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak.”

A hiker near the summit of 10,751-foot Thompson Peak, the highest peak in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, just below the summit of 10,751-foot Thompson Peak, the highest peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

From Redfish Trailhead, right before Redfish Lake Lodge, follow Trail 101 west to the Alpine Way Trail heading toward Marshall Lake. After climbing 1,800 vertical feet in just about four miles on the trail, before Marshall Lake, bear left (west) onto a well-beaten but unmarked footpath that’s usually blocked by a log; this unmaintained user trail climbs steeply into the cirque between Thompson and Williams peaks. The lake below Thompson’s headwall is a good enough destination by itself for a frigid and brief swim—it usually has blocks of ice floating in it well into July.

Continue up and scramble to the Thompson-Williams saddle either via its south end (easy when it’s dry rock, potentially dangerous when snow-covered) or the much steeper, usually dry, exposed fourth-class cliff at the north end of the saddle (find the line of least resistance ascending very exposed ledges angling up and left). Traverse the talus below Thompson’s west face (farther than you might think) to the gully separating Thompson from its 10,000-foot neighbor to the south, Mickey’s Spire. Then follow the steep, often loose, use footpath to the summit. Return the same way.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Alice Lake

Among other lakes reachable in a day, I’d suggest Alice Lake at 8,598 feet, because it’s a gorgeous spot, there’s more scenic hiking above it, and the hike to Alice ascends a really pretty valley flanked by cliffs and spires. In early summer, the lower ford of the creek draining Alice Lake can be exciting or potentially dangerous (the next ford upstream is shorter and often has a log across it). You can avoid both fords by following a faint, sporadically cairned use path that begins where the maintained trail crosses the creek at the lower ford; the sometimes-faint use path stays on the north side of the creek and rejoins the maintained trail above the second (higher) ford.

From Tin Cup Trailhead at the northeast corner of Pettit Lake, it’s 5.3 miles and a bit over 1,600 feet to Alice Lake. It’s another mile with not much more climbing to Twin Lakes, and then a half-mile and about 400 feet up to the approximately 9,200-foot pass on the Alice-Toxaway Divide, with a killer view of the jagged peaks above Twin Lakes.

Backpacking Trips

The Sawtooths have few on-trail, multi-day loop hikes. Many multi-day hikes require short shuttles between trailheads (some of which can be done with a bike). My suggestions below assume moderate days of seven to nine miles a day, but I mention multiple campsite options to allow you to plan shorter or longer days.

See the best of the Sawtooths using my expert e-book
The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!”

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Weekend Hike: Alice Lake-Toxaway Lake Loop

This 17-mile loop from the Tin Cup Trailhead on Pettit Lake is popular as an overnight or two-night trip for incredible views and campsites on stunning, high lakes. (This was my son’s first real backpacking trip, at age six.) There are stellar campsites at Alice Lake, Twin Lakes, and Toxaway Lake; you might decide between the first two locales just depending on what time you start the trek and whether other backpackers have beaten you to the sites at Alice Lake. Hike it clockwise because the stretch from Farley Lake back to Pettit Lake is the least interesting, sometimes hot, and dusty, and better to walk down than up.

Do you like hiking or running long loops in the mountains? This one follows good trails and fit hikers and runners can do it in a day—but in July or August, I suggest an early start for cooler temps. September is often ideal.

After the Sawtooths, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Sawtooths!

See all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” “Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths—A Photo Gallery,” “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Sawtooth Jewels: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” and “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-what-are-the-best-hikes-in-idahos-sawtooths/feed/ 46 9616
41 Gorgeous Backcountry Lakes—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-15-favorite-backcountry-lakes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-15-favorite-backcountry-lakes/#comments Sat, 21 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19695 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Water makes up about 60 percent of our bodies—and, I suspect, 100 percent of our hearts. We crave it not only physically, for survival, but emotionally, for spiritual rejuvenation. We love playing in it for hours as children and we paddle and swim in it as adults. We’re drawn by the calming effects of sitting beside a stream or lake in a beautiful natural setting, an experience that possesses a certain je ne sais quoi—a quality difficult to describe, but that we can all feel.

And nothing beats taking a swim in a gorgeous backcountry lake.

I’ve come across quite a few wonderful backcountry lakes over more than three decades of exploring wilderness—including about 10 years as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. I’ve just updated and expanded this list of my favorites—adding a lake I camped beside last year in Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness—to give you some eye candy as well as ideas for future adventures, and perhaps compare against your list of favorite backcountry lakes.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Click on the links to my stories in these brief writeups to learn more about each of these trips. Part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading the entire story is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription, which also provides full access to all the numerous stories about trips at The Big Outside, and those include my tips on planning those trips. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a trip to any of these lakes.

If you know some gorgeous lakes that are not on my list, please suggest them in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here’s to your next peaceful moment beside a gorgeous lake deep in the mountains somewhere.

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

Early on the second morning of a six-day, 94-mile traverse of Glacier National Park, mostly on the Continental Divide Trail, three friends and I set out from the backcountry campground at the head of Elizabeth Lake, hiking along the sandy shore. An elk bugled from somewhere in the forest nearby. The glassy water reflected a razor-sharp, upside-down reflection of the jagged mountains flanking it. Among many lovely backcountry lakes in Glacier, Elizabeth Lake is one of the finest.

See my stories “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” plus my e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.
Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park.

Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

In the wake of a violent thunderstorm, we crossed 11,955-foot Muir Pass on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park in early evening on the eighth day of a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the High Sierra. Finding what seemed the only two patches of rock-free ground, we pitched our tents above Helen Lake, at around 11,600 feet. The next morning, the rising sun ignited the peaks across Helen Lake, the scene captured in razor-sharp reflections in the lake and a tiny tarn near our camp—burning that almost accidental camp above Helen Lake into memory for all three of us.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Backpackers hiking past a tarn off the Highline Trail (CDT) in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser and Penny Beach backpacking past a tarn off the Highline Trail (CDT) in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Tarn Along the Highline Trail, Wind River Range

Searching for a suitable campsite along the Highline Trail late one afternoon on a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop hike in the Winds, my wife, a friend, and I reached an unnamed, small tarn—and the view stopped us in our tracks. From our camp a few hundred feet off-trail beyond the tarn, we overlooked grassy meadows littered with glacial-erratic boulders that sloped down to another lake. Beyond that, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis towered over the valley. I shot this photo as we hit the trail the next morning.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains

Idaho’s Sawtooths must be in contention for the title of American mountain range with the most beautiful lakes—maybe eclipsed only by the High Sierra and Wind River Range. Like the Sierra and Winds, backpacking in the Sawtooths brings you to the shores of multiple lakes every day, shimmering in sunlight, rippled by wind, or offering a mirror reflection of jagged peaks on calm mornings and evenings. Alice (also shown in lead photo at top of story) is one of the larger and prettier of them, a spot I’ve visited several times without getting tired of the view across it to a row of sharp-edged peaks.

See all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, including “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” which describes a route that includes Alice Lake.

After the Sawtooths, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A young girl at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park

Precipice wasn’t even our intended campsite on the third day of a six-day, 40-mile family backpacking trip in Sequoia, in California’s southern High Sierra. We planned to push maybe a mile farther, to camp on the other side of 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. But when we reached Precipice Lake at 10,400 feet, and saw its glassy, green and blue waters reflecting white and golden cliffs, and took a bracing swim, it wasn’t a hard sell when I suggested we spend the night there. It became one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.

See my story about that trip, “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” and all of my stories about Sequoia National Park at The Big Outside.

Got an all-time favorite campsite? I have 25.
See “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

Lake Solitude, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Lake Solitude in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Lake Solitude, Grand Teton National Park

Hiking in the chilly, early-morning shade of the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, we looked up to see a huge bull moose sauntering through a meadow speckled with wildflowers, maybe a hundred yards from us. Minutes later, thanks to our early departure from camp, we reached the rocky shoreline of at Lake Solitude—the first people there that morning, enjoying a true period of “solitude” at this spot that’s enormously popular with dayhikers. In the calm morning air, the lake lay absolutely still, mirroring in sharp detail a cirque of cliffs, rocky mountainsides, and lingering patches of old snow.

See my story about my most recent trip in the Tetons, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” my stories “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail” and “American Classic: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and all of my stories about the Teton Crest Trail and Grand Teton National Park.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

Dawn light at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.
Dawn light at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

On the last night of a seven-day, north-south hike through Glacier, right after making the Dawson Pass Trail’s awesome alpine crossing from Pitamakan to Dawson passes, two friends and I spent our final night at No Name Lake—which I’d hiked past without stopping on a very similar, six-day trip five years before (see this story).

The next morning brought the kind of calm air that creates a perfect, mirror-like lake reflection—this one enhanced by the coincidental angle of the sun across the cliffs above the lake that lent it such striking, high-contrast light. Happening upon a moment like that makes me gasp.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

 

Save yourself a lot of time.
Get my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

 

Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex.
Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex.

Rainbow Lake, North Cascades National Park Complex

After a relentless, seven-mile-long, 3,500-foot uphill slog to Rainbow Pass in the Lake Chelan National Recreation Area, a friend and I descended to a wonderful, wooded campsite on the shore of Rainbow Lake. We stuffed fistfuls of huckleberries into our mouths, then walked down to the lakeshore, where the setting sun was setting larch trees—their needles turned golden in late September—afire. It seemed a fitting final night of an 80-mile trek through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex.

See my story about that trip, “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” and all of my stories about the North Cascades.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Morning at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.
Morning at Overland Lake on Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail.

Overland Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

Near the end of my family’s second day of a four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of Nevada’s underappreciated Ruby Crest Trail, a nearly 2,000-foot uphill slog landed us at a pass at about 10,200 feet. Almost 1,000 feet below us, a stone bowl held Overland Lake like a pair of cupped hands. Beyond it, the backbone of the Ruby Mountains stretched for many miles—exciting us over the alpine walk that awaited us. We descended into that bowl to make camp on a rock ledge jutting into one corner of the lake, at around 9,400 feet. The Ruby Crest Trail cuts a snaking route along the spine of Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, a north-south range of granite-rimmed lake basins and arid valleys carved by ancient glaciers. Overlooking this hike would be your loss.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Island Lake, Wind River Range

As I mentioned above, few mountain ranges in America are as blessed with gorgeous backcountry lakes as Wyoming’s Winds. That makes it hard to pick out just one or two as favorites, but Island Lake deserves a shout out as much as any and more than most. Two friends and I hiked past it on a three-day, 41-mile loop from the Elkhart Park Trailhead to Titcomb Basin and over Knapsack Col in the Winds—and if we didn’t already have our hearts set on spending that night in Titcomb, we could have easily pitched our tents by Island for the night.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and check out all of my stories about the Winds at The Big Outside.

Don’t let red tape foil your plans.
See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, in the Evolution Basin along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

Wanda Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail that I made with some friends featured many unforgettable moments and a lifetime’s worth of stunning scenery—and aching feet—but few moments as quietly lovely as the early morning that we hiked along the shore of Wanda Lake. We were climbing toward 11,955-foot Muir Pass when we reached this uppermost lake in the Evolution Basin, a high valley scoured from granite by long-ago glaciers and studded with lakes. As my friend Todd walked along the lakeshore, I captured perhaps my best image from that entire trip.

See my story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” See also all of my stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail.

Ready for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

May Lake in Yosemite National Park.
May Lake in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-guide “The Prettiest, Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

May Lake, Yosemite National Park

A friend and I reached May Lake on the last afternoon of one of my top 10 best-ever backpacking trips, a weeklong, 151-mile tour of the most remote areas of Yosemite. We arrived as the sun dipped toward the western horizon, casting beautiful, low-angle light across the lake, which sits at the base of craggy, 10,845-foot Mount Hoffman. But you can visit May on an easy dayhike of 2.5 miles round-trip. Bonus: There’s a High Sierra Camp on May’s shore that’s a good base camp for hiking the area, including the steep jaunt up Hoffman, which has arguably the nicest summit view in Yosemite.

See more photos, a video, and trip-planning tips in my story about the 87-mile second leg of that 151-tour of Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite, Part 2: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the 65-mile first leg of that adventure, “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” (including May Lake and Mount Hoffmann) at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite
and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

Quiet Lake in Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
Quiet Lake in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

Quiet Lake, White Cloud Mountains

A longtime backcountry ranger in Idaho’s Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA) got my attention when he told me that Quiet Lake was his favorite in the White Clouds, which are part of both the SNRA and one of America’s newest wilderness areas. He wasn’t overhyping it. When I backpacked to Quiet Lake with my son, following a partly off-trail route that was moderately strenuous and not too difficult to navigate, we hit the summit of a nearly 11,000-foot peak with an amazing panorama of the White Clouds, traversed a barren, rocky basin with four alpine lakes, and pitched our tent by the shore of Quiet, below the soaring north face of 11,815-foot Castle Peak, highest in the White Clouds. And we didn’t see another person the entire time. If you need a bit of peace and quiet—not to mention breathtaking natural beauty—go here.

See my “Photo Gallery: A Father-Son Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains,” and all stories
about Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains
at The Big Outside.

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and my expert tips in “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Wilderness, Montana. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog.

Lake Sylvan, Beartooth Wilderness

Quite by accident, two friends and I saved the best campsite for our last night on a five-day August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness. We pitched our tents a short walk from the shore of Lake Sylvan, tucked into a cirque below the cliffs of Sylvan Peak, which rises to nearly 12,000 feet. That night capped a trip where we enjoyed complete solitude at two of our four camps and for several hours each day while hiking below jagged peaks, seeing small glaciers at the heads of glacially carved cirques, to one pass at around 11,000 feet, and across the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet.

See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

A backpacker hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Minaret Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

The relentlessly steep trail brought us to stunning Iceberg Lake at almost 9,800 feet and continued, even more strenuously, upward over talus and scree to Cecile Lake, at 10,260 feet at the feet of the 11,000- and 12,000-foot High Sierra spires known as the Minarets, lined up like chipped and broken bowling pins. With the “trail” terminating there, we found our way across more talus and down a steep gully to Minaret Lake—arguably the prettiest among several lakes we’d already seen that day. We found a spot for our tents amid conifer trees a short walk from the lakeshore and enjoyed a sunset and sunrise that ranked among the best of several great ones on that trip.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.
Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park

Tucked into the ponderosa pine forest at around 10,000 feet, in the park’s Wild Basin area, Ouzel is reached on a moderate hike of less than five miles and 1,500 vertical from the Wild Basin Trailhead. Although it gets some dayhikers, you can have a protected campsite in the trees there all to yourself, as my family did on a three-day, early-September backpacking trip. My kids, then 10 and seven, played and fished for hours in the shallow waters near our camp and the lake’s outlet creek.

See my story “The 5 Rules About Kids I Broke While Backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park.”

Want to take your family backpacking? See these expert e-books:
The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park
The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite
The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Early morning at Mirror Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness.
Early morning at Mirror Lake in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Mirror Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Early on the clear and calm, third morning of a 40-mile family backpacking trip in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, I left our campsite and walked down to the shore of this lake, anticipating the scene I’d capture in pixels. Mirror Lake, in the popular Lakes Basin, earns its moniker, offering up a flawless reflection of its conifer- and granite-rimmed shore and the cliffs of 9,572-foot Eagle Cap Peak high above it. Our hike made a long loop through some less-visited areas of the wilderness, but you can reach Mirror Lake on weekend-length hikes, too.

See my story “Learning the Hard Way: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness,” and all of my stories about backpacking in Oregon at The Big Outside.

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See all of my reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

A backpacker on the Shannon Pass Trail above Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton backpacking past Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Peak Lake, Wind River Range

As I’ve written elsewhere at this blog, take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. I have now backpacked past Peak Lake on separate 41-mile and 43-mile loop hikes in the Winds (which overlapped by just several miles of trail that did not grow dull on the return visit). Shimmering at the bottom of a tiny bowl, surrounded by peaks resembling giant incisors, Peak Lake can be reached from a few different directions—none of them short walks, which helps keep this jaw-dropping little basin in the Winds relatively quiet. Both times I’ve walked past it, the only company I had was my two companions.

See my stories “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Oldman Lake and Flinsch Peak seen from Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Oldman Lake and Flinsch Peak seen from Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

Oldman Lake, Glacier National Park

On day six of a weeklong hike through Glacier National Park, three of us reached Pitamakan Pass on a bluebird morning and set our packs down; we had to spend some time enjoying this prospect. Behind us, Pitamakan Lake and Seven Winds of the Lake nestle in the cliff-ringed cirque that we just hiked through on the Continental Divide Trail. But even more impressive, the view south took in the immense horseshoe of cliffs and forested mountainsides cradling Oldman Lake, below the sharp point of Flinsch Peak and the 2,000-foot stone wall of Mount Morgan rising virtually out of the waters of Oldman.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

 

A backpacker on the John Muir Trail above Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness.
Todd Arndt backpacking the John Muir Trail above Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness..

Thousand Island Lake, John Muir Trail, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Thru-hiking southbound on the John Muir Trail, among the first of many moments that signal how this trek seems to keep getting better and better is when you descend toward Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness. Yosemite—a pretty impressive place in its own right—now lies miles behind you. Banner Peak, scraping the sky at nearly 13,000 feet, has been in sight for some miles and looming ever larger. Then you catch your first glimpse of the lake, speckled with islets, and it takes your breath away.

Remind yourself that much more of this kind of stuff still awaits you.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your JMT thru-hike—as I’ve helped numerous other readers.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

See all of my stories about backpacking, family adventures, and national park adventures at The Big Outside.
 

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-15-favorite-backcountry-lakes/feed/ 13 19695
5 Tips for Getting Out of Camp Faster When Backpacking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-getting-out-of-camp-faster-when-backpacking/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-getting-out-of-camp-faster-when-backpacking/#comments Fri, 20 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=39220 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Years ago, in a visitor center in a popular national park, I overheard a conversation in which one person said to another, “Backpackers? They don’t start hiking until 10 or 11 in the morning.” I laughed to myself because I know how true that is in many cases. But I also found it amusing because I prefer to start hiking early when backpacking—and I know that it’s not just about what time you get up. Some simple and easy habits can help you get out of camp faster and on the trail earlier, bringing numerous benefits that really transform the experience of backpacking for you.

Are you a backpacker who doesn’t get out of camp very quickly, either due to your own inertia or that of companions? If your answer is yes, but you’d like to be more efficient about packing up and getting on the trail, this article will help you do just that. The tips below focus on making more efficient use of your time, which will help you get on the trail faster regardless of when you roll out of your bag.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


I’ve learned and adopted the following practices over three decades (and counting) and thousands of miles of backpacking, including having worked as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. Those trips have been with a wide range of companions, including my kids from when they were very young through their teen years, as well as friends of all abilities and experience levels. Getting different companions packed and on the trail in a time-efficient manner in the morning demands, at times, different tactics—all covered below.

Please share your questions or thoughts about my tips or any tricks of your own that help you hit the trail faster in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-books.

 

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
An early start led to friends and I sseeing this moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

Why Hit the Trail Early?

There are many benefits to starting your daily hiking before the sun rises high in the sky, including:

• Hiking more miles in the cooler hours of morning rather than in the heat of the afternoon, when every mile is much more exhausting.
• Enjoying greater solitude when hitting the trail ahead of most backpackers.
• Seeing wildlife, which are generally more active in early morning and evening and less visible during the middle hours of the day.
• Hiking during one of the two times of day—early morning and evening—when the sun is low and the light is much prettier for photography or just marveling at the landscape.
• Enabling you to cover more miles each day without having to hike any faster—essential for thru-hikers of any long trail, but also beneficial for backpackers who would simply like to see more in the number of days they have.
• Allowing time for a side trip to a summit, lake, overlook, or other point of interest not on your direct route.
• Reaching your next campsite with more time to relax, explore the area, or take a dip in a lake or creek while the sun is higher and the temperature warmer.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

No. 1 Have a Plan

The best way to ensure you get a slow and late start leaving your campsite in the morning is to not bother discussing a morning plan the night before. Let everyone move at their own speed and you will guarantee a slow departure because you have effectively ceded control of the group’s schedule to the slowest person and/or latest sleeper in your party.

Instead, discuss it the evening before and agree on a wake-up time and a departure time. It can be negotiable, but it helps inform the decision when everyone understands how far you plan to hike each day and how long that will take, as well as where you may want to spend time along the way to your next campsite and roughly when you would all like to reach that next camp.

There may be days when you decide on a later start—perhaps because some in the group need more sleep, or there’s great swimming or fishing at your current camp, and that’s fine. The point here is to take charge of your circumstances: Making no decision is essentially tantamount to deciding you will move slowly and start hiking later.

Hike “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A backpacker hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River in Yosemite. Click photo to read about that trip.

No. 2 Organize Gear the Night Before

Another good strategy to assure a slow departure is to leave your campsite and tent looking like a tornado swept through in the evening. The more work you leave for the morning, the longer you will delay your departure.

Instead, organize your clothes and personal items in the evening to facilitate efficiency in the morning. If water bladders or bottles need to be filled with treated water before you commence hiking in the morning, do that the night before (or even before eating dinner, rather than waiting until everyone’s tired and doesn’t want to be bothered with a chore). Store your kitchen gear together so that it’s ready to use and quickly pack up in the morning.

In your tent, keep your sleeping bag and air mattress stuff sacks handy and pack or at least organize all clothing and personal items so that they go from tent to backpack in minutes in the morning. Encourage everyone else to do the same. Example: I always had my kids put their air mat and inflatable pillow stuff sacks inside their bag stuff sack when they first set up their tent; come morning, they’re not wasting time looking for small stuff sacks buried somewhere on a tent floor that’s littered with clothing and other stuff.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

A backpacker on the Tanner Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt beating the heat by hiking up the Grand Canyon’s Tanner Trail in early morning. Click photo to read about “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

No. 3 Pack Up Gear When You Wake Up

As soon as you wake up, deflate and pack away your air mattress and pillow, stuff your sleeping bag, break down your tent and start loading your pack. You can do these things while your stove is heating up water.

If any of that gear needs drying time before packing it up, that’s all the more reason to empty the tent, lay your bag in the sun, and unstake the tent and turn it upside-down to dry the floor in the sun (because the bottom side of the floor tends to collect the most condensation). With a freestanding tent, leave the poles in place because air will circulate through the tent, drying it faster.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Backpacking Trip,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Use The Big Outside to plan your next adventure.
Join now and a get free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-getting-out-of-camp-faster-when-backpacking/feed/ 2 39220
10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-taking-kids-on-their-first-backpacking-trip/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-taking-kids-on-their-first-backpacking-trip/#comments Sun, 15 Jun 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47359 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Whether you’re a family of novices planning your first backpacking trip or an experienced backpacker ready to take your kids on their first multi-day hike, heed this friendly advice: You’re in for some surprises. And I speak from experience. I’d been backpacking for years—in fact, I was already working as a professional backpacker—when my wife (also a longtime backpacker) and I first dove into the grand new adventure of taking our young kids into the wilderness.

We learned a lot. But the biggest lesson was this: Our backcountry adventures brought us closer together as a family and helped mold our children into eager and skilled backpackers and confident young adults with a passion and appreciation for the outdoors—and who seize every chance to spend time with us (their parents!) outdoors (and indoors!).

This article shares lessons I learned while taking our kids on countless backpacking trips since they were quite little and over the course of the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young girl backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.

Follow the tips below to make your family backpacking trips a success and ensure that your kids want to go again and again. Like many stories at The Big Outside, much of this one is free for anyone to read but reading the entire story requires a paid subscription. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for supporting my blog.

Please share your thoughts, questions, or your own tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Click on any photo to read about that trip.

Check out my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your next great adventure.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A family on a hike in Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
My family on a hike in Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve. Click photo to read my “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

1. Car-Camp and Dayhike First

My wife and I were avid and experienced backpackers before our two kids came along and we took our first child backpacking when he was a baby and toddler. But once our daughter joined the pack—and we had two in diapers, with all the stuff you have to carry with children that young—we shifted for about five years to dayhiking and car-camping as a family (and taking our adult backpacking trips whenever possible, separately or together).

Both proved a great means of preparing kids for backpacking. Our family hiking together became normal and familiar to them before their oldest memories and we got a sense of our kids’ hiking abilities—making the transition to backpacking easier for all of us. Similarly, car-camping helped us dial in our systems and gear for backpacking and probably made backpacking seem ordinary to our kids.

Once our youngest was five years old and could hike more than a few miles, we resumed family backpacking trips. I also established a tradition of annual father-son and father-daughter trips, creating very special one-on-one time together.


Backpacking Parent Tip Kids up to about age four roll around a lot in their sleep—often sliding out of a sleeping bag. We learned to just bring a child’s favorite blanket or two camping (on relatively mild summer nights). It’s much easier to throw a blanket over a kid in the middle of the night then to keep stuffing her back inside a bag.


Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
Hiking the Teton Crest Trail across Death Canyon Shelf on a family backpacking trip. Click photo to get my help planning your family backpacking trip.

2. Don’t Get Overambitious

If you backpacked pre-kids, this won’t be like that. And even if your kids are good dayhikers, backpacking changes the entire dynamic. Your kids may be carrying more (see more on that in tip no. 8, below), but at the least, you are carrying much more weight and getting somewhere grows more complicated.

Myriad obstacles slow you down—most often that kids up to tweeners simply don’t hike fast, get distracted, and need frequent rest breaks and snacks. Set modest goals for distance and especially elevation gain and loss. Take your first trips on good trails that aren’t too difficult and have frequent, reliable water sources.


Backpacking Parent Tip Have a bailout plan. Be ready to accept that it may not go well the first time and a safe retreat is preferable to a loss. The only “failure” is if the kids don’t like it and don’t want to go again. Remember that your goal is their enjoyment, not yours—your reward will be seeing their joy and, when they’re older, their eagerness to do this more with you.


I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A teenage boy backpacking in Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
My son, Nate, backpacking in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

3. Outfit Them With the Right Gear

We heard the young girl crying through the howling wind and July snowstorm on Besseggen Ridge in Norway’s mountainous Jotunheimen National Park. We caught up with the family and saw that she was eight or nine years old, crying inconsolably and repeating one word over and over: “Cold! Cold!”

A young boy backpacking below Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, backpacking below Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.

We stopped to ask if they were all right. The parents and two teenage boys were dressed for the weather in good boots, enough insulation, and shells. The young girl, inexplicably, wore open-top rubber boots, tights, and the kind of winter jacket you’d buy in Wal-Mart. She walked very slowly. She clearly was hypothermic and only getting colder. The next hut was several miles ahead of us.

We convinced them to turn around and walk downhill to the Gjendesheim hut, just a few miles back. There, they could take a ferry across a lake to the next hut. (In fact, my wife and kids had taken that ferry instead of hiking through the storm.) We saw them that evening in the hut, warm and happy.

Children need functional gear—most critically a backpack and boots that fit properly and are appropriate for what they’re doing—and a versatile layering system just as much as adults do. Yes, that can get a little expensive, but cutting corners risks creating an uncomfortable, negative experience for your child and, at worst, placing him in danger of hypothermia or worse.

Plus, good-quality kids’ outdoor clothing and gear can often be obtained inexpensively. See my “10 Tips for Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear.”

Most importantly, check that they’ve brought everything they need before you leave home—my son, at age 11, once forgot to pack his rain shell, fleece jacket, and warm hat for a five-day backpacking trip in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness. (He survived just fine. I felt a little chilly in camp with him wearing my down jacket.) And make sure they’re adjusting layers as needed in the backcountry and learn how and when to do that.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-books.

Young boy on a backpacking trip in Yosemite National Park.
My son, Nate, on a backpacking trip in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

4. Go at Their Pace But Meet Them Halfway

Young kids are not in any hurry on the trail. They want to stop and play in a creek, stream, or lake. They want to throw small rocks and climb on big rocks. They certainly want to watch animals. This is all good and you should encourage it: Children want to interact with their environment—which makes this fun for them. (That’s why tip no. 2 is important.)

But you also have a campsite to reach every day. Give them the time to stop and play and explore along the way—it also lets you set that heavy pack down for a bit—and join them exploring because they long for your attention (see the Backpacking Parent Tip under tip no. 6).

But remind them that you have to move along at some point. Tell them they’re going to love the campsite (and make sure you deliver on that—see tip no. 7).


Backpacking Parent Tip When our kids were little, we established a tradition: Every day on the trail, they got a chocolate bar when we were halfway to that day’s destination. (We got one, too.) It was a good motivator that we also used on dayhikes.


Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Young girls snacking while hiking in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park.
My daughter, Alex (middle), with friends Sofi and Lili on a backpacking trip in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park.

5. Keep Feeding Them

I’ve been reminded of this truth countless times: A kid who’s griping about being tired is usually just hungry. Give her a big chocolate bar or energy bar or stop for lunch. Children need to eat more frequently than adults—sometimes every hour, especially when they’re small.

Look for warning signs: a slowing pace, growing quiet or grumpy, or a faraway look. Feed them before they scream, “I’m starving!” Ditto with water. Most kids sip rather than gulp, so remind them every 15 or 20 minutes, “Everyone take a big drink.” Giving each kid a hydration bladder helps. Don’t let them get dehydrated—that takes longer to fix than eating does.

As for meals, my wife and I have always kept it simple, preparing what we knew our kids would eat and that wouldn’t require much prep or cleanup.


Backpacking Parent Tip Don’t let a kid hit the wall. When he’s obviously in need of fuel, resist the urge to insist, “Let’s just hike a little farther” unless you intend to stop very soon. Take a few minutes and give him something to eat. You will spare yourself much unnecessary grief.


Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

A group of adult and children backpackers at Buck Creek Pass in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.
My family and friends on a backpacking trip at Buck Creek Pass in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

6. Talk and Play Games

When our kids were young, my family played word and number games while hiking for hours—it helped the time pass for our kids and was genuinely fun: We’d laugh for hours.

One favorite was “The Story Game:” One of us would begin making up a story with a few sentences and each of us would add some piece of narrative in turn, over and over, until it reached some conclusion. Our kids often introduced bizarre plot twists that reduced them to paroxysms of cackling.

That regular practice, I believe, set the stage for the long, engaging conversations we had while hiking with our kids once they became teenagers—because they had come to recognize this as an opportunity for us to spend extended periods of time talking to each other.

In camp, we’d also play games together, typically those that were easy to carry, like a deck of cards or, in the case of my daughter and me, working on Sudoku puzzles together on a tablet.


Backpacking Parent Tip To a young kid, a parent’s attention is everything. Even teenagers covet your approval, even if they don’t show it. Nothing you can do will make them want to do this again more than your full attention. Besides, few times provide so much undistracted time together as being in the backcountry—away from our phones and devices. That, I came to learn, delivers the greatest value of family backpacking trips.


Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids
and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

See my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking,” “10 Tips for Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors,” “The 5 Best Tips For Hiking With Young Kids,” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure.”

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-taking-kids-on-their-first-backpacking-trip/feed/ 10 47359
10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-raising-outdoors-loving-kids/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-raising-outdoors-loving-kids/#comments Sun, 15 Jun 2025 09:02:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=3492 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As we neared Gunsight Pass in Glacier National Park, on a three-day family backpacking trip, a man and woman in their fifties stopped to talk with us. They sized up our kids and smiled; Nate was nine and Alex was seven. “We’re impressed!” they told us. “We never had any luck trying to get our kids to backpack when they were young.” We chatted a bit and then headed off in opposite directions on the trail.

After they were out of earshot, Alex turned to me, wanting to clarify a point: “You didn’t get us to do this,” she told me. “We wanted to do it.” Her words, of course, warmed my heart. But her comment also spotlighted the biggest lesson for parents hoping to raise their kids to love the outdoors: Create experiences that make them eager to go out again the next time.

Sure, all kids are different. Offering advice to parents on how to raise their kids treads on dangerous ground—kind of like telling members of my extended Italian-American family how to make pasta sauce.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Young kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
My kids hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

But my wife and I have had good success. Our kids are now young adults and and still look forward to our regular backpacking, skiing, paddling, and other adventures. They also amassed an impressive list of pretty hard-core trips on their wilderness CVs by a very young age, from sea kayaking in Alaska’s Glacier Bay and descending a technical slot canyon in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park, to numerous backpacking trips in national parks like Grand Teton, Zion, Olympic, and the Grand Canyon, and trekking hut to hut in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, on the Tour du Mont Blanc, and in Spain’s Picos de Europa, among other international adventures.

(See a menu of stories about many of our trips at my Family Adventures page, and see my Book page to read about the year we spent taking wilderness adventures in national parks threatened by climate change.)

I think much of what we’ve learned could be helpful to most families, and it boils down to these 10 basic guidelines laid out below. Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first six tips below are free for anyone to read, but reading the rest—including tips I don’t think you’ll find from other sources—is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for that, I appreciate it.

See the many comments at the bottom of this story, and please share your own thoughts, questions, experiences, and tips there, too. I try to respond to all comments. Click on any photo to see the story about it.

A toddler girl sitting in Skillern Hot Springs in Idaho's Smoky Mountains.
My daughter, Alex, on an early family backpacking trip to Skillern Hot Springs in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

1. Give Away Your Baby Stroller

As soon as your toddler can walk, give some friends that stroller and let your child walk everywhere you go, whether around town or on a trail. Sure, walking with a little one requires patience. But it turns children into strong hikers at a young age and gets them used to the idea that they will walk rather than be carried.

I preferred a child-carrier backpack to a stroller, even in urban settings, for those occasions when one of my kids needed a break from walking. It gives you exercise, is more convenient on stairs, and helps communicate to kids that our family carries packs—that we’re hikers.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Young children rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Alex and Nate rock climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

2. Don’t Give in to Frustration and Apathy

Let’s face it: Hiking, camping, or doing almost anything outdoors with babies, toddlers, and preschoolers is often more work than fun. Don’t get discouraged; take them out anyway. If you wait until they’re older, you may find that your child isn’t interested. Introduce children to the outdoors while they’re very young and make it part of your family lifestyle, so that you nurture in them a long-term love for it.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

The Big Outside's Michael Lanza sea kayaking with his family in Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.
Our family sea kayaking in Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.

3. Take Baby Steps

Don’t push your kids too hard. This one’s especially hard for parents who have always been very active, but pushing them risks creating a negative association with the outdoors. Start small, with short hikes, and work gradually up to longer outings. Think of it as pulling them along rather than pushing them. This also helps prevent the need to abandon plans, which is sometimes necessary (see tip #5) but can be disappointing for everyone involved.

What’s familiar and easy to you may seem scary and intimidating to a kid. Evaluate your child’s readiness for something new based not just on its physical difficulty, but how well your child handled previous experiences that presented comparable stress.

Example: When I considered taking my kids, at age nine and seven, sea kayaking and wilderness camping for five days in Glacier Bay, Alaska, I decided they were ready for it because they had done several backpacking trips, rock climbed, floated and camped on a wilderness river, and cross-country skied through snowstorms to backcountry yurts. They had managed stressful situations well and understood the need to follow instructions and that trips have uncomfortable moments. Despite how wet and raw it was at times, they loved Glacier Bay.

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Capitol Reef National Park, Utah
Nate in a slot canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.

4. Employ Bribery Strategically

Bring along motivators like their favorite candy bar to eat halfway through a hike and a favorite stuffed animal. Do things that create positive associations for kids, like giving them their own gear (headlamp, pack, walkie-talkie, etc.), and letting them be the hike leader or take charge pitching the tent.

Remember: What a child says now does not necessarily reflect how she will feel 20 minutes from now. I’ve been reminded time and time again that a seemingly tired kid is often just a hungry kid. They don’t have nearly the fat reserves and muscle mass of adults, so they need to rest and refuel more frequently, sometimes every hour.

Look for warning signs: grumpiness, a slowing pace, growing quiet, or a faraway look. Remind them frequently to take a drink. A 10-minute rest and a fat chocolate bar can swing a kid’s attitude 180 degrees.

Keep the magic going with my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and my “7 Tips for Getting Your Family on Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

A raft filled with children running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Alex (center, upright) in “the kids raft” running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

5. Tear Up Your Agenda

Whether hiking with kids or on a serious mountain climb, I think people often get into trouble simply because they focus too much on the destination, overlooking that it’s really about the journey. Don’t be so wedded to your agenda that you fail to see when it’s time to switch to Plan B.

Taking children outdoors, especially younger ones, does not always go according to plan. Adults hike for exercise, the views, and to get somewhere; young kids want to throw rocks in a creek and play in the mud. Let them. Explain to kids that there will be time for playing, but also a time for hiking. Encourage your teenager to invite along a friend. Find a balance that makes everyone happy, giving children some say without relinquishing all control.

Take a great, family-friendly backpacking trip using my expert e-books.
Click here now to see them all.

A young girl backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.

6. Talk and Listen

Establish a rule up front: no whining. Tell your children they can talk about any situation they’re not happy with, but draw the line at complaining just to complain. Everyone will be happier.

At the same time, explain to your kids what you will be doing and what’s expected of them. Welcome their questions and address their concerns. Make sure they know that you won’t ask them to do anything they are not comfortable with, and that you will provide whatever help they need. Make them feel like they’re part of the decision-making process, so they have a sense of control over their own fate, which goes a long way toward relieving stress, no matter what your age.

I’m also a big believer in taking charge when necessary. My friend Shelli Johnson, a life and leadership coach, adventure guide, and blogger at yourepiclife.com, framed this advice wonderfully: “If you want to go hiking as a family, don’t ask your child or children, ‘Do you want to go hiking?’ Just say, ‘We’re going hiking.’ Trust me on this. You’re in charge, and if you’re serious about wanting a family that hikes and spends a lot of time outdoors, be the captain.”

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip.”

 

See a menu of all stories about our many family outdoor adventures at my Family Adventures page at The Big Outside.

I wrote about taking our young kids on 11 wilderness adventures in national parks facing threats from climate change in my National Outdoor Book Awards-winning book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, from Beacon Press.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-raising-outdoors-loving-kids/feed/ 125 3492
A Survival Guide For the Outdoors Lover Who’s a New Parent https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-survival-guide-for-the-outdoors-lover-whos-a-new-parent/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-survival-guide-for-the-outdoors-lover-whos-a-new-parent/#comments Sun, 15 Jun 2025 09:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23943 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

So, you’ve been an avid [circle all appropriate terms: hiker/backpacker/climber/trail runner/skier/kayaker] for years, and now you’re spending big chunks of your days changing diapers and your nights wondering when you’ll sleep again. You’ve never gone this long without getting out into the mountains, and you see no remedy for that shortfall in the foreseeable future. Your new baby is more wonderful than you’d ever imagined—and yet, you’re feeling a little despair over what’s missing from your life lately.

I know where your head is right now. And I have good news for you: I’ve reached the bright light at the end of the tunnel, and you can get there faster than you might think. Here’s how.

My family on a hike in Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
My family on a hike in Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve.

First of all, I know it’s hard to take a long view when you’re so deeply buried in the day-to-day management of a hectic life. But as a father of two young adults, I can tell you that growing children race through development stages—each one very different—with blinding speed. While in many respects the infant and toddler years are the most demanding (and cutest), and can seem eternal at times, they do pass. In my experience, parenting keeps getting better.

But for now, you need some strategies for surviving the early years of parenting, when you face the greatest demands on your personal time—and your sanity.

The following tips reflect what I’ve learned from more than 20 years as a parent who has always strived to get outside as much as possible—dayhiking, backpacking, climbing, running, paddling, skiing—with my family whenever I can, but also, at times without them. Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this one is free for anyone to read but reading the entire story is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for supporting my blog.

Please share your questions or tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Click on any photo to read about that trip.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A baby girl in Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, at Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho. Click photo to read my “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

1. Ignore the Naysayers

You’ll hear too many parents say things like, “Oh, you won’t be out backpacking/climbing/skiing anymore!” Don’t listen to them. These comments tend to come from people for whom getting outside isn’t as important as it is to you. They don’t understand your lifestyle or how much and how often you need to get out there—or how hard you’ll work at accomplishing that goal, no matter the obstacles.

When my kids were babies and toddlers I’d put them in a front pack or a child-carrier backpack and go for a hike by myself. My wife and I took them camping, dayhiking, skiing, backpacking, paddling rivers, and climbing from the time they were very young—even though it was a lot of work—because it gave us time outdoors and helped turn our kids into young people who now love backpacking, climbing, skiing, and paddling with us. She and I also took turns solo parenting to let each other get outside—for an hour, a few hours, a few days.

If you’re that type of person, that’s what you’ll do—regardless of what other people think or say.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

My kids inside a favorite rock formation at Idaho's City of Rocks.
My kids inside a favorite rock formation at Idaho’s City of Rocks. Click photo to see “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

2. Hike Your Own Hike

That’s a motto among thru-hikers of long-distance trails, but the message applies just as well to raising children. Just as there are many ways to tackle a months-long hike, there are probably almost as many styles of parenting as there are parents. Just like setting out on a long hike, those first steps on the path of parenting can get bumpy. You’ll fall down and end some days bruised, sore, and wondering what the hell you’re doing.

Just figure out your own comfortable pace and what you need and don’t need; it doesn’t matter whether it resembles someone else’s approach. You’ll get there.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite
and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

Kids on a five-day float trip down the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.
The pack of kids on a five-day float trip down the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.

3. Embrace Good Advice

As much as you must hike your own hike as a parent, you will also meet other parents—some with kids older than yours—who, by all appearances, are doing it right. They get out as much as they like. Their kids actually like getting out with them, and seem like great kids.

Get to know those parents; they just might know some tricks you will find useful. At the least, they’re probably fun to hang out with.

Don’t miss my popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
My daughter, Alex, age six, on a family backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.

4. Take the Kids Outside Often

Both of my kids went on their first hike—in a front pack on my chest—within a few days after they were born. That was merely symbolic, of course. But those short walks were emblematic of the philosophy my wife and I embraced from the beginning of parenthood: Our kids would learn that getting outdoors together as a family is normal.

We dragged the kids out camping, cross-country skiing, mountain biking, dayhiking and backpacking, paddling rivers and climbing (when they expressed an interest in the last one)—doing everything we liked to do with our kids, even though it often meant going much slower when the kids were little and involved much more work. Even at home, whenever we had to go somewhere in town within biking range, in reasonable weather, we biked there.

If you want your children to share your passions, start them young and do it with them.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Deep in the backcountry of Utah's Capitol Reef National Park.
Alex, age nine, getting lowered off a cliff in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

5. Stop Worrying So Much

Before they were out of grade school, our kids had backpacked in parks from Grand Canyon to Olympic and among grizzly bears in Glacier; sea kayaked through wet, raw weather and camped on remote wilderness beaches in Alaska’s Glacier Bay; paddled among alligators in the Everglades; trekked through cold rain and wet snow in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park; rock climbed 150-foot cliffs and rappelled into and crawled through slot canyons; and cross-country skied through snowstorms to backcountry yurts miles from the nearest road multiple times. (My award-winning book Before They’re Gone chronicles the year my family spent backpacking, rock climbing, paddling, and cross-country skiing in 11 national parks facing major threats from climate change.)

Bad parents, right?

Yes, we worry like any parents. We’re hyper-conscious about safety and ask a lot of questions. We’ve always tailored family activities to suit their ages and abilities. We’ve abandoned plans and turned back on trails when necessary.

But every time we’ve worried that we’re pushing our kids beyond their abilities, they have risen to the challenge and loved it.

It doesn’t matter whether your family tries to do what my family (or any other family) does; establish your own comfort zone. My point is this: Don’t over-worry about the kids. They’re often more resilient and adaptable than adults give them credit for.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

See a menu of all stories about our many family outdoor adventures at the Family Adventures page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-survival-guide-for-the-outdoors-lover-whos-a-new-parent/feed/ 10 23943
12 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-your-teenager-outdoors-with-you/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-your-teenager-outdoors-with-you/#comments Sun, 15 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17155 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

“That sounds totally boring.” “Other parents don’t force their kids to do things they don’t want to do.” “I hate (fill in the activity).” If you’re a parent of a teenager, you’ve probably heard these responses from your child, or any of an infinite number of variations on them—like a personal favorite that one of my kids, at 14, laid on me: “You get to choose your friends, but you don’t get to choose your family.” If you’re trying to persuade a teen to get outdoors with you—which often entails pulling him or her away from an electronic screen—your child can summon powers of resistance that conjure mental images of Superman stopping a high-speed train.

My kids, now young adults, have taken far more backpacking trips and other outdoor adventures than they can remember, paddled whitewater rivers and waters from Alaska’s Glacier Bay to Florida’s Everglades and Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and skied and rock climbed since they were preschoolers—and they are still eager to take trips with my wife and me. Although we no longer encounter blowback to our plans to do something outdoors together, that certainly persisted well into their teen years. But as teens, our kids usually looked forward to our adventures. This story shares the reasons why.

Following up on my popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” mostly intended for parents of younger children, the tips below summarize what I’ve learned from many outdoors adventures with increasingly independent young people—who happen to share my genetic makeup.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first six tips below are free for anyone to read, but reading the rest—including tips I don’t think you’ll find from other sources—is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for that, I appreciate it.

Click on any photo to read about that trip. Please share your thoughts on my advice or your own tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A teenage boy backpacking in Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
My son, Nate, at 15, on a father-son backpacking trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

#1 Establish a Tradition

I took my son on our first father-son “Boy Trip” (the name he gave it), backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, when he was six. My first father-daughter adventure (yup, our “Girl Trip”—her name) followed within a few years, and we have kept the tradition alive most years since.

Similarly, our family and another with kids close in age began taking an annual ski trip to a backcountry yurt when the children ranged in age from seven to four. The boy trip, girl trip, and yurt trip have become staples of our annual travel calendar, considered as sacrosanct as birthdays—and each involves days spent entirely disconnected in remote backcountry.

Ideally, start a regular tradition of an outdoors adventure when kids are fairly young—but your child is never too old to begin. With a teenager, you may need to up the excitement stakes, like climbing a big mountain together. Find whatever it is that excites everyone involved; it may be the same activity or destination every year, or something perennially different. There are no rules, except to make it strictly about spending a lot of quality time together.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

Nate, at 14, kayaking Marble Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

#2 Encourage Their Interests

My wife and I introduced our children to dayhiking and backpacking, skiing, rock climbing, and paddling on easier rivers and protected bays, with the occasional, guided whitewater rafting adventure. Then our son, at age 12, decided on his own to take up whitewater kayaking. We sent him for several summers to a four-day whitewater kayaking camp near our home; through that instruction, and lots of practice on Idaho’s beautiful and fun rivers, he has developed into a competent boater.

Most importantly, he loves it and does it safely. But by encouraging his new interest, we not only gave him the freedom to embrace the outdoors in his way, we’ve also reaped the benefits of having someone in our family who expanded our horizons. Our family now does much more whitewater kayaking (our son in his hard-shell boat, the rest of us in inflatable kayaks), including rafting and kayaking one of the West’s classic wilderness rivers, Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

#3 Do Something Really Cool

A young teenage boy hiking in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Nate hiking in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

On a two-family, spring break trip to southern Utah, the parents wanted to take some scenic dayhikes in places like Capitol Reef and Bryce Canyon national parks—which the four youths deemed “boring.”

But when the other dad and I took them on a three-hour, late-afternoon hike through the slot canyons Peek-a-Boo Gulch and Spooky Gulch in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, squeezing between wildly curved walls frequently closer than shoulder-width apart, all we heard from them was laughter and expressions of awe.

Some places and experiences are so fascinating and fun that even teens can’t find a reason to complain. It may require a little research, but surprise your teenager with activities and destinations that will excite him—or perhaps even better, ask your kid to help you research and plan your trip, finding those things that will excite them and getting him or her emotionally invested in the entire plan.

See my story about that hike and others, “Playing the Memory Game in Southern Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon.”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A father and teenage son climbing the Mountaineers Route on California's Mount Whitney.
Nate and me climbing the Mountaineers Route on California’s Mount Whitney.

#4 Pick a Shared Goal

When I went to our then-15-year-old son with a proposal that he and I climb a technical route up the highest peak in the Lower 48 states, California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, to raise money for an organization that introduces kids his age to the outdoors, he loved the idea and, months later, he and I made that climb together.

During my years as a field editor with Backpacker magazine, I participated in two of the first Summit For Someone fundraiser mountain climbs for Big City Mountaineers, a non-profit that takes underprivileged, urban teenagers on multi-day wilderness adventures. I believe strongly in the critical importance of BCM’s work in helping to ensure that the generation growing up today sustains America’s outdoors heritage.

Nate gleaned the importance of helping give opportunities like this to other young people while he and I pursued a big, shared goal together. (One ancillary benefit: Preparing for a rigorous, four-day snow climb up a big mountain helped motivate him to exercise regularly to train for it.)

Whether it’s a mountain climb or something else, find a shared goal that will challenge and excite you and your kid. You may both grow personally from it in ways that surprise you, while opening new doors in your relationship with your child.

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Three teenage boys on a 17-mile dayhike in the Presidential Range, N.H.
Nate, my nephew Marco, and Marco’s friend Liam on a 17-mile dayhike in the Presidential Range, N.H.

#5 Let Them Bring a Friend

When I invited my 17-year-old nephew, Marco, on what I knew would be an extremely difficult, 17-mile, 6,800-foot dayhike in the rugged Northern Presidential Range of New Hampshire’s White Mountains, he asked about bringing a friend. Marco had done a comparably hard dayhike in the Whites with me the year before, but I didn’t know anything about his friend except that they were soccer teammates. So I got on the phone with that boy’s father, told him about our plans in detail—partly because, as a parent, I’d want to know more about whoever was taking my kid on such a demanding adventure—and he told me why he thought his son would do fine.

Although it was a really tough, 15-hour day, ending by headlamps long after dark, all of the kids—including Nate, who was 14—did great and went home with a memorable war story to tell. But more importantly, they emerged from the experience eager for more.

Letting a teenage son or daughter invite a friend along has long been a staple parenting strategy. It’s no different for outdoor adventures—just a little trickier in that you want to make sure the friend is up to whatever challenges he or she will face.

Even better than finding the one friend who becomes the perfect adventure mate for your child is discovering an entire family that pairs well with your clan—parents and kids. That’s gold.

Take a great, family-friendly backpacking trip using my expert e-books.
Click here now to see them all.

A young teenage girl descending from the Fenetre d’Arpette on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.
My daughter, Alex, descending the steep trail from the Fenetre d’Arpette pass on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Click the photo for my Tour du Mont Blanc e-guide.

#6 Talk About the Outdoors

This tip may ring familiar to anyone who’s read my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” in which I advise parents to “Work Your P.R.” All that changes with older kids is how you talk about it. Put your enthusiasm about the outdoors on display. Don’t shove it down a kid’s throat, but when an opportunity presents itself—when your child looks interested—talk about what you love.

Show teens an inspirational online video (a medium they trust and connect with). When the Banff Mountain Film Festival Tour comes to our city every winter, showing dozens of the year’s prize-winning films about the outdoors, we take our kids, and we all go home jonesing for our next adventure.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip.”

 

See all stories about family adventures and my All Trips List at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-your-teenager-outdoors-with-you/feed/ 10 17155
7 Tips For Getting Your Family on Outdoor Adventure Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/7-tips-for-getting-your-family-on-outdoor-adventure-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/7-tips-for-getting-your-family-on-outdoor-adventure-trips/#comments Thu, 12 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26950 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

In the Digital Era, the idea of families spending sustained time outdoors—actually taking trips built around some outdoor adventure enjoyed together—can feel like a wonderful aspiration that’s awfully hard to achieve. But that lifestyle is a reality for many families—and always has been for mine—and one that brings parents and children together for long periods of time (hours or even days!) in beautiful places in nature for an activity that’s genuinely fun and, most importantly, offline and unplugged.

How do you create that kind of lifestyle for your family? As the father of two young adults who are avid backpackers, skiers, climbers, mountain bikers, paddlers, and intelligent, fine young people who make me proud (and most importantly, love spending time with and just talking to their parents!), I believe this goal remains not only entirely feasible today, but all that much more critical—especially for young kids.

And when it’s done right, you and your children will consider the time you spend together outdoors some of the best you share as a family.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


For this story, I’ve synthesized the biggest lessons I’ve gleaned from two decades of parenting outdoors as often as possible—and four decades building my life around outdoor recreation, including formerly as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog—into seven tips that will help set you on the path to wonderful times together as a family.

Click on any photo to read about that trip. Please share your questions or your own tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Click on any photo to read about that trip.

A toddler girl sitting in Skillern Hot Springs in Idaho's Smoky Mountains.
My daughter, Alex, on an early family backpacking trip to Skillern Hot Springs in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

No. 1: Don’t ‘Wait Until They’re Older’

For starters, abandon any misguided notion that you should “wait until the kids are older”—that’s a formula for winding up with a ‘tweener or teen who’s not interested in any of your wild-eyed notions about spending family time outdoors.

Young kids in camp while backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park.
My kids while backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park.

My initial motivation was admittedly somewhat selfish. One lesson I learned soon after becoming a father was this: If I wanted to keep getting outside—and especially on big trips—as much as I had before parenthood, I would have to involve my family in the activities I love doing. (That’s why that tip ranks no. 2 in my “10 Tips For Getting Outside More.”) But I also understood that making that effort when they were small would pay dividends as they grew older and more capable.

As I urge in my “Survival Guide for the Outdoors Lover Who’s a New Parent,” take your kids outside often, beginning when they’re too young to remember it—then their oldest memories will include being outdoors with their family. They will learn that getting outdoors together as a family is almost as routine as dinner.

That’s not to say it’s ever too late to start, of course. It’s never too late to spend quality time together.

Want to take your family backpacking? See these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite
The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

A raft filled with children running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
My daughter, Alex, and others in “the kids raft” running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

No. 2: When You Need It, Get Expert Help

Young boy and man in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My son, Nate, and our canyoneering guide Steve Howe, in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

You want to get your kids outdoors more, exploring nature, and enjoying the myriad experiences available in local, state, and national parks; but you and your spouse lack the skills and knowledge to even know where to begin, never mind keep everyone safe. That’s not an obstacle—everyone begins as a novice. There are free programs, many of them family-oriented, available on public lands all over the country, and numerous paid guide services—an abundance of expertise available to help you acquire experience and skills.

As just one example, when planning a visit to a national park, search the park’s website for ranger-led activities, like hikes, that are usually free or low-cost and ideal for families and beginners; you’ll find them at virtually every national park and many other public lands. Those websites also list guide services and outfitters that are licensed to operate in that park.

For instance, you can find guided tours of all kinds in Yellowstone, guided hikes in Glacier National Parkriver trips through the Grand Canyon, and climbing guides operating in Grand Teton National Park and on Mount Rainier, and ranger-led tours and interpretive programs in almost any park, including Yosemite, and an adventurous, ranger-guided tour of the Fiery Furnace in Arches.

See all of the stories about family trips listed at my Family Adventures page at The Big Outside, including stories about guided whitewater rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River and Utah’s Gates of Lodore section of the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument and the Green River’s Desolation and Gray canyons, climbing Mount Whitney, guided hiking and slot canyoneering in Capitol Reef National Park, sea kayaking in Alaska’s Glacier Bay, and kayak touring in the Everglades.

See also my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your next family adventure..

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A young girl hiking in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, on a family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park.

No. 3: Talk and Listen to Them

From the longer perspective of a father of young adults, of all the advice that I offer in my popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” I think the two best nuggets of hard-earned wisdom are simply “talk and listen” and “work your P.R.”

When planning a trip, make your children feel like they’re part of the decision-making process. Welcome their questions, address their concerns, and give them some say in what you’re doing. They will be more emotionally invested in making it a success.

Your children crave your attention; shower them with it, especially positive reinforcement. Compliment kids when they do well and encourage them when they’re challenged. Tell children they’re good hikers, skiers, climbers, paddlers, or cyclists, and they will take pride in that. You will help them self-identify as a kid who likes being outdoors.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

Young girl and father backpacking in the Grand Canyon.
My daughter, Alex, and me on Horseshoe Mesa in the Grand Canyon.
Teenage climber backpacking to high camp below California's Mount Whitney.
Nate backpacking to our high camp to climb California’s Mount Whitney.

No. 4: Take One-on-One, Parent-Child Trips

When my son and daughter were both very young, I established a tradition of taking an annual father-son and father-daughter backcountry trip, getaways that have become known as our “Boy Trip” and “Girl Trip.” (At a young age, my daughter gave me a waiver for my gender.)

By launching this idea when they were young and eager for entire days of one-on-one time with me, I created a tradition that my kids would look forward to as much as I did.

While most of our trips have consisted of backpacking and rock climbing in our home state of Idaho, I’ve also backpacked in the Grand Canyon with my daughter and climbed Mount Whitney with my son (click on the photos above and at left to read about either trip).

But it matters less what you do or where than simply that you do it, give your child your entire attention, make it fun, and demonstrate your commitment to it—so that, as your child gets older, the shared commitment remains strong.

I can report now, from the far end of the parenting journey with two kids who are young adults and avid backpackers, skiers, climbers, mountain bikers, and paddlers, that our son and daughter—as busy as their lives have become—still strive to spend as much time with us, especially outdoors, as they can, and we’re continually planning adventures together, whether for a few hours or a few weeks.

The Big Outside helps your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

No. 5: Blow Their Minds

Taking outdoors trips with little kids can, at times, create that defeated feeling of herding cats; but in some ways, it’s easier than when they get older, because you’re still in charge while they’re young. As they get older, they not only want more say in decisions about family outings and vacations, but they tend to come down with a chronic case of cynicism—everything is potentially “boring.”

Solution: Overwhelm their cynicism with trips so irrefutably fun that your offer becomes one they can’t refuse. One of my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You” is: Do something really cool.

Young girl trekking in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mouintains, Italy.
Alex trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomite Mouintains.

As our kids grew older and more physically capable, comfortable with bigger challenges, and self-confident, we took them exploring slot canyons, including two non-technical, family-friendly slots in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, and a technical slot canyon that required four rappels in Capitol Reef National Park.

We rafted and kayaked whitewater rivers like Oregon’s Grand Ronde, Utah’s Green through Dinosaur National Monument, and Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon. We’ve backpacked and trekked hut to hut in amazing landscapes from the Tetons and Glacier National Park to the Tour du Mont Blanc and Italy’s Dolomite Mountains. I would regularly take them rock climbing and skiing.

No, it doesn’t have to be totally hard-core, involve international travel, or cost a small fortune. The point is simply to be willing to rise to the challenge of motivating your kids when they’ve grown a little tired of the same old. The fact that they want to step up to a higher level of outdoor adventure means you’ve been successful.

Make your kids want to go again. See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

Children in a campsite while floating the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.
The kids at “Kid Rock,” in a camp on the Green River in Canyonlands.

No. 6: Recruit Another Family

Family group of backpackers heading into Paria Canyon, in Utah and Arizona.
Our group ready to backpack Paria Canyon.

From the first river trip we ever took as a family—a beginner-friendly, five-day float down the Green River in Canyonlands National Park—to hiking in Yosemite, backpacking Paria Canyon and the Needles District of Canyonlands, and skiing to backcountry yurts, as well as other trips, we have frequently brought other kids, another family, or multiple families along for the adventure.

Not only do the kids get energized by more peers, but it’s more social and fun for everyone—and adds the benefit of spreading the work out among the adults (when children are too young to be much help). Bring another family regularly into your trips, and you create more voices motivating the movement toward always planning the next one.

Get the right backpack for you and your kid.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight backpacks.

A father and teenage son climbing the Mountaineers Route on California's Mount Whitney.
My son, Nate, and me climbing the Mountaineers Route on California’s Mount Whitney.

No. 7: Pick a Shared Goal

When my son was 15, I proposed to him that he and I (for our annual Boy Trip) climb a mountaineering route up the highest peak in the contiguous United States, California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, to raise money for an organization that introduces kids his age to the outdoors. He leapt at the suggestion.

Motivated by this goal, he joined me in spending the next several months training for it. After we successfully reached the summit, in our tent that night at our base camp at 12,000 feet, he told me it was “the best trip we’ve ever done, and it makes me excited to do bigger ones and climb more mountains like this.”

I told him I would love that.

Get my expert help planning your backpacking or hiking trip and 33% off a one-year subscription. Click here now to buy a premium subscription!

A family trekking through Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My family trekking through Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

Bonus Tip: Don’t Worry, Just Take It Slow

If your family is entirely new to hiking or any outdoors endeavors, it’s okay. You have time. Take baby steps, learn as you go, and follow your gut instincts in choosing what’s right for your family. Seek a balance between encouraging everyone to try something new and not pushing so hard that anyone gets discouraged.

The only important goal is to keep making the effort to get out there. The rest will work out.

See more tips about walking that fine line in my “10 Tips for Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors” and “5 Tips For Hiking With Young Kids From an Outdoors Dad,” and my story “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying That New Outdoor Adventure.”

Feeling inspired by this story?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/7-tips-for-getting-your-family-on-outdoor-adventure-trips/feed/ 2 26950
Big Scenery, No Crowds: 12 Top Backpacking Trips For Solitude https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-wilderness-no-crowds-top-5-backpacking-trips-for-scenery-and-solitude/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-wilderness-no-crowds-top-5-backpacking-trips-for-scenery-and-solitude/#comments Mon, 09 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19448 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We all want our wilderness backpacking trips to have two sometimes conflicting qualities: mind-blowing scenery, but also few other people around. A high degree of solitude somehow makes the backcountry feel bigger and wilder and the views more breathtaking. However unrealistic the notion may be, we like to believe we have some stunning corner of nature to ourselves. But in the real world, if you head out into popular mountains in July or August or in canyon country in spring or fall, you’ll probably have company—maybe more than you prefer.

Not on these trips, though.

From lonely corners of the majestic High Sierra (including, believe it or not, Yosemite), the North Cascades region, and Utah’s High Uintas and Maze District of Canyonlands, to the Wind River Range, Idaho’s beloved Sawtooths, the Eagle Cap Wilderness and a pair of rugged and remote adventures in the Grand Canyon, here are 12 multi-day hikes where you’re guaranteed to enjoy a degree of solitude—at least on long stretches of the trip—that’s equal to the scenery. All of these trips meet several of my “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Teenage girls backpacking in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My daughter, Alex, her friend, Adele, and my wife, Penny, backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

They also happen to be some favorite trips among countless wilderness walks I’ve taken over more than three decades (and counting) of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Each trip described below has a link to a full story about it, with many photos and often a video. Reading those stories in full, including key trip-planning details and tips, as well as this entire story, is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Please tell me what you think of these trips—or add your own suggestions—in the comments at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

And I can help you plan any of them or any trip you read about at this blog. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

A hiker on Liberty Cap in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
Jasmine Wilhelm taking an evening hike on Liberty Cap in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.

Glacier Peak Wilderness

The five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness has earned a reputation for spiciness—which keeps the crowds down. The reason is the off-trail route over 7,100-foot Spider Gap, which holds snow all summer and can be hazardous, depending on the firmness of the snow.

But for backpackers with the skills to manage that pass—which isn’t terribly steep or dangerous when done in soft-snow conditions, as my family did when our kids were 12 and 10—the rewards include five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it, some of the best backcountry campsites you’ll ever have (or perhaps hike past), and unforgettable wildflower displays and panoramas like you get from Liberty Cap, a short side hike from Buck Creek Pass (photo above).

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in Washington at The Big Outside.

Put more adventure in your life starting today. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker hiking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
Mark Fenton backpacking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

Beartooth Wilderness

On a five-day, peak-of-summer, mid-August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness, two friends and I walked for miles and hours a day—most of the trip—without any other people in sight. At two of our four campsites, there was not another person within miles—including near a lake less than five miles from the trailhead where we started and finished the trip, in a cirque below the cliffs and slopes of a striking, nearly 12,000-foot peak.

And our route reminded me in many ways of backpacking in a Northern Rockies neighbor of the Beartooths, Glacier National Park: We hiked long stretches through alpine terrain with views of soaring cliffs, jagged peaks, and small glaciers at the heads of dramatic, glacially carved cirques. In contrast to Glacier, though, the Beartooths reach higher elevations. We hiked to one stunning pass at over 11,000 feet and crossed the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet—and, yea, saw no one at either spot.

See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

The Gems Route, Grand Canyon

For three days of a six-day hike from the Grand Canyon’s South Bass Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead, five friends and I saw no one. Backpacking much of the Gems Route—named for several tributary canyons, including Ruby, Turquoise, Sapphire, Agate, and Topaz—we had amazing camps every night entirely to ourselves, with a vivid Milky Way glowing overhead.

The route traverses the longest segment of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail with no bailout path the South Rim: the 29 miles from Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek, described by the park’s website as the Tonto’s “most difficult and potentially dangerous” leg for the lack of perennial water. (We twice carried six to eight liters of water—up to about 17 pounds each.)

But every day was a walk through a majestic landscape constantly reshaped by shifting light, with views reaching from the river to both rims. And these tributary canyons of the Colorado might, by themselves, be national parks in most other states.

See my story “‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Southern Sawtooth Mountains

I’ve dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed numerous times in Idaho’s glorious Sawtooths, peaks that look to me like a love child of the High Sierra and the Tetons (if somewhat smaller); and with the exception of a few popular spots, I wouldn’t describe them as crowded. But for solitude and scenery that justifies my “love child” claim, I recommend diving deep into the range’s interior. 

On a 57-mile trip from the Queens River Trailhead, penetrating an area that’s a solid two days’ walk from the nearest roads, a friend and I saw some of the prettiest and loneliest mountain lakes of the dozens that grace the Sawtooths, and lonely valleys framed by endless rows of jagged peaks.

See my story “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

Click here now for my e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail over Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail over Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

High Uintas Wilderness

The first hint at the solitude we’d enjoy on a nearly 50-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas (including an optional eight-mile dayhike of Kings Peak, highest in Utah) came at the trailhead, where there were a grand total of two cars. We didn’t see another person until the second evening in camp, on a pretty mountain lake we had to ourselves, when two hikers passed by and one remarked, “Well, there are other people out here!” Our third day passed without encountering another human and we had a campsite for two nights in an 11,000-foot basin ringed by 13,000-foot peaks with no one in sight.

And during an unusual window of good weather in early October 2024, my 24-year-old son and I backpacked nearly 60 miles, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail, enjoying 12,000-foot alpine passes and vast lake basins, great camps with stunning sunsets, night skies with the Milky Way glowing brilliantly—and a degree of solitude found only when hiking deep into big wilderness.

See my stories “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

A backpacker in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.

Northern Yosemite

Yosemite exceeds expectations in many ways, including that its reputation for crowds simply doesn’t square with the reality of backpacking throughout most of the park. On an 87-mile trek through northern Yosemite (shorter variations are possible), a friend and I crossed three remote, 10,000-foot passes; wandered through rock gardens in canyons beneath 12,000-foot peaks; camped on a lake’s sandy beach that looked like it was transplanted from southern California; hiked up a canyon resembling Yosemite Valley but twice as long and without the roads, buildings, and crowds; and stood on a summit known for “the best 360 in Yosemite.”

And every day, we walked for hours without seeing another person. When you’re ready to explore as deeply into the Yosemite backcountry as a person can wander, head north of Tuolumne Meadows into the park’s biggest, loneliest wilderness.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” my e-book to that trip, “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” plus “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside—including my story about another trip that offered a surprising amount of solitude, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite
and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

See all stories about backpacking at The Big Outside, including “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-wilderness-no-crowds-top-5-backpacking-trips-for-scenery-and-solitude/feed/ 19 19448
5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#comments Tue, 20 May 2025 09:00:21 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=45354 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Chances are that, by now, you’ve heard of Idaho’s Sawtooths—having typed that name into a search box may be the reason you’ve landed on this story. Maybe you’ve been intrigued at what you’ve heard or images you’ve seen from Idaho’s best-known mountain range. Perhaps you’ve even been there and the experience has only amplified your curiosity to see more of this range.

As someone who’s had the good fortune of having backpacked all over the country and in many other countries over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I rank the Sawtooths among the 10 best backpacking trips in America.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers on Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho's Sawtooths.
Backpackers on Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho’s Sawtooths.

I’ve wandered around the Sawtooths at least a couple dozen times over more than two decades, including numerous backpacking trips, dayhikes, peak scrambles, rock climbing, and backcountry skiing. While there remain peaks on my list to climb, a few trails to hike, and many lakes to leap into (or just sit beside), the Sawtooths have become my backyard mountains. I feel at home there.

This story presents the five reasons I think every backpacker should take a multi-day hike through the Sawtooths—spotlighting the characteristics of a trip there that make this place unique. I believe this argument may persuade you to go (if, somehow, the photos don’t do it).

See my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” to learn all you need to know to plan and pull off a five-day, 36-mile Sawtooths hike through the core of the Sawtooths, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan every detail of a multi-day hike there.

Please share your thoughts or experiences there in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Backpackers on Trail 95 above Twin Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, and Mae Davis backpacking above Twin Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

1. It’s Not That Hard

Having backpacked all over the country and in many other countries, I recognize how friendly the Sawtooths are to relatively inexperienced backpackers, starting with generally well-maintained and well-marked trails that rarely get very steep, having been constructed for pack animals like horses and llamas.

Elevations remain moderate. Most passes crossed by trails rise just over 9,000 feet, a height that most people acclimate to quickly. And as with many interior West mountain ranges, summer brings stable weather and blessedly few mosquitoes after July.

See the best of the Sawtooths using my
expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

2. These Peaks Will Kind of Blow You Away

For years after moving to Idaho in 1998, with each trip I took into a new corner of the Sawtooths, I’d discover a spot that I was convinced was prettier than anyplace I’d been previously in this range. That happened to me several times, until I’d covered a fair bit of the Sawtooths and settled on the general conclusion that these peaks and mountain lakes are as beautiful as almost any range I’ve been in—certainly in the American West.

The Sawtooths look like a little sibling of the High Sierra or Tetons for their serrated skylines and mountain lakes that compare in beauty (if not in numbers) with the Sierra and Wind River Range.

A total of 57 summits top 10,000 feet in the Sawtooth Mountains, and nearly 400 trout-filled alpine lakes, many sitting well over 8,000 feet, shimmer in high bowls sculpted by long-ago glaciers. The range lies protected within the 756,000-acre Sawtooth National Recreation Area, which encompasses the equally beautiful White Cloud Mountains across the Sawtooth/Salmon River Valley, and most of the range is designated wilderness.

In other words: There’s plenty of space to wander around.

Get full access to Sawtooths stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Rock Slide Lake in Idaho's southern Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake in the remote interior of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to read about this trip.

3. Yes, You Can Find Solitude

A backpacker hiking below El Capitan in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Jan Roser backpacking below El Capitan in the Sawtooth Mountains.

As happened in many—if not most—backcountry areas across the country, the pandemic summer of 2020 brought a big leap in the numbers of backpackers in the Sawtooths. Friends and readers of The Big Outside reported to me about seeing more people than expected or more than they’d seen on any previous trip there. To some extent, that has continued since.

Still, those reports and my personal experience point to a certain reality that’s long been true in many backcountry areas: Most backpacker use is heavily concentrated around weekends in August and at a few popular lakes within a day’s hike of popular trailheads. Hike midweek during the peak summer season or after Labor Day, or venture into lesser-known areas more than a day’s hike into the mountains, and you can often find a surprising degree of solitude.

Some readers who purchase my custom trip planning tell me they prefer to get away from the crowds—and are willing to compromise a bit on mountain splendor for solitude. But that’s not necessary in the Sawtooths, as one reader who I helped plan a trip there discovered. After it, he emailed me describing his shock at how few people he saw and posted this comment at my Custom Trip Planning page: “Just back from an amazing 5-day trip in the Sawtooth Mountains. Michael took the time to understand my priorities, goals, and comfort level and crafted a route that was clearly tailored uniquely to me. Most important, Michael’s itinerary was significantly different from—and better than—anything I would have come up with on my own.”

See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker above the Redfish Valley of Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Kade Aldrich above the Redfish Valley in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

4. No Red Tape

Unlike in national parks and more popular national forest wildernesses (in the High Sierra and elsewhere), no permit reservation is required for backcountry camping in the Sawtooths. You show up, fill out a permit at a self-service trailhead kiosk, and hit the trail.

That’s very appealing for backpackers who don’t always plan their trips months in advance in order to apply for a permit reservation; or who may have done that but struck out getting a permit somewhere else; or who find themselves changing plans due to wildfires—a regular summer occurrence these days—or another reason.

And the Sawtooths represent a pretty darn good consolation prize if your first trip fell through.

After the Sawtooths, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A young girl hiker at Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, at Imogene Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next backpacking trip.

5. There’s a Lot to See

A network of almost 350 miles of trails presents myriad opportunities for exploring the Sawtooth Wilderness on backpacking trips ranging from easy to ambitious—from the relatively accessible trails we hiked on the two trips described in this story, to more remote footpaths deeper in the wilderness, such as the 57-mile hike a friend and I took that I wrote about in this story.

A hiker below Thompson Peak in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, hiking below Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

See all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside, including these:

The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit
Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes
The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths
Going After Goals: Backpacking Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains
Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/feed/ 8 45354
Trekking New Zealand’s World-Class Routeburn Track https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-new-zealands-world-class-routeburn-track/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-new-zealands-world-class-routeburn-track/#comments Sat, 17 May 2025 12:59:58 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=67044 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We follow the Routeburn Track’s winding path through the dense, vibrant greenery of ferns, mosses, and ubiquitous beech trees of the forest in Mount Aspiring National Park, in the southwest corner of New Zealand’s South Island. The track parallels the raging whitewater of the river known as the Route Burn, which crashes thunderously over a train wreck of boulders in its bed, foaming white almost without interruption on its steep course, only occasionally slowing and calming to reveal its emerald color in the rare flat spots in this vertiginous canyon.

Very light, almost ghost-like rain seems to barely materialize from the gray sky, sprinkling on us like someone would shake a little salt onto her dinner; in the mild air, the four of us hike quite comfortably in T-shirts, hardly getting wet. Throughout our walk to our first hut on the Routeburn Track, the light showers come and go but mostly stay, common meteorological conditions in a part of the world that averages about seven meters/275 inches of rain annually, or about seven times as much precipitation as Seattle or Boston.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Lake Mackenzie, along the Routeburn Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Lake Mackenzie, along the Routeburn Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book to the Routeburn Track.

Beams of sunshine bust through the clouds periodically, hitting us with abrupt, powerful warmth in the first week of December, early spring in New Zealand. But those beams vanish so quickly that you can question your memory of seeing sunshine just minutes ago. Here, the sun is an occasional visitor who prefers short stays.

My daughter, Alex, and her best friend since they were two years old, Adele Davis, both 21, leapfrog my wife, Penny, and me along the track. Shortly before the Routeburn Flats Hut, we reach one small stream crossing that’s perhaps calf-deep, with no bridge, where Alex, Adele, and I cross on a wet and slick, fallen tree, while Penny just steps on submerged rocks in the stream and keeps her feet dry. It’s perhaps 16° C/60° F and partly cloudy when we reach the hut around 3 p.m., having hiked the 7.5 kilometers/4.7 miles from our starting point at the Routeburn Shelter and car park in an easy couple of hours.

Get my expert tips on successfully booking Routeburn Track huts and planning your trek smartly
in my e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn Track.”

Or click here now to get 20% off both of my expert e-books to
trekking New Zealand’s world-famous Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

Trekkers above a waterfall on the Routeburn Track in Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.
Trekkers above a waterfall on the Routeburn Track in Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.

We’re spending three days trekking the Routeburn Track, one of New Zealand’s most famous hut treks and Great Walks. Located in Mount Aspiring and Fiordland national parks, it’s a point-to-point traverse of 33.1 kilometers/20.7 miles that begins and ends in rainforest—what Kiwis accurately call “the bush”—and features about nine kilometers/almost six miles of alpine hiking high above the bush, including a crossing of the mountain pass called Harris Saddle (also known by its Maori name, Tarahaka Whakatipu) at 1,255 meters/4,117 feet.

After we claim beds in one of the bunkrooms, I step outside by myself and walk across the small meadow behind the hut to the edge of this flat, shallow, and gently flowing stretch of the Route Burn. Rainforest grows as thick as fur up the steep mountainsides crowding this valley, a mosaic of shades of green. The muscular, white column of a waterfall bursts from one forested mountainside and plunges downward, a height difficult to determine from a distance, before disappearing back into the bush.

The scene releases a flood of memories of my personal journey in New Zealand, going back about 20 years. This is my fourth visit to this country that I’ve developed a deep love for—its landscapes and its charming and warm people—and the first with my family. I’ve taken other hut treks here, dayhiked some of the classic tracks like the Tongariro on the North Island and Roy’s Peak on the South Island, and sea kayaked fjords and canoed a wild river here, enchanted by every adventure.

But this is the first time I’ve been able to book huts for the popular Routeburn Track and the even-more-popular, world-famous Milford Track (which we’ll walk just a couple of days after this trek—and both of which I successfully booked thanks to an easy but not obvious strategy I learned for navigating the New Zealand Department of Conservation Great Walks reservation system).

Out here now, it feels like my personal New Zealand journey has come full circle.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Harris Saddle and Lake Mackenzie

Penny and I leave the hut at 7 a.m. on our second day, motivated to an early start by the forecast of heavier rain by afternoon; Alex and Adele will follow in an hour, sleeping in later knowing they’ll catch up. It’s mild and a bit humid again, with little air movement in the forest, as we start the long hike up to Harris Saddle. Climbing steadily, we hear bird songs we don’t recognize in an otherwise quiet rainforest of ferns growing prolifically in many sizes, mosses clinging to every boulder and tree trunk, leafy bushes and plants foreign to virtually anyone from outside New Zealand, and trees with a base circumference broader than the passenger compartment of a mid-size car.

About an hour from Routeburn Flats, we walk past the Routeburn Falls Hut—and just a few minutes beyond the hut, we stop at one of the natural wonders of this track: Routeburn Falls. Located basically at the “bush line,” the elevation where the forest ends and the treeless terrain of tussock grasses and other low vegetation begins, the river splits into multiple braids that leap over several waterfalls of varying widths and volumes. It’s not a single waterfall so much as an outdoor museum of waterfalls.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

A trekker hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track in Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track in Mount Aspiring National Park, New Zealand.

Beyond Routeburn Falls, we continue climbing steadily as the Routeburn Track meanders with almost as many twists and meanders as the Route Burn Left Branch stream. We’re now on the track’s leg between Routeburn Falls Hut and Lake Mackenzie Hut that lies mostly above the bush line, fully exposed to weather and wind.

And not surprisingly in this climate and these mountains, what began a little while ago as a very light mist very slowly builds to showers as we climb toward Harris Saddle. We pull on our rain jackets and pants well before the pass and before the mist intensifies and are happy we did—because for the next few hours, except for the respite offered by the Harris Saddle shelter, we’ll hike in on-and-off showers (demonstrating why having the right gear is essential; see the critical gear I used on this trip at the bottom of this story).

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

A trekker hiking the Routeburn Track from Harris Saddle toward Lake Mackenzie in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Routeburn Track from Harris Saddle toward Lake Mackenzie in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book to the Routeburn Track.

The track leads us below and then above one thick and raucous waterfall; across the valley, a tributary stream splits into multiple braids that pour over at least a dozen distinct drops. Wildflowers with giant white petals and a bright, golden pistil bloom beside the trail. The track ascends to the top of cliffs that we walk along, high above Lake Harris, as low clouds partly shroud the peaks encircling the lake.

Turning a corner, we cross the wide flat of the pass and, now in heavier showers, duck inside the Harris Saddle shelter, which is welcoming and, best of all, dry. We snack, drink, and linger for a while before pushing on. Outside the hut, the fog thickens to obliterate everything beyond about 30 meters/100 feet; we’re not tempted to hike the side path to the top of Conical Hill, at 1,515 meters/4,970 feet, expecting we wouldn’t see anything, anyway. But after maybe 30 minutes of walking through this pea soup, the overcast lifts to give us sweeping views of the Hollyford Face, the Darran Mountains, and the bush line below us.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A trekker descending the Routeburn Track beyond Harris Saddle in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, descending the Routeburn Track beyond Harris Saddle in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

Beyond the pass, the Routeburn makes a long, high traverse with expansive views of these richly green mountains—and arguably reaches the trail’s scenic apex at the top of switchbacks overlooking the bowl formed by the waterfall-spliced cliffs and thickly forested mountainsides embracing the blue-green waters of Lake Mackenzie. The Lake Mackenzie Hut, our destination, looks tiny at the lake’s far end.

The four of us step onto the hut’s roofed porch at around 1 p.m., when we had hoped to get there; and minutes after we’re all inside one of the bunkrooms, hanging our wet rain shells to dry, the showers intensify to heavy rain. Soon, the drumming on the windows and metal roof of the main hut grows to a volume that almost drowns out the cacophony of conversations bouncing around the hut’s large common room. The storm gradually morphs into the kind of tree branch-whipping, wind-driven tempest that carries rain on visible waves rolling over the land. The torrential rain and lashing wind continue through the afternoon and evening—a sight that makes a person happy to have a dry, warm shelter, even if it’s a large bunkroom shared by 32 people.

Want to take the world’s best adventures?
See all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories about trekking in New Zealand, all stories about adventures in New Zealand, and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, rain jacket and pants, fleece hoodie, sleeping bag, trekking poles, and headlamp I used on this trip.

See all stories about New Zealand adventures, “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking,” “5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking,” “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/trekking-new-zealands-world-class-routeburn-track/feed/ 2 67044
The Grand Canyon’s Best Backpacking Trips—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Mon, 12 May 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=16188 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I returned to the Grand Canyon yet again in April, my eighth backpacking trip there in the past 16 years. Any psychologist, behavioral scientist, or criminologist would describe that as an established pattern of behavior. I confess: I can’t get enough of that place. This time, six of us, family and friends, spent four days hiking about 36 miles from the Bright Angel Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead off the South Rim, including a trail with a reputation as one of the canyon’s most difficult: the Boucher (photos in the gallery, below). Hiking more than nine miles and about 4,000 feet up it on our last day (and you would not want to hike down it), we found it matched its reputation as strenuous, with sections of scrambling over rockslide debris and a lot of steep uphill.

But it also matched its reputation for beauty, with incomparably Grand Canyon-scale vistas from the moment you step onto the trail, culminating with a long traverse on the rim of The Esplanade, overlooking a huge swath of the canyon (and seeing one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past). Plus, we traversed an excellent section of the Tonto Trail, including the stretch between Hermit Canyon and Boucher Canyon that sees much less human traffic (photo above).

And as usual in the canyon, superlatives seem to fall far short of describing this latest adventure there.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Looking for exceptional beauty? Well, the Grand Canyon always delivers on that. But as I’ve learned from numerous multi-day hikes and long dayhikes there over the years, while running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for many years, including hiking rim-to-rim-to-rim a few times (see links to my stories about those trips below the photo gallery), each trip exhibits its own character. And this latest one proved just as unique for its distinctive side canyons, relatively abundant water, and outstanding camps on the Tonto Trail and at a beach on the Colorado River.

Watch for my upcoming story about backpacking from Bright Angel to Hermit via the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Every trip in the canyon delivers mind-blowing scenery, wonderful campsites, and sometimes more challenge and strenuousness than many people anticipate. But I’ve also found that each trip differs more from others than you might guess.

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The popular “corridor” trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—while tough, are nonetheless the kindest to backpackers and dayhikers and constantly serve up vistas that inspire wonderment. The remote Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the North Rim goes from the bone-dry Esplanade to some of the best waterfalls and perennial streams in the entire Grand Canyon. The remote and adventurous Royal Arch Loop explores a tributary canyon with sometimes puzzling obstacles to scramble over and around and shockingly lush desert oases; it also requires one short rappel.

And the “best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” from the South Kaibab Trailhead to the Tanner Trailhead, basically throws every ingredient of a consummate multi-day canyon hike into the pot: the never-grows-mundane majesty of two rim-to-river trails, the South Kaibab and Tanner; the unique perspective of the Tonto Trail; side canyons that are vast and magnificent by themselves; the blessed relief of campsites by perennial creeks and to-die-for camps by the Colorado River; spicy route-finding and scrambling on the Escalante Route; and the surprising variety, beauty, and remoteness of the Beamer Trail.

If you’re thinking about taking any of these Grand Canyon backpacking trips this fall—an ideal time to visit—you should be looking into a backcountry permit right now for a trip anytime in October, because available permits for popular trails and campsites get claimed very quickly.

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

In the words of John Wesley Powell: “You cannot see the Grand Canyon in one view, as if it were a changeless spectacle from which a curtain might be lifted, but to see it, you have to toil from month to month through its labyrinths.”

You may not have months free to toil through the Grand Canyon’s labyrinths, but a few days or a week can give you a pretty good sampler of the place.

My gallery of photos below includes images from all of the backpacking trips and long dayhikes (routes normally done as backpacking trips) that I’ve taken in the Grand Canyon. See links below the gallery to my stories about those trips at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many people figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for them.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

See my story “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” or scroll down to Grand Canyon on my All National Park Trips page for a menu of all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Get full access to my Grand Canyon stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-in-the-grand-canyon/feed/ 6 16188
The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-mount-rainier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-mount-rainier-national-park/#respond Sun, 04 May 2025 09:00:37 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=45667 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Among hikers and backpackers, Mount Rainier National Park may be best known for the Wonderland Trail, which makes a 93-mile loop around Mount Rainier—the 14,411-foot volcano that Washingtonians refer to simply as “The Mountain.” The Wonderland constantly ascends to sub-alpine meadows exploding with wildflowers, with Rainier’s gleaming, white slopes repeatedly popping into view, and plunges into valleys carved by glacial rivers in a rainforest of giant trees.

But one doesn’t have to embark on a multi-day hike to enjoy those vistas. You reach some of the best scenery in America’s fifth national park on dayhikes.

This list of Mount Rainier’s best dayhikes draws from my numerous trips dayhiking and backpacking all over the park over the past three decades, formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. Using this story as your guide, you will see the best scenery in Mount Rainier National Park that’s accessible on hikes ranging from short, easy walks to moderate and very long days.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Below are my picks for the 14 best dayhikes in Mount Rainier National Park. While this list includes popular hikes like the Skyline Trail, Glacier Basin, and Summerland, it also describes hikes not usually mentioned on many other lists of Rainier’s best hikes (where you’ll often find the same trails listed over and over).

Wildflowers along the Spray Park Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Wildflowers along the Spray Park Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

This story deliberately spotlights hikes to amazing areas of the park that are off the beaten path, as well as a few long, strenuous one-day outings that drop the crowds found on the popular trails.

Some of this story is free for anyone to read but reading it in full—beyond the first seven hikes—requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. (Join for a year and get a free or discounted e-book.)

Many of the hikes described below I’ve done as dayhikes; others I’ve enjoyed on various backpacking trips, including the entire Wonderland Trail, which ranks indisputably among America’s best backpacking trips and best national park backpacking trips. All distances given in the hike descriptions below represent the total length, including for out-and-back hikes.

If you’re interested in backpacking in Mount Rainier National Park, see my Wonderland Trail e-book, my stories “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

In 2024, Mount Rainier National Park implemented a pilot timed entry reservation system for visitors to two areas of the park, the Paradise Corridor coming from the southwest (near Ashford) or southeast (near Packwood) and the Sunrise Corridor coming from the northeast (via Enumclaw). Each corridor requires a separate vehicle reservation. Timed entry reservations are for good a single day, per vehicle, and are required in addition to an entrance fee or park pass. See nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/timed-entry-reservations.htm and recreation.gov/timed-entry/10101917 for current updates.

While summer weather is often pleasantly dry and stable, Mount Rainier creates its own weather, which can change rapidly. See my blog story “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking.”

Please share your thoughts on any of these hikes or your own favorites in Mount Rainier in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A backpacker at Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

Summerland and Panhandle Gap

Summerland: 8.6 miles/13.8k, 2,100 feet/640m both up and down
Panhandle Gap: 11.4 miles/18.4k, 3,000 feet/914m both up and down

One of the finest dayhikes in the park, this out-and-back walk offers a classic Rainier experience, beginning in a forest of tall trees and ascending to wildflower meadows with views of Rainier and Little Tahoma Peak. The sub-alpine meadows of Summerland, at around 5,900 feet/1800m, bloom with wildflowers in August and have views of Rainier towering some 8,500 feet/2591m above the meadows. Marmots are often seen in this area. While some hikers turn back from Summerland, the 1.4 miles/2.3k and 900 feet/274m of uphill from there to Panhandle Gap at 6,750 feet/2057m—the highest point on the Wonderland Trail—gets exponentially more scenic.

From the trailhead, follow the Wonderland south as it meanders across meadows, talus, and glacial moraine, passing raging waterfalls on the creek draining the Fryingpan Glacier, to reach Panhandle Gap, one of the best views of Rainier in the park. Watch for mountain goats. The hike begins from a trailhead parking area near the Fryingpan Creek bridge on Sunrise Road (limited parking), three miles past the White River entrance.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A young girl hiking the Skyline Trail above Paradise in Mount Rainier National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Skyline Trail above Paradise in Mount Rainier National Park.

Skyline Trail

5.5 miles/8.6k, 1,450 feet/442m both up and down

Starting this popular hike at Paradise, at an elevation of 5,400 feet/1646m, 12 miles/19.3k east of Longmire, you’re immediately walking through sprawling sub-alpine wildflower meadows. And the 5.5-mile/8.6k Skyline Trail loop above Paradise delivers the quintessential hiking experience at Rainier: in-your-face views of The Mountain and the heavily crevassed Nisqually Glacier; thick carpets of lupine, mountain heather, and other wildflowers; waterfalls; and even marmots commonly perched on trailside boulders as if modeling for photos.

A young boy hiking in the Grove of the Patriarchs, Mount Rainier National Park.
My son, Nate, in the Grove of the Patriarchs, Mount Rainier National Park.

Have lunch at Panorama Point, at nearly 7,000 feet/2134m, with a sweeping view of the Tatoosh Range and sister Cascade Range volcanoes like Adams, St. Helens, and Hood. At the footbridge over Myrtle Falls, follow the short spur trail descending to a better view of the waterfall. The trail system at Paradise allows you to create shorter or longer loops, too.

Tip: Often buried in snow until early August—Paradise averages over 640 inches/1626cm of snow per year—this hike is prettiest when the wildflowers are in full bloom, in early to mid-August.

Grove of the Patriarchs

1.5 miles/2.4k, nearly flat

This short, easy, popular hike, much of it on a wooden boardwalk in one of the park’s lowest areas, at 2,200 feet/671m, provides a quick tour of a shady, cool forest of old-growth cedar, hemlock, and Douglas fir trees spanning as much as 40 feet/12m in diameter and rising over 300 feet/91m tall. Interpretive signs explain what you’re seeing.

My kids, when young, loved crawling inside the massive root balls of fallen giant trees and crossing the suspension footbridge over the Ohanapecosh River.

The trailhead is on the Stevens Canyon Road just minutes from the park’s Stevens Canyon entrance and a quarter-mile west of the road’s bridge over the Ohanapecosh River.

Gear up right for hikes at Mount Rainier.
See my reviews of the best hiking shoes and the 10 best daypacks.

A backpacker on the Spray Park Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Spray Park Trail, Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

Spray Park

8.4 miles/13.5k, about 1,700 feet/518m both up and down

From Mowich Lake, at 4,900 feet/1494m, reached on a good gravel road in the park’s northwest corner, the Spray Park Trail traverses through quiet forest of immense Douglas fir, hemlock, and cedar trees, passing a very short side path to Eagle Cliff, an overlook of Mount Rainier looming high above the deep valley of the South Mowich River, and a second worthwhile side hike on a spur path to 354-foot/108m Spray Falls (which adds about a half-mile out-and-back and a little up and down to the total distance). Beyond that junction, the trail climbs relentlessly through numerous switchbacks to reach the sub-alpine meadows of Spray Park.

There, you continue weaving upward through stands of stunted, subalpine fir trees and some of the national park’s most vibrant wildflower meadows. Marmots whistle and scurry for cover. You can turn back at any point, but a logical spot is the trail’s high point in the Spray Park Trail, at 6,400 feet/1951m, north of Tillicum Point, Ptarmigan Ridge, Observation Rock and Echo Rock on The Mountain’s north side.

Snow blankets the ground through July and vast snowfields linger throughout the short summer at this elevation, over 6,000 feet/1829m; rivulets and miniature cascades drain off the snow. Take this hike in August or September.

Want to hike the Wonderland Trail? Get my expert e-book
The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

Mountain goats near the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Mountain goats in Mount Rainier National Park.

Comet Falls, Van Trump Park, and Mildred Point

Comet Falls: about four miles/6.4k, 900 feet/274m up and down
Van Trump Park: about 5.5 miles/8.9k, 2,000 feet/610m up and down
Mildred Point: 6.2 miles/10k, about 2,700 feet/823m up and down

This tough hike offers the options of going only to 392-foot/120m Comet Falls, one of the park’s highest, continuing to the wildflower meadows and sweeping views of Van Trump Park, or going all the way to Mildred Point, with its unobstructed panorama of Rainier.

The trail ascends steadily through the tight gorge of Van Trump Creek, which roars and plunges over several small waterfalls and cascades, including the triple drop of Bloucher Falls at 1.6 miles/2.6k. At just under two miles/3.2k, a side trail leads a short distance toward the base of Comet Falls. From there, the trail turns very steep for the next 0.8 mile/1.3k to a junction with the Rampart Ridge Trail. A half-mile/0.8k spur trail leads to the right to wildflower-carpeted Van Trump Park, with views of the Van Trump Glaciers and Mounts Adams and St. Helens and common sightings of mountains goats, marmots, and pikas.

From that junction, the Rampart Ridge Trail swings southwest and descends about 200 feet/61m in about a half-mile/0.8k to a junction with a rugged, difficult spur trail that climbs through wildflower meadows for 500 feet/152m in 0.4 mile/0.6k to Mildred Point, at around 5,900 feet/1798m, overlooking the stark canyon sliced into Rainier’s flanks by Kautz Creek, the glaciers on Rainier’s south side, and the summit cone.

The hike begins at the Comet Falls Trailhead at 3,600 feet/1097m on the Longmire-Paradise Road, 10.2 miles/16.4k from the Nisqually entrance and five miles west of the Stevens Canyon Road junction.

Want more? See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

A lenticular cloud spinning above Mount Rainier.
A lenticular cloud spinning above Mount Rainier.

Glacier Basin

6 miles/9.7k, 1,600 feet/488m both uphill and downhill

This relatively easy, out-and-back hike begins at White River campground at 4,300 feet/1311m, where you’re serenaded by the constant roar of the glacial silt-laden White River. The Glacier Basin Trail—which is also the approach hike for climbers taking the Emmons Glacier route up Mount Rainier—makes a moderate ascent up the valley of the Inter Fork to Glacier Basin camp at 5,900 feet/1798m, amid a landscape torn up by the receding Inter Glacier.

Sightings of marmots and even black bears are common along this popular trail, especially if you get out early, ahead of the crowds of dayhikers. If you really want to leave the hordes behind, make a loop up to the Burroughs Mountain Trail—a burly ascent of nearly 2,000 feet/610m—to the five-star perspective of Rainier from a high point around 7,400 feet/2256m, then descend past Sunrise camp and Shadow Lake to the Wonderland Trail back to White River campground.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

The Carbon River emerging from the Carbon Glacier in Mount Rainier National Park.
The Carbon River emerging from the Carbon Glacier in Mount Rainier National Park.

Carbon Glacier Trail

17 miles/27.4k, 1,900 feet/579m both uphill and downhill

The Carbon Glacier holds four distinctions among all U.S. glaciers outside Alaska: It’s the longest (5.7 miles/9.2k), with the lowest glacial terminus (3,600 feet/1097m above sea level), and greatest volume (0.2 cubic miles/0.8 cubic kilometers) and thickness (700 feet/213m). It’s also the easiest glacier in the park to see up close on a dayhike. At 17 miles/27.4k round-trip, the out-and-back jaunt to the Carbon Glacier is no casual stroll—but also not as hard as it sounds, gaining just 1,900 feet/579m in elevation over the 8.5 miles/13.7k to the glacier overlook.

Starting at the Carbon River ranger station, walk or mountain bike the former Carbon River Road—which was closed and restricted to foot and bike traffic following catastrophic flooding in 2006 (caused by a 100-year storm event equivalent to one I backpacked through solo on Rainier’s Northern Loop just three years prior)—for five miles/8k to the Ipsut Creek campground, passing the quarter-mile/0.4k spur trail to Chenius Falls.

Hiking trail beyond the campground, you’ll soon reach a short side path to Ipsut Falls. Turn left and follow the Wonderland Trail 1.6 miles/2.6k to where it crosses the Carbon River on a log footbridge, then another 1.1 miles/1.8k south to the east end of the Carbon River suspension bridge. While this hike doesn’t cross the bridge, it’s worth walking out onto it to stand over the roaring river and enjoy the view up and down the Carbon River Valley.

From the east end of the bridge, continue south on the Wonderland Trail about a half-mile/0.8k to an overlook of the north face of Mount Rainier and the Carbon Glacier, which loudly and violently births the heavily silted, battleship-gray river from an ice cave at its snout. The park warns against trying to hike off-trail down to the glacier—there’s real danger of falling rocks or taking a bad fall on the unstable ground. Backtrack the route to the ranger station.

Get my expert help planning your backpacking or hiking trip and 33% off a one-year subscription. Click here now to buy a premium subscription to The Big Outside!

See my stories “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and all of my stories about Mount Rainier National Park at The Big Outside, plus my Wonderland Trail e-guide and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-mount-rainier-national-park/feed/ 0 45667
The Best Hikes in the White Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-the-white-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-the-white-mountains/#comments Tue, 22 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=58197 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

If you’re a hiker in the Northeast and especially in New England, you know about the White Mountains and either love them already or are eager to explore the tallest peaks north of the southern Appalachians and the most rugged mountains in the East. If you’re a hiker who lives outside the region, don’t be deceived or dissuaded by the fact that the highest in the Whites, Mount Washington, rises to a mere 6,288 feet. You risk missing out on hiking dozens of rocky summits with breathtaking panoramas, alpine ridges that stretch for miles above treeline, and some of the most challenging—and rewarding—trails found anywhere in the country.

The hikes described below draw upon my personal experience of hiking thousands of miles in the Whites over more than four decades, including several years as an author of a hiking guidebook to all of New England, the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine, and even longer running this blog. I have hiked most of the peaks and trails described below countless times but I’m also drawing suggestions from my good friend and longtime hiking partner David Ports, a New Hampshire local and avid Whites hiker (who you can recognize on the trail as the dude who’s surprisingly fit for 60, moving fast, and always willing to stop and talk).


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hiker on Bondcliff in the White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton hiking Bondcliff in the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H.

While I do most of my dayhiking and backpacking in the West, I return nearly every year to hike in the Whites because I love these rocky little mountains that feel so much bigger than they are.

The Whites have over 1,200 miles of trails within a national forest spanning about 800,000 acres—bigger than Yosemite—including about 90 miles of the Appalachian Trail.

This story describes dayhikes and multi-day treks that can be backpacked or hiked hut to hut using the Appalachian Mountain Club’s extensive system of mountain huts throughout the Whites—which, besides enabling you to carry just the weight of a daypack, eat good meals, and sleep every night on a thick mattress indoors, offer an experience that’s much less common in the U.S. than in other countries like Switzerland, New Zealand, and Italy.

Sunset at the Appalachian Mountain Club's Lakes of the Clouds hut, below Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.
Sunset at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Lakes of the Clouds hut, below Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.

Most of these hikes are rugged and strenuous undertakings; that’s the nature of the White Mountains. But many of them can be done by fit novice hikers and kids with the stamina for relatively hard days. And this article points out shorter, relatively easier trails and dayhike options.

The descriptions and photos below link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including detailed tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance of a spring or fall trip.

See all stories about hiking in the White Mountains at The Big Outside and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these hikes or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

A hiker on Wildcat Mountain high above Carter Notch in the White Mountains, N.H.
Marco Garofalo on Wildcat Mountain high above Carter Notch in the White Mountains, N.H.

The Whites have grown extremely popular and, admittedly, you won’t find solitude on many of the trails and summits in this article—at least, not on nice days during the peak hiking season, which runs from May to October, with alpine wildflowers usually blooming in June and foliage reaching peak color in late September and early October. However, you can find more solitude by taking these hikes on the fringes of the peak season or by going out on days of marginal but not terrible or dangerous weather; many hikers stay indoors with even a chance of showers in the forecast.

Please share your questions or suggestions for other hikes in the White Mountains in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A teenage boy dayhiking up Mount Washington in the Presidential Range, White Mountains, N.H.
My son, Nate, at age 14, hiking up Mount Washington on a 17-mile, four-summit dayhike in the Northern Presidential Range, White Mountains, N.H.

Mount Washington

At 6,288 feet, Mount Washington represents the crown of the White Mountains, lording over the tallest and longest alpine ridge in the Northeast, the Presidential Range. A hard hike from any direction, with more than 4,000 feet of uphill and downhill and frequently rocky, steep trails, Washington nonetheless attracts thousands of dayhikers every year. While the crowds on the most popular trails can diminish the experience, the hike is spectacular and presents a serious challenge rewarded with a 360-degree panorama from the crown of the White Mountains, stretching across the range and into western Maine’s mountains.

Tuckerman Ravine Trail
8.4 miles, 4,250 feet of uphill and downhill

The standard route and most direct way up Washington is the Tuckerman Ravine Trail, which begins behind the AMC visitor center in Pinkham Notch. It ascends the steep, rocky ravine headwall, with dramatic views across Pinkham Notch to the Carter Range, and then crosses the upper slopes, which help explain the mountain’s nickname: “The Rockpile.” While many hikers descend Tuckerman, an easier way, if slightly longer way down is via the Lion Head Trail, which diverges off the Tuckerman Ravine Trail just below the summit and then rejoins it just below Hermit Lake.

A hiker on the slabs of the Huntington Ravine Trail on Mount Washington, N.H.
David Ports hiking the slabs of the Huntington Ravine Trail on Mount Washington, N.H.

Huntington Ravine Trail and Lion Head Trail Loop
8.7 miles, 4,250 feet of uphill and downhill

Want to add a little spice to your hike? Go up the Huntington Ravine Trail and descend the Lion Head Trail on a stout loop from the AMC visitor center in Pinkham Notch. Considered the most difficult regular hiking trail in the White Mountains, the Huntington Ravine Trail ascends the ravine headwall, involving exposed scrambling up steep slabs with a fall potential, especially if they’re wet, snowy, or icy. But for hikers comfortable with exposed scrambling, few outings in the Whites compare with Huntington Ravine for scenery and adventure—and likely no crowds.

The loop is 8.7 miles if you go to the summit via the Nelson Crag Trail and descend via the Tuckerman Ravine and Lion Head trails, the latter crossing the edge of the Alpine Garden. Foregoing the summit to follow the Alpine Garden Trail—where wildflowers bloom profusely in June—trims at least a half-mile and 800 feet of up and down off the hike.

Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail-Jewell Trail Loop
9.6 miles, 3,800 feet of uphill and downhill

While this scenic loop from a parking lot on the Cog Railway Base Road on the west side of Washington presents a longer route up Washington that’s also quite steep at times, it involves less elevation gain and loss and offers entirely different views and an opportunity to visit the Lakes of the Clouds and the AMC hut located there. Although the parking lot often fills on weekends, it’s much less busy than Pinkham Notch.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

A hiker in the Northern Presidential Range in New Hampshire's White Mountains.
Mark Fenton hiking the Northern Presidential Range in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The Presidential Range Traverse

20 miles, 8,500 feet of uphill and downhill

The Presidential Range—which has seven summits higher than 5,000 feet—is one of the very best continuous alpine trail hikes in the country. That’s right: in the country. Walking north to south, the traverse involves about 20 miles and 8,500 feet of uphill and downhill if you hit all nine summits along the way, from Mount Madison to Mount Pierce, including the Northeast’s highest, 6,288-foot Mount Washington.

The traverse has many possible trail combinations and distances. Starting from the north, the most commonly hikes routes up are probably the Airline directly to the AMC’s Madison Spring Hut, where you can hike out-and-back to tag 5,366-foot Mount Madison in about 30 minutes; or the Valley Way to the Watson Path directly to Madison’s summit. But the Osgood Trail, reached via the Great Gulf Trail, ascends a long, open ridge with great views of the Great Gulf and Northern Presidentials, while the Howker Ridge Trail—the least-traveled of all of these—ascends a rugged ridge up Madison that feels more remote.

A hiker enjoying the view at dusk from Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.
David Ports enjoying the view at dusk from Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.

The traverse follows the Gulfside Trail, with detours to the summits of Mounts Adams, Jefferson, and another that’s not an official summit but has a great view of the Great Gulf, Mount Clay, as well as the top of Washington. From there, follow the Crawford Path south to Crawford Notch, with shorter side trips to tag Mounts Monroe, Eisenhower, and Pierce. Continuing south to 4,052-foot Mount Jackson, which has views of Crawford Notch, before descending to the notch adds more than two miles but is well worth it—as is continuing on the Appalachian Trail over ledges atop the Webster Cliffs overlooking the notch.

The AMC has three huts in the Presidentials situated a moderate day’s hike apart: Madison Spring, Lakes of the Clouds, and Mitzpah Spring, enabling traverse variations of two to four days. Backpacking the Presidentials is complicated by the prohibition against camping in the alpine zone and considerable distance separating the four possible spots to spend a night at the north end of the range—Valley Way tentsite, Crag Camp, Gray Knob cabin, and The Perch shelter—and the Nauman tentsite near Mitzpah Spring Hut.

A teenage boy hiking over Mount Madison in the Northern Presidential Range, N.H.
My son, Nate, hiking over Mount Madison in the Northern Presidential Range, N.H.

Dayhiking it—known as the Presidential Range Death March—has been something of a regional test piece for decades, probably since not long after Eugene Cook and George Sargent, of Randolph, N.H., became the first to hike it in a day on Sept. 27, 1882. And before puffing up your chest too much over accomplishing the Death March, consider that Cook and Sargent hiked 24 miles and 10,000 vertical feet over the Presidentials to Crawford Notch, had dinner, and walked the Jefferson Notch Road 18.5 miles back to Randolph that evening.

See my story “Step Onto Rock. Repeat 50,000 Times: A Presidential Range ‘Death March’” and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Use The Big Outside to plan your next adventure.
Join now and a get free e-book!

A hiker on the Zeacliff Trail, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton at Zeacliff in the White Mountains, N.H.

Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch

23 miles, about 8,300 feet of uphill and downhill

Sandwiched between the better-known Presidentials to the north and Franconia Notch to the west lies a wonderful, 23-mile traverse from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch, mostly on the Appalachian Trail. Hiked over two to three days, it begins on the Avalon and A-Z trails mostly through quiet forest to magnificent Zealand Notch, where you’ll pick up the AT on an increasingly scenic, high walk over five 4,000- to 5,000-footers—Zealand, South Twin, Garfield, Lafayette, and Lincoln—with possible side hikes to at least five others. (Tip: Definitely take the very short side trip to the overlook at Zeacliff, just a bit over a mile south of Zealand Falls Hut.)

A view from the Twinway/Appalachian Trail on Mount Guyot, White Mountains, N.H.
A view from the Twinway/Appalachian Trail on Mount Guyot, White Mountains, N.H.

Culminating with more than three miles of continuous alpine hiking over the burly Garfield Ridge and beloved Franconia Ridge, the traverse finishes with a descent of the steep and rugged Falling Waters Trail, passing some beautiful waterfalls. Shorten it by about a mile by descending the Greenleaf Trail and Old Bridle Path from Mount Lafayette—but do that only in bad weather or if someone’s really tired because you don’t want to miss that section of Franconia Ridge.

Lengthen this hike by 1.7 to 2.4 miles by continuing south on the AT over Franconia Ridge to Mounts Liberty and Flume; both have rocky summits with great views of the notch and east across the Whites and see far fewer hikers than Lafayette and Lincoln. The descent of the Flume Slide Trail is steeper and harder than the Falling Waters or Liberty Spring trails.

Backpackers have potential camps at Guyot, Garfield Ridge, and Liberty Spring campsites, while the route has three huts along or near it: Zealand Falls, Galehead, and Greenleaf, the last one a mile and 1,000 vertical feet below the summit of Mount Lafayette.

See my story “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains.”

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

A hiker on Bondcliff during a dayhike of the 32-mile Pemi Loop in the White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton hiking up Bondcliff on a dayhike of the 32-mile Pemi Loop in the White Mountains, N.H.

The Pemi Loop

32 miles, 10,000 feet of uphill and downhill

The 32-mile Pemi Loop from the Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway (NH 112) crosses eight official 4,000-foot summits, from the rocky, open ridges and summits of Bondcliff and Mount Bond in the heart of the Pemigewasset Wilderness to South Twin, Garfield, and the alpine traverse of Franconia Ridge. Overlapping significantly with the best stretch of the Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch (above), it offers the convenience of a loop and the greater sense of remoteness and higher degree of solitude you’ll find on parts of it.

Backpackers can make this a four-day hike using the backcountry campsites at Guyot, Garfield Ridge, and Liberty Spring, and the route has two huts along or near it: Galehead and Greenleaf, the latter a mile and 1,000 vertical feet below the summit of Mount Lafayette.

Don’t underestimate this hike’s beauty or difficulty: The Pemi Loop may rank as the hardest hike, mile for mile, on this list.

See my story “Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains” and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.

Franconia Ridge

A hiker on the Appalachian Trail on Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton hiking the Appalachian Trail over Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.

8.5 miles, about 4,000 feet uphill and downhill

Certainly one of the most popular dayhikes in the White Mountains, this loop over Mounts Lincoln (5,089 feet) and Lafayette (5,260 feet) features not just the expansive views of Franconia Notch and the entire Whites from the nearly two miles of alpine ridge hiking along the narrow crest of Franconia Ridge, but also the waterfalls of the Falling Waters Trail and the open ledges of the Old Bridle Path, looking up at the long, formidable ridge. The AMC’s Greenleaf Hut sits in a grand position on the Greenleaf Trail, a mile below Lafayette’s summit.

Want a longer, more rugged adventure along all of Franconia Ridge that includes some much lonelier trails and summits? Hike the 10.7 miles from the Liberty Spring Trailhead to the Greenleaf Trailhead, with about 4,500 feet of uphill land downhill, over the four summits of Franconia Ridge—Flume, Liberty, Lincoln, and Lafayette. Go up the Flume Slide Trail—ascending the very steep path of an old rockslide, with some scrambling—and descend the Greenleaf Trail, which meanders through rough, fascinating terrain overlooking the notch where you may see no one else. Shuttle between the trailheads or walk or bike about four miles along the bike path between trailheads.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

Hikers on the Carter-Moriah Trail on Mount Hight in the Carter Range, White Mountains, N.H.
Marco Garofalo and Skye and Mark Fenton hiking the Carter-Moriah Trail on Mount Hight in the Carter Range, White Mountains, N.H.

Wildcat Mountain and the Carter-Moriah Range

19.5 miles, about 7,200 uphill and downhill

One of the great, long ridge walks of the Whites, the Carter-Moriah Range pushes seven summits over 4,000 feet, four of which are official 4,000-footers. Wildcat’s four summits include two more 4,000-footers. The trails traversing them wriggle over ridge crests through countless ascents and dips that amplify their grueling nature. The Carter-Moriah Trail and Wildcat Ridge Trail meet in the floor of Carter Notch, a strikingly narrow defile where walls of rock and forest soaring more than a thousand feet upward press in on both sides. From the notch, the hike up either 4,832-foot Carter Dome—ninth highest in the Whites—or 4,422-foot Wildcat Mountain entails crazy-steep trail with scrambling where you’ll learn the value of a tree trunk or branch for a handhold.

A hiker the Wildcat Ridge Trail up Wildcat Mountain, White Mountains, N.H.
Anna Garofalo and Mark Fenton hiking the Wildcat Ridge Trail up Wildcat Mountain, White Mountains, N.H.

The payoff for all that effort comes in the numerous rocky summits and ledges along the Wildcat Ridge Trail and Carter-Moriah Trail—some of which have, arguably, the best views of Mount Washington and the Presidential Range, towering immediately to the west. A traverse of both trails constitutes 19.5 hard miles with vertical gain and loss that may feel like more than it is.

While ambitious hikers knock it off in a day—a challenge not undertaken nearly as frequently as the Presidential Range Death March, even though it compares for difficulty—backpackers can make use of the Imp campsite between Mount Moriah and North Carter, and the Carter Notch Hut sits in an ideal position for hikes up Carter Dome or Wildcat Mountain, which can also be dayhiked via the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail; make a 9.6-mile lollipop loop over Carter Dome and 4,675-foot Mount Hight, which has perhaps the best panorama in the range.

See my story “The Hardest 20 Miles: A Dayhike Across New Hampshire’s Rugged Wildcat-Carter-Moriah Range.”

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

A hiker on Mount Clay overlooking New Hampshire's Northern Presidential Range in the White Mountains.
Mark Fenton hiking over Mount Clay overlooking New Hampshire’s Northern Presidential Range in the White Mountains.

The Northern Presidentials

Although the three peaks of the Northern Presidential Range—5,366-foot Mount Madison, 5,799-foot Mount Adams, and 5,716-foot Mount Jefferson—exist in the shadow of Mount Washington, many avid Whites hikers prefer these rockpiles over “the” Rockpile because they have the most interesting, varied, and elaborate trail network in the entire range.

Adams, the second-highest peak in the Northeast, commands one of the best prospects of the entire range from its summit. When hiking north to south, Madison looms as the first summit and provides an imposing perspective on what lies ahead. Jefferson, the third-highest in the Northeast, is, like the others, a great hike on its own or in a link-up with other peaks.

Favorite trails can make up a lengthy list, but some to highly recommend include (from north to south) the Air Line, Chemin des Dames, Osgood, and Star Lake; the Howker Ridge Trail on a loop with the Pine Link; the Castle Trail and the shortest footpath to any peak in the Presidential Range, the Caps Ridge Trail (3.1 miles, 2,700 feet); and the Six Husbands, Chandler Brook, and Madison Gulf trails in the Great Gulf.

And on weekdays or in mixed weather or shoulder seasons, you can even find something that almost resembles solitude on these peaks—or certainly on some of the harder, more obscure trails up them.

See my story “Big Hearts, Big Day: A 17-Mile Hike With Teens in the Presidential Range.”

See my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

A hiker on South Twin Mountain in the White Mountains, N.H.
David Ports hiking South Twin Mountain in the White Mountains, N.H.

North and South Twin Mountain

11.2 miles, 3,500 feet uphill and downhill

More overlooked than they deserve, the eighth- and 12th-highest peaks in the Whites, 4,902-foot South Twin Mountain 4,761-foot North Twin Mountain, tower high above their closest neighbors, their bald, open summits affording unique views from very near three of the major defining natural features of the White Mountains: the Presidential Range, Pemigewasset Wilderness, and Franconia Ridge.

South Twin sees more hikers for its location along the AT and just a mile uphill from the AMC’s Galehead Hut. But the North Twin Trail will give you one of the less-traveled routes up a 4,000-footer. Hike both in an 11.2-mile near-loop—the same distance as hiking both out-and-back, but requiring a short shuttle or bike ride between trailheads—combining it with the Gale River Trail. Break up that loop with a night at the AMC’s Galehead Hut, perched high above the northern edge of the Pemi Wilderness (also along the Pemi Loop).

Mount Moosilauke

7.6 miles, 3,100 feet uphill and downhill.

Sprawling, bare-topped Moosilauke, rounding out the top 10highest mountains in the Whites at 4,802 feet, dominates the southwest corner of the range because no peak of comparable size lies near it. The Appalachian Trail crosses over the summit, which is reached on a relatively short, out-and-back hike of 7.6 miles on the Beaver Brook Trail (part of the AT). But Moosilauke has numerous, fun and scenic trails from all sides.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A hiker approaching the Appalachian Mountain Club's Lakes of the Clouds hut in the Presidential Range, N.H.
David Ports hiking up to the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Lakes of the Clouds hut in the Presidential Range, N.H.

Guidebook and Maps Get the definitive White Mountain Guide from the Appalachian Mountain Club, amcstore.outdoors.org. See the complete list of 48 official 4,000-footers in New Hampshire s in the White Mountain Guide and at 4000footers.com/nh.

Shuttle Service The AMC operates two regular hiker shuttles daily from June 1 to mid-September and weekends and holidays through Oct. 22, serving several trailheads between US 2 at the north end of the Presidential Range to Franconia Notch, accommodating many point-to-point hikes described in this article. See outdoors.org/shuttle.

Huts The AMC’s eight popular mountain huts in Whites offer bunkrooms, dinner, and breakfast and lie a moderate day’s hike apart. Make reservations months in advance. See outdoors.org/destinations/new-hampshire.

Lodging and Food There are many lodging and restaurant options in the small towns situated around the White Mountains, including Gorham, Jackson, North Conway, Lincoln, Learn more about traveling in the White Mountains and New Hampshire at visitnh.gov. I’ve stayed at and recommend The Glen House on Route 16 north of Pinkham Notch and south of Gorham; theglenhouse.com.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

See all stories about hiking in the White Mountains at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Backpacking Trip,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-hikes-in-the-white-mountains/feed/ 8 58197
5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Sun, 20 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41503 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The Grand Canyon’s appeal to backpackers may seem elusive. It’s hard, it’s dry, it’s often quite hot with little respite from the blazing sun. But while those aspects of hiking there are rarely out of mind, when I recall backpacking in the canyon, I conjure mental images of waterfalls, creeks, and intimate side canyons sheltering perennial streams that nurture lush oases in the desert. I think of wildflowers carpeting the ground for as far as the eye can see. I recall campsites on beaches by the Colorado River and on promontories overlooking a wide expanse of the canyon.

And, of course, I picture the endless vistas stretching for miles in every direction, where impossibly immense stone towers loom thousands of feet above an unfathomably vertiginous and complex landscape.

After several backpacking trips in the Big Ditch, I find that the more I go there, the more I need to go back again. This place really hooks you (see reason no. 5, below). And my perspective is shaped by more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States, including formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. I’ve taken many of the best multi-day hikes out there—some of them multiple times.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker on the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop. Click photo to read about that trip.

See my lists of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips,” and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest”—and yes, the Grand Canyon is on all three lists.

As I increasingly seek a certain type of experience in the wilderness—one with more solitude, challenge, and even a few surprises, above and beyond inspiring scenery—I feel drawn back to the canyon time and time again.

While it seems an act of hubris to attempt to fully communicate the many compelling reasons why every backpacker should explore the Grand Canyon, I will attempt to do so here. But there is no better proof than personal experience: Go there yourself and discover the canyon’s many elusive truths.

A hiker on the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail. Click photo to read about hiking the canyon rim to rim.

Grand Canyon Backpacking Permits

Keep in mind that a Grand Canyon backpacking permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Grand Canyon National Park issues backcountry permits through a monthly, early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337. Apply during a two-week period that ends on the first of the month four months in advance of the month you’d like to hike—for example, between Nov. 16 and Dec. 1 for a trip anytime in April and between May 16 and June 1 for October. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Check out my e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack in the Grand Canyon.

Please share your thoughts on this article—or your favorite GC hikes—in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Backpackers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

5 Reasons to Backpack the Grand Canyon

1. It’s Truly Like No Other Place

If you’re a person who reserves judgment until you see hard data, the Grand Canyon’s metrics speak to a physical scale not replicated in many places in nature. A World Heritage Site, the national park covers over 1.2 million acres and the canyon stretches for 277 miles along the Colorado River. It carves 6,000 feet into the earth at its deepest point and measures 18 miles from rim to rim at its widest. An estimated 64 tributary rivers and creeks flow into the Colorado River the Grand Canyon.

Its rock preserves a record spanning three of the four eras of geological time, and its elevation range spans five of the seven life zones and three of North America’s four types of desert. The oldest exposed rock in the canyon dates back two billion years—roughly half the age of the planet.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about”The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

From either rim, the canyon boggles the mind. Hike down into it and you will frequently see for dozens of miles in any direction—little vegetation below the forested rims means nearly constant, sweeping panoramas of one of the world’s greatest natural wonders—and yet glimpse only a fraction of the whole.

As you hike mile after mile, the canyon seems to morph, with distant towers of rock appearing tiny initially, swelling as you approach them until they become so massive that you gape, almost unable to tear your gaze away; and then they slowly shrink and disappear into the larger landscape as you put them farther behind you. The Grand Canyon refines your sense of the vastness and grandeur of our world.

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

2. No Two Trips are the Same

Backpackers with the impression that any multi-day hike into the canyon will basically resemble any other—that the canyon offers a fairly uniform experience regardless of where you go—have much to learn about this place.

After several backpacking trips and long dayhikes in the canyon, I would say each of those hikes features the vast panoramas that one associates with a place of such verticality, depth, breadth, and dearth of vegetation that might otherwise obstruct views. And there are always long stretches of sunbaked hiking and stark, waterless desert, as well as strenuous sections of trail.

But the differences far outnumber the similarities. Narrow, almost hidden side canyons surprise and delight with their anomalous oases of greenery. Waterfalls plunge from great heights, pour wide streams into narrow gorges, or burst explosively from the face of a sheer cliff. Wildflowers erupt profusely from the desiccated ground, painting color onto a seer landscape. Sandy beaches offer idyllic campsites beside the Colorado River, where all night you listen to the steady drone of rapids and look up at an inky sky riddled with stars.

The more you hike in the Grand Canyon, the more you realize how little you have seen.

I can help you figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for your group.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

3. Unique Solitude

As in many major national parks, Grand Canyon’s management limits the number of backcountry permits issued to backpackers each day, and virtually all available permits get claimed during the peak seasons of March through May and September into November. Still, on all but the three popular corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—backpackers can often enjoy hours of hiking with few encounters with other people.

During peak seasons on long stretches of the Escalante Route and Beamer and Tanner trails—on what is arguably the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon—as well as the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Royal Arch Loop, Clear Creek Trail and Utah Flats Route, and even on sections of the popular and relatively accessible Tonto Trail, I’ve seen very few other backpackers (and occasional boating parties on the Colorado River). For three full days backpacking the Tonto Trail between Bass Canyon and Boucher Creek, on what’s known as the Gems Route, five friends and I saw no other people.

Want deeper solitude? Follow tip no. 2 (“Go outside the peak season”) in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking” and hike into the canyon between December and February—when the number of backcountry permits issued plummets. Sure, days are short and cold in December but lengthening by February—and you will need traction devices on your boots, like the Kahtoola Microspikes or Kahtoola KTS Hiking Crampon for snow and ice on the upper sections of trails descending off the South Rim (North Rim trailheads are inaccessible in winter).

But average winter temperatures in the inner canyon are similar to late summer and early fall in many mountain ranges, with highs in the 50s and 60s and lows in the 40s and 30s Fahrenheit. And snow at the rims only enhances the canyon’s beauty and sense of adventure.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A hiker on the Tonto Trail by Monument Creek in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the Tonto Trail by Monument Creek in the Grand Canyon.

4. It’s Not Easy… And Yes, That’s Good

Backpackers on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
Backpackers on the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop. Click photo to read about that trip.

Truth is that any hike down into the canyon is strenuous. South Rim trails descend nearly a vertical mile within anywhere from seven to 9.5 miles from the trailhead to the Colorado River, a steep trail gradient of well over 600 feet per mile. Consider the park’s friendliest and most well-constructed trail, the Bright Angel: It has a very moderate trail gradient of 463 feet per mile over its 9.5 miles from trailhead to river—but it drops 637 feet per mile over the first 4.8 miles from the trailhead to the first possible camping at Havasupai Gardens.

Beyond the park’s three popular corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—backpackers will find rim-to-river trails that may redefine their notions of rugged, rocky, and strenuous paths. Quad-melting ledge drops off a foot or two are common. The scarcity of water and need to haul extra water weight often amplifies the difficulty of hiking here.

But for backpackers seeking a uniquely rugged and raw adventure, particularly fit, experienced desert backpackers capable of handling harder footpaths like the Escalante Route, Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Royal Arch Loop, and certainly the Utah Flats Route, few places in the Lower 48—and arguably, none—offer the blend of excitement, challenge, surprises, and beauty of a long walk through the Grand Canyon.

Few destinations in the Southwest also offer the rare opportunity for extended backpacking trips—over 50 miles—especially on trails that are glorious every step of the way.

Hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim!
Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my e-book”The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

5. Because It Will Hook You

Its big vistas never grow mundane. Its rugged topography never relents in the challenges posed to backpackers on virtually any trail. Its surprises never cease.

The heat may wilt you some days. The wind may pummel your tent loudly some nights. The stretches between water sources may force you to haul an unwieldy load of liquid nourishment on your back. The route may present you with obstacles that give even the most experienced backpacker pause enough for the words to slip out: “Can this be the route?”

And at the end of some long day on the trail, or the end of your trip, the difficulties will pale compared to the memories of the many transformative moments. That’s when you will realize that the time to return to the Grand Canyon has already arrived.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to get expert custom trip planning for your next adventure.

In myriad ways, small and large, subtle and conspicuous, the Grand Canyon burrows into your heart and takes up permanent residence there.

Grand Canyon Backpacking Season

Lastly, the only time of year when it’s all but impossible to backpack in the GC is summer, because of dangerously high heat. Think about that: The only time you can’t go there is the very season you want to be in the mountains, anyway. Thus, for nine months of the year when you can’t go to the mountains, you can backpack in the Grand Canyon.

That seems like a productive way to spend your off-season time.

See my story See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do” and scroll down to Arizona on my All Trips List for a menu of all of my stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/feed/ 14 41503
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-know-how-hard-a-hike-will-be/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-know-how-hard-a-hike-will-be/#comments Sun, 13 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38595 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

“How hard will that hike be?” That’s a question that all dayhikers and backpackers, from beginners to experts, think about all the time—and it’s not always easy to answer. But there are ways of evaluating the difficulty of any hike, using readily available information, that can greatly help you understand what to expect before you even leave home. Here’s how.

No matter how relatively easy or arduous the hike you’re considering, or where you fall on the spectrum of hiking experience or personal fitness level, this article will tell you exactly how to answer that question—and which questions to ask and what information to seek to reach that answer. This story shares what I’ve learned over four decades of backpacking and dayhiking, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, and this knowledge can help ensure that you and your companions or your family don’t get in over your heads.

Whether you’re new to dayhiking or backpacking, a parent planning a hike with young kids, or a fit and experienced dayhiker or backpacker contemplating one of the toughest hikes you’ve ever attempted, it’s important to have a good sense of what you’ll face on a new and unfamiliar hike and whether it’s within your abilities.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read about backpacking in Glacier.

Exceeding your limits or those of someone with you can invite unwanted consequences—and the person with the least stamina, abilities, or experience often dictates any party’s pace, limits, and outcomes. Those consequences may range from an unpleasant experience that dissuades someone from wanting to go again, to failing to reach your destination or make it back to your vehicle, potentially creating a more serious situation.

Making smart decisions comes down to understanding several objective and subjective factors—and recognizing when you may be falling victim to misjudgment because of inexperience or simple overconfidence.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

Backpackers hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Backpackers hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

As background about my experience—or perhaps just for entertainment value—see these stories about some of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done, including dayhiking the Grand Canyon 42 miles rim to rim to rim and the 32-mile Pemi Loop in the White Mountains; attempting a one-day, 50-mile traverse of Zion National Park, and a one-day, 30-mile traverse of Maine’s Mahoosuc Range; thru-hiking the John Muir Trail in seven days; and trekking New Zealand’s brutally hard Dusky Track.

The tips below cover “hard” and “soft” measures to understand in evaluating the difficulty of any hike and these tips also delve into the effects of higher elevations, estimating how long a hike will take—and most importantly, decision-making. And like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading all of my tips in this story requires a paid subscription.

Please share your thoughts on this article, questions, or tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. And click on any photo to learn more about that trip.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

The ‘Hard’ Measures of a Hike’s Difficulty

There’s no one standard for measuring the difficulty or strenuousness of trails, but there are “hard” measures—statistics for any hike—that are commonly used as reference points.

Backpackers hiking down Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
David Gordon and Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Those stats include the most obvious one—the distance—as well as the total elevation gain and loss, or how many cumulative feet or meters you walk uphill and downhill. Those also include the actual elevations reached on the hike, because the thinner air at higher elevations—generally, above around 7,000 to 8,000 feet—will usually slow your pace and increase fatigue, but can also exacerbate dehydration and cause unpleasant symptoms like a headache or worse.

Elevation gain and loss will sometimes be described as “cumulative,” meaning the sum of the uphill and downhill; in other words, a hike that goes up 1,000 feet and back down again has 2,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain and loss. Bear in mind that going downhill on a trail, especially a rugged or steep one, can be just as tiring as going uphill, and sometimes harder on leg muscles and joints.

Conversely, while hikes in mountains generally begin with going uphill and conclude with going downhill, in many canyons, it’s just the opposite: You usually go downhill first, then climb back up—and in some places, like the Grand Canyon, you might go quite far downhill before climbing back out. Don’t lose sight of how far you’re going down—which may feel remarkably easy at the beginning of a hike, when you’re fresh—and how much you will have to hike back up again.

The table below uses distance and elevation gain and loss to roughly define five categories of hikes: easy, moderate, hard, very hard, and extremely hard. These are not standardized categories; they are categories I’ve created based on more than three decades of dayhiking and backpacking with people of all abilities, from novices to highly experienced ultra-hikers and backpackers, including my children (and others) from when they were very young through their teen years.

Join now to read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book!

Not ready to join yet? Click here now to buy my e-book version of this story.

A hiker in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Chip Roser hiking off-trail in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

These categories are also based on many years of experience using resources, like hiking guidebooks that rate hike difficulty (and I’ve written some), and consulting professionals who design, build, and maintain trails.

The table defines each category according to distance or elevation gain and loss. For example, it rates a hike that covers either five to eight miles or up to 1,500 vertical feet of elevation gain and loss (which is the same as 3,000 feet of cumulative gain and loss) as moderately difficult—in other words, either statistic makes it that difficult. To reframe that, it means a hike on a trail of five to eight miles with little up and down would still qualify as moderate, as would a hike shorter than five miles with an uphill climb of 1,500 vertical feet. 

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Hike Difficulty Rating Scale

RatingDistance ORElevation Gain and Loss (cumulative is double)
Easy5 miles or less500 feet or less
Moderate5 to 8 milesUp to 1,500 feet
Hard8 to 12 milesUp to 3,000 feet
Very Hard12 to 15 milesUp to 5,000 feet
Extremely HardMore than 15 milesMore than 5,000 feet

There’s no precise way to equate the difficulty of a specific measure of distance with a specific amount of elevation gain and loss. Interestingly, the AMC White Mountain Guide, one of the oldest, most comprehensive (it describes 1,400 trails), and probably bestselling hiking guidebooks in the country, uses an estimated hiking time formula of 30 minutes for each mile of horizontal distance or 1,000 feet of vertical (more on that below). That presumably equates the difficulty of one mile and 1,000 vertical feet. And that’s in the White Mountains, where I’ve hiked thousands of miles and which, in my experience, have some of the rockiest, steepest, hardest trails in the country.

I know trail professionals who would dispute that, asserting that hiking 1,000 vertical feet is noticeably more strenuous than walking a flat mile. Based on my experience, I’m more inclined to equate a mile of distance with 500 to 750 vertical feet of elevation gain and loss. Trail conditions and steepness matter, too.

But that range of comparison measures provides some parameters for judging how much a hike’s difficulty increases depending on how much you walk up and downhill.

Want my help planning any trip you read about at my blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A young teenage girl descending from the Fenetre d’Arpette on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.
My daughter, Alex, descending the steep trail from the Fenetre d’Arpette pass on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Click photo for my e-book to the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Elevation Gain Per Mile

We all know that steeper trails are harder. And while close contour lines on a map indicate steep terrain, they don’t really reveal how steep a trail is because that depends on the angle of the trail on the ground and the map’s scale. A trail that takes a more direct angle up or down a slope will be steeper—possibly much steeper—than a trail that makes switchbacks, or zigzags across the slope. 

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

See all stories about ultra-hiking and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-know-how-hard-a-hike-will-be/feed/ 32 38595
Learning to—Love?—the Rain on New Zealand’s Milford Track https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-to-love-the-rain-on-new-zealands-milford-track/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-to-love-the-rain-on-new-zealands-milford-track/#respond Fri, 11 Apr 2025 18:46:14 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=66791 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As if by some celestial act of deception, our first day on New Zealand’s Milford Track is, by far, the easiest: We hike just three nearly flat miles—five kilometers—following the track along the rain-fattened and fast-moving Clinton River. And the pleasant temperature and warm sunshine pouring onto us from partly cloudy skies almost lulls us into illusions of such relatively ideal (for this place) weather persisting throughout our four days on the Milford.

But we’re not fooled. We’ve seen the forecast and already received other warning signals of what awaits us. And the truth is, even those data points will not, could not paint a complete picture of just how wet it would get out here over the next few days.

Then again, nor could any forecast or warning prepare us for the biggest surprise of the adventure ahead of us: the magical, close to fairytale effect that biblical rains have on this epically, monumentally wet place called Fiordland National Park.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter and receive great ideas for your next adventures. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A trekker hiking the Milford Track toward Mackinnon Pass in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Cat Serio hiking the Milford Track toward Mackinnon Pass in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

My wife, Penny, our daughter, Alex, our good friend Cat Serio and I have come to Fiordland to spend four days walking one of the most famous and popular multi-day, hut-to-hut treks in the world, the Milford Track.

Measuring 33.2 miles/53.5 kilometers, the trail makes a one-way traverse beginning at Lake Te Anau, rising through rainforest—what Kiwis call “the bush”—to cross the mountains at 3,786-foot/1,154-meter Mackinnon Pass. The track then makes a long descent back into rainforest to finish at sea level in Milford Sound—also known as Piopiotahi, the name given to it by New Zealand’s native Maori people—where sheer-walled peaks soar 4,000 to 5,000 feet (1,200 to 1,500 meters) or more straight up out of this narrow corridor to the sea.

After a 75-minute boat cruise across Lake Te Anau, where steep and intensely green mountains erupt from the water’s edge in almost every direction, we hike the flat, wide first section of the Milford Track through lush rainforest along the Clinton River for not much more than an hour to Clinton Hut, set within a clearing in the virtually impenetrable bush that fills the valley. On all sides, rainforest clings to mountainsides rising steeply to pinnacled ridges and peaks. Here and there, “slips,” or landslides triggered by often unceasing, occasionally heavy rainfall, scar the valley walls.

Yesterday, we weren’t sure we’d make it here.

A trekker hiking the Milford Track up the Clinton River Valley to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Milford Track up the Clinton River Valley to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book to trekking the Milford Track.

I had received an email from the New Zealand Department of Conservation (DOC)—sort of New Zealand’s equivalent of the U.S. National Park Service, managing the parks as well as hut bookings—warning of the possibility of our Milford reservations being canceled due to the forecast calling for 80 millimeters (over three inches) of rain. When I spoke with a ranger at the DOC visitor center in the little town of Te Anau, on the edge of Fiordland, he said that if the forecast reached 100 millimeters by morning on the day we were to start the Milford, the DOC would close the entire track for the day because of concerns over dangerous flooding. The result: All trekkers on it must layover a second night at their current hut—creating a backup that would necessitate canceling the trips for all hikers slated to start the Milford that day.

We entertained mental images of hiking through rain that heavy—“heevee roin,” as Kiwis pronounce it—reassuring ourselves… repeatedly… that we have very good rain jackets and pants. Then we got lucky, although we weren’t initially certain this represented a stroke of “good” luck: The DOC decided to keep the Milford Track open. Game on.

Instead of drenching rain while walking to the first hut, we enjoy moments of sunshine interspersed with clouds. The notoriously ravenous sandflies aren’t too thick, but they cluster in little clouds around our heads trying to feed anytime we stop moving or if we hang out on the hut’s outside deck. (Everyone sharing our bunkroom opens and closes the door quickly when entering and exiting to minimize insect invaders.)

Get my expert e-book “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”
Or get 20% off on both of my e-books to New Zealand’s Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

 

‘The Forecast Looks Dismal’

A trekker below waterfalls along the Milford Track in the Clinton River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My daughter, Alex, below waterfalls along the Milford Track in the Clinton River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

By late afternoon, the increasingly grayer overcast begins spitting raindrops.

That evening, in Clinton Hut’s main cooking and dining building, the ranger gives us details about the hike ahead of us tomorrow, some natural and human history of the Milford Track, and the emergency protocols in case of a fire starting inside the hut—which seems an extraordinarily low likelihood as the rain intensifies through the night, but people routinely do extraordinarily foolish things like setting hats and gloves to dry directly atop the dining room’s extraordinarily hot woodstove.

But his words that undoubtedly land most powerfully with his audience are: “The forecast for the next two weeks looks dismal.” That word dismal echoes even more ominously when one considers that, for these rangers, rain is entirely normal, like the sandflies: something you just live with.

This is my fourth trip to New Zealand. I’ve hiked some of the Great Walks and other tracks, including some here in Fiordland—my favorite of this wonderful country’s parks—including the Kepler Track and New Zealand’s “hardest hut trek,” the Dusky Track. I’ve seen how much it can rain here. It’s no joke.

Throughout the night, rain falls steadily, increasing in intensity for short bursts. Thunder peels at startling volumes and lightning occasionally fills the hut with the light of midday.

Hearing it drumming on the roof when I awaken a couple of times during the night, one simple thought fills my mind: It has begun.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Fiordland National Park

Fiordland National Park sprawls over nearly three million acres (1.2 million hectares) of the southwest corner of New Zealand’s South Island, an area larger than America’s Yosemite and Yellowstone national parks combined and larger than all but seven U.S. national parks (six in Alaska and California’s Death Valley). Mostly a wilderness of thick rainforest, rugged mountains, and long, deep fiords, it has glaciers, alpine ranges, and flora and fauna found nowhere else on Earth, that have existed since New Zealand was part of the supercontinent Gondwanaland.

Fiordland National Park, Mount Aspiring National Park, Aoraki/Mount Cook National Park, and Westland Tai Poutini National Park comprise the Te Wahipounamu—South West New Zealand World Heritage Site, spanning over 6.4 million acres (2.6 million hectares), or 10 percent of New Zealand’s landmass, recognized by UNESCO as ecologically significant for having a wide range of geographical features and a pristine ecosystem where rare wildlife flourish.

The water bodies at either end of the Milford Track stretch beyond sight. Forty miles/64 kilometers long and covering 133 square miles/344 square kilometers, Lake Te Anau is the second-largest lake by surface area in New Zealand and the largest on the South Island, and its average depth is 554 feet/169 meters. The 10-mile-long (16-kilometer) fiord of Milford Sound—one of 15 fiords that incise the park’s coastline—reaches a depth of 1,312 feet/400 meters.

Join now to read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book!

 

A trekker hiking the Milford Track below waterfalls in the Arthur River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Milford Track below waterfalls in the Arthur River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”

As for rain, well. The average annual precipitation on the Milford Track hits seven to nine meters, or 275 to 350 inches. One hut ranger tells us the Milford Sound area receives anywhere from nine to as much as 12 meters of rain a year—that’s up to 472 inches, or more than 10 times the annual rainfall of famously gray and drizzly Seattle. Pour that much water into a multi-story building and it will fill it up to the fourth-floor ceiling.

But here’s the surprising thing: Ask people who have enough experience out here to know the Milford Track’s many faces and they will tell you that the best times to hike it are actually during heavy rain.

And it’s not just some universal insider Kiwi joke played on oblivious tourists. The mysteries concealed around every bend in the foggy valleys, the rivers bloated and rushing with awesome power, the moody gray of the bush that can seem to enhance the endless variety of shades of green—and especially, the waterfalls that spring to life, swell to shocking dimensions, and become too numerous and frequent to count, are what make the Milford Track experience one that’s arguably unmatched anywhere.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

Clinton Hut to Mintauro Hut

Come morning, Alex, Cat, Penny, and I are not feeling any need to dash out the door of our warm and, most notably, dry bunkroom at Clinton Hut, especially while listening to the relentless patter on the metal roof and the random peels of psyche-rattling thunder. Other trekkers begin trickling out the door in full rain gear and pack covers, headed, like us, to Mintauro Hut—nearly 11 miles/17.5 kilometers and six soggy hours from here.

Around 9:30 a.m., with the sky a forlornly gloomy and deep hue of gray, we hit the trail to be greeted by rain spattering us while the waterlogged forest’s leafy overstory releases its own steady shower of fat water drops onto us. And despite the constant sensation of walking in the heavy mist of a large waterfall, we’re excited. After all, we are hiking the Milford Track!

Fortunately, the precipitation remains just persistent and moderate with periods of lighter rain—never escalating to a deluge. Not today, anyway.

At first, we catch only glimpses of the broader Clinton River Valley through brief gaps in the dense bush. But a couple of hours from Clinton Hut, we emerge from the forest into much more open meadows in the upper valley—and a scene that conjures the realm of the elves in Lord of the Rings (not surprisingly, since those movies were filmed in New Zealand; yup, it’s just hard to resist that reference).

You don’t have to be cold. See my “5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
and “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry.”

 

A trekker hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Cat Serio hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Cottony puffs of small clouds lumber low along the valley walls, but the solid gray ceiling has risen nearly to the mountaintops, revealing cliffs garbed in dense rainforest up and down both sides of the valley. All along these darkly green walls, white ribbons of waterfalls, dozens of them, more than we could possibly tally up while walking, plunge and tumble downward in sheer drops and only-slightly-less-vertical cascades, some separating into braids and then rejoining again, or merging into another waterfall, and each of them falling hundreds of vertical feet, their rain-swelled volume generating their own little clouds of mist. We stop below a few walls of braided falls to admire—and, mostly, just gawk.

Even in the rain, it’s so beautiful that we don’t try to rush today’s hike. By the time we reach the Mintauro hut, we’re sopping from head to toe, fully ready to shed our wet layers, dry off, warm up, and put on the dry clothes safely packed in waterproof stuff sacks inside our backpacks. Hiking for hours in steady rain, cool temperatures, and wind sucks heat and energy from the body. We’re tired and hungry, but also, I think it’s fair to say, we’re all enchanted by our first full day on the Milford Track.

The dining room sounds like a party as 40 guests cook and eat and rejoice in the dry warmth of the woodstove and the heat produced by so many humans. Previous hut treks in New Zealand have taught me that, as is true in other world-class trekking destinations like the Tour du Mont Blanc, Iceland, Italy’s Dolomites, and Patagonia, the huts function as a gathering space for people from a multitude of countries, where you’ll overhear conversations in numerous languages. The cacophony of excited banter bounces off the walls as everyone recounts their day among their own family or group and meets new people who shared this experience of walking here today from Clinton Hut through the rain and the valley of waterfalls.

Murray, the Mintauro Hut ranger since this nice, new structure opened in April 2021, gives the usual talk about safety protocols and some history of this hut and the Milford Track. Then he moves around the room meeting some guests. Sitting to chat with us, he doesn’t mince words about tomorrow, when we hike the route’s crux, crossing Mackinnon Pass: It’s going to rain all day. A lot.

Get my expert tips on successfully booking Milford Track huts and planning your trek smartly
in my e-book “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”

 

Mintauro Hut to Dumpling Hut

In the morning, yes, it’s raining. I don’t think it has stopped since yesterday and it continues falling lightly but steadily as we leave Mintauro at 8:30 a.m. to begin the 1,600-foot/500-meter climb to Mackinnon Pass. From the clearing just outside the hut, we can see that pronounced chop in the mountains: A cloud almost as thick as honey washes over the pass like a waterfall. Not a promising sign.

Alex and Penny slowly pull ahead of Cat and me as we ascend the trail’s moderate angle through long switchbacks, separating into “buddy” pairs so no one’s alone while all moving at a pace that keeps us warm without sweating too much—wet base layers against skin could make us cold and risk hypothermia, especially once we hit the wind that’s screaming over the pass. In the bush, much of the wind and rain doesn’t reach us, but the trees are still so overladen with water that the dripping simulates a rainstorm.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

Trekkers hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, and Cat Serio hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Before long, we emerge above the bush line—the distinctive margin where the forest abruptly ends and gives way to alpine terrain—to views of the head of the Clinton River Valley from high above the valley bottom, looking out over its green, fortress-like mountainsides scored by countless tall ribbons of falling water. Gray clouds verging on black swirl around the clifftops. The scale of it feels overwhelming and thrilling.

As we near the pass, the wind starts to pick up—and just minutes farther up the trail, it really gathers steam.

As Cat and I crest the expansive, rolling, and wide-open terrain of the pass and commence a long, winding alpine traverse across it, the wind, squeezed through this natural funnel in the mountains, buffets us, the strongest gusts nearly knocking us over. Bullets of horizontal rain pelt our cheeks, the only part of our faces not shielded by our hoods.

With the fusillade of rain and wind pounding us on one side, we hustle as fast as we can over the wet rocks and puddled trail to duck inside the small Mackinnon Pass Shelter, where we catch up to Penny and Alex. With numerous, dripping wet rain jackets hanging from hooks in the mud room and as many trekkers crowded onto the benches or stand inside the one small main room, fog hangs as thickly in here as outside these walls. We recognize everyone and are getting to know some because we’re all on the same hut schedule, like all Milford trekkers.

Luxuriating in this respite from the wind and rain, we linger for close to an hour, boiling water for hot drinks on one of the gas cookers. There’s no hope of drying anything we’re wearing or truly warming up; we stay only long enough to feel less cold, but leave before our body core temps start dropping. We must move for heat.

We step back out into the wind and driving rain. Shifting curtains of fog reveal the contours of Mackinnon Pass: huge, vertiginous walls of rock and rainforest with yet more long ribbons of water pouring down them, all bloated to exaggerated dimensions by the incessant rain. Across from us, one waterfall freefalls for hundreds of feet; another gets squeezed through a constriction in rock, creating a gigantic waterspout bursting from the cliff face. 

Put more adventure in your life starting today. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Dumpling Hut on the Milford Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Dumpling Hut on the Milford Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Descending the trail in another wrestling match against the wind—which I think we could, at best, depict as a draw—we finally reach the relative protection of the bush, where the wind no longer menaces us. But the rain keeps coming in intermittent waves of light and heavy.

At this point, there’s no question in my mind that this day has already morphed into one of the wettest I’ve experienced in 40 years of hiking, backpacking, climbing, and trekking thousands of miles around the U.S. and the world.

Water covers most of the trail; but for the few steps here and there where our boots do not incur some level of immersion, we splash into at least a couple of inches of water with every stride. Puddles have over-topped our boots so many times we’ve given up hope of having dry feet again on this trip. The rain has even penetrated our rain jackets and pants in certain spots, mainly where the waterlogged shoulder straps and hipbelt are essentially squeezing water through the shells’ membranes. But our mostly dry fleece insulation is helping keep us warm enough. That, and simply moving.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

Waterfalls in the Arthur River Valley, seen from the Milford Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Waterfalls in the Arthur River Valley, seen from the Milford Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”

All around us in the forest, water rushes downhill. We cross innumerable footbridges over swollen, deafening creeks. Storm-spawned streamlets erupt from the bush to form a small but fast-moving current across the track. Some of them flow down the trail and even more streamlets enter it, transforming the trail into a creek for many meters until a drainage wall of rocks diverts it into the bush. 

For hours, we hear almost nothing but the sounds of water filling our ears: waterfalls, cascades, flooded trail, and rain drumming onto the forest canopy, the ground, our hoods.

Cat and I descend a very steep stretch of the Milford Track, mostly on wooden stairways constructed on the high-angle earth, alongside a cascade pumped up like a bodybuilder to insane dimensions, the roaring whitewater plummeting through a stone stairway over drops of 10, 20, 30 feet. 

After a short break out of the rain under the roof of the Andersons Cascade Shelter, we agree that Alex can depart ahead of us to reach the hut faster and grab four bunks for us; and I leave soon after her, contemplating the side hike of perhaps 90 minutes out and back to Sutherland Falls, the tallest in New Zealand at over 1,900 feet/580 meters. Uninterested in that side trip, Penny and Cat will hike together at their own pace to the hut. Not long afterward, at the junction with the trail to Sutherland, it’s visible in the distance, raising a plume of mist half its height; but my feeling of thorough wetness has dampened my interest in spending even more time in the rain.

 

A little while later, I reach what looks like a swollen creek crashing over rocks; but it’s not a creek, it’s the flooded track, with a fast-moving, knee-deep current racing down it. A small, young woman stands there, looks at me, and in halting English, asks where we should cross. I point and walk to a spot a short distance upstream where it’s a bit wider and only perhaps calf-deep, and I hand her one of my poles for the crossing. She asks if she can follow me and I say, “Yes, sure.” We wade down the current’s edge to the point where the floodwater diverts off the path, briefly leaving us hiking in a merely shallow little stream. That doesn’t last long.

We ford yet more floodwater flowing across the trail, both laughing at the craziness of this scene. We pause to look up at muscular, massive waterfalls, including one some 20 feet wide that falls over several tiers for maybe a hundred feet, an enormous flow of water that thunders beneath a footbridge as we stroll across it.

Finally—more than eight miles/13 kilometers and several hours from Mintauro, my new friend and I reach Dumpling Hut, exchange a laugh, handshake, and first names, then go looking for our own companions. I immediately find Alex in one of the bunkrooms, happily lying warm and dry inside her sleeping bag. Not long afterward, Penny and Cat arrive, all smiles. It’s been an unbelievable day and we’re happy—no, elated—to be here.

Click here now to get 20% off both of my expert e-books to
trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

Or click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

Dumpling Hut to Sandfly Point

Our last day begins with several people in the bunkroom rising before 6 a.m. and moving around quietly, using headlamps, to a soundtrack of long, very loud peels of thunder, flashes of lightning, and—incredibly—the loudest rain we’ve heard yet on this trip beating upon the roof.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories about trekking in New Zealand, all stories about adventures in New Zealand, and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, rain jacket and pants, sleeping bag, fleece hoodie, trekking poles, and headlamp I used on this trip.

See all stories about New Zealand adventures, “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking,” “5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking,” “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-to-love-the-rain-on-new-zealands-milford-track/feed/ 0 66791
The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-ultimate-family-tour-of-yellowstone/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-ultimate-family-tour-of-yellowstone/#comments Wed, 09 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=4529 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Every American should see Yellowstone—and not just for the historical significance of it being the world’s first national park. Few places in the United States still host the range of wildlife thriving in Yellowstone: You are likely to see numerous bison and elk, bald eagles, osprey, possibly wolves, maybe black and grizzly bears (usually from a distance), and trumpeter swans among the park’s 285 species of birds. With more than 10,000 thermal features including hot springs and more than half the planet’s geysers, and nearly 300 waterfalls, it often feels like the park is putting on a live performance.

Arguably best of all, many of Yellowstone’s signature natural features, as well as abundant wildlife, can be seen on short walks—making a trip to see this fascinating landscape ideal for families with children of all ages and anyone willing to walk 15 to 30 minutes, or an hour or more to see a bit more of some areas. My kids have seen Yellowstone several times, dating back to their first visit at ages four and two, and they loved it even then.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

This article will list my expert tips—based on numerous trips to Yellowstone over more than three decades—for a tour of the park’s top features that can be seen on short walks, with a few tips for longer excursions thrown in. See also “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone.”

I’ll order my suggestions below in a way that makes sense if you’re driving through the park. Please share your questions, comments, or suggestions about Yellowstone in the comments section at the bottom of this story; I try to respond to all comments.

A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.
A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.

Mammoth Hot Springs

Entering Yellowstone through the North Entrance (via Livingston), begin your visit at Mammoth first. The walk around Mammoth Hot Springs is easy, gorgeous, and engaging for kids.

At grade-school age, my children were fascinated by the steam billowing from the springs and all the leaves, sticks, and other vegetative matter that had fallen into the hot water and become crystallized. And there are usually elk grazing right in Mammoth village and around the hot springs.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. Lower Yellowstone Falls, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. Mammoth Hot Springs Bison stopping traffic along the Loop Road in Yellowstone National Park. Upper terraces, Mammoth Hot Springs Upper terraces, Mammoth Hot Springs West Thumb Geyser Basin. Abyss Pool, West Thumb Geyser Basin Grand Prismatic Geyser. Grand Prismatic Geyser. Grand Prismatic Geyser. Grand Prismatic Geyser. Mammoth Hot Springs. Mammoth Hot Springs at dawn, Yellowstone National Park. Mammoth Hot Springs.

Northern Yellowstone

The northern road to the Lamar Valley is a great area for seeing wildlife: bison, elk, coyotes, maybe even bears and wolves if you’re lucky. Winter is actually a better time to see wildlife; when our kids were school age, we took them cross-country skiing in Yellowstone, which I think is one of the greatest national park experiences.

Heading south, stop at Tower Fall and take the short walk to this impressive, 132-foot-tall waterfall plunging below basalt pinnacles, with views of the canyon of the Yellowstone River. The drive over Mount Washburn and Dunraven Pass gets you to the highest spot on a road in the park, with quite spectacular views along the way. The 6.2-mile, round-trip hike up Mount Washburn from Dunraven Pass follows a wide path to the summit, which offers a 360-degree panorama of the entire park.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside. Join now!

At the brink of Lower Yellowstone Falls, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.
At the brink of Lower Yellowstone Falls, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.

Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River is one of the scenic highlights of the park. I like cross-country skiing it in winter, but spring-summer-fall are wonderful, too, although busy with tourists in summer. The fairly flat, 6.4-mile, out-and-back of the North Rim Trail from Inspiration Point (near Canyon) to Upper Yellowstone Falls; you’ll pass several viewpoints of the canyon.

The trail also partly parallels the North Rim Drive, so you can take shorter walks to viewpoints along the trail from parking areas along the road. One of the highlights is the steep but short (three-quarters-of-a-mile round-trip) spur trail to the very brink of 308-foot-tall Lower Yellowstone Falls (above photo).

See “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone.”

Otherwise, take the very short walk to Artist Point for its killer view of the canyon, and the short walk to Upper Yellowstone Falls.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids
and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

See “The 10 Best Short Hikes in Yellowstone” and all stories about Yellowstone National Park at The Big Outside.

You might also enjoy my book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, about taking our kids (at age nine and seven) on a series of national park wilderness adventures, including cross-country skiing in Yellowstone.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-the-ultimate-family-tour-of-yellowstone/feed/ 13 4529
The 30 Nicest Backcountry Campsites I’ve Hiked Past https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-12-nicest-backcountry-campsites-ive-hiked-past/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-12-nicest-backcountry-campsites-ive-hiked-past/#comments Sun, 06 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8431 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

It is one of those unfortunate inevitabilities of life, like death and taxes: Occasionally on backpacking trips you will hike past one of the most sublime patches of wilderness real estate you have ever laid eyes on, a spot so idyllic you can already see your tent pitched there and you standing outside it, warm mug in your hands, watching a glorious sunset. But it’s early and your plan entails hiking farther before you stop for the day—not camping there. Or your permit isn’t for that site. Or even worse, you are looking for a campsite, but someone else has already occupied this little corner of Heaven.

Disappointment is an awfully large pill to swallow, especially if you know you may never get back to that place. Then again, you might make a note on your map and return there someday. Goals are a powerful motivator.

My recently updated story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” has photos and descriptions of the best spots in the wilderness where I’ve ever spent a night over the past three-plus decades, including many years running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for 10 years. So it seems fitting to spotlight the best camps I never had but wish I did—all of them places potentially awaiting your tent.

Just make sure you get there before someone else grabs it.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


This list grows every year—an inevitable outcome of backpacking frequently—giving you more ideas for trips to take. The descriptions below include links to stories at The Big Outside about those trips, with more images and information about planning them. Those stories about trips, and many other stories at this blog, require a paid subscription to read in full, although you don’t need a subscription to purchase any of my E-books or my Custom Trip Planning.

Please share your questions or suggestions about these campsites or others in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A mother and young daughter backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.

Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park

Granted, there are a lot of great campsites in the High Sierra. But some really do stand out even from the many extraordinary sites—in fact, two of our camps on this Sequoia trip made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

After a morning hike along a stretch of the High Sierra Trail that traverses hundreds of feet above the cliff-flanked canyon of the Middle Fork Kaweah River, we reached the largest of the Hamilton Lakes, nestled in a bowl of granite at 8,235 feet, just in time for a long lunch break. Everyone took a swim in the invigorating water, but mostly we just soaked up the panorama of jagged peaks rising to over 12,000 feet that surround the lake.

See my story about that 40-mile, family backpacking trip, “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” with lots of photos and a video, and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail.

Alaska Basin, Teton Crest Trail

A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail.

There’s hardly a bad place to pitch a tent (legally) in all of Grand Teton National Park—and certainly not even a mediocre spot along the Teton Crest Trail. In fact, my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites includes two along the TCT. But simply because I’ve always been successful at getting my desired campsites on my backcountry permit, I have always hiked through the one area along the TCT that lies outside the national park and doesn’t require a permit for camping: Alaska Basin.

But I’ve hiked through it enough times to realize what I’m missing. The two campsites shown in these photos happen to be perfect perches we passed that lie just off the TCT in the basin. Both have broad, flat areas of clean granite with amazing 360-degree panoramas of the mountains and cliffs surrounding Alaska Basin. That’s why I’ve recommended Alaska Basin as a campsite depending on the type of hiking itinerary people are seeking when I provide custom trip planning for the TCT.

See my story about my most-recent trip on the TCT, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Get my Teton Crest Trail e-book or my custom trip planning for the TCT.

The large ledge below Yuma Point, just off the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.
The large ledge below Yuma Point, just off the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Yuma Point, Grand Canyon

Campsites below Yuma Point, along the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Campsites below Yuma Point, along the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

On the last, hard but stunningly pretty day of a 40-mile hike from the South Kaibab to the Hermit trailhead, our group of six family and friends ascended the often steep and difficult Boucher Trail—yet another tortured footpath that illustrates why the words “hard but stunningly pretty” describe so many trails in the Big Ditch. After a long uphill grind, we reached the long, level bench the Boucher Trail follows below Yuma Point, at just over 5,400 feet, and saw immediately why in-the-know GC backpackers consider it one of the very best campsites in the canyon.

Several spacious, obviously pre-used camps on dirt sit right behind a large, flat rock ledge at the brink of cliffs overlooking a huge swath of the canyon from more than 3,000 feet above the Colorado River. Yes, I sure did imagine laying my pad and bag out on that ledge, gazing up at a night sky crazy with stars and then watching the sunrise light up the canyon. Those camps lie a short walk off the Boucher Trail 5.2 miles from the Hermit Trailhead, at 6,640 feet—and that’s about the only relatively “easy” way to get there. One drawback: Yuma Point lies right below the Dragon Corridor, where the sky is filled with a daily invasion of constant sightseeing overflights between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.

See “Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker in Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

I’d read on some websites that viable campsites were non-existent in Death Hollow, in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. And looking at the contour lines of this deep and generally narrow cleavage in the slickrock plateau, it did seem like a bad bet to assume one would find good camps in there. Turned out, that was wrong.

On the middle day of a three-day hike on the 22-mile Death Hollow Loop, two friends and I backpacked down the dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, frequently walking in the creek amid small cascades and weaving our way around deep, calm pools and other obstacles and hazards—and bushwhacking through thickets of poison ivy that stood taller than us. And we passed a handful of camps where we’d have been happy to spend a night on one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, where each of our three days presented different terrain and scenery, a sort of three-in-one wilderness adventure in landscapes that repeatedly made me to pause and just gape.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop” at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A backpacker passing Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My wife, Penny, hiking past Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Liberty Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

On the last afternoon of my family’s backpacking trip on Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail, a steady uphill climb deposited us at the edge of Liberty Lake, a cobalt eye tucked tightly within a shoreline of granite slabs, patches of evergreen forest, and a talus mountainside. We followed the trail around and above the lake, where we stood on a ledge overlooking the lake and the long chain of the Ruby Mountains stretching into the distance (lead photo at top of story). Although camping there didn’t fit neatly into our four-day itinerary, it was easy to see why other backpackers had set up camp nearby.

Liberty Lake was not the only highlight of an approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail. We enjoyed a campsite on another beautiful alpine lake, wildflowers in bloom, relatively few other backpackers, and long stretches of hiking above 10,000 feet, traversing an almost treeless alpine zone for miles.

See my story about my family’s trip, “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough,” at The Big Outside.

Get a full wilderness experience.
See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

 

A young girl hiker at Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, at Imogene Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains.

Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Returning to Imogene Lake again for the first time in some years, on a weekend backpacking trip with my then-11-year-old daughter, I was reminded just how gorgeous this sprawling water body is. On calm days—like we had on that visit—the water reflects an Impressionist painting-like panorama of pine forest and rocky peaks.

I was actually planning to finally atone for my sin of having hiked past Imogene on at least two or three previous occasions by setting up camp here with my daughter. But we got a late start on a Friday and rolled in to Hell Roaring Lake—four miles below Imogene—after dark. So we just dayhiked to Imogene. I’ll camp there yet—I swear. Meanwhile, Hell Roaring is a pretty nice spot, too, and close enough to visit Imogene on a morning hike.

See my story “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” about father-son and father-daughter backpacking trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths, and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths, including in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A campsite below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
A campsite below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Below Nevills Arch, Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument

Consider this a shining example of “if we’d just hiked a little while longer, and started early enough to beat the party that got there first, we’d have camped here.” On the second morning of our three-day loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, we walked through the amphitheater where striking Nevills Arch presides over a sort of royal court of tall, red cliffs and pinnacles that resemble melted candles—and right past the lone campsite on flat, packed dirt that sits within the warm embrace of that amphitheater.

Having camped (at a pretty nice spot, anyway) just an easy 30-minute or shorter walk farther up Owl Canyon, it was a little painful seeing how close we’d come to enjoying this camp—although the small group who’d camped there were still packing up as we strolled past it. One of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, the two- to three-day Owl-Fish loop offers an unusual combination of qualities: short distance, incredible scenery (and night skies), solitude, rugged hiking and scrambling, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

A backpacker hiking past Elbow Lake on the Highline Trail in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
My wife, Penny, backpacking past Elbow Lake on the Highline Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Elbow Lake, Wind River Range

In the week before Labor Day 2022, a prime time to be in the mountains, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I backpacked a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, mostly exploring an area of the Winds I had not seen before. But we also walked a stretch of the Highline Trail (part of the Continental Divide Trail) which I had hiked previously (on this trip), reminding me not only how nice that trail is but that I’ve now hiked past Elbow Lake twice without laying out my sleeping bag there.

I rank that day among the prettiest I’ve ever hiked in the Winds—and that’s saying a lot. We started out from one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had, overlooking the lower of the Twin Lakes, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak, and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis, following the Highline Trail past several alpine lakes and tarns to sprawling Elbow Lake—embraced by granite slabs and grassy earth where you can’t help but picture your tent pitched. From there, we continued to a pair of high passes and more spectacular lakes.

And as happened throughout that trip, we passed fewer than 10 people all day.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside. National forest and wilderness managers require camping at least 200 feet from any lake or trail in the Winds.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

A backpacker hiking to Iceberg Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
David Ports backpacking to Iceberg Lake, below the Minarets in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Iceberg Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Two companions and I walked one of the finest sections of the John Muir Trail on a nine-day, north-south trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, exploring high lakes basins and crossing passes at 11,000 to 12,000 feet. But one highlight came early in that trip, when we detoured off the JMT to hike below the row of jagged spires called the Minarets in the Ansel Adams.

On the steep uphill hike from Ediza Lake—itself a nice spot to pitch a tent—we reached Iceberg Lake, tucked into a compact bowl at 9,774 feet right at the foot of sheer rock walls that rise to sharp points. Not far from the lakeshore, we saw some perfect little patches of dirt for tents. The Minarets can be visited on a weekend or three- to four-day hike that will give you a great sampler of the central High Sierra.

See photos and read about this area in my story “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and check out “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A backpacker at Dead Horse Lake on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at Dead Horse Lake on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Dead Horse Lake, Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness

In an unusual window of warm and mostly clear weather in early October, my 24-year-old son, Nate, and I backpacked nearly 60 miles through Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—which blew us away. We had some great camps, but one we sadly walked past was beside Dead Horse Lake, at around 10,900 feet at the head of a lake-filled basin tucked inside a ragged horseshoe of castle-like peaks between Red Knob Pass, at 12,000 feet, and Dead Horse Pass, at 11,600 feet.

Getting there isn’t easy from any direction—which typically ensures more solitude—and neither is getting out. Hiking southbound from the lake on the Uinta Highline, we climbed below tall cliffs and sheer buttresses soaring several hundred feet above us, the trail tilting steeply upward, weaving through huge boulders, and frequently consisting of no more than a goat path of boot prints across sliding scree. At Dead Horse Pass, I told Nate, “I think I know what killed the horse.”

Still, the High Uintas, and especially the Uinta Highline Trail, deserve more attention from serious backpackers than they get: This place is a big, majestic wilderness with 13,000-foot peaks and over 1,000 mountain lakes. Go there.

See my story “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and all stories about backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find and plan the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

The Narrows, Zion National Park

Second morning in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Second morning in Zion’s Narrows.

Rather than pick one of the campsites in Zion’s Narrows that a friend and I hiked past—we stayed in campsite one, which made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites—I have to give all of the 11 other designated campsites in The Narrows a collective spot on this list.

On the second day of an overnight, top-to-bottom backpacking trip of The Narrows, we checked out campsites two through 12, and I eventually gave up on the idea of picking a favorite. Each one sits within sight and earshot of the burbling river, below sheer, multi-colored walls rising hundreds of feet to a ribbon of sky overhead. Some may have a little more space or some other appeal; but given the location, any one of them guarantees you an incomparable night.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

Do this trip right using my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

A backpacker hiking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite.

Indian Ridge, Yosemite National Park

On our first night in the backcountry during a four-day, 45-mile hike in Yosemite, a friend and I carried water up onto Indian Ridge, on Yosemite Valley’s North Rim, and found a great campsite a short walk from an unnamed dome overlooking a panorama that took in Half Dome and distant mountains to the south. We watched a sunset linger until the final light of day dripped from the sky.

But not long after hitting the trail the next morning, we saw where we wished we had camped. A little farther down Indian Ridge, the terrain opens up and flat spots abound just off the trail—where we saw no other backpackers. We had a much closer and more spectacular view looking directly at the huge Northwest Face of Half Dome just across the deep gulf of the Valley. Park regulations require camping at least a half-mile from the North Rim of Yosemite Valley—which is easy to achieve and have plenty of spots to choose from on Indian Ridge—and more significantly, you have to carry water up there.

But I don’t know of another spot in the backcountry where you can camp with that kind of view of Yosemite Valley.

See my feature story about that trip, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

I first included Elizabeth Lake on this list after backpacking Glacier’s magnificent Northern Loop, which I describe how to plan and hike in my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.” But since then, I’ve returned to Glacier to make a comparably awe-inspiring, 90-mile, north-south traverse of the park, mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, but with some variations I built into the route to show friends who accompanied me what I consider some the finest scenery in Glacier (described in this e-book).

And on our first night of that more-recent trip, we camped at Elizabeth Lake—and I got the photo above early the next morning, as the calm, chill air turned the lake into a mirror reflecting the surrounding, jagged peaks. So technically, I’ve now hiked past Elizabeth (twice, actually) and camped there, but I decided it still belongs on this list so that you don’t risk passing up a chance to spend a night there.

See my stories about backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop and Gunsight Pass Trail and about traversing the park mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, and my most recent hike in Glacier, a weeklong traverse mostly on the CDT with an itinerary and camps that varied from the first CDT trip.

Glacier ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A campsite beneath a huge undercut near Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Utah.
A campsite beneath a huge undercut near Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Utah.

Jacob Hamblin Arch, Coyote Gulch

I had fully intended for our group of two families to spend our second night backpacking Coyote Gulch right beneath Jacob Hamblin Arch; I remembered, from a trip there years earlier, that it’s a magical spot to layover and watch the light shift.

But when our group reached Coyote Natural Bridge that afternoon, the kids were ready to call it a day; and it being about an hour (at a family pace) downstream from Jacob Hamblin, and not a bad place at all to pitch tents on the broad, sandy beach below the bridge (it was formerly on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), I quickly gave up on the idea of reaching the arch. I also knew the arch is a popular spot, so all available sites could be snapped up by the time we got there. It turned out they weren’t, and a prime campsite, on the upstream side looking right up at the arch, was actually empty when we got there the next morning. Oh, well.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch and dayhiking slot canyons and trails in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and neighboring Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks for more photos, videos, and detailed trip-planning information.

After Coyote Gulch, hike the rest of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A backpacker on the Shannon Pass Trail above Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton backpacking past Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Island Lake and Peak Lake, Wind River Range

Island Lake, in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Island Lake in the Wind River Range.

Take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. When two friends and I backpacked a roughly 41-mile loop in the Winds, I deliberately planned a route that included a night in Titcomb Basin, where lakes shimmer below the soaring granite walls of 13,000-foot peaks. But we inevitably hiked past countless, pretty lakes that presented alluring campsites.

Two of the most memorable were Island Lake, where we stopped for lunch en route to Titcomb, and Peak Lake, which nestles in a tiny bowl below peaks that resemble incisors, and which we reached after hiking cross-country from Titcomb over Knapsack Col and down a lonely valley to reach the Shannon Pass Trail. On a trip where a shocking number of lakes feel like one of the prettiest spots on the planet, these two have burned lasting images in memory.

See my story about that trip, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A campsite in trees on the beach beside Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.
A campsite in trees on the beach beside Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.

By the Colorado River at Hance Rapids, Grand Canyon

While I have camped on the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River (it’s on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), more recently, I backpacked past that beach on a six-day trip that I concluded—after several trips in the Big Ditch—is “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” As we left that beach, we walked past a spacious (and empty!) campsite fully enclosed by trees that cast substantial shade.

Anyone who’s hiked in the canyon understands the value of shade—especially in a campsite. We had many miles to go that day, so we didn’t stop. But the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River has long been on my radar (since I took this three-day hike) as a spot to plan spending a night when hiking through this corner of the canyon. This shady site will be the first place I check for occupants the next time I plan to bed down on that beach.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids, and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” and a trip easier for first-timers, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker hiking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Marie Lake, John Muir Trail

Marie Lake, John Muir Trail.
Marie Lake, John Muir Trail.

It was the fourth morning of our seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail through California’s High Sierra, from Yosemite National Park to Mount Whitney. Three friends and I were climbing toward Selden Pass in the John Muir Wilderness and not even thinking about taking a break yet; we wouldn’t stop for the night until hours later.

Below us, Marie Lake lay still in a bowl of granite ledges with trees dotting the landscape, rocky islands in the lake, and an infinite selection of places around the lake to temporarily call home.

This was one of the most painful times I’ve hiked past a beautiful backcountry camp.

And in August 2022, I did it again when two companions and I backpacked past Marie Lake—although only after enjoying a nice swim and lunch there—on a nine-day trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning your JMT thru-hike?

I’ve helped many readers plan all the details of this classic trip, including getting a very hard-to-get permit, figuring out how many days to take, and finding the best campsites. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you. 

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker enjoying the dawn light at a campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser enjoying the dawn light at our campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

A backpacker above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

It sure seems like I keep walking past really nice campsites in the Winds—maybe I just need to spend more time there. On an August trip with my son a few summers back, we aborted a planned four-day loop crossing the Continental Divide twice and finishing through the Cirque of the Towers—because the weather was so bad, with almost continuous rain and virtually no views of the mountains and no sign it would improve. But we did hike from one camp to visit Pyramid Lake and saw enough of its surroundings to know I wanted to return.

Now I’m happy to call this a success story because I did get back to this part of the Winds in August 2023, on a four-day, nearly 41-mile hike crossing four high passes, when a friend and I spent our first backcountry night a short walk from the shore of Pyramid Lake. At nearly 10,600 feet, the lake nestles in a rocky basin at the foot of 11,978-foot Pyramid Peak (which we scrambled up on that trip), 12,454-foot Mount Hooker, and 12,185-foot Tower Peak. (The lake is also a short, cross-country hike from the valley of the East Fork River on the Wind River High Route, which I write about in this story about the Wind River High Route).

See my story about that August 2023 trip, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A waterfall and swimming hole in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River.

Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park

On day three of a four-day, 87-mile, backpacking trip in the remote, northern reaches of Yosemite with my friend Todd, we reached one of that trek’s scenic highlights: the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River. With granite walls soaring hundreds of feet above a crystal-clear river that tumbles over innumerable waterfalls, massive boulders, and a beautiful bed of cobblestones, the canyon bears a striking resemblance to the park’s iconic feature, Yosemite Valley—except that it’s twice as long and has no roads or buildings and few people.

Todd and I actually spent a pleasant night in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, initially sleeping under the stars on a big granite slab by the river, then quickly pitching our tarp in the woods when rain started falling after dark. But we didn’t score one of the several primo campsites we saw in the canyon, either because we walked past them before we were ready to stop for the night, or someone else already occupied them. To grab one of the campsites that sit near any of the waterfalls and great swimming holes, I suggest trying to reach the mid-canyon stretch by early afternoon, before most other backpackers.

See many more images, a video, and trip-planning trips in my story about that backpacking trip in northern Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and all of my stories about Yosemite at The Big Outside, including “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about a 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne Meadows
and the 87-mile hike through northern Yosemite (which includes shorter options).

 

Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.
Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness

As we hiked past the second-highest of a string of five lakes that sit above 8,000 feet on the east side of the Sawtooths, the glassy waters of a calm early morning offered a perfect reflection of the incisor summit ridge of Mount Heyburn high above us. It was early on a long day my friend Chip Roser and I would spend climbing Heyburn, and would ultimately be one of the day’s finest moments. A rough, sometimes-obscure use trail leads to the Bench Lakes from Trail 101 above Redfish Lake. The highest of the Bench Lakes, at over 8,600 feet, is the most alpine of them and has campsites right at the foot of Heyburn.

See all stories about the Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Photo Gallery: Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Campsite at Toltec Beach on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Campsite at Toltec Beach on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

Toltec Beach, Royal Arch Loop, Grand Canyon

As with the Tetons, there’s not likely a bad campsite in the GC—or at least none that I’ve found. But when three friends and I reached Toltec Beach, beside the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s very rugged, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, around lunchtime on our second day, we all made a vow to return there. The river offered an area to cool ourselves in the water, there was a tree casting nice shade onto the sand, and the views, of course, were epic.

The Royal Arch Loop makes a top-to-bottom-and-back-up circuit of the canyon—going from a words-can’t-do-it-justice panorama at the rim to dipping your toes in the Colorado. It delivers a highlights reel of just about every type of physical feature that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens nurtured by a vibrant stream, a high solitude quotient, and one drop-dead gorgeous campsite after another.

See my story about that trip “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A hiker passing Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
David Ports hiking past Snowdrift Lake during a 20-mile dayhike through the Tetons.

Snowdrift Lake, Grand Teton National Park

I’ve had the pleasure of gazing upon the emerald waters of this alpine lake four times now—and I actually did once pitch a tent on a slope above the lake, but never in the site at the lake’s eastern end. A long, oval, often wind-battered gem parked at the head of Avalanche Canyon, just a few hundred feet below 10,680-foot Avalanche Divide and the long cliff band named The Wall, Snowdrift is not reached by any official park trail.

But there is an unofficial, unmarked, rough, and strenuous user trail that climbs up Avalanche Canyon; it branches west off the Valley Trail just north of Taggart Lake. It’s a hard trail to carry a pack up, and not much easier to carry a pack down (and finding the easy, safe way through the cliffs below Snowdrift Lake is trickier going downhill than uphill; I’ve done it in both directions). The easiest access to Snowdrift is hiking the good trail from South Fork Cascade Canyon up to Avalanche Divide, then hiking cross-country, over easy terrain, down to the east end of Snowdrift. The campsite is exposed, so don’t go if it’s windy or in bad weather.

See all of my stories about Grand Teton National Park, including this story that describes how to hike to Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

A campsite in Phelps Basin, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
A campsite in Phelps Basin, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Phelps Basin and Spider Gap route, Glacier Peak Wilderness

Above Spider Meadow, Glacier Peak Wilderness
Above Spider Meadow, Glacier Peak Wilderness.

On the first afternoon of a spectacular, five-day family hike of the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness—among my favorite wild lands—we camped in a spacious, established site in the woods above Spider Meadow and minutes below Phelps Basin. Two other parties had already grabbed the available sites in Phelps Basin (photo above), as I discovered, to my dismay, when we took an evening stroll up there.

The next morning, we carried our packs up the trail to Spider Gap, passing more campers perched on the bench atop a steep wall of earth high above Spider Meadow (photo at right). Whenever I get back there again, it will be exceedingly difficult to choose between these two spots.

See my story, with lots of images, about our five-day, family-backpacking trip in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Get my expert help planning your backpacking or hiking trip and 33% off a one-year subscription. Click here now to buy a premium subscription!

Arrowhead Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

Arrowhead Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Since my first of now many trips into Idaho’s Sawtooths, I’ve often marveled at how these toothy, granite peaks remind me of the High Sierra—without the crowds of hikers found in parts of the Sierra. My friend Jeff Wilhelm and I hiked past Arrowhead Lake on the second morning of a four-day trip and immediately agreed we needed to return with fishing poles and stay longer. I snapped this photo when Jeff walked out onto the granite spit jutting into the lake.

See my story about that backpacking in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and my story “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

Which puffy should you buy? See my review of “The 12 Best Down Jackets” and
How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

A backpacker in the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.
Kristian Blaich backpacking up the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.

The Wind River High Route

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside in the Alpine Lakes Valley on the Wind River High Route.
Me in the Alpine Lakes Valley on the Wind River High Route.

When three friends and I set out on a seven-day, 96-mile traverse of the Wind River High Route—65 miles of which is off-trail, including nine of 10 named alpine passes between roughly 11,000 and 13,000 feet—we expected to be dazzled by one of the very best wilderness treks any of us had ever taken. And it exceeded expectations.

Inevitably, we hiked past many spots we’d love to have set up camp for the night. But two spots, in particular, stood out for me. One was in the valley of the East Fork River, where we hiked below a long chain of towering cliffs and soaked in frigid pools between cascades that tumbled over granite slabs in the shallow river. The second spot was in the long valley of the Alpine Lakes—one of the most starkly beautiful places I’ve ever seen. High above one of those lakes, we crossed a wide, grassy shelf sprinkled with rocks that looked like a little piece of the Scottish Highlands transported to the Wyoming mountains. It pained me to not stop there.

Read my story about that trip, “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route.”

Put more adventure in your life starting today. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Backpackers relaxing in the shaded campsite at Hance Creek in the Grand Canyon.
Relaxing in the shaded campsite at Hance Creek in the Grand Canyon.

Hance Creek, Grand Canyon

This is another success story. The camping area on Hance Creek, on the east side of Horseshoe Mesa, earned a spot on this list when I backpacked past it with my then-10-year-old daughter on this three-day hike. That’s my justification for keeping it on this list—even though I’m happy to report that I’ve since returned and spent a night there (photo above) on a six-day trip that I’ve described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Not to be confused with the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River—which is several trail miles from and a couple thousand feet below the camping area at Hance Creek—the camping zone at Hance Creek is flanked by sheer, vibrantly red walls that by late afternoon cast a long, blessed shadow to give us relief from the sun.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

A hiker above Scoop Lake in the Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.
Scott White hiking above Scoop Lake in the Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.

Upper Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains

On a 28-mile, one-day loop hike through the heart of one of the most scenic Western mountain ranges that most hikers have never heard of, Idaho’s White Clouds, two friends and I scrambled off-trail up a very steep headwall, passed through a notch in a row of pinnacles, then picked up a trail and descended into the valley of a string of pearls known as the Boulder Chain Lakes. While we would run into backpackers camped at the lower lakes, we saw no one at three of the highest and most remote of the chain, Headwall Lake, Scoop Lake, and Hummock Lake, perched amid copses of conifers beneath peaks of unbelievably white rock that give these mountains their name.

Read my story about a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, with more photos and trip-planning info.

That White Clouds hike is featured in “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” With a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read all of those three stories for free; if you don’t have a subscription, you can download the e-book versions of “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-12-nicest-backcountry-campsites-ive-hiked-past/feed/ 9 8431
Video: Hiking Utah’s Slot Canyons Peek-A-Boo and Spooky Gulch https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-utahs-slot-canyons-peek-a-boo-gulch-and-spooky-gulch/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-utahs-slot-canyons-peek-a-boo-gulch-and-spooky-gulch/#comments Tue, 25 Mar 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10827 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Send four kids age 10 to 12 through a tight slot canyon where they have to pull themselves over short pour-offs, duck through natural arches, and twist and contort their bodies to squeeze between wildly curved walls that frequently narrow to just inches wide, and they hardly stop gushing about it. “Wow, this is so cool!” “That’s amazing!” “Awesome!” We heard a lot of that when my friend Justin Hayes and I hiked Peek-a-Boo Gulch and Spooky Gulch in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument with our kids. Watch this video and you’ll see why.

Spring and fall are the seasons to explore these two classic Southwest desert slot canyons, which are beginner-friendly and can be linked up in an easy hike of just a few hours. Scroll down below the video to the link to my story about hiking Peek-a-Boo and Spooky and elsewhere in the Escalante and other Utah parks.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Read my story about that trip, “Playing the Memory Game in Utah’s Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon,” which included backpacking Coyote Gulch in the Escalante; it has many photos and tips on pulling off this adventure yourself.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

See all of my stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, including “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest,” and all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

As long as you’re frittering away your time daydreaming, visit my Youtube page, where you’ll find many more videos from stories at this blog.

The Big Outside helps your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-utahs-slot-canyons-peek-a-boo-gulch-and-spooky-gulch/feed/ 1 10827
Tent Flap With A View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tent-flap-with-a-view-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tent-flap-with-a-view-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/#comments Sun, 23 Mar 2025 09:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=4587 By Michael Lanza

An unforgettable campsite can define a backcountry trip. Sometimes that perfect spot where you spend a night forges the memory that remains the most vivid long after you’ve gone home. A photo of that camp can send recollections of the entire adventure rushing back to you—it does for me. I’ve been very fortunate to have pitched a tent in many great backcountry campsites over more than three decades of backpacking all over the U.S. I’ve distilled the list of my favorite spots down to these 25.

I update this list every year and it becomes a little more difficult almost every time. This year, I’ve added fresh photos from a couple of places I revisited in 2024: Painter Basin in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness and the Grand Canyon, where I backpacked most of the Gems Route, which includes the most remote stretch of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail. 

Below my top 25 list you’ll find a second list—now just as long—of campsites that were previously in my top 25. Each campsite photo below includes a short description of that trip, and most have a link to an existing story at The Big Outside.

In some cases, the photos from these places show the view a few steps from our tent, rather than the site itself.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


I share a brief anecdote with each photo because, for me, each campsite isn’t merely a beautiful scene: it is a story and a memory. Because that’s what camping in the wilderness is all about.

I’d love to read your thoughts about any of these places or your suggestions for campsites that belong on my list; I’m always looking for trip ideas. Share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Sweet dreams.

A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.
David Ports at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.

Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park

A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.
David Ports at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.

We slogged up Sahale Arm into a cold, wind-driven rain, unable to see more than a hundred feet in any direction. But as my friend David Ports and I reached Sahale Glacier Camp (lead photo at top of story), the rain and wind abated and the clouds dropped below us, giving us a view of the earth falling away into a bottomless abyss a few steps from our tent door. A mountain goat strolled past our camp.

Perched at the top of Sahale Arm and the toe of the Sahale Glacier, at 7,686 feet, the highest designated campsite in Washington’s North Cascades National Park overlooks what appears to be a boundless, wind-whipped sea of sharpened peaks smothered in snow and ice, among them Johannesburg, Baker, Shuksan, Glacier Peak, and in the far distance, Mount Rainier.

See my story “Exploring the ‘American Alps:’ The North Cascades” and all stories about backpacking in North Cascades National Park at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A campsite by Royal Arch on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite by Royal Arch on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

Beside Royal Arch, Grand Canyon National Park

Royal Arch campsite, Grand Canyon.
Royal Arch campsite, Grand Canyon.

Backpacking the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, the most remote and arguably the most rugged and lonely established South Rim hike in the Big Ditch, three friends and I put in a monster first day to reach the campsite beside Royal Arch—and was it ever worth the effort. We descended Royal Arch Canyon, which involves slow, strenuous, and exposed scrambling in spots—but is also lush with hanging gardens growing along its vibrant creek, which plunges through several crystal-clear pools—until we came into view of the arch, the Grand Canyon’s largest natural bridge (it’s water carved, so technically a bridge, not an arch).

We passed beneath the tall, thick arch (which provided ample shelter during dinnertime rain showers) and walked just beyond it to a flat ledge more than large enough for our two tents, directly beneath a towering sandstone pinnacle. Just steps beyond our ledge loomed a vertical, 200-foot pour-off dropping into the lower section of Royal Arch Canyon—a reminder not to wander far from the tents after dark. Come morning, dawn light would set the red walls of that lower canyon ablaze. For the four of us, all longtime backcountry explorers, this was an all-time best campsite.

See my story “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop” with lots of photos, a video, and information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.
Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake along the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park.

Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Wind-driven rain and hail pounded us as we backpacked the John Muir Trail through the Evolution Basin on the eighth day of a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park in California’s High Sierra, mostly on the JMT. The rain tapered before we crossed 11,955-foot Muir Pass in early evening, but gray-black storm clouds still threatened. A little while later, we pitched our tents on the only tiny patches of rock-free, flat ground we found above Helen Lake, at around 11,600 feet, drawing the curtain on an 18-mile day with over 5,000 feet of uphill and downhill. There have been few days when I’ve walked that far through grander wilderness.

The storm passed, granting us a dry, calm evening. The setting sun cast soft alpenglow upon a peak behind us and burnished the clouds hovering over the western horizon a dark burgundy. But the real payoff came the next morning, when the rising sun ignited the rocky faces of peaks across Helen Lake. The lake and a tiny tarn—more like a big puddle—near our camp offered razor-sharp reflections of our surroundings. Despite the weather that chased us there and our rocky tent sites, Helen Lake burned itself into memory for all three of us as an inspirational spot.

In fact, as always happens when I backpack through the High Sierra, we had a few truly glorious campsites on that August 2022 hike, including at Thousand Island Lake and Minaret Lake. See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana.
Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana.

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

With two of the six camps on my reserved permit closed due to bear activity when two friends and I arrived at Glacier National Park in the second week of September 2023, we had to scramble to create a new permit based on backcountry campground availability—and ended up with an itinerary very similar to a hike I’d done in Glacier five years before (see this story). But in Glacier, there are no consolation prizes, only trails that awe every time you walk them.

We backpacked a seven-day, north-south traverse of the park, mostly combining the primary and alternate routes of the Continental Divide Trail from the Belly River Valley to Two Medicine, hiking through the Ptarmigan Tunnel and finishing with the Dawson Pass Trail’s alpine traverse overlooking the peaks in the park’s remote heart. But unlike last time, we spent our final night at No Name Lake, where a calm morning brought the kind of lake reflection you want to frame for a wall at home (as I did). Another surprise treat on that trip was beautiful evening and morning light at Morning Star Lake—which would have made this list if not for the serendipitous light at No Name.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

The Narrows, Zion National Park

It was one of the most glaring omissions in my resume as a backpacker: I had never hiked The Narrows of the Virgin River in southern Utah’s Zion National Park. (I actually had a permit to do it in October 2013, when Congress shut down the federal government, closing all the national parks and temporarily crushing my hopes of finally ticking off that classic hike.)

Campsite one in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Campsite one in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

Then an unexpected opportunity arose: I had a window for a four-day trip in early November and saw an unusually good forecast for southern Utah. I broached the idea of backpacking The Narrows to my friend, David Gordon, he leapt at the chance, and we got a last-minute permit for a very popular trip at a time of year when there are far fewer people either competing for a permit or dayhiking from the bottom.

I shot this photo and video of David at our campsite, Narrows no. 1, in early evening; the slot on the left side of the photo is The Narrows—we had emerged from that slot, hiking downstream, just an hour or so earlier.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

Click here now to get my expert e-book to backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

A backpacker at a campsite along the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, in Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunrise at a campsite on Death Canyon Shelf.

Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park

A backpacker at a campsite on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

I could rattle off a list of gorgeous campsites in Wyoming’s Tetons, a park I’ve visited well over 20 times and never get tired of. But I decided to include just the two camping zones I consider the best places to bed down in the Tetons backcountry and can be reached by trail: Death Canyon Shelf (above and at right) and the North Fork of Cascade Canyon (below).

I’ve camped a few times in different spots on Death Canyon Shelf, a broad, three-mile-long bench at about 9,500 feet. With the earth dropping away abruptly into Death Canyon on one side, cliffs rising some 500 feet on the other side, and views across the jagged peaks and canyons of the Tetons—reaching all the way to the Grand Teton—there are few spots with such sweeping and dramatic panoramas. I’ve watched moose in Death Canyon through binoculars from the cliff tops and deer grazing around our campsite, was awakened one night by a bull elk outside our tent—and have usually caught a spectacular sunset followed by an equally glorious sunrise.

After the Teton Crest Trail, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon.

North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park

Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

On my most-recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, in August 2019, three friends and I started up the North Fork of Cascade Canyon on our second afternoon—having already enjoyed two days of a constant stream of breathtaking scenery. Where the trail emerges from forest into boulder-strewn meadows with a first, sweeping view of the canyon, my friend David looked over his shoulder and exclaimed, “Wow!” He was gazing down the canyon at the sheer north face of the Grand Teton rising several thousand feet above us (photo above).

We found a campsite in a copse of pine trees with a ledge that afforded an unimpeded view down the canyon as the setting down turned the Grand golden and then ruby red (photo at left). Getting an early start the next morning, we passed a massive bull moose strolling across a meadow on our way to Lake Solitude—which we had to ourselves at a time of day when its still waters offered a perfect mirror image of the surrounding cliffs and peaks. And the eye candy just kept getting better as we hiked the TCT high up a canyon wall to Paintbrush Divide at 10,700 feet.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail” and “American Classic: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail. Visit my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan yours.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

A campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
Our campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park

It almost seems unfair to compare other places to the High Sierra, Wyoming’s Teton Range and Wind River Range, Glacier National Park, or the Grand Canyon; those destinations dominate this list in part because I keep returning to them, but I think the photos speak for themselves. On a six-day, family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park, we camped at two alpine lakes that deserved placement on this list: Precipice Lake and Columbine Lake (see Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites below these 25 favorites).

Precipice wasn’t even part of the planned itinerary; we intended to go beyond it, over Kaweah Gap, to camp in the Nine Lakes Basin. But when we reached Precipice in late afternoon on our third day, we decided within minutes to stop for the night. Cliffs of clean, white granite with black streaks ring much of the compact lake’s shoreline. The mouth of the outlet creek provides an excellent pool for a chilling dip. Granite ledges above the lake have flat areas for tents or to just lay out bags and sleep under the stars (as my 12-year-old son and I did). The evening alpenglow on the cliffs reflected in the lake and on 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak towering above Precipice, put the icing on the cake.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Want to hike the Teton Crest Trail, John Muir Trail, or another trip?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

Backpackers at a campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt at a campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range

The views kept getting better with every mile on the first day of a three-day, 41-mile loop that two friends and I backpacked from the Elkhart Park Trailhead in Wyoming’s Wind River Range in mid-September. But as we entered the long, alpine valley called Titcomb Basin to find a campsite for the night, craning our necks at the cliffs and peaks towering overhead, we immediately realized it was one of the prettiest backcountry spots any of us had ever seen.

A campsite in the South Fork Bull Lake Creek Valley on the Wind River High Route..
Our campsite in the South Fork Bull Lake Creek Valley on the Wind River High Route..

An alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, Titcomb Basin sits below mountains on the Continental Divide that soar more than 3,000 feet above the Titcomb Lakes in the valley, the highest of which is 13,745-foot Fremont Peak. In fact, high peaks flank the valley on three sides like a long, narrow horseshoe. The only easy way in and out is via the trail entering the mouth of the basin. The next day, we hiked an off-trail route over Knapsack Col at about 12,200 feet, at the upper end of Titcomb, descending another trailless alpine valley speckled with wildflowers. 

Every time I return to the Winds, it feels like a reminder that I need to get there more often. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a mediocre campsite in the Winds, including the six nights I spent in August 2020 on the 96-mile Wind River High Route.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Which puffy should you buy? See my picks for “The 12 Best Down Jackets
and “How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

In the last week of June—not yet summer in the mountains—my son, Nate, and I backpacked with two friends to one of the gems of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness: Alice Lake. While the ground was mostly dry and snow-free in the valleys, we had a frigid ford of a creek running knee-deep and fast with snowmelt, and then encountered up to three feet of snow still on the ground for the last hour or so to Alice Lake, which sits at 8,598 feet below an eye-catching row of granite pinnacles. We found Alice still partly frozen over. But the calm of late afternoon and then the next morning served up a glassy reflection of the snowy peaks beyond that illustrates why this area is a favorite among Sawtooths aficionados.

I’d been to Alice Lake a few times before, as had Nate, on his first wilderness backpacking trip—and one of the first of our annual “Boy Trips”—when he was six years old. In fact, on this recent visit, I recognized and pointed out to Nate the campsite where, seven years earlier, I hurriedly threw up our tent just before a violent thunderstorm rolled in. This time, we just spent one night out there, early enough in the season that we had a chilly night and no mosquitoes. Alice Lake has become popular and is usually overcrowded on summer weekends; plan to be there on a weeknight or pick another spot.

See my stories “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes”  “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at this blog, plus my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Lastly, don’t miss two more photos from Sawtooths campsites that I’ve had to bump to my list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites (see below)—which tells you something about the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth Mountains.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

A backpacker at a campsite in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm at our second camp in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Below the Chocolate Drops, Maze District, Canyonlands National Park

After an arduous descent with some exposed scrambling off Maze Overlook, on a five-day, roughly 46-mile, early March backpacking trip in the Maze District of southern Utah’s Canyonlands, three friends and I followed occasional cairns down the South Fork of Horse Canyon. After some searching, we located our quarry—a small but clear pool perhaps four inches deep, one of the few springs we would find flowing in The Maze.

Our packs newly laden with many pounds of water, we hiked about a half-mile beyond the spring into the mouth of a canyon traversed by the Maze’s Chimney Route. Turning onto a sandy footpath, we walked up a short, dead-end side canyon and found soft, flat ground for our tents, surrounded on three sides by tall cliffs of desert varnish. Rising above the canyon rim behind our camp, one of the Chocolate Drops—distinctive stone towers, visible for miles in every direction, colored a darker shade of brown than most of the surrounding landscape—seemed to peer down at us curiously.

We spent two nights in that wonderful, secluded campsite, dayhiking a nearly nine-mile loop from it that linked up two thrilling and improbably circuitous routes through the Maze, and marveling at how the simultaneously warm and cool light of March days constantly transformed our campsite’s canyon walls.

See my story about that trip, “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze” and all stories about Canyonlands National Park at this blog.

Hike all of the “10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A backpacker at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Evolution Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The first time I walked up to the shore of Evolution Lake, on my thru-hike of the John Muir Trail, I couldn’t see the lake. Arriving there after dark, we laid out our sleeping pads and bags on granite slabs under the stars and quickly nodded off. Catching our first glimpse of our environs at first light the next morning actually made it more magical, because we got to watch daylight slowly reveal this magnificent alpine valley to us.

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, along the John Muir Trail in the Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

The second time I walked up to Evolution Lake, on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the High Sierra in August 2022, my two companions and I arrived on a beautiful morning—and that’s a place that will make you turn in a circle and gape. At 10,852 feet, surrounded by soaring cliffs that rise to tall peaks on all sides, including the 13,000-footers Mounts Mendel and Darwin and the 12,329-foot Hermit, it’s the lowest lake in the Evolution Basin and has the most protected camping. While we were moving on—commencing one of the JMT’s sections that earn it the nickname “America’s most beautiful trail” (a day that concluded at Helen Lake, described in the writeup above)—part of me wished we were spending the night there. I’ve also felt that way both times I’ve backpacked past Wanda Lake in the upper end of Evolution Basin.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking the JMT at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Early morning at Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

The chilly September air pinched our faces as we took the first steps from our campsite on Elizabeth Lake, on our second morning backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier. The still, glassy water captured a razor-sharp, upside-down reflection of the jagged mountains flanking it. Then we heard the sound: a high-pitched, nasal whine that built into something like a shriek, the note suspended for several seconds before it was abruptly cut off. It was an elk somewhere in the forest nearby, bugling an invitation to prospective mates.

The campsite at the head of Elizabeth Lake, tucked into the forest just a minute’s walk from the lakeshore beach, not only graced us with that elk bugle, but we also saw our first two bears of the trip while hiking along the lake that morning. While we would hear elk bugling almost every morning and evening on that trip, and more bears as well as mountain goats, bighorn sheep, and moose, Elizabeth Lake awed us with its morning reflection of mountains and set the tone for a consummate Glacier experience that turned into one of my all-time best backpacking trips.

See my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” about that 94-mile backpacking trip. Click here to get my downloadable e-guide that will tell you everything you need to know to plan and take that trip (including some shorter variations of it), and click here for my e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Glacier.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

Backpackers camped in the backcountry of Wyoming's Wind River Range.
My wife, Penny, at our camp off the Highline Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Along the Highline Trail, Wind River Range

Backpacking one of the premier long footpaths in the Winds, the Highline Trail, on a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I reached an unnamed, small tarn beside the trail late one afternoon and the view stopped us in our tracks. We walked around the tarn and a few hundred feet beyond it to a flat area on a low rise.

We pitched our tents overlooking grassy meadows littered with glacial-erratic boulders that sloped languidly down to the lower of the Twin Lakes. Beyond that lake, the far side of the valley shot upward to a pair of behemoths reaching for the clouds: 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. Culminating a day when the miles we hiked—10—again exceeded the number of other people we saw, it felt like we’d found an appropriate home for the night.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

A campsite at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
Our campsite at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Overland Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

My family reached Overland Lake in late afternoon on day two of a four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains. Immediately—and literally—the three teenagers (including a friend of our daughter’s) staked out their tents turf on the flat top of rocky ledges just a few steps (but several feet) above the wind-whipped waters of the lake.

Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.
Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.

Although the wind blew all that night—and my wife and I pitched our tent in a more protected spot amid trees about 25 feet behind their tents—we all enjoyed eating and hanging out on that ledge while the evening sun poured alpenglow onto the west-facing peaks and cliffs above Overland Lake.

For several years, I’d been hankering to hike the Ruby Crest and explore a wilderness area that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to marquis parks and mountain ranges around the West. We saw wildflowers blooming and incredible terrain, as well as relatively few mosquitoes… or other backpackers. Overland is a logical stop for Ruby Crest Trail backpackers, sitting at the southern end of a 12-mile day that stays high above treeline, with sweeping views.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A backpacker at a campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at our campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the upper right background, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Painter Basin, High Uintas Wilderness

On the third afternoon of a six-day, roughly 58-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, we reached our second 11,000-foot pass of the day—Trail Rider Pass at 11,700 feet—and paused to catch the breath stolen away by both the climb and the view of an imposing row of 13,000-foot peaks, including 13,528-foot summit of Kings Peak, Utah’s highest.

A campsite in Painter Basin below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right), High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Our campsite in Painter Basin below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right), High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Then we descended through switchbacks into an alpine garden of rocks and creeks called Painter Basin, where we pitched our tents at around 11,000 feet in the long shadow of Kings Peak. The sun dipped behind Kings, igniting the tall, billowing clouds that filled the sky in a wide arc overhead—a beautiful evening that foreshadowed a night sky riddled with stars. The next day, we dayhiked some 10 miles and 2,500 vertical feet to the crown of Utah, a fun and scenic day.

I returned to Painter Basin in early October 2024 (going on short notice with an unusually good weather window) with my son on the first night of a four-day, roughly 60-mile traverse mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—and Painter graced us with lovely dawn light on those big peaks. Much of both trips occurred between 10,000 and 12,000 feet and delivered a considerable degree of solitude and beauty.

See my stories “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness” and all stories that feature the High Uintas Wilderness at The Big Outside.

Get a full wilderness experience.
See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.
Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.

Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park

For one of the trips for my book about taking our kids on wilderness adventures in national parks facing threats from climate change, we took a five-day sea kayaking trip in southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay, where cliffs shoot straight up out of the sea and razor peaks smothered in ice and snow rise thousands of feet overhead. We watched bald eagles and other birds flying overhead, harbor seals popping up out of the water near our boats, Stellar sea lions honking and carrying on while sprawled on the rocks of South Marble Island, and brown bears roaming rocky beaches looking for food.

We spent two nights at this campsite near the mouth of Johns Hopkins Inlet. From there, we kayaked up the inlet to within about a quarter-mile of the mile-wide snout of the Johns Hopkins Glacier; a thousand or more seals occupied floating icebergs or swam around the inlet. Throughout the evenings and mornings in camp, we listened to that massive glacier calve another bus-size chunk of itself into the sea every 20 or 30 minutes, with an explosive sound the native Tlingits called “white thunder.”

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A campsite at night by the Colorado River at Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite at night by the Colorado River at Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.

Beside Hance Rapids, Colorado River, Grand Canyon National Park

The first day of a three-day backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon with my 10-year-old daughter, Alex, and two other families was a tough one: descending nearly 5,000 vertical feet in 6.5 miles on the rugged New Hance Trail. By the time we reached our campsites beside the Colorado River, everyone was whipped. But sometimes it takes a hard day of hiking to reach a magical spot, and this lonely corner on the floor of the Big Ditch is a pretty good place to rest tired legs.

Backpackers at a campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Dawn light above our campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

Our front porch offered a view of redrock cliffs just across the river. The gravelly drone of Hance Rapids drowned out all other noise. Night fell like a black curtain to reveal a sky riddled with far more bullet holes than all the road signs in Arizona combined (and these holes glowed). Morning brought a sharp chill to the air—it was November—and the slow, patient unfolding of dawn light descending (kind of like very tired backpackers) from the South Rim a vertical mile above us to the mid-canyon geologic layers and, finally, bathing our campsite in warmth. We left there completely rejuvenated.

See my story “A Matter of Perspective: A Father-Daughter Hike in the Grand Canyon” for more images, a video, and tips on planning this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside . See also my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” about a trip where the beach at Hance Rapids is a potential campsite, and get my expert e-book also titled “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” to find out all you need to know to plan and pull off that amazing multi-day hike.

So many spots where I’ve camped in the Grand Canyon would make most people’s list of best camps ever. But I’d be remiss to not mention that every one of our camps for five nights on the GC’s Gems Route—the most remote section of the Tonto Trail and one of the canyon’s most remote trips—featured breathtaking views and a shocking amount of solitude. See my story “Let’s Talk Water: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems.”

Get my expert e-books to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker enjoying the dawn light at a campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser enjoying the dawn light at our campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

After several multi-day hikes all over the Winds, I’ve gotten to know those mountains well and slept in so many beautiful spots that it’s hard to select just a few among them for this story. But after hiking to Pyramid Lake once before, I fulfilled my vow then to return, pitching my tent there on the first night of a four-day loop from Big Sandy in August 2023.

A backpackers' campsite near Arrowhead Lake in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range.
Our campsite near Arrowhead Lake in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range.

A friend and I camped in a meadow an appropriate distance from the lakeshore, where we enjoyed a sunset that set clouds aglow and a dawn that made the peaks surrounding the lake appear to glow. That proved to be a portentous start to our 41-mile hike, which crossed four high passes, featured camps near gorgeous lakes each night—Washakie and Arrowhead followed Pyramid—and delivered the kind of solitude one can find in the Winds when you’re prepared to work for it.

I’m willing to go out on a limb and call it the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

 

Sunset over Thousand Island Lake along the John Muir Trail in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Sunset over Thousand Island Lake along the John Muir Trail in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Thousand Island Lake, John Muir Trail, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Few backcountry campsites launch a backpacking trip as beautifully as the first evening my two adventure partners and I spent on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, mostly on the John Muir Trail. From our camp above the shore of Thousand Island Lake (shown in lead photo at top of story), we watched a sunset that blazed furiously, igniting tiers of billowing clouds drifting past in what seemed like an endless light show with multiple, unexpected encores.

As has happened, I think, every time I’ve backpacked through the High Sierra, that adventure granted us the gift of more than a few really nice camps, including Helen Lake (above) and Minaret Lake. John Muir dubbed the High Sierra the “Range of Light” and the moniker has stuck because of the way those mountains seem to cling tightly to and refuse to release the abundant sunlight they receive. Stir a fast-moving cloudscape into a sunset like we had at Thousand Island Lake and you get a scene to remember forever.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Score a popular permit using my
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A campsite on the Dome Glacier in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Our campsite on the Dome Glacier in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Dome Glacier, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

The first four nights of camping on the Ptarmigan Traverse in Washington’s North Cascades are in the alpine zone with 360-degree views of some of the most severely vertiginous and heavily glaciated and snow-covered peaks in the Lower 48. With clear skies, any of those camps might among the most memorable you’ve ever had. But besides White Rock Lakes (scroll down to the list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites, below), my other favorite campsite on the Ptarmigan was on the Dome Glacier, base camp for our climb of Dome Peak. Throughout a clear evening, with a sea of clouds filling the valleys below us, we looked south to the white pyramid of the volcano Glacier Peak, glowing above the clouds in the dusk light.

Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

Find the right tent for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and “5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent.”

High camp at 12,000 feet below California's Mount Whitney.
High camp at 12,000 feet below California’s Mount Whitney.

Below the East Face of Mount Whitney

In frigid blasts of wind raking the snow-covered mountainside in April, our party crested a steep slope to find ourselves facing one of the most-photographed and unforgettable mountain vistas in America: the East Face of California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, highest peak in the Lower 48. On a flat pan of snow at 12,000 feet below that jagged skyline, we pitched our high camp, from which we made a successful ascent of Whitney’s Mountaineers Route the next day.

Spending two clear, starry nights in that camp, we saw the East Face in the varying light of all times of day, from dawn to sunset, dusk to dark. When I mentioned to one of our climbing partners that Whitney’s East Face was the only place I’ve seen that conjures mental images of the peaks of Torres del Paine National Park in Chilean Patagonia, this man—who’s also been to Patagonia—told me that he’d been thinking the same thing.

See my story about that trip, “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of California’s Mount Whitney.”

A backpacker at Toleak Point on the coast of Olympic National Park.
A backpacker at Toleak Point on the coast of Olympic National Park.

Toleak Point, Olympic National Park

On my family’s second day of backpacking the southern Olympic coast, we had already marveled at a massive boulder in the intertidal zone on the beach that was wallpapered with hundreds of mussels, sea anemones, and vividly orange or purple starfish. We had also climbed down an 80-foot cliff on a rope ladder that was missing several rungs at its bottom.

Late that afternoon, we found a spot for our tents on the beach at Toleak Point, where dozens of the rock pinnacles called sea stacks rise out of the ocean just offshore. As the kids played in a tide pool, a sea otter emerged from the pool’s other end and flopped across the beach to plunge into the ocean. A seal cavorted in the waves near us. When I went to explore the sea stacks exposed at low tide, a great blue heron lifted off of one and soared away over the beach like a winged dinosaur. Another of the trips my family took for my book, this three-day hike on Washington’s Olympic coast is still remembered by our kids, as well as my wife and me, as one of our all-time favorite trips.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” with more photos, a video, and my tips on how to pull off this trip.

Get my expert help planning your next trip and 33% off a one-year subscription.
Click here now to buy a premium subscription to The Big Outside!

 

Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park.
Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park.

Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park

Our weeklong backpacking trip had featured too many wildlife sightings to count—including bighorn sheep and numerous mountain goats, not to mention that we had an impending date with a sow grizzly bear and her two cubs. The scenery blew us away every day. I would have forgiven Lake Ellen Wilson, our final night’s campsite, for being anticlimactic.

But upon arriving there, we soaked tired feet in the lake’s cold, emerald-colored waters, a 20-second walk from our campsite, gazing around at a basin ringed by thousand-foot cliffs with several waterfalls pouring off of them. Then we laid down on the sun-warmed pebbles on the beach, which felt like a heated bed with built-in massage. For my friend Jerry Hapgood and me, dropping off into an afternoon nap on them was the default setting. It turned out to be our best campsite of the trip.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” about backpacking my modified and expanded version of Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier
and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

Big Spring camp in Paria Canyon.
Big Spring camp in Paria Canyon.

Big Spring, Paria Canyon, Vermilion Cliffs National Monument

I’d known that Paria Canyon could hold some surprises. But our two-family party found a little more adventure than we’d anticipated—which became evident when the other dad in our group, Vince, plunged hip-deep into quicksand on our first afternoon. But he managed, with considerable effort, to extricate himself; and by the next day, the kids had figured out how to identify shallow quicksand that they could stomp around in, howling with laughter. (Before the trip was over, Vince’s wife, Cat, and I would also take a quicksand dip.) We hiked for five days, mostly in the cold but usually ankle-deep Paria River, through a canyon that ranged from narrow with sheer walls to a big, open chasm between distant cliffs. While every campsite was really nice, the one at Big Spring (above), on our second night, took first prize.

Paria, which straddles the Utah-Arizona border and enters the Colorado River at Lees Ferry (where we finished our hike), at the beginning of the Grand Canyon, is unquestionably one of the great, multi-day canyon hikes of the Southwest—partly explaining why it’s so difficult to snag a permit to backpack it. But the permit system also preserves an unusual degree of solitude and a unique wilderness experience: We saw very few other people over five days, and spent much of that time on our own. (The BLM allows 20 people to start backpacking the Paria daily; we grabbed nine spots.)

See my story “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” with my tips on how to plan this trip.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites

As I visit new places, I occasionally add new campsites to the list above, and have to remove some great spots from the list (to keep it to 25, a somewhat random but sensible number). But bumping a site from my list doesn’t diminish its attraction, of course. So I will keep those former favorites in the list below, to give you even more ideas and goals for future adventures.

A campsite at Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
Our campsite at Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.

Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness

On the second day of a five-day, 44-mile family hike through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness, we ascended a long finger of snow and crossed the pass that represents the crux of this trip in terms of technical difficulty, Spider Gap, at 7,100 feet. From there, we descended snow into the head of a valley sculpted and scoured by ice just a geologic moment ago, the Upper Lyman Lakes basin.

The Lyman Glacier poured down the cliffs of 8,459-foot Chiwawa Mountain into the vividly emerald waters of the uppermost lake. Barren, snow-speckled peaks and cliffs ringed the valley on three sides. A creek leapt from the lake’s far shore, crashing over stones and a small waterfall, below which some of us took a frigid and very brief bath. Wildflowers sprung hopefully from the few, shallow patches of soil. We pitched our tents on a grassy knoll near a copse of conifer trees, with an unobstructed view of that entire basin. And we spent most of the evening watching the shifting light across the mountains until sunset lit the clouds afire, watching a pair of bucks and a few doe wander through our campsites, and, well, swatting mosquitoes. (It was late July in the North Cascades, after all.)

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop.”

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my downloadable, expert e-guides.
Click here now to learn more.

Benson Lake in Yosemite National Park.

Benson Lake, Yosemite National Park

At dusk on the second day of a four-day, 86-mile backpacking tour of northern Yosemite—the park’s biggest swath of wilderness—my friend Todd Arndt and I strolled up to perhaps the most unlikely sight deep in the mountains: a sprawling, sandy beach that looks like it got lost on its way to Southern California. After hiking almost 23 miles that day, the trip’s longest, wiggling our toes in the cool sand and standing in the icy lake water in our bare feet reduced us to cooing babies.

A longtime backcountry ranger in Yosemite had told me that I’d find the park’s best backcountry beach at Benson Lake—but I never would have imagined such a vast expanse of fine sand deep in the mountains. It was one of many surprisingly gorgeous backcountry secrets I discovered over seven days of backpacking 151 miles through Yosemite’s most remote corners.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the three-day, 65-mile first leg of that weeklong odyssey, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows.”

Yearning to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-guides to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

A campsite at Tanner Beach in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite at Tanner Beach in the Grand Canyon.

Tanner Beach, Grand Canyon National Park

A longtime backcountry ranger who has hiked every named trail in the Grand Canyon wrote an email to me recommending that I try a route off the South Rim—only a section of which I’d hiked before—that he described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” Given the source of that endorsement, how could I not do it? So two friends and I backpacked a six-day, 74-mile, point-to-point traverse that took us down to campsites on the Colorado River and, of course, back up to the rim.

That hike showed us many diverse personalities of the canyon, from one of its most scenic and popular trails, the South Kaibab, to one of its most remote and primitive paths, the Escalante Route. We experienced some of the highest levels of solitude I’ve ever had on Grand Canyon trails—hiking for hours without encountering another person, and having little company at three of our four campsites. But we also spent a fun evening at a campsite with a very friendly rafting party that graciously fed us well.

And our last campsite, shaded by a rock ledge at Tanner Beach, turned out to be the best camp on the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon. I think you’ll see why when you read my story about that beautiful hike—titled, appropriately, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Click here now for my e-book of the same title, which will tell you everything you need to know to plan and execute that trip.

See all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside and my e-book to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Feeling inspired by this story? Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A backpacker hiking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Columbine Lake, Sequoia National Park

Whichever direction you approach this lake from, you will pay for the privilege of a night here with significant toil. Filling a stone basin at nearly 11,000 feet, below the distinctive spire of Sawtooth Peak and an arc of snaggle-toothed mountains, Columbine is reached either via a 600-foot hump up through dozens of switchbacks from Lost Canyon; or a much harder 1,200-foot scramble, sans maintained trail, up a steep mountainside of sliding scree from Monarch Lakes to 11,630-foot Sawtooth Gap, where a primitive but better path leads down to Columbine. (We took the former and descended from Sawtooth Gap to Monarch Lakes—and were glad we did not carry backpacks up that route.)

Once there, though, your effort is (mostly) forgotten. We explored the granite ledges on the northshore of the lake, where crevices and small bowls in the granite hold tinypockets of water and you sometimes have to scramble on all fours over short, vertical walls. Alpenglow painted the peaks a salmon hue in the evening–of course—and sunrise cast an unbelievable pallet of orange, yellow, and reds onto a curlicue sculpture of clouds hovering just above one jagged ridge nearby. While not easy on the legs, Columbine Lake is very easy on the eyes.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” about this six-day backpacking trip, which included Precipice and Columbine lakes, with many more photos, a video, and information for planning this trip yourself. As of 2021, Sequoia National Park prohibits camping within 100 feet of Columbine’s lakeshore, to help protect the lake from use impacts.

Middle Fork Rapid Transit rafts on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Our rafts parked at Whitie Cox camp on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Whitie Cox Camp, Middle Fork Salmon River, ID

Boy, it’s hard to pick one campsite that outdoes all others on the Middle Fork of the Salmon—they’re all pretty darn nice, often on large beaches in a canyon flanked by cliffs and mountainsides of pine forest, rocky crags, and golden grasses rising to summits 3,000 feet overhead. But for me, one stands out, and my family has, just by coincidence, camped there on both of our six-day rafting and kayaking trips down the Middle Fork.

In July 2019, on our second Middle Fork trip, joined by 20 good friends that included families with teens and young adults, we once again spent our second of five nights on the river at Whitie Cox camp. Just above a sweeping bend in the river, the camp has views up and down the canyon and a sprawling beach where the group sat in a large circle of folding chairs and talked and laughed for hours. After dark, some of us laid out our pads and bags on the sand and slept under the stars to the sound of the river softly murmuring past. In early morning, several of us hiked nearly a thousand feet up a ridge to an amazing vista up and down the canyon.

The Middle Fork, deep in central Idaho’s sprawling, 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, is rightly known as one of the great multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—if not the greatest—for its mix of breathtaking scenery, frequent rapids up to class III and IV, numerous hiking opportunities, hot springs, world-class trout fishing… and beautiful campsites.

See my story about that most-recent trip on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River, and my story about my family’s first trip down the Middle Fork when our kids were four years younger.

See also my story about my involvement helping to create a new long-distance trail through the vast wilderness areas of central Idaho, which includes the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail.”

Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier.
Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier.

Camp Schurman, Mount Rainier National Park

Camp Schurman sits at 9,460 feet, on the very tip of Steamboat Prow, a cleaver of busted volcanic rock and dust. Two massive glaciers, the Emmons and Winthrop, part around this stone prow in a way that illustrates how frozen water behaves much the same as its liquid form. More than four square miles of moving ice, thousands of years old, and stretching over nearly 9,000 feet of elevation, the Emmons is the largest glacier in the Lower 48; the Winthrop isn’t much smaller. When two friends and I set off to climb the Emmons in early August a few years ago, with much of the snow melted off the glaciers, they displayed heavy scarring: huge, frighteningly beautiful crevasses as plentiful as waves on a storm-tossed ocean.

A two-foot-high, oval, stone wall shielded our tentsite from the irrepressible, bone-chilling wind. Standing outside our tent, I was struck by the mind-boggling scale of Mt. Rainier. Looking up at the mountain, I couldn’t fit it all within my peripheral vision. And yet, I knew I was looking at a tiny fraction of Rainier—which made me feel both very small and very fortunate for just being there.

Getting There From White River Campground at 4,400 feet, five miles past the White River ranger station (get a climbing permit there), hike the Glacier Basin Trail 3.2 miles to Glacier Basin Camp, at 6,000 feet. Follow a climbers’ trail up into the basin, reaching the Inter Glacier (good training ground for new climbers) at around 6,800 feet. Climb to Curtis Camp on the ridge north of Mt. Ruth, then descend off the ridge onto the Emmons Glacier and continue to Camp Schurman at 9,460 feet.

Map/Guidebook Trails Illustrated Mt. Rainier no. 217, $11.95, (800) 962-1643, natgeomaps.com. Mt. Rainier—A Climbing Guide, by Mike Gauthier, $18.95, mountaineersbooks.org.

Contact Mt. Rainier National Park, nps.gov/mora.

Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness.
Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness.

Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness

On the second night of a three-day, 32-mile, partly cross-country traverse of the John Muir Wilderness from North Lake Trailhead to Mosquito Flat Trailhead in the High Sierra, we pitched our tents in Granite Park, an aptly named high valley speckled with scores of alpine lakes and tarns and encircled by an arc of 12,000- and 13,000-foot spires of barren, golden stone. In the evening, the sinking sun painted the peaks, lakes, and granitic landscape in a shifting, vivid light that was absolutely captivating. We couldn’t tear our eyes from the light show that went on for a few hours. When the last alpenglow faded away, night brought a sky riddled with stars.

In the morning, we set out early and I got the above shot of my friend Jason Kauffman passing a lake minutes from our campsite.

See my story and more photos about backpacking a 32-mile, partly off-trail traverse in the John Muir Wilderness for information on how to pull off this trip.

On a hike above "Kid Rock" campsite, Stillwater Canyon, Green River, Canyonlands.
On a hike above “Kid Rock” campsite, Stillwater Canyon, Green River, Canyonlands.

“Kid Rock” campsite, Green River, Canyonlands National Park

We made up the name for this campsite; it doesn’t have a name that I’m aware of, though it is an established and large campsite on the Green River in Stillwater Canyon, seven miles above the confluence with the Colorado River. We gave it that name because, minutes after we landed, the eight kids in our five-family crew—ranging in age from four to 12—immediately planted their figurative flag on this boulder at the edge of the campsite and christened it “Kid Rock.” We all now remember that site by the name the kids gave that boulder.

Really, there are many special campsites along this lazy stretch of the Green, which passes through a canyon of soaring redrock cliffs and spires. But besides being spacious and scenic, this one sits at the bottom of a trail that climbs about three miles uphill to White Crack, one of the most spectacular campgrounds on the White Rim.

See my story about floating for five days down the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Rock Slide Lake in Idaho's southern Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake in the remote interior of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains

Having lived in Idaho since 1998, I have explored much of the state’s best-known mountain range, the Sawtooths. But it took me 13 years to finally backpack into the deep interior of the southern Sawtooths, an area speckled with mountain lakes that lies a solid two days’ hike from the nearest roads in any direction.

So when my friend Jeff Wilhelm and I carved out four glorious September days to finally explore this area, we found deep, clear lakes filled with lunker trout, ringed by jagged peaks, and trails that don’t receive many boot prints. Walking through the bright, airy forest there, filled with granite outcroppings, reminded me of the High Sierra—without all the people. We used Rock Slide Lake as a base camp for two nights to give us a day to explore with daypacks, and spent hours on its shore, marveling at the dawn and sunset light there.

See my story about a four-day, 57-mile in the southern Sawtooth Wilderness for more photos and information for planning this trip.

Compromise Camp on the Green River in Whirlpool Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument.

Green River, Dinosaur National Monument

Long shadows leaned over the steadily sliding river as we pulled into our first campsite on a four-day rafting trip on the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument, which straddles the Utah-Colorado border. From the floor of Lodore Canyon, we gazed up at burgundy cliffs soaring a thousand feet overhead. One friend said to me, “This is probably the nicest campsite I’ve ever seen.” But what was truly amazing was that the second night’s campsite was better than our first—and the third night’s site was even more breathtaking than the first two. For that reason—and because many campsites on the banks of the Green in Dinosaur are equally beautiful—I’m simply lumping all of them together for this list.

See my story about that trip, “Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore.”

Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch.
Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch.

Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, UT

My memory of my wife’s and my first backpacking trip in Coyote Gulch 16 years earlier was cloudy when we returned recently with our 12- and 10-year-old kids and another family. Sometimes revisiting a place doesn’t measure up to a fond recollection of it; not so with Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Escalante River canyons. It was more scenic even than I remembered. Soaring, red rock walls tower along its length. A steady creek pours over several short waterfalls, its year-round flow keeping the canyon bottom lushly green. And then there are features like Jacob Hamblin Arch and Coyote Natural Bridge.

My plan had been for us to spend our second night at one of the campsites below Jacob Hamblin; but the team was a little too pooped by the time we reached Coyote Natural Bridge to push on more than an hour farther. It turned out to be serendipitous, because we had the sandy beach area around the bridge to ourselves (whereas the campsites at Hamblin are popular). The kids played for hours in the creek and some adults took an evening hike while the others laid down on the warm sand with a book.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch (and hiking slot canyons in the Escalante and at Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks), with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tiger Key, Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.
Tiger Key, Everglades.

Tiger Key, Everglades National Park, FL

Songbirds chattered and flitted among the trees along the shore. Cormorants and brown pelicans skimmed the water’s surface. Egrets glided overhead. In one secluded cove in Tiger Key, an outermost island of the Ten Thousand Islands in Florida’s Everglades, we sat in our canoes and watched 10 brilliantly pink roseate spoonbills perched in a tree, watching us. In a small bay, we sat rapt while a dolphin swam wide circles around our canoe for about 20 minutes. Every evening, we stood in the warm beach sand watching the blazing red orb of the sun slowly sink into the Gulf of Mexico.

Another of the trips I took my family on for my book, paddling the Everglades was one of the most magical for all of us—for the scenery, the exotic birds, and the unique experience of having a wilderness beach all to ourselves.

See my story about kayaking the East River and canoeing and wilderness camping in the Ten Thousand Islands of Everglades National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness.
White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness.

White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

It was the third day of our six-day trip on arguably America’s premier mountain haute route. A multi-day walk along a high mountain crest, the Ptarmigan Traverse crosses six glaciers and stays high above treeline until the fifth day. We camped by lonely alpine lakes—one of which was still completely frozen and snow-covered in mid-August—below jagged summits in possibly the most vertiginous mountains in the country.

My climbing partners Stefan Kinnestrand and Wes Cooper and I ascended two of those glaciers, the LeConte and the South Cascade, in whiteout conditions on that third day, navigating by GPS while watching very carefully for crevasses. Then we scrambled from another pass down a precarious slope of loose rock so steep that a slip might have concluded with a tumble of several hundred feet right to the bottom. Most of the ground surrounding the White Rock Lakes remained snow-covered that August day, and the lakes were still almost completely frozen. When the fog finally lifted, we got a view across the deep valley of the West Fork of Agnes Creek to the Dana Glacier and Chikamin Glacier pouring off a ridge connecting several rocky peaks and spires. I’ll eventually post a story and more photos from the Ptarmigan Traverse.

Getting There Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.
Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.

Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park

Southern Utah’s Capitol Reef has scenery to match its siblings in the National Park System—but when it comes to crowds, this place ain’t no Zion or Yosemite. In the visitor center at the outset of a three-day, family backpacking trip, a ranger told me that we were the only party getting a permit to backpack into Spring Canyon that day.

We hiked below towering, burgundy cliffs with patches of white and orange and black water-stain streaks, passing enormous boulders piled up below the cliffs. More than four hours after setting out from the Chimney Rock Trailhead, we pitched the tent on a grassy bench in Spring Canyon, beneath cliffs topped by domes and spires soaring hundreds of feet overhead. Staying there for two nights, with a day of exploring in between, we saw no other people. If that kind of solitude is rare in the backcountry of many national parks, it’s especially unusual in a spot reached with relatively little effort.

See my story about dayhiking, slot canyoneering, and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Patagonia.
Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Patagonia.

Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia

The 35-mile Dientes Circuit through the Dientes de Navarino (“Teeth of Navarino”) on Isla Navarino (Navarino Island), at the southern tip of South America, is chock full of ends-of-the-Earth moments and beautiful campsites. With my friend Jeff Wilhelm and 22-year-old Puerto Williams-based trekking guide Maurice van de Maele, I hiked for four days through a wild, wind-battered landscape of incisor-like rock towers and alpine lakes that gets visited by just a handful of people every year.

About halfway through the trip, the Antarctic wind blew us through Paso Ventarron (Ventarron Pass) as the late-day light pierced clouds above the Lagunas Chevallay. We descended the rocky trail to camp beside the large, unnamed lake shown at the head of the valley in the photo above.

See my story about trekking the Dientes Circuit, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

East Fork Owyhee River.
East Fork Owyhee River.

East Fork Owyhee River

Guiding our kayaks between tight canyon walls on Deep Creek, we didn’t see the confluence until we practically fell into it, the swift waters spitting us out into a deeper, wider channel: southwest Idaho’s East Fork Owyhee River. The four of us immediately landed and dragged our boats up onto a spacious beach on river right, tired and wet. I felt chilled in my wetsuit from a day that had seen us spend eight hours or more paddling through rain, snow, hail, and wind.

Perhaps a football field’s distance downriver, the East Fork made a sharp left turn and plunged into unseen quarters between sheer rhyolite walls. As evening descended, those cliffs became a study in contrasting light—some in dark shadow, some edged with sunlight, and the white rock of the farthest one glowing as if lit by some internal power source. Though just one of many scenes of staggering natural beauty from an eight-day, 82-mile adventure on the upper Owyhee River system, from Deep Creek to Three Forks, that one has stuck with me.

See my story about kayaking the upper Owyhee River, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Little Frazier Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness.
Little Frazier Lake in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Little Frazier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Sometimes the destinations closest to home are the ones you neglect for too long. That was the case for my family with northeastern Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, just a half-day’s drive for us, but a place we had not yet backpacked in (with the exception of one disastrous attempt, when our son was a toddler, that was aborted due to a nasty stomach virus. But I have skied the backcountry of Norway Basin in the Eagle Cap with friends.) So last summer, we finally took a five-day, 41-mile loop in the southeastern corner of this 350,000-acre wilderness.

We hiked up broad, U-shaped valleys and camped by boisterous streams and lakes that offered mirror reflections of dawn light and alpenglow on rocky, 9,000-foot peaks. I made the side hike up 9,572-foot Eagle Cap for its 360-degree panorama overlooking much of the range; the kids played in streams and had the treat of one of the most spectacular thunderstorms of their lives on our second afternoon. Our third campsite, at Little Frazier Lake, sat near the lake’s outlet creek, where my son worked for hours rearranging rocks; my daughter and I scrambled high up some nearby ledges. And in the morning, the lake offered up a perfect reflection of the stone basin cradling it. I will eventually post a story, with more photos, about this trip.

See my story about this five-day, family backpacking trip in the Eagle Cap, including more photos and a video, for information on planning this trip.

A backpackers' campsite in an unnamed canyon on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.
Our campsite in an unnamed canyon on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.

Unnamed Canyon, Beehive Traverse, Capitol Reef National Park

An hour into a three-day, cross-country traverse of the Waterpocket Fold formation in Capitol Reef, my friend David Gordon and I had already taken our first wrong turn, seen a bighorn sheep, and I’d dislodged a boulder that nearly crushed David. (We were off-route.) The incidents were omens for the days to follow, navigating our way through a maze of canyons, cliffs, domes, and towers, where it was not unusual to spend 20 minutes or more hemmed in by seemingly impassable cliffs before finding the narrow ledge or the break in the wall of rock that indicated the direction of our route.

My friend, local guide Steve Howe, spent many seasons working out this cross-country hike, which begins at Grand Wash and zigzags south a very circuitous 17 miles to Capitol Gorge. He calls it the Beehive Traverse, for the type of sandstone towers encountered along the way. He shared a map and GPS data with David and me to let us attempt it ourselves; very few people have hiked the route before us, and most of them were guided by Steve. On our second night, we camped in this unnamed canyon below flying buttresses of golden sandstone.

See my story, with lots of photos and a video, about backpacking the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef.

Great Sand Dunes National Park.
Great Sand Dunes National Park.

On the Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park

Not long into our first day backpacking across the massive sand dunes of this park—which tower several hundred feet tall—I was already convinced that carrying a pack loaded with food and gear for three days as well as two gallons of water up giant dunes was not a brilliant plan. Our group of editors from Backpacker Magazine marched a few miles over the rolling, sometimes steep dunes until we found a relatively flat spot to pitch our tents. Then the magic show began.

It was November, and the light of late afternoon and early evening transformed the shifting, mountainous dunes into three-dimensional works of abstract art. I wandered a wide perimeter around our camp in the evening and early morning, shooting photos of frost on multi-colored dunes that often came to a peak as sharp as on the roof of a house. At times, sand avalanching downhill under our boots made an eerie sound, a phenomenon known as “singing.” I decided the dunes more than made up for the effort expended getting there.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking at Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes for information on how to pull off this trip.

A young boy fishing at Lake 8522, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My son, Nate, fishing at Lake 8522, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Lake 8522, Sawtooth Wilderness, ID

We backpacked the Alpine Creek Trail in Idaho’s Sawtooths less than three miles up a sunbaked valley flanked by cliffs to where it ends abruptly in ponderosa pine forest. A steep headwall loomed above us, 500 vertical feet or taller, capped by rocky ledges—a daunting obstacle that would logically turn away most hikers. But I had been told that the basin of unnamed lakes just beyond the pass at the top of this earthen wall was worth the effort of reaching it. So my son, Nate, almost 11 at the time, and I, joined by his buddy, another Nate, and that kid’s dad, Doug Shinneman, clawed and high-stepped our way up a faint, very steep user trail, grabbing branches and slipping in mud, and scrambling up exposed ledges.

At the top, we saw that I’d gotten good advice. A cool forest embraces one side of the blue-green waters of Lake 8522; a granite cliff juts straight out of the water on the other side. We found a spot in the woods for our tents and spent the next couple of days fishing, exploring the higher lakes in the basin, and taking in some sunrises and sunsets that kept my camera busy.

Getting There From ID 75, about 20 miles south of Stanley and 40 miles north of Ketchum, turn west onto Alturas Lake Road and follow it about seven miles to its end at the Alpine Creek Trailhead. Hike the Alpine Creek Trail roughly 2.5 miles to where the maintained trail terminates. Follow a faint, very steep and rough user trail that climbs almost straight uphill several hundred feet, with some scrambling, to a pass that leads into a lakes basin. Lake 8522 is a short walk beyond the pass. This area has some user trails and established campsites, but is not managed like official trails; minimize your impact.

Map Earthwalk Press “Sawtooth Wilderness,” $9.95, (800) 742-2677, omnimap.com.

Contact Sawtooth National Forest Stanley Ranger District, (208) 774-3000, fs.usda.gov/sawtooth.

Hall Arm, Doubtful Sound, Fiordlands National Park, New Zealand.
Hall Arm, Doubtful Sound, Fiordlands National Park, New Zealand.

Doubtful Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand

It was a typical summer day in Doubtful Sound: alternating spells of light mist and steady rain punctuating brief periods without precipitation. The shifting gray overcast delivered about 10 minutes of sunshine the entire day. But the air was warm and the water flat, its dark surface as clear as a just-cleaned mirror. Tendrils of ghost-like clouds floated around granite cliffs that rose straight out of the sea up to 4,000 feet high; and the cliffs wore long coats of thick rainforest that seemed to defy gravity.

Our small group pitched our tents behind a rocky beach, in the forest of podocarp trees and punga tree ferns. After a mild night of periodic showers, we woke and walked to the beach to see the water still and glassy, reflecting the sea cliffs and misty clouds.

See my story about sea kayaking Doubtful Sound, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.
Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon National Park

If there’s a bad campsite in the Grand Canyon, I haven’t found it yet. But my favorite (so far) is this spot just off the Tonto Trail, on the plateau between Lonetree Canyon and Cremation Creek. We camped here on the last night of a four-day, late-March family backpacking trip from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead (another trip my family took for a chapter of my book).

While we were exposed to the wind—which can blow pretty hard—and had to carry water to that camp, those were small tithes for a 360-degree panorama reaching from the South Rim to the North Rim, with countless named temples and buttes within view, most prominently the Zoroaster Temple (visible in the background of the photo above). While the kids played with rocks in the dirt and my wife read, I walked around with my camera, finding an amazing background in every direction.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking in the Grand Canyon for information on how to pull off this trip.

Indian Basin, Wind River Range.
Indian Basin, Wind River Range.

Indian Basin, Wind River Range

Six friends, 500 pounds of gear and food for a week, one horsepacker to haul our stuff the 15 miles from the trailhead to Indian Basin—and plenty of alcohol, which figures prominently in this adventure tale. We had grand ambitions for several rock and snow climbs of peaks along the Continental Divide that week. We didn’t plan on daily, cold morning showers or the violent afternoon thunderstorms that would dump a couple inches of hail in 30 minutes and threaten to blow our tents to Iowa.

Though we never tied into a rope all week, we did tag a few walk-and-scramble-up summits, including 13,745-foot Fremont Peak in cold wind and fog, and 13,517-foot Jackson Peak. Mostly, though, we huddled in all of our clothes under a tarp in camp, plowing through our alcohol supply and laughing uproariously over things I barely recall. I got the above shot during one of the rare moments of glorious sunshine that made us optimistic about climbing—until the next storm cell drove us back into our tents.

Getting There The Elkhart Park trailhead is 14.5 miles from Pinedale. From US 191 (Pine Street), in Pinedale, turn north onto Fremont Lake/Half Moon Lake Road. In three miles, bear right on Skyline Drive. A short distance beyond a viewpoint overlooking the high peaks, bear right at a fork to parking for the Pole Creek Trail. Follow the Pole Creek, Seneca Lake, Highline (for just a quarter-mile), and Indian Basin trails about 15 miles to Indian Basin.

Map Earthwalk Press “North Wind River Range,” $9.95, omnimap.com.

Contact Bridger National Forest Pinedale Ranger District, (307) 739-5500, fs.usda.gov/btnf.

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains.
Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains.

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains

A fresh September snowfall had just blanketed the Seven Devils, which rise to over 9,000 feet and form the east rim of Hells Canyon in west-central Idaho. My friend Geoff Sears and I started our three-day hike in thick fog, at first catching only glimpses of the craggy peaks.

But the weather slowly cleared through the afternoon, as we leapfrogged surviving segments of a long-abandoned, faint trail leading to Dog Lake, where we put our tent up in a small basin that rarely sees human visitors. That evening and the next morning, under blue skies with no wind, the lake offered up a sharp reflection of the snow-plastered cliffs of black rock.

See my story about another backpacking trip in Hells Canyon.

Getting There From US 95, a mile south of Riggins, Idaho, turn west onto Squaw Creek Road (CR 517). Drive 16.5 miles to Windy Saddle Trailhead, a half-mile before Seven Devils Campground. Hike south on Boise Trail 101 for 7.4 miles. Just after crossing Dog Creek, turn west and look for traces of the faint trail leading about 1.3 miles to Dog Lake; you’ll be mostly bushwhacking through semi-open forest with some blowdowns obstructing the way.

Map The Hells Canyon National Recreation Area map, Hells Canyon NRA website (below).

Contact Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, Riggins ranger district, (208) 628-3916, fs.usda.gov/detail/wallowa-whitman/recreation/?cid=stelprdb5238987.

Above our campsite on Mount Baker.
Above our campsite on Mount Baker.

Mount Baker, WA

It was a wretched campsite, actually. We’d had no intention of staying there, but weather left us without a better choice than to endure an interminable night on that cold ground of sharp stones. The wind-tortured, 9,000-foot saddle separating the Coleman and Deming glaciers on Mount Baker in Washington’s North Cascades was simply where we ended up when Plan A—camping on the summit—crashed in the sea of ambitious dreams. My wife, Penny, and I were climbing our first Pacific Northwest volcano years ago with our friend Larry Gies, through thick fog that reduced visibility to less than 100 feet at times. By late afternoon, we gave up on reaching the summit, pinned our tents to the ground, and dove inside.

But two hours later, a mountain fairy granted us one of those rare, magical events that occur when least expected: Sunshine lit our tents. We stepped outside to see the cloud ceiling below us. We tagged the mountaintop as the setting sun strafed that sea of clouds with red and orange light. You can’t distinguish our tents in the photo above, but they’re in the saddle below us—that miserable, serendipitous spot.

Getting There From I-5 north of Bellingham, follow WA 542 for 33.8 miles. One mile past Glacier, turn right onto Glacier Creek FS Road 39, and continue eight miles to parking for Mt. Baker (Heliotrope Ridge) Trail 677. The trail ends after two miles, at 4,800 feet; continue on the climbers’ trail up the Hogsback to a tenting area at 6,000 feet on the edge of the Coleman Glacier.

Map Green Trails Mt. Baker no. 13, greentrailsmaps.com.

Contact Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest outdoor recreation information, fs.usda.gov/mbs.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tent-flap-with-a-view-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/feed/ 38 4587
5 Questions to Ask Before Trying That New Outdoors Adventure https://thebigoutsideblog.com/are-you-ready-for-that-new-outdoors-adventure-5-questions-to-ask-yourself/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/are-you-ready-for-that-new-outdoors-adventure-5-questions-to-ask-yourself/#comments Tue, 18 Mar 2025 09:00:22 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=5900 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We shuffled silently up the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail in the last hour of a 42-mile, over 21,000-foot, one-day rim-to-rim-to-rim run across the canyon and back. Following the beams of our headlamps—night had fallen a few hours earlier—exhausted but knowing we had the gas to reach the South Rim, my friends Pam, Marla, and I trudged upward in the darkness, heads down.

Suddenly, we stopped in our tracks, startled by the unexpected sight of a young couple sitting beside the trail in the dark. Shining my headlamp on the two of them, who had not yet said a word, I asked, “Are you okay? Don’t you have headlamps?”

The guy tapped the tiny light on his forehead, which I hadn’t noticed, and replied, “It died a couple hours ago.”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


“Do you want to walk between us in our light beams?” I asked. They nodded and rose shakily to their feet. As we continued slowly uphill—the two of them clearly physically spent, the woman stopping to sit beside the trail repeatedly in the last mile or so before we reached the trailhead, where our ride was waiting—I got their story from the guy.

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.

They had arrived at the park that morning and sought a walk-in permit to backpack overnight but none was available. So around mid-morning, they decided to dayhike down the Bright Angel Trail to the Colorado River and return up the South Kaibab—a 16.5-mile hike with over 9,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain and loss that park management warns hikers against attempting.

While people like Pam, Marla, and I obviously choose to disregard the park’s official warnings against attempting ultra-runs and hikes in the canyon, we trained for it and came prepared to finish. This couple had undertaken a hike for which they didn’t have the fitness, proper gear, or enough food and water, starting it far too late, which exposed them to the day’s wilting heat. And if they had made it to the South Kaibab Trailhead on their own—and I’m not sure they would have—they’d have gotten there hours after the last park shuttle bus departed and found themselves stranded miles from their vehicle, without enough clothes for the cool, windy night. We gave them a ride to their car.

There’s an old saying that “good experience comes from bad experiences.” We learn through mistakes—hopefully. I’ve learned over four decades of backpacking and dayhiking, including 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, that the key to keeping everyone safe—whether it’s a blend of adults and kids, experts and beginners, or even a small party of very fit and experienced people—is to avoid putting ourselves in very unfamiliar situations where mistakes become large, with severe consequences.

To fall back on another old pearl of wisdom: “Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

Read “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A backpacker crossing Eliot Creek on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm crossing Eliot Creek on the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood. Click photo to read “How to Safely Cross a Stream When Hiking or Backpacking.”

We make ourselves safer outdoors through acquiring new skills and experience, and that necessitates trying new things. It’s also fun and rewarding to pursue new challenges. Don’t be afraid to do that. Just remember that the outdoors can be unforgiving.

Whether you are new to hiking, an experienced backpacker looking to visit a new environment (the desert, Alaska, maybe a developing country like Nepal), trying a new activity like kayaking, climbing, or backcountry skiing, or a parent thinking about taking her family on an adventure that will be new for them in some way, consider the five questions below when deciding whether you are ready for some new adventure.

Most of all: Make conservative decisions. The small regret of abandoning some exciting plans, or postponing until another time, is far preferable to the very large regret of making a decision that goes badly awry.

Please share your thoughts, tips, and questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A backpacker descending a rope ladder at the north end of the Goodman Creek overland trail on the southern coast of Olympic National Park.
My wife, Penny, descending a rope ladder at the north end of the Goodman Creek overland trail on the southern coast of Olympic National Park.

1. Have You Done Anything Like This Before?

Is the activity itself, the difficulty level, the environment you will enter, the season and weather conditions you expect, the remoteness, or another factor new to you? Is there anything about the situation you will enter that is unfamiliar?

If so, do your homework. Learn all you can in advance about that activity or that destination. Ask yourself honestly whether your experience base prepares you for any and all new circumstances you will likely face on this trip. Mitigate your risk level by increasing the challenge, difficulty, and degree of unfamiliarity in small increments, or recruiting companions (or a guide) who have the skills and familiarity you lack.

An example: When I wanted to take my family (our kids were age nine and seven) sea kayaking in Glacier Bay, Alaska, my wife and I decided to take a guided trip—even though I was told that beginners often rent kayaks and guide themselves there—because we’d never been there and didn’t know how difficult it would be to navigate or deal with tides, finding campsites, etc. Since that trip, I would now feel comfortable repeating it with a group of families or adults who are ready for it. But I still believe we made the right decision in hiring a guide the first time.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

2. Do You Understand Everything That Can Go Wrong?

Young boy and man in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My son, Nate, and guide Steve Howe in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

What could happen and what are the consequences?

People fall off ledges and cliffs, get swept away by fast-moving water, get hit by rockfall, and suffer frostbite or worse in severe cold not because they’re stupid, but because they did not understand the hazards of the environment they were in. That may be the most common reason behind accidents in the backcountry, and those incidents usually involve people just out for a hike.

If you’re new to an environment, talk to someone who’s more experienced to learn what the hazards are. If you are taking less-experienced adults or kids out, don’t assume they know everything that you have learned over the years: Explain to them about the hazards that they need to be aware of.

On any trip I take, I want to know not just how to do everything right—I also want to know everything that can go wrong.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

A backpacker descending a short cliff on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
Kris Wagner descending a short cliff while backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop.

3. Is Everyone In Your Group Good With the Plan?

In almost any group, a classic dynamic can easily develop in which the most-experienced person makes the plans and decisions and everyone else follows like sheep, trusting the leader without fully comprehending what they’re getting into. That can be a formula for trouble, for a couple of reasons: The leader is human and capable of flawed judgment; and someone highly experienced who perceives an activity as relatively “easy” may not always appreciate the skill, fitness, and mental-comfort level of everyone else.

As a de facto leader in a group, even of friends or in a family, always talk about your plans with everyone to get their buy-in; at the least, that will be far preferable to hearing everyone grouse later if the trip does not go as they had expected. As a beginner or anyone following a more-experienced person, make sure you understand and are comfortable with the plan. Most of all, don’t hesitate to ask questions or object to anything you are not comfortable with.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A backpacker hiking below a rainbow in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Mark Fenton backpacking through a rainstorm in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

4. Are You All Prepared For Every Possible Scenario?

“Every possible scenario” does not necessarily mean that you have to carry clothing for a snowstorm when the forecast promises summer-like weather, just because snow has fallen in those mountains at that time of year sometime in the past. But “every possible scenario” does include having clothing to handle weather somewhat worse than predicted. It includes everyone being ready physically if you discover that the trail is rougher (and slower) than expected. It includes knowing in advance whether a creek crossing may be too high to be safe for everyone in the party.

Your group will only do as well as the least-able and least-prepared member. So make sure everyone is prepared for whatever you’re doing.

Get the right shell for you. See “The Best Rain Jackets For Hiking and Backpacking
and “The Best Ultralight Hiking and Backpacking Jackets.”

Two teenage girls hiking 13,528-foot Kings Peak in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My daughter, Alex, and friend Adele Davis hiking 13,528-foot Kings Peak in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

5. What’s Your Backup Plan?

There are a couple of reasons for having at least one backup or bailout plan and agreeing on it with everyone. First of all, it makes you safer by preparing you to respond to problems that arise.

Secondly—and arguably most importantly—it inserts into everyone’s thinking process that Plan A may not unfold as expected and you may choose to abandon it. Too often, accidents result from people continuing to blindly follow their original plan, despite the warning signs, simply because they are focused on getting through it—their brains are simply not considering alternatives.

When things go wrong, stress and chaos can make it very difficult to think clearly. Knowing in advance what you’ll do in that event will help you choose the smart course.

See all stories with expert outdoors skills tips at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/are-you-ready-for-that-new-outdoors-adventure-5-questions-to-ask-yourself/feed/ 9 5900
The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-dayhikes-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-dayhikes-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Sun, 16 Mar 2025 09:05:24 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=51508 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Glacier National Park sprawls over a million acres of rugged, glaciated mountains sprinkled with alpine lakes in the northern Rockies—most of it remote wilderness seen only by backpackers willing to hike into the backcountry for multiple days. Nonetheless, you can reach some of the best scenery in America’s 10th national park on dayhikes.

This story describes the 10 best dayhikes in Glacier, from popular hikes like Grinnell Glacier, the Highline Trail, Iceberg Lake, and Hidden Lake Overlook to some trails and mountain passes you may not have heard of but which reach areas of this iconic national park that are just as mind-blowing as the popular hikes—but not as busy.

I’ve created this list based on numerous trips dayhiking and backpacking all over the park for more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. Use this story as your guide and you will see the best of Glacier that’s accessible on a moderate to full day on foot.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A view from the Highline Trail looking toward Logan Pass and Mount Clements in Glacier National Park.
A view from the Highline Trail looking toward Logan Pass and Mount Clements in Glacier National Park.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first six hike descriptions below are free for anyone to read, but seeing the other four hikes is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Glacier requires timed-entry vehicle reservations to drive a private vehicle just in some busy areas during the peak summer season. See details at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/vehicle-reservations.htm. Purchase a timed-entry reservation at recreation.gov/timed-entry/10087086. This is separate from a park entrance pass, which can be purchased at the park or before you arrive there at recreation.gov/sitepass/74280.

See also “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park” and all stories about Glacier National Park and backpacking trips in Glacier at The Big Outside, my expert e-books to backpacking trips in Glacier and other parks, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

Please share your thoughts or questions about any of these hikes or your own favorites in Glacier in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A backpacker on the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood hiking the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

The Highline Trail

To Haystack Pass, 6.9 miles round-trip, about 500 feet both uphill and downhill.
To The Loop, 11.6 miles, 800 feet uphill, 3,000 feet downhill.
To The Loop, including the Garden Wall Trail, 13.4 miles, 1,700 feet uphill, 3,900 feet downhill.

The Highline Trail has a well-deserved reputation as one of the premier trails in Glacier as well as one of the best dayhikes in the entire National Park System. Staying above treeline, you’ll walk below the sheer cliffs of the miles-long Garden Wall, drinking up uninterrupted panoramas of Glacier’s severe topography. Sightings of mountain goats and other wildlife are common on the Highline—I’ve seen goats and bighorn sheep along it and once missed an encounter with a grizzly bear by minutes.

A backpacker on the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Geoff Sears hiking the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

There are various options for hiking the Highline north from Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. Many hikers venture a scenic mile or two out and turn around at will. Haystack Pass represents a good turnaround point for a moderate, nearly seven-mile out-and-back hike, with only about 500 feet of uphill and downhill.

You can also make a one-way, 11.6-mile hike from Logan Pass to the next shuttle stop west of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, The Loop, that’s much more downhill than uphill. That traverse brings you through Granite Park, where you can add two miles round-trip by walking up to Swiftcurrent Pass for a view down into the Swiftcurrent Valley to the Many Glacier area.

You can also add the breathtaking—in many ways—side hike to the Grinnell Glacier Overlook. About 6.7 miles from Logan Pass, you’ll reach the Highline’s junction with the Garden Wall Trail, a relentlessly steep and strenuous, 0.9-mile (one-way), 900-vertical-foot path that leads to a notch at 7,500 feet in the Garden Wall, with a heart-stopping view from high above the Grinnell Glacier and the Many Glacier valley as well as the side valley leading to Piegan Pass.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Grinnell Glacier

7.6 miles or 11 miles round-trip, 1,800 feet both uphill and downhill.

Families of hikers at Grinnell Glacier in Glacier National Park.
Members of my family at Grinnell Glacier.

One of the most popular dayhikes in Glacier, for good reasons, the trek to Grinnell Glacier above the Many Glacier area involves a moderate amount of uphill and rewards you with sweeping views along much of the trail of the lake-filled Swiftcurrent Creek Valley, three glaciers, and the jagged cliffs of the Garden Wall. The trail ends at the glacial lake at the toe of the Grinnell Glacier—which, like glaciers all over the park, has shrunken significantly over the past century. Nonetheless, this hike provides the easiest access to the very edge of a glacier anywhere in the park.

If starting from the Grinnell Glacier Trailhead in Many Glacier, a half-mile west of the turnoff for the Many Glacier Hotel, the out-and-back hike is 11 miles, much of the trail ascending at a moderate grade. Cut 3.4 miles off the hike by taking the two short boat shuttles (about 20 minutes combined in each direction, there’s a fee) from the Many Glacier Hotel across Swiftcurrent Lake and Lake Josephine, with a quarter-mile walk on a trail through forest between the lakes.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Glacier
and other parks using my expert e-books.

St. Mary Falls in Glacier National Park.
St. Mary Falls in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park.”

St. Mary Falls and Virginia Falls

3.6 miles, about 500 feet both uphill and downhill.

A backpacker below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.
Mark Fenton below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.

Two of the best and easiest-to-reach waterfalls in the park, St. Mary Falls and Virginia Falls can be combined on an out-and-back hike that also delivers great views of long, narrow St. Mary Lake, flanked to the north and south by mountains rising thousands of feet above its often-windblown waters.

Begin at either the St. Mary Falls shuttle stop on the Going-to-the-Sun Road or the St. Mary Falls Trailhead a quarter-mile east of the shuttle stop on the Sun Road (adding two-thirds of a mile to the round-trip hike)—where there’s limited parking, so arrive early. From the shuttle stop, follow the St. Mary Falls Cutoff Trail downhill for a quarter-mile to a couple of trail junctions coming in rapid succession, first bearing right and then left.

At 1.2 miles from the shuttle stop, St. Mary Falls plunges about 35 feet in three tiers through a narrow gorge. Continue beyond it another 0.6 mile uphill on the St. Mary Trail/Continental Divide Trail, passing another long, unnamed cascade, and turn right onto the Virginia Falls Viewpoint Trail, within minutes reaching the base of the 50-foot main drop of Virginia Falls, which continues down through a small flume in rock and a lower cascade. Then backtrack to the shuttle stop.

Hidden Lake

3 miles, 550 feet both uphill and downhill.

Hidden Lake is the classic, short hike in Glacier with a huge payoff for little effort, with constant, five-star scenery and likely mountain goats sightings. From behind the visitor center at Logan Pass, follow the gently rising Hidden Lake Nature Trail leading southwest across the wildflower meadows known as the Hanging Gardens, with a 360-degree panorama of rugged mountains.

At 1.5 miles from the visitor center, you’ll reach the overlook of Hidden Lake, nestled in a deep cirque surrounded by the steep-walled peaks Clements, Reynolds, Dragon’s Tail, and Bearhat. Dress for weather—wind often blows across this high, exposed terrain. Hidden Lake Overlook is extremely popular: Get an early start to beat the crowds and—if you’re driving to Logan Pass rather than taking the shuttle bus—to ensure you find parking because that lot fills virtually every morning.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A backpacker on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking to Piegan Pass in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how to get a backcountry permit in Glacier.

Piegan Pass

9.2 miles, about 1,800 feet both uphill and downhill.

One of the classic mountain passes of Glacier National Park, Piegan will make you stop in your tracks and look around in disbelief. Hiking it from Siyeh Bend—the first stop east of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road—you begin along Siyeh Creek, enter forest, and a mile from the trailhead, turn left (north) onto the Piegan Pass Trail, part of the Continental Divide Trail. Less than two miles farther, turn left again at the Siyeh Pass Trail junction, soon emerging from forest.

The trail then rises at an easy angle toward Piegan Pass, already in view, as are the Garden Wall, the Piegan Glacier and 9,220-foot Piegan Mountain just across the valley to the west, and farther to the south, the Jackson and Blackfoot glaciers, the latter the park’s largest (though shrinking, like all the park’s glaciers). Reaching the pass, at 7,560 feet, you’ll get a better view of the Garden Wall, but continue a short distance beyond the pass for broader views down the valley of Cataract Creek toward the Many Glacier area.

If you’ve used the park shuttle bus, you can extend this hike to nearly 14 miles by turning onto the Siyeh Pass Trail on your return to cross beautiful Preston Park and Siyeh Pass at over 7,900 feet and make a long descent of about 3,400 feet to the Sunrift Gorge shuttle stop on St. Mary Lake.

Read all of this story about the best hikes in Glacier
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now.

A backpacker on the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood hiking the Iceberg Lake/Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Iceberg Lake 

9.7 miles, about 1,300 feet both uphill and downhill.

Iceberg Lake, tucked in beneath towering cliffs in one of the most-visited and dramatic cirques in the park, is a popular hike with a moderate amount of up and down relative to its distance—not as hard as the distance might imply. Grizzly sightings are common in this area—I’ve seen them twice, including one that hikers watched from a distance for at least 30 minutes as it sat patiently at the bottom of cliffs across the lake, gazing up at a mountain goat out of reach on a ledge above it. In fact, the park sometimes closes trails in the Many Glacier area due to concern about bear activity.

Start at the Iceberg Lake/Ptarmigan Tunnel Trailhead behind the Swiftcurrent Motor Inn in Many Glacier. The trail initially crosses open meadows with views of Mount Wilbur and the Ptarmigan Wall in the distance, then enters pine forest. About 2.5 miles from the trailhead, the trail reaches an overlook of Ptarmigan Falls and a clearing with rocks, then the trail junction where you’ll bear left for Iceberg Lake. The trailhead parking lot often fills early; you may have to park in front of the Swiftcurrent Inn and walk a quarter-mile to the trailhead.

Want more? See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/hikingthetrails.htm for more information on hiking in Glacier and all stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-dayhikes-in-glacier-national-park/feed/ 8 51508
The 18 Best Uncrowded National Park Dayhikes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-12-best-uncrowded-national-park-dayhikes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-12-best-uncrowded-national-park-dayhikes/#comments Mon, 10 Mar 2025 09:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23830 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The best-known dayhikes in America’s national parks are certainly worth adding to your outdoor-adventure CV. Summits and hiking trails like Angels Landing in Zion, Half Dome in Yosemite, the North Rim Trail overlooking the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Glacier National Park’s Highline Trail, the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail and many others represent the highlights of the crown jewels of the National Park System. And for that very reason, unless you take those hikes outside the peak seasons or times of day, you can expect to encounter a lot of other people.

But there are other national park dayhikes that remain off the radar of many hikers—so they attract a tiny fraction of the number of people flocking to the popular trails. This story will point you toward many of the best of them.

A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see the best dayhikes in Glacier.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


The list of hikes below draws from more than three decades of exploring the parks, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. On these 18 hikes, you’ll find scenery just as majestic as those famous trails, while typically encountering few other people and possibly having these spots to yourself (as I did on several of them). And like many stories at this blog, much of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading it all and seeing the entire list of hikes is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

You might want to bring along a friend or your family—just to make sure you don’t get too lonely.

Share your questions or thoughts about these hikes—or suggest your own—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Double Arch Alcove on the Taylor Creek Trail in Zion National Park.
Double Arch Alcove on the Taylor Creek Trail in Zion National Park.
Along the Taylor Creek Trail in Zion's Kolob Canyons.
Along the Taylor Creek Trail in Zion’s Kolob Canyons.

Taylor Canyon, Zion

Easily accessible but far from the well-beaten paths of Zion Canyon, the five-mile, nearly flat, out-and-back hike up the Taylor Creek Trail explores a canyon with walls rising nearly 2,000 feet above a cool forest watered by a vibrant creek (lead photo at top of story).

You’ll pass two historic cabins dating back decades, and at the end of the maintained trail, reach Double Arch Alcove, a pair of giant arches in the Navajo sandstone beneath 1,700-foot-tall Tucupit Tower and Paria Tower.

See my “Photo Gallery: Hiking the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park,” and all stories about Zion at The Big Outside.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox.
Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A backpacker hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click the photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Tenaya Lake to Clouds Rest, Yosemite

A hiker on Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt hiking Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.

The view across Tenaya Lake of a breathtaking sweep of granite domes and cliffs sets the tone for this 14-mile, round-trip hike up 9,926-foot Clouds Rest. In the same neighborhood as Half Dome, comparatively unknown Clouds Rest offers an even bigger panorama, taking in Yosemite Valley and Half Dome, plus an ocean of mountains spanning most of the park.

But it’s not as strenuous as the distance suggests, with just under 1,800 feet of elevation gain and loss. The hike’s highlight comes in the final 300 yards traversing the narrow summit ridge, above dizzying drop of 4,000 feet—that’s a thousand feet taller than the face of El Capitan.

See more photos from Clouds Rest and a video in “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” as well as “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” and all stories about hiking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

Want more? See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes
and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

The view of Mount Rainier from the Eagle Peak Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
The view of Mount Rainier from the Eagle Peak Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

Eagle Peak Trail, Mount Rainier

The fact that this trail ascends relentlessly nearly 3,000 vertical feet in 3.6 miles partly explains its obscurity. But the main reason may be that it lies somewhat out of the way, starting in the little village of Longmire, in a park already possessing an embarrassment of riches when it comes to dayhiking options.

Don’t let either of those facts discourage you, because this hike is a gem with a sudden, jaw-dropping payoff at the top.

It rises through lush, quiet, old-growth Pacific Northwest forest and crosses meadows bursting with wildflowers in mid-summer, ending at a saddle at 5,700 feet in the rugged Tatoosh Range—where Mount Rainier abruptly commands most of the horizon in front of you, looking both incomprehensively massive and close enough to touch.

See “The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park” and all stories about Mount Rainier National Park at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story linked here?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

A hiker on the summit of Static Peak in Grand Teton National Park.
A hiker on the summit of Static Peak in Grand Teton National Park.

Static Peak, Grand Teton

While no casual stroll—17.2 miles and 5,000 vertical feet round-trip—Static Peak unquestionably ranks among the finest dayhikes in Grand Teton National Park. But it’s often overlooked by visitors, who focus on the canyons farther north.

From Death Canyon Trailhead, hike past views of Phelps Lake, along a roaring cascade, into majestic Death Canyon, and eventually to a panorama from 10,790-foot Static Peak Divide that encompasses Death Canyon, Jackson Hole, Alaska Basin, and the southern Tetons. Continue up the half-mile, 500-vertical-foot user trail to Static Peak’s 11,303-foot summit for even bigger views spanning a large swath of the Teton Range.

See “10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all stories about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Grand Teton, Yosemite,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Young kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Our kids hiking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

Big Spring, Squaw, and Lost Canyons and the Peekaboo Trail, Canyonlands

Along the Peekaboo Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Along the Peekaboo Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands.

While nearby Chesler Park commands the attention of most hikers in the Needles District of Canyonlands, the less-traveled trails into Big Spring, Squaw and Lost canyons and the Peekaboo Trail deliver similarly mind-blowing views of 300-foot-tall candlesticks and cliffs.

The 7.5-mile loop from Squaw Flat campground up Big Spring Canyon and down Squaw Canyon, with only about 600 feet of uphill and downhill, follows a circuitous route up steep slickrock over a sandstone pass overlooking the canyons and miles of redrock towers.

For a longer outing, add five to six miles to explore Lost Canyon and the Peekaboo Trail.

See my story “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” and all stories about Canyonlands at The Big Outside.

Explore the best of the Southwest.
See “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Dawson and Pitamakan Passes, Glacier

At nearly 7,600 feet, Dawson and Pitamakan passes—and the several miles of high, alpine trail connecting them in the southeast corner of Glacier National Park—deliver sweeping panoramas of remote, icy peaks and strikingly blue alpine lakes from high above valleys carved into classic U shapes by ancient glaciers.

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Connect them on a strenuous, 13-mile loop with 2,500 feet of up and down by catching an early boat shuttle across Two Medicine Lake and hitting Dawson first, ahead of the crowds that hike just to Dawson Pass—itself an outstanding, 9.4-mile, out-and-back walk for those looking for a moderately strenuous day. The early start will increase your chances of seeing wildlife like mountain goats and bighorn sheep, and you’ll leave most of the other hikers behind on the alpine traverse between the passes and the descent from Pitamakan. To shorten it, walk partway out the almost flat trail leading north from Dawson Pass and then double back (though you’ll encounter a stream of dayhikers).

See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” my expert e-books to the best backpacking trip in Glacier and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier, and all stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A hiker on the Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the Hermit Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon

A hiker on the Grand Canyon's Hermit Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s Hermit Trail.

While most dayhikers flock to the Bright Angel and South Kaibab trails—and both are wonderful (the latter ranks among the best national parks dayhkes)—you can find rare South Rim solitude on a beautiful dayhike even in the peak spring and fall seasons.

Take the park shuttle to the end of the Hermit Road and descend the Hermit Trail into the canyon of Hermit Creek, slicing through the canyon’s vivid Supai and Redwall layers. It’s rocky and steep in spots—that’s why you’ll see few people. Turn around and retrace your steps when you like. Breezy Point is 5.5 miles and about 2,200 feet downhill and the Tonto Trail junction is seven miles and over 3,400 feet. Remember that going up is harder.

See photos in my story “One Extraordinary Day: A 25-Mile Dayhike in the Grand Canyon,” which describes a five-star Grand Canyon ultra-hike from Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, with easy transportation logistics (as opposed to hiking the canyon rim to rim).

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-books:
The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon
The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, Yellowstone National Park.
Along the Blacktail Deer Creek Trail in Yellowstone National Park.

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, Yellowstone

Crevice Lake in the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.
Crevice Lake in the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park.

The Blacktail Deer Creek Trail doesn’t climb a mountain or pass any thermal feature. But from its nondescript trailhead east of Mammoth, it meanders across gently rolling grasslands and meadows that look like an American Serengeti, where there’s a good chance of running into herds of elk and bison—or wolves or bears.

Reaching the cliff-flanked Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River at 3.7 miles and over 1,000 feet downhill, you can continue in either direction along the river; a quarter-mile downstream lies Crevice Lake, whose waters reflect the forest, hills, and cerulean sky.

See “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure?
See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and The Big Outside’s Trips page.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Navajo Knobs Trail, Capitol Reef

For starters, it’s somewhat baffling that the Navajo Knobs Trail sees so few hikers, because there are few dayhikes in Utah’s parks—or in the entire National Park System—that compare with it. And at 9.4 miles out-and-back, with 1,620 feet of elevation gain and loss, it’s quite moderate.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Although starting at the busy trailhead for the immensely popular and short hike to Hickman Natural Bridge, the Navajo Knobs Trail quickly diverges from that trail, and you will see very few hikers while winding upward to overlooks above Hickman Bridge and, beyond that, a sweeping view of the cliffs, domes, and wild topography of Capitol Reef from the canyon rim, 1,000 feet above the Fremont River Valley.

And you’re not done. The trail continues meandering below enormous cliffs and towers, with continuously expanding panoramas that take in distinctive formations like Pectols Pyramid, The Castle, and Fern’s Nipple. At 4.7 miles, the ends with easy scrambling to the tiny summit of one of the pinnacles named the Navajo Knobs and an even broader and higher perspective on the fascinating geology and topography of Capitol Reef National Park.

See “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park at The Big Outside.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A hiker on the Maple Pass-Heather Pass Loop in North Cascades National Park.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Maple Pass-Heather Pass Loop in North Cascades National Park.
Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, North Cascades National Park.
Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, North Cascades.

Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, North Cascades

In the vertiginous North Cascades, usually only climbers enjoy views of this park’s sea of jagged, snow- and glacier-clad peaks stretching for miles to every horizon.

But that’s also what you will find on this 7.2-mile loop, with 2,000 feet of uphill and downhill, from the Rainy Pass Trailhead on WA 20.

Starting in a forest of towering fir, hemlock, and spruce trees, you climb to views of cliff-ringed Lake Ann, dramatic Black Peak from Heather Pass—followed by Maple Pass, where much of the North Cascades spreads out before you.

Go in August or early September, after most of the snow has melted out, and when the huckleberries are ripe and columbine and other wildflowers bloom.

See my story “Exploring the ‘American Alps:’ The North Cascades,” and all stories about the North Cascades region at The Big Outside.

Got an all-time favorite campsite?
See “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites

See the menu of stories at my All National Park Trips page at The Big Outside.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-12-best-uncrowded-national-park-dayhikes/feed/ 12 23830
17 Photos From 2024 That Will Inspire Your Next Adventure https://thebigoutsideblog.com/17-photos-from-2024-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/17-photos-from-2024-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/#respond Mon, 16 Dec 2024 20:15:01 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=65275 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

How was your 2024? I hope you got outdoors as much as possible with the people you care about—and you enjoyed adventures that inspired you. I’m sharing in this story photos from several backpacking and hiking trips I took this year, from the Grand Canyon in April and southern Utah in May to the Tetons and Montana’s Beartooths in August, Colorado’s San Juans in September, northern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness in early October—and culminating with three classic Great Walks and dayhiking in New Zealand in late November and December.

That’s a pretty good year, right?

I’m fortunate to be able to get out a lot, and yet, 2024 still felt like an exceptional year for me. Going through my photos always reminds me not just about the details of these experiences and places—but most of all, what’s most important in my life and why I strive to make getting outdoors a top priority. I know you do, too—that’s why you read my blog.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking to Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
David Gordon backpacking to Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

The photos in this story are selected images from those trips. Whether you want to learn more to take any of them yourself or just want to find some inspiration for your own adventures, I think you’ll enjoy this little escape.

Scroll through the photos and short anecdotes from each trip below. Some include links to stories about those places that I’ve already posted—many of which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on how to plan and take those trips. Click any photo to learn more about that trip.

Watch for my upcoming stories about the other places described below.

A hiker trekking New Zealand's Routeburn Track.
My wife, Penny, trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn Track.

I can help you plan any of these trips or any others you read about at The Big Outside—giving you the benefit of my three decades of professional experience identifying, planning, and successfully pulling off great adventures. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, and my expert e-books to some of America’s best backpacking trips.

I’d love to hear what you think of any of my photos or the places shown in them, or upcoming plans you have. Please share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Enjoy my pictures and start now planning your adventures for 2025.

Put more adventure in your life starting today. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon’s Gems Route

In April, five friends joined me returning to a place I cannot seem to get enough of—the Grand Canyon—to spend six days backpacking about 60 miles following one of the most remote, lonely, and hard multi-day hikes in the canyon: the Gems Route from the South Bass Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead. I know, I know: “remote, lonely, and hard” describes almost every multi-day hike in the canyon. But consider these salient facts about the Gems Route.

Besides starting and finishing on steep and difficult trails off the South Rim, it traverses the longest segment of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail with no bailout path the South Rim: the 29 miles from Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek, which the park’s website describes as the Tonto’s “most difficult and potentially dangerous” leg for the lack of perennial water. In April, probably the best month of the year to find water in seasonal creeks (as we did), we each nonetheless had to twice carry up to about 17 pounds of water on our backs.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

The Gems Route draws its name from several tributary canyons you cross on the Tonto Trail—including five that we crossed, Ruby, Turquoise, Sapphire, Agate, and Topaz—each one strikingly deep, with towering, brilliantly colorful cliffs. As always on the Tonto, views extend from the Colorado River to both rims and the canyon’s landscape seems to constantly change as the sun marches across the sky. And even by Grand Canyon standards, few hikes offer this much solitude: For three days, we saw no one else.

See my story “‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here.

Backpackers hiking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Backpacking in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Owl and Fish Canyons

A May trip to southern Utah began with four of us backpacking the three-day, approximately 17-mile loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, which begins and ends with rugged hiking and scrambling at the upper ends of both canyons—including a 12-foot corner in a cliff to reach the rim of Fish Canyon (aided by a fixed rope).

While not for anyone uncomfortable with moderate exposure, these canyons evoke better-known places in southern Utah, with tall, red cliffs, towers, the striking amphitheater surrounding Nevills Arch, rippled slickrock, pour-offs and seasonal waterfalls, flowering cacti, cottonwoods, and a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water in parts of both canyons.

A backpacker hiking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
My wife, Penny, backpacking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Owl and Fish canyons offer a rare find: incredible scenery (and night skies), awesome campsites, solitude, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons,” “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.

Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, and Zion National Parks

A view along the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.

My wife, Penny, and I also hit a trifecta of parks on our southern trip in May: dayhiking in Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, and Zion.

We began in  Capitol Reef, which for many hikers does not come to mind first when contemplating a visit to the Southwest—even though it really has some of the step-for-step nicest dayhikes in the region, including one of the very best, which we hiked: the Navajo Knobs Trail.

In Bryce Canyon at a peak time of year to explore the Southwest, hiking the eight-mile Fairyland Loop reminded me that, even on days when hundreds of tourists are jamming the walkways and overlooks that lie a short stroll from the park’s sprawling parking lots, you can escape the crowds within a mile of hiking virtually any trail, finding quietude and what feels like a deeper connection with Bryce’s hoodoos and amphitheaters.

Lastly, in Zion, we pedaled rented bikes to the end of the road in Zion Canyon—a peaceful, relatively easy, and super scenic little adventure thanks to that road being closed to most private vehicles for most of the year—and I hiked up the West Rim Trail well beyond the junction with the spur trail up Angels Landing, revisiting another beautiful stretch of trail that sees just a smattering of hikers.

See my stories “The Best Hikes in Capitol Reef National Park,” “The Two Best Hikes in Bryce Canyon National Park,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” “The 15 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside,
including my expert tips on planning these trips, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

A hiker descending the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
My son, Nate, hiking down the North Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

The Tetons

Over three days on the first weekend of August, my son, Nate, and I knocked off a few stellar adventures together in the Teton Range (another place I cannot get enough of). First, we took advantage of a rare, uniquely perfect weather forecast to climb the 13,775-foot Grand Teton in a day via the Owen-Spalding Route—some 17 miles, 7,200 vertical feet, thousands of feet of scrambling and a couple of easy pitches of rock climbing in about 16.5 hours, car to car (with me slowing my 23-year-old son down, not vice versa).

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside and his son, Nate, on the summit of the Grand Teton.
My son, Nate, and me on the summit of the Grand Teton.

The next afternoon we took an active rest day of sorts, mountain biking some great trails in the Teton Pass area off WY 22.

And on our third day together, we took one of the best long dayhikes in the Tetons, from the boat landing on the west side of Jenny Lake in the park (taking the very scenic boat shuttle across Jenny) up the North Fork Cascade Canyon to Lake Solitude, just over 15 miles and 2,300 feet out-and-back. Near the end of that hike, coming back down Cascade Canyon, not more than about 30 minutes from Jenny Lake, we were surprised coming around a blind turn in the trail to see a huge bull moose standing just steps off the path; we hustled quickly past him.

See “10 Great, Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” my expert e-books to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip in the Tetons, and all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Backpackers hiking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
Mark Fenton and David Gordon backpacking the West Fork Trail toward Sundance Pass in Montana’s Beartooth Mountains.

The Beartooth Mountains

In the middle of August, two friends and I backpacked about 44 miles, with a bit of off-trail hiking, over five days in Montana’s Beartooth Mountains, which conjure mental images of Glacier National Park— although the Beartooths are in many ways more challenging, primarily for having more strenuous trails and higher elevations. But the great advantage of the Beartooths over Glacier is this: no permit reservation required.

That trip featured some gorgeous lakes (at least one likely to eventually grace my story spotlighting the most gorgeous backcountry lakes I’ve seen; see the photo of Lake Sylvan near the top of this story) and waterfalls and sweeping views of classic Northern Rockies landscapes, with deep, glacier-carved, U-shaped creek valleys below soaring cliffs and craggy peaks. But the big climb from the West Fork Rock Creek Valley to Sundance Pass at around 11,000 feet kind of blew us away: We walked through many switchbacks, every step of the way overlooking the arc of mountains, some with remnant glaciers, at the head of that valley.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about that trip at The Big Outside.

The right gear makes any trip go better.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A backpacker hiking the Continental Divide Trail north toward Squaw Pass in the Weminuche Wilderness, San Juan Mountains, Colorado.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Continental Divide Trail north toward Squaw Pass in the Weminuche Wilderness, San Juan Mountains, Colorado.

The Continental Divide Trail in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains

I’ve long considered September—especially the first half of the month—arguably the best time of year for backpacking in the mountains of the U.S. West. This year, my wife, Penny, and I headed to the tall and majestic San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado to backpack a four-day, 31-mile loop in the Weminuche Wilderness.

We spent two of those days mostly at around 12,000 feet on a stretch of the Continental Divide Trail, hiking along endless ridge crests in the midst of a turbulent sea of hulking mountains that stretched to every horizon. We heard elk bugling; got battered by very strong, chilly winds and a sudden, late-afternoon thunderstorm that prompted a quick decision to pitch our tent a bit earlier than planned, but in a lovely meadow a short walk from a pretty little alpine lake; and saw just a handful of other backpackers on that piece of the CDT (all of them solo, southbound CDT thru-hikers). That short trip fanned the flames of my desire to put together a longer hike on some or all of the CDT in Colorado or the Colorado Trail.

Watch for my upcoming story about that San Juans loop hike at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The Uinta Highline Trail

With an unusually good weather forecast for early October, my son, Nate, and I set out to backpack a respectable chunk of the Uinta Highline Trail in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness (also shown in lead photo at the top of this story), about 60 miles in four days, from the Henrys Fork Trailhead—the shortest approach to Utah’s high point, 13,528-foot Kings Peak—to the trail’s western terminus at Hayden Pass on the Mirror Lake Highway/UT 150. Excited by the forecast and the prospect of yet another father-son adventure together—a countless number of which he, now 24, and I have shared since he was too young to remember our earliest, much more modest trips—we wound up, in almost equal parts, as awed by its majesty as humbled by how tough it is.

I’d backpacked in the High Uintas and hiked up Kings before, with my wife and daughter (on this trip), but Nate had recently decided that, after living in Utah for five years (since college), he needed to finally account for the glaring omission of the state’s high point in his outdoor resume. He had also become more interested in the Uinta Highline Trail, which traverses the range for more than 100 miles, much of it between 10,000 and over 12,000 feet, including numerous high passes. On our four-day hike, we crossed seven passes ranging from just over 11,200 feet to the trail’s high point, Anderson Pass at around 12,700 feet. And we did tag Kings Peak on a bluebird morning.

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

It being October at lofty elevations, we certainly experienced a multi-course meal of mountain weather, including some strong, cold wind, mornings below freezing—we slept under the stars, looking up at a clear night sky riddled with pinpoints of light floating in and around the glowing streak of our galaxy, and woke each morning with our bags quite wet on the outside from the heavy frost melting on them. (Gear tip: I stayed warm and dry in this bag, and our bags dried out quickly as soon as the morning sun hit them.)

But every day presented vast creek basins and one or two more high passes to cross; the vistas seemed endless. And it being October, each of our very rare encounters with other backpackers surprised us as much as them.

The Uinta Highline Trail is unquestionably one of the most under-appreciated multi-day hikes in the country. I will tell you with a straight face that it deserves comparisons with the John Muir Trail, Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail, and the best backpacking trips in Glacier National Park, Yosemite, the Wind River Range, and Idaho’s Sawtooths. And you will often find more solitude in the Uintas than in some of those other places.

Yes, really. But you underestimate its difficulty at your own peril.

See my feature story about that trip, “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and my story about a previous trip there, “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning any trip on this list?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

 

Blue Lake, along New Zealand's Tongariro Alpine Crossing.
Blue Lake, along New Zealand’s Tongariro Alpine Crossing.

Three Great Walks in New Zealand

I spent more than three weeks from late November to mid-December hiking around New Zealand with my family, including knocking off three of that country’s 11 amazing Great Walks: the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, the Routeburn Track, and the Milford Track.

First stop: the North Island, for some world-class mountain biking in Rotorua, followed by a dayhike of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. It’s 12 miles from the Mangatepōpō Road end to the Ketetahi Road end, with more than 2,100 feet of uphill and a longer descent of more than 3,600 feet (in that direction). Those simple metrics don’t fully communicate the difficulty, from the steepness for sustained stretches on the ascent to the trail’s high point, at the rim of Red Crater, and the descent past Red Crater; or the impact that the strong wind and horizontal rain can have (and we had in spades). But the Tongariro deserves to be ranked among the world’s great treks for its almost constant views of active, rugged volcanoes, its moonscape of broad craters, and lakes that seem to glow with color.

Trekkers hiking New Zealand's Milford Track.
My wife, Penny, and our friend Cat Serio trekking New Zealand’s Milford Track.

Hopping down to the South Island, we tackled a pair of classic hut treks: three days on the nearly 21-mile Routeburn Track (see photo near the top of this story) in Mount Aspiring National Park and Fiordland National Park, which connects trailheads in the bush via a long, alpine traverse over tussock highlands, past stunning waterfalls and rivers, and over its high point at Harris Saddle. Then we spent four days on the 33-mile Milford Track in Fiordland, widely hailed as one of the world’s great treks, where days of rain had created countless braids of roaring waterfalls in the valleys.

Not surprisingly for any of these trails, we encountered rain and windin full force at timeson each of them. But we also experienced everything that makes “tramping” around New Zealand special: the always fascinating forests (or the “bush,” as Kiwis call it); rivers varying in character from calm to raging; alpine traverses where mountains stretch to far horizons; and easily well over a hundred waterfalls tumbling in endless braids down tall, steep mountainsides.

Watch for my upcoming stories from our New Zealand trip. Meanwhile, see my story about my first hike in Tongariro National Park and all stories about adventures in New Zealand at The Big Outside; and find more information about the Great Walks at doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/things-to-do/walking-and-tramping/great-walks.

As you plan your trips for next year, see “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and my Trips page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/17-photos-from-2024-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/feed/ 0 65275
Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-and-sandbagging-utahs-uinta-highline-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-and-sandbagging-utahs-uinta-highline-trail/#respond Tue, 19 Nov 2024 13:43:01 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=65744 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The strongest signal that late afternoon has begun its inexorably precipitous October slide into a freezing evening comes as my son, Nate, and I step from almost-warm sunshine into the deep shade of a peak whose shadow tops out at over 13,000 feet in eastern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness. The wind cranks up in volume as we continue upward, wearing shell jackets with hoods up, wool hats, and gloves while carrying full backpacks uphill at a lung-busting elevation—and still feeling just marginally warm enough.

Crossing Gunsight Pass at 11,880 feet, Nate and I confer and quickly agree on modifying our goal for today: We’re not heading up to Anderson Pass and Utah’s highest mountain, Kings Peak at 13,528 feet, in the waning daylight, recognizing that we’d ultimately finish this day by headlamp, hunting around in the dark for a decent campsite in the valley on the other side of and far below Kings.

Instead, we take the trail dropping into Painter Basin, finding a camp for our first night in grass and scattered rocks on a nearly treeless plateau practically at the toe of Kings Peak, just as the mountain’s long, pyramidal shadow advances over the basin. Some three miles across at its widest point, Painter is one of the many vast, stark, high basins that define this range as much as its nearly two dozen summits over 13,000 feet.

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

It will prove a wise decision on a trip where we’d already collaborated in sandbagging ourselves—without yet fully realizing how badly. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

We’ve come to backpack about 58 miles, from the Henrys Fork Trailhead—the shortest approach to Kings Peak—to the western terminus of the Uinta Highline Trail at Hayden Pass on the Mirror Lake Highway/UT 150. I’d backpacked in the High Uintas and hiked up Kings before, with my wife and daughter and a friend of our daughter’s (on this trip); but Nate had recently decided that, after living in Utah for five years (since beginning college there), he needed to finally account for the glaring omission of the state’s high point from his outdoor resume.

And we’ve both had a growing interest in the Uinta Highline Trail, which traverses the range for more than 100 miles, mostly over 10,000 feet, with eight named passes—four each exceeding 11,000 and 12,000 feet. On our four-day hike, we’ll cross seven passes, just one of them (Gunsight) not on the Uinta Highline Trail, ranging from just over 11,200 feet to the trail’s high point, Anderson Pass at around 12,700 feet. And we intend to tag Kings Peak.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

One key fact about our plans: We’ve come in the first week of October, normally beyond the peak season for hiking in many Western mountain ranges because of the real prospect of snow falling or, at the least, cold rain, as well as sub-freezing temperatures at night and possibly during the days. But we saw a forecast for days of dry, unseasonably mild weather and decided to jump on it.

And as much as the forecast, we were excited about the prospect of yet another father-son adventure together—a countless number of which he, now 24, and I have shared since he was too young to remember our earliest, little-kid-appropriate trips.

More than either of us expected, we would end up, in almost equal parts, as awed by the majesty of the Uinta Highline Trail, and the High Uintas in general, as humbled by how tough it is.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

Anderson Pass, Kings Peak, Tungsten Pass, and Porcupine Pass

We awaken before the sun reaches us at 7 a.m., at 11,400 feet in Painter Basin, to find ice crystals in water bottles and heavy frost coating everything, including sleeping bags—as will happen on all three clear, dry, cold nights we’re out here, sleeping under the stars. (We pitched the tent we brought only the first night, just in case.) Cocooned inside our fat bags, we feel none of the dampness or cold, even though the heat coming off our bags melts the frost on the shells of our bags. (See the Gear I Used section below.) We eat a hot breakfast while gazing up at a wall of 13,000-foot peaks, including Kings, burnished golden by the rising sun.

The chilly morning air provides a balanced counterpoint to the warm sun and cool breeze once we start hiking west on the Uinta Highline Trail, climbing steadily over a moonscape of rocky ground almost devoid of vegetation. Ninety minutes after leaving our camp, we drop our packs at Anderson Pass, at 12,700 feet, and after a bite, start up the mountain’s standard route, the rocky north ridge of Kings.

We’ve seen no one since yesterday afternoon on the Henrys Fork Trail, a warm, sunny Sunday, where we ran into several hunters hiking out because they’ve seen no elk (too warm) and backpackers and a few dayhikers returning from Kings Peak. So, of course, minutes after I tell Nate, “We might join a short list of people who’ve had Kings Peak to themselves,” we see two guys descending toward us; they reached the summit and are heading back to the Henrys Fork Trailhead. Like everyone else we’ve spoken with in our first 24 hours out here, they have no intention of continuing west on the Uinta Highline Trail. In our sample population of survey respondents, we were the only ones with that plan.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

A backpacker at a campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at our campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Not surprisingly, given that it’s early October, we’ll enjoy a rare degree of solitude on most of our four days out here. Indeed, for the rest of today—a day we’ll hike about 12 miles and cross three passes, in addition to scrambling Kings—we will run into just two other pairs of backpackers, one couple and two men that could be father and son, both heading east on the Highline in the sprawling basin of Yellowstone Creek. Both say we’re the first people they’ve seen.

While a chilling wind scours Anderson Pass and the north ridge of Kings as we ascend it, we step onto the summit in mild, dead calm air. It feels like early September. So, we linger a while on the roof of Utah, drinking up the 360 of towering peaks and creek basins you could drop a small city into.

Some two hours later, a couple miles west of Anderson Pass on the Highline Trail, the sun feels so hot that we stop to zip off pant legs to convert to shorts and strip down to a single light top each. When clouds block the sun, though, it feels much cooler, and strong gusts of icy wind hit us intermittently.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

 

A hiker on the summit of Kings Peak, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, on the summit of Kings Peak, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

“The air temp is about 50 and when the wind blows, it feels like 35,” I tell Nate. He finishes my thought: “In the sun, it feels like 70.” It’s that time of year in the mountains: We’ll stop several times today to add or strip off layers, cycling between tolerating too many layers for the sun or not wearing enough for the wind and clouds.

But by later that afternoon, those periods of sunshine feel like a distant memory. Clouds lock arms and march across the sky and cold wind buffets us without pausing to catch its breath. Squalls erupt suddenly, pelting us with graupel as we approach Tungsten Pass, at 11,400 feet—which must be the easiest on the entire Uinta Highline Trail, sitting not very many steps uphill from the basins to either side of it.

We walk across Garfield Basin, yet another vast valley of more than two dozen scattered alpine lakes, sprawling grassy meadows, and conifer forest below around 11,000 feet. Beyond a windblown cluster of tiny lakes and tarns in the upper end of the basin, we climb through switchbacks to Porcupine Pass at 12,200 feet—our third today, in addition to hiking Kings Peak—just as the sun pierces the dark armor of the overcast, throwing brilliant yellow light onto the clouds, the cliffs embracing the basin ahead of us and the lakes far below where we stand. (See lead photo at the top of this story.)

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

 

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Anderson Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Anderson Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The scene stops us cold. Nate mutters, “Wow, that’s amazing,” or something like that. Even as the colder wind and the temperature dropping faster than the sun herald the rapid approach of another freezing night—and we can clearly see the several hundred vertical feet and perhaps as much as two miles of hiking between this pass and a prospective camp—we can’t help but linger for several minutes, clicking cameras and just quietly watching one of those moments that sear themselves into the memories from a trip.

Nate races ahead in search of a camp and I follow as quickly as I can. A little while later, not long before sunset, I join him at a patch of level dirt near a small creek several hundred feet off the trail, at around 11,500 feet in the nearly flat plateau at the upper end of this basin. There are no trees, boulders, or even rises or hollows in the terrain to temper the wind.

We lay out our pads and bags to sleep under a night sky liberally salted with twinkling specks from tiny to beaming, amid and around the wide smear of the galaxy. We count several shooting stars before nodding off.

I spotlight the High Uintas as an alternate to the Wind River Range in my story
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

 

Red Knob Pass and Dead Horse Pass

Another morning of ice in water bottles and bags wet from the overnight frost greets us when we rise shortly after 6 a.m., as the first light appears in the eastern sky. It feels colder than yesterday. Nate and I pack up hurriedly and throw down a hot breakfast, fingers numbed, eager to get moving for the warmth it’ll bring and because we have many miles to walk today.

We hike for about an hour in the deep and frigid shade of a ridge that rises to well over 12,000 feet. The wind amplifies the cold, but walking quickly, we soon warm up enough to shed our shells and warm hats; once we enter the direct sun, it feels almost balmy again.

The shade and bright sunlight meet along a high-contrast divide splicing the basin ahead of us, a snaking line moving patiently, the shade retreating at the sun’s pace. The sun’s low angle seems to make every angle in the landscape more visible, giving our eyes a superpower to see everything more clearly—every knob and twist in every ridge, every draw and hollow and creek bottom, all the throw rugs of conifer forest strewn across the basins, every subtle variation in the color spectrum of nature.

The world reveals itself to us in the morning and evening light of the low sun. I love getting on the trail this early.

Get the right gear for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west across Center Park toward Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Nate backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west across Center Park toward Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The High Uintas, the highest of the few mountain ranges in the contiguous 48 states with an east-west orientation, span about 150 miles end to end, but are also broad enough to demand significant time and effort to reach the remote, upper ends of these high basins on foot. The most direct north-south trails across the range often measure about 40 miles.

And therein lies an immutable truth about finding solitude: Hike deeper into the backcountry and you’ll get beyond where most people are go, for no more simple reason than that carrying a backpack that far is both hard and time-consuming. (See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”) We see more signs of trail maintenance, like fresh cuts on blown-down trees (along those occasional stretches of the Uinta Highline in forest), than signs of people. Throughout this day, we will not see another person.

For several miles west of Porcupine Pass, we hike across this gently undulating, high basin, framed by continuous rows of mountains muscling into the sky. The Uinta Highline Trail grows faint and even disappears for long stretches—clearly not receiving enough human traffic to even beat a visible footpath into this dirt and grass. But cairns nearly as tall as an adult, rockpiles visible from a distance, help us stay on course.

Join now to read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book!

 

A backpacker looking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, looking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

We climb through several switchbacks to another of the Uinta Highline Trail’s best passes, Red Knob, at 12,000 feet, overlooking the lake-filled basin of West Fork Blacks Fork Creek, nearly enclosed within a ragged horseshoe of severe, castle-like peaks. A few hundred yards in the distance, a lone mountain goat meanders along the barren, rocky ridge rising above the west side of the pass.

Ninety minutes later, after descending into and hiking up that basin, we reach the shore of windblown Dead Horse Lake, at around 10,900 feet, one of well over a thousand lakes in the High Uintas. The clouds thicken and the wind bares its teeth. The tall, foreboding cliffs and sheer buttresses that soar several hundred feet tall above the lake hint at the grueling ascent to Dead Horse Pass that lies ahead of us.

Beyond the lake, the trail immediately tilts sharply upward and weaves through blocks of talus, some easily weighing a ton or more. Then it grows even steeper and frequently consists of no more than a goat path of boot prints across sliding scree. I glance to my downhill side a few times just to mentally estimate how long a tumble might result from a slip of a foot.

A slow, steady grind brings us to Dead Horse Pass, at 11,600 feet. I tell Nate, “I think I know what killed the horse.”

 

The wind and downward arc of the air temperature puts an exclamation point on the fact that it’s 5 p.m. and daylight grows short. We take just a few minutes to drink and snack while looking back over the sea of peaks surrounding and beyond the basin of West Fork Blacks Fork Creek, and then turn around for our first look at the basin of Rock Creek ahead of us, several miles across. Then we hustle downhill, reaching Ledge Lake in under an hour, boiling water for dinner and laying out pads and bags for one last night under this megalopolis of stars.

In camp, Nate scrolls his phone screen surveying our route map, and says, “Oh, no.” I ask what that’s about and he says we have farther to walk tomorrow, our last day, than we both expected: 15 miles. And I respond with genuine surprise: “What?!”


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker enjoying the alpenglow from a campsite near the Uinta Highline Trail in Yellowstone Creek basin west of Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Nate enjoying the alpenglow from our campsite near the Uinta Highline Trail in Yellowstone Creek basin west of Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

See all stories about Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, sleeping bag, synthetic insulated jacket, rain jacket, fleece hoodie, trekking poles, air mattress, stove, headlamp, and zip-off, soft-shell hiking pants I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-and-sandbagging-utahs-uinta-highline-trail/feed/ 0 65744
Paria Canyon—A Top 5 Southwest Backpacking Trip https://thebigoutsideblog.com/take-a-top-5-southwest-backpacking-trip-paria-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/take-a-top-5-southwest-backpacking-trip-paria-canyon/#respond Wed, 06 Nov 2024 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26036 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Walls of searing, orange-red sandstone towered hundreds of feet overhead in a chasm at times no more than a dozen strides across. A shallow river flowed like very thin chocolate milk down the canyon, spanning it from wall to wall in spots. And the spectacle had only just begun: We were mere hours into the first day of one of the most continually stunning, multi-day canyon hikes in the Southwest: Paria Canyon.

Over five days in early spring, my family and another backpacked the 38-mile length of Paria Canyon, which straddles the border of Utah and Arizona and joins the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker in the Paria Canyon narrows.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Paria Canyon narrows.

Lying within the 112,500-acre Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness, Paria Canyon has become famous among backpackers for its soaring walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and campsites on sandy benches shaded by cottonwood trees.

Its tributary, Buckskin Gulch, is one of the longest, if not the longest continuous slot canyon in the Southwest.

That’s why Paria Canyon deserves to be called one of “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest” and, many experienced Southwest backpackers would agree, one of the top five.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Spring and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking Paria Canyon; my family did it in the last week of March. This is a popular hike, and the time to apply for a backcountry permit reservation is around the corner if you want to backpack Paria Canyon next spring. Permits are issued to only 20 people per day, so apply for a permit reservation as soon as they become available, which is after 12 p.m. on the first of the month, three months in advance, for example, on Jan. 1 for a trip anytime in April.

View the photo gallery below for a sampling of the breathtaking scenery of Paria Canyon. Then click the link below the gallery to read my feature story about this classic trip.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

Read my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” which have many more photos, a video, and information on planning the trip. As with most stories about trips at The Big Outside, reading that entire story requires a paid subscription, which gives you full access to ALL stories at my blog.

See menus of all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, backpacking in the Grand Canyon, and all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/take-a-top-5-southwest-backpacking-trip-paria-canyon/feed/ 0 26036
Backpacking the Canadian Rockies: Nigel and Cataract Passes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-nigel-and-cataract-passes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-nigel-and-cataract-passes/#comments Wed, 28 Feb 2024 13:02:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=62172 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

A couple of hours up the Nigel Pass Trail, after a lunch break beside boulder-strewn rapids on chalky, glacially silted Nigel Creek, we pop out of forest into sub-alpine terrain with wildflowers and the kind of dense, low brush that conceals grizzly bears better than we think—enjoying our first expansive views of the peaks flanking this valley in Banff National Park. As we make our way farther up the valley, our gentle trail turns steeper, leading us up to Nigel Pass at 7,200 feet (2,195 meters), where we drink up a 360-degree panorama of tall cliffs and treeless mountainsides of broken rock in this little patch of the Canadian Rockies.

But even this barely hints at what lies ahead.

A descent of just minutes brings us to an easy rock-hop across the shallow Brazeau River, which runs milky and emerald with glacial till—and across an invisible boundary into Jasper National Park. Several other backpackers also crossing the river all continue in the direction of the well-known Brazeau Loop in Jasper. None turn in the same direction we’re hiking.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking the Nigel Cataract and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
Our group backpacking up the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

On the river’s opposite bank, we find what seems a promising indication of what our route ahead may offer: a trail sign marking this junction and a clearly visible footpath on the ground leading where we want to go. The sign points to Cataract Pass, our destination—and affirms what we already know: that this is an “unmaintained route.”

Minutes beyond that junction, a scene of alpine paradise unspools before us. In this virtually treeless valley, the Brazeau River, baring white-capped teeth, punches noisily through a tight passage between the steep slope that this use trail traverses and crumbling cliffs on the river’s other side. Mountains of archetypal Canadian Rockies pedigree, with serrated stone crowns and towering walls of heavily fractured layers, shoulder into the achingly blue sky, more of them coming into view as we march up valley.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker hiking above the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking above the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Following occasional cairns, we scramble through a jumbled, maze-like train wreck of razor-edged boulders, the going slow but not difficult through what looks like the very old debris of massive rockslides that released high above and reached the valley floor. Rocks of all sizes and sharply contrasting colors cover the ground at the bottom of the geologically complex, skyscraping cliffs forming this side of the valley. 

Five of us—my wife, Penny, our 20-year-old daughter, Alex, our longtime friends Gary Davis and his 19-year-old daughter, Adele, and I—are spending three days backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the Canadian Rockies. Today, our first day, we’ll cross Nigel and Cataract passes in northern Banff and southern Jasper national parks. At Cataract Pass, we’ll enter the White Goat Wilderness, where we plan to base camp for two nights.

Before long, the valley broadens and flattens. The Brazeau meanders lazily, parting around rocky sandbars of its own making, its water even more vividly emerald here, in its calm before the storm of whitewater downstream. We stroll casually along a flat trail through meadows that, as Adele puts it, look very much like “a golf course.” But, of course, this wilderness idyll is the farthest thing from a manicured golf course.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog.
Click here to learn how.

 

The Brazeau River Valley

Taking a short snack break in the Brazeau Valley, we chat for a few minutes with a backpacker heading in the other direction who mentions that he began his trek in Waterton; and when I ask if he’s thru-hiking the Great Divide Trail, he flashes a big smile, excited that I’ve heard of it. He started the 698-mile/1,123-kilometer GDT in the first days of July and plans to finish in the third week of August.

Curious about the GDT, I ask if he has favorite sections so far. He contemplates the question for a long moment, mentions Waterton and a couple of others, then finally shrugs and says, “It’s all great.”

The Great Divide Trail stretches from Waterton Lakes National Park on the U.S.-Canada border—where it connects with the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) in America’s Glacier National Park—to its northern terminus in Kakwa Provincial Park. Along its winding, up-and-down course, the GDT passes through five national parks (Waterton Lakes, Banff, Kootenay, Yoho, and Jasper), eight provincial parks, three wildland provincial parks, two wilderness areas, including our destination, the White Goat, and two special management areas.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

Backpackers camped in Cataract Basin on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route, White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.
Our camp near Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route, White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.

Sixty percent of the trail lies within Canada’s Rocky Mountain National and Provincial Parks, a World Heritage Site spanning four national parks (the four above excluding Waterton) and three provincial parks (Mount Robson, Mount Assiniboine, and Hamber). The seven contiguous parks collectively cover more than 5.8 million acres/almost 2.4 million hectares of pristine mountain wilderness—an area nearly equal to Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Glacier, and Everglades national parks combined.

While the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route comprises a miniscule piece of the GDT, it seems like a good sampler of what strikes me as probably one of the most continuously scenic, wild, often remote, and just plain interesting long-distance trails in the world.

We reach the upper Brazeau Valley, where a remnant glacier hangs off a peak that stands over 9,600 feet (3,000 meters); that glacier drains into a trio of glacial lakes in this basin that forms the headwaters of the Brazeau River. We gaze up at the steep footpath ascending a slope of scree for several hundred feet to Cataract Pass, at 8,200 feet (2,500 meters). Then everyone puts their head down and grinds it out, each at our own pace, reaching the windy pass one at a time, congratulating one other’s effort.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get exclusive gear discounts and a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

A backpacker hiking over Cataract Pass toward the Brazeau River Valley in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking over Cataract Pass toward the Brazeau River Valley in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

Crossing another invisible boundary at this pass to enter the White Goat Wilderness, we follow the path and sporadic cairns down the other side. It disappears crossing rocky ground, then reappears farther ahead, plunging down a steep final pitch with occasionally sketchy footing on pebbly trail—but with a visible trail much of the way—to Cataract Creek. Easily walking a chain of rocks across the shallow, clear, cold water, we reach a large campsite just above the creek’s opposite bank.

A twisting arc of mountains comprised of shattered cliffs, scree slopes, and jagged edges against the sky cradles the Cataract Creek basin. A chain of peaks frames the creek valley draining the basin’s mouth. Above our camp, a glacier dangles off one mountainside.

We’ll spend two nights here in the White Goat Wilderness largely because no permit is required. That fact creates a convenient situation in the midst of the Canadian Rockies national parks, where very popular multi-day hikes like the Skyline Trail in Jasper and the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay—two premier sections of the GDT—require permit reservations that are very hard to get.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

The White Goat Wilderness

The next morning, I’m out of the tent before the sun reaches our camp, wearing multiple layers in the cool morning air, walking around shooting photos of our camp surroundings and the creek and mountains in the diffused pre-dawn light. Before long, the sun begins striking the mountaintops, bathing them in golden light.

See all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, two tents (this one and this one), boots, 30-degree sleeping bag (my wife used this 15-degree sleeping bag), rain jacket, down jacket, fleece jacket, trekking poles, air mattress, stove, and headlamps I used on this trip.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure.”

See also “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-nigel-and-cataract-passes/feed/ 6 62172
Photo Gallery: The Rockwall Trail in the Canadian Rockies https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-the-rockwall-trail-in-the-canadian-rockies/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-the-rockwall-trail-in-the-canadian-rockies/#comments Wed, 20 Dec 2023 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23155 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

A few hours into our hike’s first day, we came around a bend in the trail to a sight that stopped us cold: a pair of skyscraping stone monoliths rising thousands of feet above the treetops. Silhouetted by the sun arcing toward the west, the peaks resembled a pair of El Capitans standing shoulder to shoulder. A little while later, one of the tallest waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains came into view: Helmet Falls, plunging 1,154 feet (352 meters) over a cliff.

After that, the scenery really got good.

My family was backpacking the approximately 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, in the vertiginous heart of the Canadian Rockies. Well known among Canadian backpackers but less so among Americans and international trekkers, the Rockwall arguably deserves a place on any list of the world’s prettiest trails. (I included it among “My 30 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”)

Backpackers on the Rockwall follow the base of a nearly unbroken, massive limestone escarpment in Kootenay’s Vermilion Range, plastered with glaciers and towering in some locations about 3,000 feet (900 meters) above the trail, for about 18 miles (30 kilometers) of the route.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Over four August days, we hiked through larch forests and across meadows carpeted with wildflowers. We saw mountain goats scamper along a moraine below a hanging glacier. We crossed four passes between about 7,300 to 7,700 feet.

As I think you’ll see in the photo gallery below, it’s no exaggeration to liken it to dozens of the tallest cliff in Yosemite Valley, El Capitan, lined up in a row stretching for miles.

Although it’s in grizzly country (we saw no signs of bears) and the passes present moderately tough climbs, the Rockwall Trail is, in many ways, a beginner-friendly backpacking trip. Trails are well marked and easy to follow. The passes aren’t so high that the elevation greatly affects many people. There are bridges over the creeks (we never got our feet wet), and designated camping areas with bearproof, metal lockers for food storage, pit toilets, and even picnic tables.

Shopping for new gear? Start with the menu of all reviews at this blog’s Gear Reviews page.

Now is the time of year to reserve a permit to backpack the Rockwall Trail. See my feature story about that trip, “Backpacking the Canadian Rockies: Kootenay’s Rockwall Trail,” for more photos, a video, and trip-planning information.

See also all of my stories about the Canadian Rockies, family adventures, and international adventures at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-the-rockwall-trail-in-the-canadian-rockies/feed/ 2 23155
16 Photos From 2023 That Will Inspire Your Next Adventure https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2023-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2023-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/#comments Tue, 12 Dec 2023 10:25:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=49495 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

How was your 2023? I hope you got outdoors as much as possible with the people you care about—and you enjoyed adventures that inspired you. I’m sharing in this story photos from the seven backpacking trips I took this year (in addition to the usual dayhiking, climbing, skiing, etc.). In early April, I went on a pair of three-day hikes in Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon and on a section of the Arizona Trail that was in the midst of a wildly colorful wildflower bloom. On a two-family trip to the Canadian Rockies in late July and early August, we backpacked two amazing routes, the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park and a piece of the Great Divide Trail into the White Goat Wilderness.

Later in August, I returned yet again to the Wind River Range for a roughly 41-mile hike that I am prepared to boldly call the best multi-day hike in the Winds (and that’s saying an awful lot). September featured a much-anticipated return to Glacier National Park for a seven-day hike complicated by an ever-present possibility in Glacier—”bear activity”—following trails I have walked before but which I think could never fail to inspire a sense of awe. And finally, in early October, two friends and I backpacked a three-day loop in southern Utah’s Escalante region that exceeded even my high expectations for it.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.
No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.

Yea, 2023 felt like a great year for me. And picking back through my photos it year only reinforces that feeling. As always, these experiences reminded me of what’s most important in my life.

The photos in this story are favorite images from those trips. Whether you want to learn more about any of them to take them yourself or just want to find some inspiration for your adventures, I think you’ll enjoy this little escape.

Scroll through the photos and short anecdotes from each trip below. Some include links to stories about those places that I’ve already posted at The Big Outside—many of which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on how to plan and take those trips. Watch for my upcoming stories about the other places described below. Click photos to learn more about any trip.

And I can help you plan any of these trips or any others you read about at The Big Outside—giving you the benefit of my three decades of professional experience identifying, planning, and successfully pulling off great adventures. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, and my downloadable e-guides to some of America’s best backpacking trips.

I’d love to hear what you think of any of my photos or the places shown in them, or upcoming plans you have. Please share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Enjoy my pictures and start now planning your adventures for 2024.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

A backpacker amid a wildflower super bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.
Mark Solon backpacking amid a wildflower super bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.

The Arizona Trail Along the Gila River

In early April, the Arizona Trail’s passage (or section) 16 through the Gila River canyons proved to be everything one would expect in the extremely arid Sonoran Desert—and much more than expected. On a three-day, out-and-back hike to a base camp with a dayhike from it on the middle day, two friends and I walked for hours each day beneath a relentlessly nuclear sun—a shock to people coming directly from a prolonged, cold winter (of epic skiing)—along a route with one reliable water source: a spring emerging from the dry ground and trickling no more than three inches deep. We were not five minutes into our trip when a sound all too familiar to all of us startled us: a sustained, scratchy rattling noise from a snake displeased by these large intruders.

But we also enjoyed very pleasant evening and morning temperatures in camp and on the trail (until the heat unfailingly set in by around late morning). We followed a winding trail over rolling desert hills where life sprang with enthusiastic defiance from an environment that we humans see as uninhabitable and deadly.

A hiker amid a wildflower bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam Solon dayhiking from our camp along the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.

Saguaro rose as much as 40 feet tall and inhabited the land like giant sculptures in an outdoor museum. The needle-dense clusters of cholla cacti seemed to glow in the blinding sunshine, while barrel cacti and other thorny flora covered the ground densely. One our dayhike from camp, climbing into hills topped by small, rocky little peaklets and broken cliffs, we came upon a Sonoran desert tortoise, bigger than a dinner plate, miles from any apparent water source.

But most surprisingly and fortuitously, we stumbled into the peak of a shockingly colorful wildflower super bloom. Flowers carpeted the ground so densely that professional landscapers might feel humbled. The spectacle of color rolled up and down brown hillsides dominated by towering saguaro, each new scene around every bend in the trail striking a stark contrast against a sky intensely blue in the dry air and painted with the ghostly white streaks of mare’s tail clouds.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon—unsurprisingly considered the best part of the Arizona Trail—at The Big Outside.

The right gear makes any trip go better.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon

Right after finishing that AZT hike, joined by two more friends, five of us backpacked into one of the most unique micro-environments existing anywhere in the desert Southwest: Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon. We spent three days in the canyon (the maximum permitted), hiking in a few hours to set up a base camp in the shade of tall cottonwood trees along Aravaipa Creek and dayhiking nearly to the other end of this lush, 12-mile-long defile between redrock walls that reach up to 600 feet tall.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous public lands, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro cacti grow in giant armies on the rims overhead.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpacking out to the West Trailhead on our last day in Aravaipa Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, no water scarcity typical of Southwest backpacking trips, abundant shade, and the low elevation and southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a relatively casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—and fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon” at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
Want my help with yours? Click here.

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail north toward Tekarra camp, Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

The Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park

On a two-family trip from late July into August in the Canadian Rockies, we started out with a Canadian Rockies classic: backpacking Jasper’s Skyline Trail, a three-day, 27.3-mile, south-north traverse of the Maligne Range just southeast of the town of Jasper. Remaining above treeline for more than 15 miles, the Skyline serves up nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains in every direction.

For backpackers who like trails that stay high in the mountains for long distances with big views, the Skyline feels like the crown of the magnificent Canadian Rockies. And it’s not very hard at all. At a total distance and elevation gain and loss that many backpackers can complete in three days, and crossing three only moderately difficult passes, the highest reaching just 8,238 feet, the trip does not place great demands on your time or stamina. Backcountry camping is all in designated campgrounds with food-storage lockers, making food management easy, eliminating one of the biggest concerns about bear safety.

A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

The Skyline can also deliver some wild weather: We hiked through a thunderstorm on our first day and strong winds on our second, traversing the trail’s highest stretch. Go there with a good layering system and shells and your A game for managing warmth and moisture. But it certainly merits ranking among the top multi-day hikes in the Canadian Rockies and mention on any serious list of the world’s top treks.

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the Lower 48 that really compares with the Canadian Rockies.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park,” and see more photos in this blog post about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

Want to read any story at this blog?
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide and gear discounts!

Backpackers hiking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park.
Our group backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park.

The White Goat Wilderness in the Canadian Rockies

After the Skyline Trail, we spent another three days backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route, which begins by crossing through remote corners of both Banff and Jasper national parks to reach the cirque that forms the headwaters of Cataract Creek in the White Goat Wilderness, where we set up a base camp for two nights.

On this out-and-back hike of just over 18 miles round-trip—not including the short side hike some of us took on our middle day to Cline Pass at over 8,800 feet—we backpacked up and down the valley of Nigel Creek to cross Nigel Pass, at 7,200 feet, and the upper valley of the Brazeau River, which flows milky and a vivid emerald color from glacial till, flanked by skyscraping cliffs, to cross Cataract Pass at 8,200 feet below a hanging glacier.

A backpacker above Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the White Goat Wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.
Gary Davis above Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the White Goat Wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.

At a camp a short walk from the clear waters of Cataract Creek, we gazed at tall, craggy peaks enwrapping the cirque, with another hanging glacier pouring off the peak directly above our camp. Having known little about the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route before coming here, we were kind of blown away by it. Not surprisingly, the route is part of the Great Divide Trail, a 698-mile/1123-kilometer long-distance trail stretching from Waterton Lakes National Park on the U.S.-Canada border—where it abuts America’s Glacier National Park—to Kakwa Provincial Park.

The easy part: No permit is required for camping in the White Goat Wilderness.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see more photos in this blog post about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-guides.

A backpacker descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Just Maybe the Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range

In the middle of August, my friend Chip and I returned to Wyoming’s Wind River Range—the second year in a row for Chip and fourth straight for me (preceded by other Winds trips going back 30 years)—backpacking a four-day, roughly 41-mile loop from Big Sandy. While I fully understand how much uproar this could antagonize, having seen quite a bit of Winds real estate over the years, I believe this route may constitute the best backpacking trip in those incredible mountains.

Following some trails that I’ve walked before and many miles of trails that were new to me even after numerous trips in the Winds, we crossed terrain mostly above 10,000 feet, camped by glorious alpine lakes that reflected sunset and early-morning light on razor peaks, and crossed four passes, three over 11,000 feet that I had not crossed before and the fourth just under that mark.

A backpacker above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Not atypical of these mountains that straddle the Continental Divide for about 100 miles and reach over 13,000 feet, we hiked through relentlessly strong winds that caused us to stagger at times and had to hunker down in our tents when a violent thunderstorm followed by hours of rain and wind pounded us.

After four years in a row exploring the Winds, I’m still ready to go back yet again—that’s how much awaits you in the Wind River Range. As I’ve written before at this blog, the Winds can make you ask yourself: Why would I go anywhere else?

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about backpacking the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Get my expert help planning your next trip and 33% off a one-year subscription.
Click here now to buy a premium subscription to The Big Outside!

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

Glacier National ParkAs Inspiring As Ever

I had a permit reservation for a seven-day variation I’d customized of Glacier’s popular Northern Loop—a hike that I (and plenty of other people) consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier, and one I’d taken before but was more than happy to repeat—when two friends and I arrived at the backcountry office in Apgar on a cool Sunday morning in September. Little did we know that our plans had already been rendered impossible due to closures of two of our six camps because of bear activity.

But working with a ranger eager to help us preserve a weeklong itinerary, we came up with an excellent alternative plan that kept my original itinerary’s first two days intact and added five new days, backpacking nearly 84 miles mostly on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) from the park’s northeast corner south to Two Medicine.

A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

We camped four of our six nights by beautiful lakes, hit highlights like the Ptarmigan Tunnel, Many Glacier, and the mind-blowing alpine traverse on the Dawson Pass Trail, crossed four passes with 360-degree panoramas of Glacier’s incomparable mountains—and enjoyed chilly nights and mornings and mostly sunny, dry days that are common in much of the West in September.

The takeaway: Almost any multi-day hike in Glacier will knock your socks off. (Bring extra pairs.)

See my feature story about this trip, “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker hiking down Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

The Boulder Mail Trail-Death Hollow-Escalante River Loop

Two friends and I embarked on this three-day hike with little idea of what to expect beyond all of us having had plenty of experience hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, including in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

What we found took the nearly blank canvas in our minds and gave us back a masterpiece of canyon country.

This roughly 22-mile loop links up the Boulder Mail Trail (lead photo at top of story) with a descent of the spellbinding and at times exciting, watery canyon of Death Hollow and then hiking up the upper canyon of the Escalante River, where the red walls rise tall and sheer and the river amounts to little more than a trickle that occasionally dries up.

This compact adventure delivers one of the best samplers I’ve seen of the Escalante region, from miles of walking up and down over slickrock slabs through canyons and across plateau country on the Boulder Mail Trail; to the descent of Death Hollow, where you’ll walk below soaring walls, frequently in water reaching sometimes over your knees (and that was in fall, suggesting that spring runoff may rise to deep and fast to hike this safely), with a new surprise around each bend; and concluding with easy strolling up the very upper end of the Escalante River canyon, which almost seems to require no introduction.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

As you plan your trips for next year, see “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and my Trips page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2023-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/feed/ 6 49495
Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-skyline-trail-in-jasper-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-skyline-trail-in-jasper-national-park/#comments Sun, 12 Nov 2023 18:12:11 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=60836 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

About three hours into our hike on the Skyline Trail in Canada’s Jasper National Park, a rumble of thunder rips the sky with a sound like a train derailment; moments later, the gray overcast that had rolled overhead maybe 30 minutes earlier starts spraying us with random bursts of raindrops. By the time the five of us have hurried into rain shells and flipped our hoods up, the rain commences in earnest, chauffeured by strong wind just as we emerge from forest into the alpine terrain.

Walking into the full brunt of the weather but dressed for it—and this crew has deep experience with all kinds of nasty weather—we just push on through the rain, motivated by the first taste of the scenery that awaits in greater glory ahead. Plus, we face several more miles of hiking to our first camp on the Skyline Trail in Jasper, the much-less-visited but larger sister park of its joined-at-the-hip sibling, Banff, in the Canadian Rockies.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Two backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail south of Curator camp in Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, and Gary Davis backpacking the Skyline Trail south of Curator camp, Jasper N.P.

Thanks to the mad dash that is the Parks Canada backcountry permit reservation process—in which you must choose a backcountry campground for each night of your trip in real time as availability quickly disappears—and the fact that we’re backpacking one of the most-coveted trails in Canada, we’re starting our Skyline Trail hike with our longest day, 11.8 miles/19 kilometers from the Maligne Lake Trailhead to Curator campground. But that distance draws no more than shrugs in our party of three adults of a “mature age” with countless backpacking miles on our legs and two young women tough and strong enough to possibly carry one of us out if called upon.

I’ve come here with my wife, Penny, our college-age daughter, Alex (summer work commitments kept our son, also in college, from joining us), and friends Gary Davis and his daughter, Adele, also in school and Alex’s best friend since very early childhood, to backpack the Skyline Trail, a three-day, 27.3-mile/44-kilometer, south-north traverse of the Maligne Range just southeast of the town of Jasper. Remaining above treeline for about 15.5 miles/25 kilometers of its distance and riding the crest of a high ridge at times, the Skyline has long been considered a Canadian Rockies classic for its nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains stretching to distant horizons in every direction.

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park.
Gary, Adele, and Alex backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park.

A ferocious headwind blows the rain at us in waves, although never terribly heavy, as we climb to Little Shovel Pass at just over 7,300 feet/2,225 meters, and follow the trail over undulating alpine terrain flanked by long ridges with peaks over 8,000 feet/2,400 meters. By late afternoon, the rain stops, the sky brightens, and a river of wind dries out the air.

As the sun occasionally peeks through the scudding clouds, the post-storm, early-evening light replays a silent show of shifting colors that’s eons old and still timelessly enchanting. Soft beams of light so brilliant they look three-dimensional bounce from meadow to mountain, burbling creek to bulbous cloud, every element of the landscape absorbing and reflecting long red, orange, and yellow rays of the spectrum.

Two backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail immediately north of the Notch, Jasper National Park.
Adele and Alex backpacking the Skyline Trail immediately north of the Notch (the pass in the background), Jasper National Park.

At Shovel Pass, at 7,600 feet/2,316 meters, we overlook the valley where Curator camp lies beyond sight and a pretty good walk downhill from where we stand. We can clearly see the Skyline contouring around the head of this valley, but we turn onto a faint, sometimes not visible shortcut trail that offers a more direct route to our camp.

Looking for occasional cairns, we descend steeply in spots, knees protesting, past scurrying marmots and patches of bright wildflowers. Just before dinnertime, walk into Curator campground, at 6,781 feet/2,067 meters, grabbing two of the last open tentsites.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

The Vast and Magnificent Canadian Rockies

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the Lower 48 that really compares with the Canadian Rockies. Yes, I’m serious.

To begin to appreciate the Canadian Rockies, first you must conceptualize the scale of this region. The Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks World Heritage Site, which encompasses four contiguous national parks (Banff and Jasper in Alberta and Yoho and Kootenay in British Columbia) and three provincial parks (Mount Robson, Mount Assiniboine, and Hamber, all in B.C.), spans more than 5.8 million acres/almost 2.4 million hectares. That nearly equals the area of Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Glacier, and Everglades national parks combined.

Jasper reigns as the largest national park in the Canadian Rockies at over 2.7 million acres/1.1 million hectares, compared with Banff’s more than 1.6 million acres/664,100 hectares. The vast majority of Jasper’s land mass comprises pristine mountain wilderness spliced by more than 660 miles/1,200 kilometers of trails.

 

Statistics, of course, are not the reason we are drawn to such places—it’s the scenery. And the majesty of the Canadian Rockies will practically give you chills. Just driving the Trans-Canada Highway or other roads through the region takes you on a tour of endless rows of towering cliffs and peaks with rivers of cracked ice tumbling off them.

Jasper also remains one of the last places in southern Canada with healthy populations of the range of carnivores that have existed here for centuries, including mountain lions, woodland caribou, wolves, wolverines, and grizzly bears. In one afternoon traveling the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper, our two-family group saw from our car windows two gigantic bull elk with racks perhaps broader than my wingspan, a pod of bighorn sheep, and a huge grizzly sow and her two cubs—all of them by the roadside.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail north toward Tekarra camp, Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Skyline Trail in Canada’s Jasper National Park.

Jasper also holds the distinction of being the world’s second-largest Dark Sky Preserve, defined as a place where no artificial light is visible—in part because of active measures taken to reduce light pollution from neighboring communities (including the town of Jasper, located within the park). At night in our camps in the backcountry, I’d look up at a coal-black sky so riddled with glowing constellations of stars that I couldn’t pull my gaze from it until I got so cold that I had to dive back into my tent and bag.

With lower treelines and alpine zones because of their northern latitude, soaring walls of crumbling rock and thousands of glaciers (most of them shrinking and on track to disappear because of climate change), the Canadian Rockies have long been compared in appearance to the Alps—despite not reaching the same heights. But unlike the Alps, for Americans and Canadians, these mountains lie not an ocean away but right next door.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

The Notch and a High Ridge Walk

Leaving Curator camp on our second morning, we follow a connector trail uphill to rejoin the Skyline and continue upward to the nearly flat basin of Curator Lake, at around 7,360 feet/2,243 meters, a blue eye cradled in a barren bowl of rocks, cliffs, sparse vegetation growing no more than ankle- or calf-high, and one of the few lakes along the entire trail.

Marmots bound over the rocky ground, their signature whistling call carrying a distance, while pikas scurry more quickly or stand on hind legs and chirp loudly, and the faster and most numerous Columbian ground squirrels dash away at our approach. But we see few other wild animals, which isn’t terribly surprising: The starkness and openness of the alpine zone that the Skyline crosses for many miles gives large animals that are wary of humans plenty of warning of our approach.

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
Backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

From Curator Lake, we begin the Skyline’s hardest climb (when hiking south to north, as many people do), the steep and loose slog to the pass known simply as the Notch, at 8,238 feet/2,511 meters—a spot known to hold snow later into summer than anywhere else on the Skyline. Penny chats with a backpacker coming in the other direction who says that yesterday, around the time that afternoon thunderstorm hit us, the wind reached 100 kph (over 60 mph) and rain pounded the long, high, fully exposed ridge traverse that awaits us beyond the Notch.

The words foreshadow, even if imprecisely, what we are walking toward.

The wind blasts through the natural funnel of the Notch, so we don’t linger there very long. Beyond it, we embark on the stretch of the Skyline that embodies its name, where the trail stays atop a ridge crest for two-and-a-half miles/four kilometers with, it seems, all the Canadian Rockies spread out before us. Zipped up inside our shell jackets and leaning into the biting wind, we swing our heads side to side, gazing out at endless mountains and deep valleys cut by braided, glacial rivers.

With everyone ready for lunch, we drop a short distance down off the trail on the lee side of the ridge, taking a break from the hammering wind to eat overlooking several small lakes and tarns in the broad basin of Excelsior Creek, between 8,858-foot/2,700-meter Centre Mountain and 9,157-foot/2,791-meter The Watchtower.

Moving on again, we pass near the top of Amber Mountain at 8,415 feet/2,565 meters, the Skyline wriggling like a snake along this open ridge. Then the trail falls off the ridge, zigzagging downward into another creek valley. With the sun now more out than obscured and us much lower and out of the wind, we shed some layers, though the cool wind remains.

Join now to read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide and gear discounts!

 

A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

And the Skyline isn’t finished with showing off to us. The sheer and fluted rock walls of 8,839-foot/2,694-meter Mount Tekarra loom above as we descend this gentle, wide valley past another beautiful lake at the toe of the mountain. From Tekarra campground, the Skyline climbs out of the forest again, granting us one final walk through the alpine zone, looking across a deep valley to yet another long wall of cliffs stretching for miles, glowing in late-afternoon sunlight.

Minutes after the trail drops back into forest, we roll into Signal campground, almost 10 miles/16 kilometers from Curator campground. The mosquitoes are thick here—it is the last day of July, in the middle of peak mosquito season, so this surprises no one. But they don’t bother us much: We’re buzzing viscerally with that excitement of having just completed the sort of exceptional day of hiking through mountains that you remember years later.

See all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), boots, sleeping bags (this ultralight bag for me and this warmer bag for my wife, who gets cold more easily), rain jacket, down jacket, fleece hoody, trekking poles, ultralight air mattress, and stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-skyline-trail-in-jasper-national-park/feed/ 4 60836
The 9 Hardest Lessons for Parents Who Love the Outdoors https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-9-hardest-lessons-for-parents-who-love-the-outdoors/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-9-hardest-lessons-for-parents-who-love-the-outdoors/#comments Sun, 01 Oct 2023 09:07:05 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=48267 Read on

]]>
A Manual for Staying Sane Through the Greatest Adventure of Your Life

By Michael Lanza

Raising children is a lot of work—any parent knows that. But for people who love the outdoors, combining parenting with their passion for hiking, backpacking, skiing, camping, climbing, kayaking, or other outdoor activities poses added challenges.

In many ways, at least when children are young, what you do outside with them is both easier than what you did outside before you had kids (you regress to beginner level) and exponentially harder (for all the cat herding and stuff-management involved). The rewards can seem elusive. You may wonder whether it’s worth the time and effort. The Complaint Department stays open 24-7 and you’re the embattled manager.

A family on a hike in Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
My family on a hike in Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve. Click photo to read my “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

Well, I have good news for you.

After two-plus decades as parents—including my 10 years as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—my wife and I have taken our kids on more outdoors trips than we can count over the years. And those adventures have proven wonderful and brought us closer as a family.

I’ve put together what I consider the nine hardest lessons in parenting for parents who love the outdoors. While the title sounds ominous, I believe you will find the following tips both a manual for managing your family outdoor adventures and a self-help guide to preparing yourself—as much as is possible—for an alternately dizzying and delightful journey and the greatest adventure of your life.

Please share any thoughts, tips, or questions you have in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Click on any photo to read about that trip (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full).

See my affordable, expert e-guides to numerous trips, including some classic adventures appropriate for families and beginners, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these classic adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young boy backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Olympic coast near Strawberry Point, Olympic National Park.

1. Stop Believing You Will Be on Schedule. You Never Will. Ever.

With the steadfast and laudable optimism of someone who has often known success outdoors, you will plan ambitious trips with your family—including a specific departure time. You might as well try to predict when the next asteroid that wipes out most life on the planet will collide with the Earth.

Young family at Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
My family on an early backpacking trip in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

You could plan a departure time for every trip your family takes, for years, and never meet it. You could double the amount of time you reserve for packing and double it again; and just when you think you will get out the door at the appointed time, someone’s diaper needs changing, or someone can’t find gloves, or someone just discovered the boots/jacket/pants (fill in the blank) he or she wore on the last trip don’t fit now. 

Or while one preschool child has taken 25 minutes to put his clothes on inside out, the other will insist she was never told to get dressed. Or the kids that weren’t hungry when you said, “Eat now,” are suddenly acting as if their last meal occurred days ago. 

Accept this brutally honest advice: Scrub the concepts “schedule” and “on time” from your mind—at least during those early years. Set your expected departure time for a broadly approximate window, like “morning,” or more safely, “afternoon.” 

You are playing with forces far beyond your control; do not delude yourself into believing otherwise. Sometimes lowering expectations makes life easier and reduces stress more than anything else you can do.

Want to take your family backpacking? See these expert e-guides:
The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park
The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite
The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Woman and two young children backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
My wife, Penny, with our kids, Nate and Alex, on a family backpacking trip in Zion National Park.

2. You Will Amass Way Too Much Stuff

No matter how many children you have—one, two, or more—they do not merely increase the work of organizing and packing for a trip in proportion to their number; they magnify it exponentially. In a world that follows the physical laws that you have always known, it will not seem possible that packing up a family can require so much more stuff than you needed before kids. But there it is.

You and your spouse may reminisce nostalgically, with amusement, about a pre-children summer spent living out of a little car and sleeping every night in a small tent while hiking and backpacking around the West. (Did that.) Or how you existed perfectly comfortably on everything you could fit inside two backpacks while trekking for weeks through some Third World country. (Yup, did that, too.) 

But you are not those people anymore. The total worth of your possessions may, in fact, exceed the GDP of a Third World country you once visited.

And there’s no turning back (not until your kids are grown, anyway). This is your life and it fills a small warehouse. Deal with it.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A teenage boy and tweener girl standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington.
My son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington.

3. You Will Forget Important Stuff

With maddening consistency—and in spite of your numerous checks before leaving home that everyone has everything they need—you will get 15 minutes down the road and realize you’ve forgotten a critical stuffed animal, piece of gear, or child’s jacket or sunglasses. And you will turn back and retrieve those forgotten items because keeping everyone happy ranks higher in importance than what time you reach your destination.

Do not be shocked to find yourself hours from home, driving up a dirt road to a trailhead where you will begin a family backpacking trip, and suddenly realize that one child has somehow left at home every article of insulation and outerwear he was supposed to put in his backpack—even though you had made sure he had them all out and ready to pack when you were at home. (Been there, done that).

But going against all rules you have always followed, you may go right ahead and press on with this trip, because the forecast looks good—and you know full well that when your child needs a rain jacket during a sudden thunderstorm or a down jacket in camp, it is you who will go without them. And you will survive and be glad you did it.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

A young girl backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park (also shown in lead photo at top of story).

4. The Wilderness is Not Child-Proof

When our first child was nearly a year old, we spent a couple of months hiking and backpacking around the U.S. West and Canadian Rockies with him. Even though he would not remember a thing, it seemed to us a good way for our son to spend the first summer of his life.

For the most part, we had a wonderful time—even laughing about how much less ambitious this trip was compared to the extended summer road trips my wife and I took pre-children (which now seem like another lifetime).

That summer on the road with our infant son, like NASCAR pit crews, my wife and I quickly became pros at ripping off a loaded diaper and slapping on a freshy while gale-force winds blew through a mountain pass. I’m not sure how many times we caught him looking like he had a mouthful of grapes as one of us changed his diaper on the ground, prompting the other to dig a finger around inside his mouth to excavate the stones he’d stuffed in there.

I don’t know how he stealthily loaded pebbles into his mouth under our watchful gaze. But he may have consumed enough stones that summer to cover a small beach on the coast of Maine.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get exclusive gear discounts and a FREE e-guide! Join now!

 

Two young kids backpacking at Upper Lyman Lakes in Washington's Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Alex and Nate at Upper Lyman Lakes in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

5. You Will Survive a Torpid Hiking Pace and Mind-Numbing Games

You might insist to yourself that your family will not greatly affect the pace of adventure you enjoyed pre-kids. Unfortunately, your young children will not sign up for that program.

Young boy and man in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Nate and our guide Steve Howe, in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

You will hike at a slower pace than you’ve ever imagined possible. If backpacking, you will walk that slowly while carrying a pack weighing approximately as much as a bison calf—and because of that, you may come to appreciate the frequent stops to let your children throw stones in a stream, or hit a stone with a stick (or a stick with a stone), or give you a detailed explanation of how to weaponize any object found in nature.

To help your child pass the time while hiking, you will play a game. Some of these may be fun, like the Story Game, where everyone takes turns adding to the plot of a made-up story—which then takes many humorous turns. I also spent untold hours playing a game with my young daughter that we called the Number Game, in which we took turns guessing which number between one and 20 we were each thinking of. This could entertain my daughter for hours beyond the point at which I had grown bored—but it kept her engaged and happy so I did it.

This can be an especially difficult truth for parents who have been hard-driving, Type-A outdoors enthusiasts and struggle with the notion of slowing down. I know—I went through this arduous transition and it took me years.

But I can tell you this: When you finally learn to enjoy the slower pace, you may discover that the joy is truly found not in the destination, but in the journey.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

A teenage boy dayhiking in the Presidential Range, N.H.
Nate, at age 14, on a 17-mile, four-summit dayhike in the Presidential Range, N.H.

6. Sometimes, You’re All Alone

Your kids will gang up against you when they don’t want to do what you’ve planned. Your spouse will run for the hills to avoid fighting that battle with kids. Or your partner may be away and your children—because they are evolutionarily closer to our primate cousins than adults are—will instinctively recognize their numerical advantage and stage a successful coup without a drop of blood shed.

Sometimes, you must simply confront the cold truth and retreat to survive and fight another day.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Two young girls backpacking Paria Canyon in southern Utah and northern Arizona.
Alex and friend Sofi backpacking Paria Canyon in southern Utah and northern Arizona.

7. Sometimes, It Just Isn’t Fun…

Unlike when you were young, single, childless, when you strummed guitars, sang, and drank around a campfire and thought you all sounded really good (you didn’t), when your children are really little, going camping is often much more work than fun. 

You may be slow to come to this realization, actually going so far as to believe it’s a good idea to drive with little kids on a Friday night to a distant campground, arriving near midnight with children now so wired (they didn’t sleep in the car as you had laid out in your brilliant plan) that they stay awake, crawling over you to hurl themselves against the tent walls, until an hour when you’re long past exhaustion.

See my “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

Backpackers on the Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 at Roberts Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Alex, then 17, and her friend, Adele, backpacking the Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 over Roberts Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

8. … But You Will Do It, Anyway, and It Will Pay Off

Teenage girl trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc.
Alex trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps.

You will do it because—in your heart and your gut, in the marrow of your bones—you must get outside for your own health, happiness, and sanity. You will do this with your children not just because you believe it’s good for them, but because, otherwise, you would get outside less often—and that is simply not an acceptable vision of life to you.

And miraculously, your persistence and determination will pay off. 

You may begin to see a change occur in children early in grade school, when they cross another threshold of physical development every year and they can do more. They steadily gain the emotional maturity to get through the discomfort of a hike.

Your kid may even pick up an outdoor sport that’s outside your experience base, like climbing or whitewater kayaking, and dive into it with an enthusiasm that makes you smile uncontrollably (even as you worry about for his/her safety)—and maybe even take it up yourself.

And you will discover, to your surprise and delight, that experiencing a place familiar to you becomes new and awe-inspiring again when you relive it through your children.

Upgrade now to a premium subscription to The Big Outside
and get my Custom Trip Planning plus 30% off a one-year subscription!

Backpackers on Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Nate, at 17, backpacking with two buddies up Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, along the Idaho Wilderness Trail.

9. You Will Actually Miss This Craziness

You will stumble upon a photo of your children from five or seven or 10 or 15 years ago and marvel over the metamorphosis they have gone through in a period of time that feels impossibly short to you.

They will grow increasingly more independent (even as they still rely on you for so much). And you will inevitably watch them drift away, like a piece of paper snatched up by the wind and carried off before you can grab it.

A truth then reveals itself to you: Unlike that paper flying off, these years are not an object you can possess—they are an ephemeral time of life and you are just a passenger on a journey over which you exert limited control.

Time for a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight backpacks.

A family trekking through Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My family trekking through Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

As my kids now chart their own paths into young adulthood, even as I’m happy for and proud of who they have become, I miss, just a little bit, that craziness of backpacking, skiing, climbing, and paddling with them while they were young and brimming with wonder and joy—when having the undivided attention of their parents mattered most to them.

That’s the hardest lesson of raising children. 

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside with his family in July 2022 on a hut-to-hut trek in Iceland.
My family in July 2022 on a hut-to-hut trek in Iceland.

But I also see how much all that we did outdoors as a family has formed who they are today: How both of our kids chose to attend a college near mountains. How the challenges of a rigorous hut trek through biting, fierce wind and an unexpected June snowstorm in unfamiliar peaks thrills them. How they still long, as much as ever, to take family adventures together.

Embrace these truths, because they will help you grasp the urgency of seizing every opportunity you get to spend a week, a day, an hour, or a few minutes with your child—outdoors whenever possible, but indoors, too. 

In the long run, you will never regret whatever you pushed aside for those fleeting moments.

See all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside, including:

A Survival Guide For the Outdoors Lover Who’s a New Parent
10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids
Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me)
Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures
The 10 Best Family Adventure Trips

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and a get free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-9-hardest-lessons-for-parents-who-love-the-outdoors/feed/ 4 48267
5 Tips For Hiking With Young Kids From an Outdoors Dad https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tricks-for-getting-tired-kids-through-a-hike/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tricks-for-getting-tired-kids-through-a-hike/#comments Thu, 15 Jun 2023 09:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7898 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

After hiking 1,000 vertical feet uphill on the dusty Upper Yosemite Falls Trail in Yosemite Valley, baking under a thermonuclear Sierra sun, we sat on rocks for a snack and a much-needed break. My seven-year-old daughter, unprompted, blurted out, “I’m tired and hungry!” My nine-year-old son was still fuming over having been woken up earlier than he prefers (which was 11 a.m.) for this hike—although we were broiling in the sun precisely because we didn’t start even earlier, when it was cooler. He groused, “If you’re going to wake me up that early, it’s your fault if I complain.”

It was looking like my plan to hike my kids and my 12-year-old nephew 3,000 feet and nearly four miles uphill to the brink of Upper Yosemite Falls—and then, of course, back down—was on the express bus to the graveyard for dumb ideas from overzealous hiker-dads.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Upper Yosemite Falls Trail, Yosemite Valley.
My family on the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail, Yosemite Valley.

But minutes beyond that moment of epidemic disgruntlement in Yosemite Valley, we rounded a bend to our first view of Upper Yosemite Falls plunging over a sheer cliff through a vertical quarter-mile of air, creating a cloud of mist that rained onto the trail. That—and stuffing their bellies with food—spun the kids’ attitudes 180 degrees. They alternately walked and ran the remaining 2,000 feet of that ascent.

Hike, backpack, cross-country ski, or do anything rigorous outdoors with kids regularly, and there will inevitably come a time when you have an unhappy child who’s complaining he can’t take another step without severe consequences, possibly including death. (Or at least, my kids have been that hyperbolic.) You’re out on the trail, still on the hike—you can’t just call a cab.

Hiking Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens.
My daughter, Alex, hiking Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens.

What’s a parent to do?

First and foremost, picking a hike that inspires kids will go far in making the outing successful—that partly explained our kids’ positive turnaround in Yosemite. But that was also because I employed other tactics to energize the kids—and you can’t always count on having a 1,400-foot waterfall in your corner.

This article shares tricks I’ve learned while taking our kids—now young adults and eager dayhikers, backpackers, skiers, climbers, and whitewater paddlers—on numerous, mostly successful family adventures since they were quite little, and through my many years as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and running this blog.

As they did for me, I think these tips will help you get young kids through difficult moments on a hike or any outdoor adventure. Please share your thoughts on them or your own tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

1. Take It Easy

Hiking Mount St. Helens in July with the same three kids who were on that Upper Yosemite Falls hike—but three years older at age 10, 12, and 15—I wasn’t entirely sure everyone would have the stamina for it, especially my daughter, the youngest.

Compounding the challenge was the fact that we needed an early start to what would be a long day—meaning not as much sleep as would be ideal. But all three did surprisingly well, practically running down the trail at the end of an 11-hour, 10-mile, 4,500-vertical-foot day.

Why? Besides it being an amazing hike, and the kids feeling a powerful sense of accomplishment, I’m convinced the real key was our slow but steady pace and frequent, short breaks. Although that requires monitoring the time and your progress to avoid finishing really late, our pace and rests gave their small bodies time to recover.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Young girls snacking while hiking in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park.
My daughter, Alex (middle), with friends Sofi and Lili on a backpacking trip in the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park.

2. Feed Them More

I could relate an anecdote from just about every family dayhike and backpacking trip we’ve ever taken to illustrate this point. But I’ll describe a moment from that Upper Yosemite Falls hike. A bit more than halfway up, the two boys, excited by the waterfall’s rain of mist, had dashed ahead. My daughter, however, looked ready for a nap. We sat down together and I gave her a big energy bar—which she proceeded to inhale like a snake gulping down a vole. Minutes later, she jumped to her feet and ran after the boys, fully rejuvenated.

Time and again I’ve been reminded: A grumpy kid is often just a hungry kid. They don’t have the fat and energy reserves of adults. Feed them frequently and remind them to drink. Bring food they like that can deliver energy—chocolate, nuts, cheese, bagels, dried or fresh fruit, peanut butter, turkey sandwiches (you get the idea)—and energy drinks if that gets them to drink more.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Find out more here.

Young kids backpacking the Spray Park Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
My kids backpacking the Spray Park Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

3. Watch and Listen

My family was backpacking in Mount Rainier National Park, ascending a steep trail, when our son said he wanted to stop and eat lunch immediately. With no place to sit or even drop our packs nearby, we urged him to walk just a little farther, to the top of the switchbacks. His meltdown happened before we got there. He got over it quickly, and was transformed and smiling again after we finally stopped and ate. But we could have avoided that—and kept him happier, which is the goal when taking kids outdoors—by just stopping when he needed to.

The lesson: Don’t be so focused on your objective that you overlook the condition of your charges. When kids obviously need a break and some fuel, just stop, even if it’s not on your schedule. Everyone will be happier.

The Big Outside helps your family get outdoors more.
Join nowfor full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Puez-Odle, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My family trekking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Puez-Odle, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

4. Just Talk

Hikers seeking quiet might not want to follow my family on a trail. We talk a lot—mostly, I’m happy to say, because our kids like talking to my wife and me. Kids, particularly pre-teens, thrive on attention from their parents, especially when we’re interested in what our children want to tell us. One of the best aspects of getting outdoors as a family is how it affords you rare hours of uninterrupted time to just talk and listen.

So chat them up. Play word games. Talk about whatever interests them; their favorite computer game, movie, or book may not top your list, but they will be excited that you want to hear about it. (And your willingness to listen with interest can help put kids at ease when having more difficult conversations about what’s going on in their lives as they get older.)

Most of all, give your kids your full attention.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.
Click here now to learn more.

A young boy backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.

5. Empower Your Child To Do Well

It was late afternoon on what had already been a long, third day of hiking during a four-day backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon. But we had to walk another couple of hours to make sure the next day—with a big uphill climb—would be manageable for our kids. We took a long break to rest and fill up on water.

I could see my son looked tired. I told him, “The others are tired. I’m going to need you to be a leader and help me encourage everyone else.” He eagerly embraced the responsibility—and never once complained that he was tired.

Create a dynamic in which a kid wants to do well. Tell a child she’s a good hiker, and she will come to self-identify in that way and take pride and ownership in that.

See my “7 Tips for Getting Your Family on Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

Learn “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me)

A young girl at Kaweah Gap in Sequoia National Park.
Alex at Kaweah Gap on a family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park.

Bonus Tip

Okay, there’s one more trick—an old one many parents already know but may not think of when they have an unhappy child on their hands: Promise them ice cream. Or a favorite dinner. Or something special once the hike is over. My kids and nephew practically ran back down the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail when we said they’d get more pool time at the hotel if we got down quickly.

And the next day, descending from a hike up the Mist Trail to Vernal Fall and Nevada Fall, my daughter slipped and fell, skinning her knee and palms. So I walked with her the rest of the way (my wife, son, and nephew ahead of us), playing a game in which we guessed what number between one and 20 the other was thinking of. I bet her an ice cream that she couldn’t guess exactly right—and I made sure she was right.

See my stories “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You,” and “10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors,” and all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

See also my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your next family adventure.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tricks-for-getting-tired-kids-through-a-hike/feed/ 6 7898
10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-keeping-kids-happy-and-safe-outdoors/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-keeping-kids-happy-and-safe-outdoors/#comments Thu, 15 Jun 2023 09:00:47 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7398 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Some people might say my wife and I are bad parents. We’ve repeatedly and deliberately placed our kids—at young ages—in risky situations. And I’m not talking about letting them ride their bikes without wearing helmets or frequently taking them to McDonald’s.

I’m talking about setting out with seven- and four-year-old kids to cross-country ski through a snowstorm for hours to a backcountry yurt. Tying a six-year-old into a rope and letting him or her rock climb a cliff. Rappelling into slot canyons. Backpacking into the remotest and most rugged wildernesses in the contiguous United States, from the Grand Canyon to the Tetons to Glacier National Park.

Rafting and kayaking a whitewater river deep in one of the Lower 48’s biggest wilderness areas. Paddling down a river teeming with alligators, or in frigid Alaskan waters plied by killer whales, while camping on wilderness beaches where brown bears would view those kids as the perfect hors d’oeuvres before a satisfying meal of adult humans. Trekking for a week through the snow-covered, highest peaks in northern Europe.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young boy getting lowered on a rope in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My son, Nate, getting lowered on a rope in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

And yet, beyond occasional whining and tears (which I do less of these days than I did as a new parent), we have suffered no disasters. Maybe we’ve just been lucky.

But I don’t think so.

It’s tempting to believe that you only have to take kids outdoors and nature will do the rest—because spontaneity is inherently better than micro-managing, right? But experience has taught me that how diligently the adults in charge control the situation will dictate how well the outing goes and how positive an experience everyone has, adults and children.

Through a lot of trial and a fair bit of error, I’ve learned a few things over the years about keeping kids, at all ages, both safe and happy outdoors—and when it comes down to it, safe and happy are always our ultimate objectives out there.

The good news is that whether you’re paddling among alligators or just out for a short hike in a state or national park with little kids, the strategies for success boil down to some simple rules that are as easy to follow as they are to overlook.

This article shares lessons I’ve learned while taking our kids—who today are fine young adults who make us proud and still love getting outdoors on trips with us—on numerous family adventures dayhiking, backpacking, climbing, skiing, and paddling since they were quite little, a period of time that included the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and my many years running this blog.

Keep these 10 rules in mind and I think you will find that, as with my family and others that join us, everyone will be happy—most of the time, anyway. And safe.

Click on any photo to read about that trip. Please share your thoughts on my advice or your own tips or questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Hikers on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the distance.
My kids, nephew, and mother on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, with Mount Adams in the distance.

1. Know Everyone’s Limits

When I was thinking about attempting a three-generation hike up Mount St. Helens, I was most concerned about the two people who would be the slowest and weakest in the group: the youngest person, my 10-year-old daughter, and the oldest, my 76-year-old mom. So I discussed the plans in detail with everyone who was going: how long it would take us, and how hard it would be both in concrete numbers (10 miles and 4,500 vertical feet) as well as comparing it to the difficulty of other activities they had done before. And I only considered hiking St. Helens with them because everyone had previously done well on hikes that were nearly as difficult.

This is my first rule because it’s so important, and yet incredibly easy to forget: Your group’s limits will be determined by the weakest member. At best, ignoring this can result in much loud complaining and bad feelings; at worst, someone could end up hurt, you may finish the day hours later than planned (with everyone exhausted, starving, and unhappy), and children may have a lasting negative impression of the event.

On the other hand, knowing and respecting everyone’s limits allows you to challenge those limits without undo risk and with the potential for huge emotional rewards for everyone: My family all made it up Mount St. Helens—and back down—and reaped the rewards of tremendous pride and self-satisfaction.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

A family hiking the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail in Yosemite Valley.
My family hiking the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail in Yosemite Valley.

2. Make Sure They Sleep Enough

This may seem like “duh” advice, but it’s remarkably easy to overschedule our kids just as we overschedule ourselves, resulting in an entire family of sleep-deprived people—not a fun group to hang out with. This is my second rule because it’s important enough to be interchangeable with my first rule, and I’ve found it rings just as true with grade-school kids and teenagers as it did when my kids were toddlers and preschoolers.

Before any trip, I make an extra effort to see that my kids get to bed at a decent hour. If I plan to wake them up earlier than usual for, say, a big day of hiking, I let them know in advance and get their buy-in with the plan. When camping, it’s easy to stay up later than usual, which is fun and fine occasionally. But too many late nights will catch up with them (and it’s hard to sleep late in the morning outside because of daylight), and studies show that a regular sleep schedule is the key to being well rested. Be aware of the time and whether your kids need to hit the sack.

See “Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures

Young girls cross-country skiing to a backcountry yurt in Idaho's Boise National Forest.
My daughter, Alex, right, and friend Lili cross-country skiing to a backcountry yurt in Idaho’s Boise National Forest.

3. Are They Warm Enough?

Your child’s body is not like yours, so don’t assume you will experience hot and cold identically. You may be hiking or skiing the same trail in the same air temperature, but kids can warm up more quickly because of their different metabolism and because they often simply move around more than adults. At the same time, they often cool down more quickly when stationary because they typically have much less body fat and mass.

Children don’t pay close attention to their own bodies until they’re really uncomfortable. Ask them regularly, “Are you warm enough?” Even when they say, “Yes,” their faces or body language may say, “No.” Look for signs that they’re cold in their posture, or reduced activity level, shivering, or blue lips. Tell them to add a layer if a cool wind kicks up, before they’re cold, or to shed a layer if you’re beginning a hot climb, before they’re sweating heavily (wet clothes can make them cold later).

Babies, of course, can’t tell you they’re too hot or cold—although crying may be a signal. A trick I used was to periodically check a baby’s or toddler’s fingers or feet, because those get cold first. On the other hand, you can overdress a young child, too. (Guilty.) If his or her face feels unusually warm, unzip or remove a layer of clothing.

One advantage with babies: You carry them, so they’re not cycling between warm and cold due to shifting exertion level. Keep in mind that wind plays a big factor when dressing a baby—put a windproof layer on her when needed, but not in calm air when it can make a baby too warm. Also, a baby in a carrier on your chest or back receives a fair bit of warmth from you.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Find out more here.

A young girl hiking in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, on a family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park.

4. Shovel Food and Drinks At Them

I cannot even estimate how many times I’ve been reminded that a kid who’s complaining about being tired is usually just hungry. Give him a big candy bar or a sandwich. Children need to eat more frequently than adults—sometimes every hour.

Look for warning signs: grumpiness, a slowing pace, growing quiet, or a faraway look. Feed them pre-emptively—before they tell you, “I’m starving!” Ditto with water. But because most kids are sippers rather than gulpers, remind them every 15 or 20 minutes, “Everyone take a big drink.” They might object at first, but they’ll get used to doing this. Giving each kid a daypack and hydration bladder helps.

Another lesson I’ve learned the hard way: Don’t let a kid hit the wall. When he’s obviously in need of fuel, don’t let your own goals prompt you to suggest that you all “hike a little farther and find a better spot to stop soon.” Just stop immediately and give him something to eat; you will spare everyone a lot of unnecessary grief.

Make your family’s next big trip one of “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

A mother and young daughter paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, in Florida's Everglades region.
My daughter, Alex, and wife, Penny, paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, on the edge of Florida’s Everglades.

5. Spell Out the Rules

Even adults who are in an unfamiliar environment will occasionally make seemingly stupid, dangerous mistakes simply because they did not understand the hazard. Children are at greater risk of not recognizing hazards. With young kids, define clearly the safe-zone boundaries in camp and rules like no one wanders out of sight or earshot of camp, or plays at the edge of the river without wearing a PFD.

Experienced older kids need less instruction and can be given more freedom, but don’t assume older kids who are beginners understand every potential hazard. Have experienced kids watch out for the less experienced. Rather than making rules seem like restrictions, tell kids you’ve taken them on this adventure because you think they have the maturity and ability to be safe and respect the rules—allowing you all to pursue more such adventures in the future. Turn it into a teaching moment about personal responsibility, and they will understand that they are in control of their own destiny.

Click here for my e-guides to the best beginner-friendly backpacking trips in Yosemite and Grand Teton.

A young teenage boy on a backpacking trip at Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, at Alice Lake on a backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

6. Make It a Game

Adults have the patience and perspective to endure the difficult and tedious times of a hike or other outdoor activity, knowing the payoff will come. That’s an important life lesson that children can glean eventually—but in order to guide them to that level of maturity, we have to make tedious times fun for them.

Kids’ needs for stimulation vary depending on their age. Play games while hiking, like starting with one simple word and taking turns thinking of rhyming words until only one person is left with a rhyme. My kids love “The Story Game,” where we take turns contributing short pieces to the plot of one developing story, which always takes humorous twists. Tell your kids a true story about some past adventure of yours. Stop at streams for kids to play in or boulders to scramble on. Promise them a special stop along the hike, or that everyone gets a big candy bar at the halfway mark, to give them something to look forward to.

Relevant to this tip: Let your child bring stuffed animals or other comfort items that will make them happier. Think about what could make them more comfortable during difficult times—like high-quality technical clothing, or a lightweight umbrella for hiking in the rain.

Want this lifestyle for your family?
Use my “7 Tips for Getting Your Family on Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

A young boy in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, in Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Nate in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, in Utah’s Escalante National Monument.

7. Surprise Kids

Simply put: Take them someplace really cool. Adults like big views, but kids want to interact physically with the environment. They want to play in water, climb on rocks, crawl through narrow crevices, weaponize sticks, throw stones.

On family backpacking trips when our kids were young, they always wanted us to camp by a creek that was safe for them to get in. They have always loved a paddling trip—being on the water all day, paddling a canoe or kayak or having a turn at pulling the raft’s oars. The Green River through Canyonlands National Park is an easy, family- and beginner-friendly, multi-day float trip.

But our family’s favorite multi-day river trip has been Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Our children were amazed when we descended slot canyons in southern Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Choose outdoor destinations that you know will provide natural features that engage and excite kids. Make them want to go out again.

The Big Outside helps your family get outdoors more. Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

Children around a campfire outside a backcountry yurt in Idaho's Boise National Forest.
The kids learning to build a campfire outside a backcountry yurt in Idaho’s Boise National Forest.

8. Teach Them Skills

On a two-family, cross-country skiing trip to a backcountry yurt, the other dad in our group taught the four kids—age nine to 12—how to build a campfire. He monitored them to be safe, and showed them how, but also gave them the freedom to each start his or her own fire. It was a huge success: they learned a valuable survival skill and had a blast. The takeaway lesson for parents? Children want to learn adult skills; it can be fun and thrilling for them and give them larger lessons.

Start when they’re young teaching kids age-appropriate skills: how to pitch the tent, build a snow cave, light the backpacking stove, use the water filter, read the map, belay a climber and build climbing anchors, paddle and roll a kayak, ski backcountry snow and recognize avalanche hazard. The long-term payoff for parents—besides the satisfaction of seeing your children learn? They learn how to take over these chores from you.

Two teenage girls on a backpacking trip on Nevada's Ruby Crest Trail.
Alex (right) and her friend since they were toddlers, Adele, on our family backpacking trip on Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail.

9. Let Them Bring a Friend

Young kids (generally under 10) love being with their parents and getting your direct attention. As they get older, you can still enjoy rewarding parent-child time in the backcountry together. I take an annual father-son and father-daughter trip with my kids for wonderful one-on-one time together—something they look forward to as much as I do.

Backpackers above the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, with friends Kade and Iggy, backpacking above the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click the photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

But it becomes more important to older kids, especially teenagers, to have a friend along. Inviting one of their friends not only helps your child enjoy the trip more, it usually means less complaining: whining isn’t a cool thing to do in front of your friends.

Plus, you could be introducing another kid to the outdoors: When my son was 15, he told me that he wanted us to take two of his buddies on their first backpacking trip. We went, and it was a big success, from the boys enjoying it together to me seeing my son assume a leadership role showing his friends how to pitch their tent, cook on the stove, and other skills. (Read about it here.)

Finding other families that share these interests, where the parents and kids all become close friends, is like finding gold.

I know dangerous. Read “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

A young man rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Nate rock climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next family adventure.

10. Give the Gift of Independence

We have to dote on little kids—they need the attention emotionally and require it for their own safety. But as they get older, they must learn to anticipate and self-manage their own needs, so that you and they don’t have to go through the agony of the parent always telling the kid what to do.

This is hard, but know when to cut the cord. Find that delicate balance between giving kids enough rope to trip once in a while—which is okay because they have to learn to fix their own mistakes—without giving them enough to hang themselves. No one enjoys it or benefits when a parent is constantly correcting or instructing a child who’s old enough to figure it out. Everyone is happier when a child doesn’t need a parent’s help.

Ultimately, independence gives children the larger benefit of self-confidence—the belief that they can manage any personal crisis in life. That may be the best gift you can give your children through taking them outdoors.

See all of my stories about family adventures and all stories about backcountry skills at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps your family get outdoors more.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-keeping-kids-happy-and-safe-outdoors/feed/ 16 7398
Photo Gallery: Hiking and Backpacking Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#comments Thu, 25 May 2023 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10364 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

When can you claim to know a mountain range well? Maybe it’s once you have spent enough time—certainly measured in years, and probably decades—that you have explored beyond the most accessible and popular spots to the obscure, unknown corners. Perhaps it’s when you have hiked most of its trails. Just possibly, it’s when you unfold a map and it takes several minutes to tick off for someone all the places you have visited. That’s a good start, anyway.

I’ve been exploring Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains for more than 25 years—backpacking and dayhiking, climbing peaks, backcountry skiing—and have fallen in love with these rugged, crenulated peaks. As someone who’s had the good fortune of having backpacked all over the country and the world over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I rank the Sawtooths among the top 10 best backpacking trips in America.

I think you’ll see why in this photo gallery.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers above the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, with friends Kade and Iggy, backpacking above the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Protected as federal wilderness and the best-known piece of the sprawling wilderness areas of central Idaho—south of the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the second-largest in the Lower 48, and west of the 275,000 acres of newer wilderness in the Boulder-White Cloud Mountains—the Sawtooths resemble a cross between the High Sierra and the Tetons.

Dozens of summits rise above 10,000 feet. Innumerable granite spires and pinnacles loom above valleys and cirques where hundreds of alpine lakes ripple in the wind; the Sawtooths are outdone by few mountain ranges in the number and beauty of alpine lakes (see some of the best Sawtooth lakes in this story).

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

While these peaks harbor some classic, technical rock climbs, many summits can be reached on third- and fourth-class scrambles, including the highest in the range, 10,751-foot Thompson Peak.

Besides Thompson, I’ve climbed a number of them, including most of the iconic summits visible from the Sawtooth Valley: Heyburn, Horstman, McGown, Williams, among others—some feasible in a day, all of them great adventures in a range where it’s not unusual to have a high summit all to yourself.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Click here to learn more.

Put Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains on your list of places to see this summer.

See all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside, including these:

The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit
Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes
The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths
Going After Goals: Backpacking Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains
5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

See also my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan every detail of a multi-day hike there.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/feed/ 2 10364
A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-family-hikes-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-family-hikes-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails/#respond Sun, 12 Feb 2023 23:05:36 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=56938 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Walking across the campground at Landmannalaugar, in Iceland’s remote Central Highlands, we can see the entire uphill portion of today’s hike ahead of us. A trail zigzags through dozens of short switchbacks more than a thousand vertical feet (well over 300 meters) up the crest of a ridge on a virtually barren, steep-sided, blue-black little mountain called Bláhnúkur, which means “blue peak.” Scudding clouds flash over the peak like tracer fire revealing the wind scraping the peak’s summit.

Minutes after starting up the path, a strange sight appears on the ground at our feet: our own shadows, which we have become estranged from these first days in Iceland—and indeed, will reunite with rarely over the next couple of weeks in this tiny, North Atlantic island nation that sits just south of the Arctic Circle. We receive this anomalous burst of sunshine as a positive omen—at least for the less than three hours my family will spend hiking up and descending the other side of this pile of volcanic rocks and fine, sand-like tephra in the Fjallabak (“Behind the mountains”) Nature Reserve.

Hikers descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, descending off the peak Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands.

We’re climbing Bláhnúkur (also spelled Bláhnjúkur) as a warmup of sorts for the longer adventure we’ll begin tomorrow. I’ve come with my wife, Penny, and our college-age son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, to spend six days hiking hut to hut on one of the world’s great treks, the Laugavegur Trail and its sister footpath, the Fimmvörðuháls Trail—and there could hardly be a better introduction to the adventure awaiting us than this little peak.

At Bláhnúkur’s 3,005-foot/916-meter summit, we all silently take in the panorama, eyes and brains struggling to comprehend a landscape quite unlike anywhere else on the planet.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


In an environment where trees and any form of vegetation are nearly as rare as a shadow, wildly colored hills roll away in every direction. Except for the scattered patches of snow and electrically lime-green moss dappling the hillsides, most of the rich hues in view result from geologic and volcanic activity—it’s all rocks painting this land. Steam clouds rise from scores of thermal features dotting the ground almost as far as we can see in this corner of Iceland’s Central Highlands, one of the most active geothermal areas on Earth. The black scar of a hardened lava flow fills much of the valley we’ll descend into today and hike up when we begin the Laugavegur tomorrow.

The only signs of human civilization are the tiny village of tents, a few small buildings, including the hut where we’re staying, a couple of ancient buses converted to a store and luncheonette, and a short row of parked vehicles at Landmannalaugar, at 1,936 feet/590 meters above sea level, the northern terminus of the Laugavegur. It looks exactly like what it is: a stubborn, remote, and seasonal outpost of civilization in a harsh wilderness.

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks? Click here now for my e-book
The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

Or click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

Trekkers along Iceland's Laugavegur Trail between Álftavatn and Emstrur.
Trekkers along Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail between Álftavatn and Emstrur.

Far below us, the thin strip of rough, gravel and dirt road to Landmannalaugar weaves like a drunken sailor across a vast and barren moonscape of volcanic rocks and black soil, disappearing over a far horizon. We traveled it yesterday on the last leg of our four-hour ride from Iceland’s capitol, Reykjavik, in a bus with high clearance and oversized tires for the wide, fast-flowing streams it crossed on that road, each time churning up a rooster tail of stones and gray, glaciated water.

A memory rushes back of standing on this very summit on another raw, windy, and damp July visit 16 years ago, the first time I set foot in Landmannalaugar. Ever since then, I’ve wanted to return with my family and walk the entire Laugavegur. After waiting years for our kids to reach an age where they could handle it physically and fully appreciate it—then outlasting a pandemic, healing from an injury, and navigating myriad other routine scheduling challenges—we are finally here.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

A trekker on the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Fimmvorduhals Trail south of Thorsmork, Iceland.

The Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails

Widely considered one of the world’s most beautiful treks—praise I concur with, and I’ve walked some of the greatest trails from the Dolomites, Patagonia and New Zealand to Nepal, the Tour du Mont Blanc, and others—the roughly 34-mile/55k Laugavegur Trail traces a course across a landscape that continually boggles the mind.

Beginning amid the lava fields of Landmannalaugar, we’ll climb through hills where steam issues from scores of thermal features below surreal peaks painted in a chaotic rainbow of electric colors. We’ll cross snowfields, river valleys, and stark, flat plains of volcanic rock flanked by solitary mountains vividly green even though hardly anything grows taller than an adult’s knee. At various points along the trail, we’ll look out over the boundless white seas of vast glaciers, before descending to the trail’s southern terminus in a glaciated river valley in the Thorsmork Nature Reserve (Þórsmörk in Icelandic).

From Thorsmork, where many trekkers take a bus back to Reykjavik, we’ll hike another two days south on the 15.5-mile/25k Fimmvörðuháls Trail. It makes a long ascent up a strikingly green, steep-walled canyon to cross two craters formed by a volcanic eruption in 2010 that halted air travel in Europe for more than a week. After a night in a tiny hut situated on another volcanic moonscape between two more giant glaciers, we’ll finish with a long downhill walk past at least two dozen big, powerful waterfalls along the Skógá River, finishing at the foot of one of Iceland’s best-known curtains of water, Skógafoss.

Get the right pack for your adventures. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

A hiker above a waterfall on the Skógá River, while hiking Iceland's Fimmvörðuháls Trail.
My wife, Penny, above a waterfall on the Skógá River, while hiking Iceland’s Fimmvörðuháls Trail.

Missing your shadow represents the least of Iceland’s meteorological challenges—and even the word “challenging” seems an understated description of the typical weather on the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls and throughout Iceland: Over nearly three weeks in July, from these trails to Reykjavik and elsewhere around the country, we’ll see temperatures ranging from around freezing to a high of 59 F/15 C. Wind and some level of rain occur much of the time on most days, usually anything from a heavy mist to on-and-off steady rain but occasionally day-long, wind-driven, biblical downpours. Even in the rare periods of sunshine lasting a few hours or more, we’ll often hike in rain jackets to fend off the chilling wind.

Still, several thousand people trek the Laugevegur Trail every summer and perhaps a smaller but nonetheless significant number also walk the Fimmvörðuháls Trail. Challenging weather be damned: These trails are that amazing.

Check out these “9 Great Hikes and Walks Along Iceland’s Ring Road.”

A trekker hiking south of Landmannalaugar on the Laugavegur Trail in Icelands Central Highlands.
Penny hiking on day one on the Laugavegur Trail in Icelands Central Highlands.

Landmannalaugar to Hrafntinnusker on the Laugavegur

Under a solid cloud cover on our first morning on the Laugavegur, we cross the lava fields, a sprawling plain of black, sharp-edged rocks from pebbles to the size of baseballs and boulders that resemble large machinery partly melted down and hardened in a form unrecognizable from its original. This jumbled ground of solidified lava would be all but uncrossable if not for the constructed trail winding gently through it.

We climb steadily uphill. The wind grows stronger and colder. The spitting rain escalates to a heavy, wind-borne mist.

About two-thirds of the way to our first hut, we reach a spot called Stórihver, an area of hot springs and fumaroles where steam and hot water erupt noisily from countless ground vents. We wander a minute off-trail to a spot I recall from my first hike here 16 years ago. Cresting a small rise, we overlook a steaming pool about 20 feet across, pressed up against a hillside. A hot spring pours into the pool’s milky waters, which overflow the opposite bank, sending a bright blue stream meandering down a gentle valley of impossibly green moss and black dirt. It looks prehistoric.

By early afternoon, we reach the Höskuldsskáli hut at Hrafntinnusker, at 3,609 feet/1,100m the highest hut we’ll stay in on the Laugavegur and the Fimmvörðuháls, perched on a mostly snow-covered, nearly barren plateau surrounded by mountains largely eclipsed by clouds and fog.

After lunch, Alex, Nate, and I take a 3.1-mile/5k round-trip side hike to the site of ice caves that I visited 16 years ago; once impressive, they have collapsed catastrophically since. Still, the ice “ruins” hint at their former glory and the streams draining off the snowfield trickle down a valley where whistling fumaroles spit steam into the wet air. A near-whiteout descends on us as we start up the blank snowfield to backtrack to the hut: We can see about 100 feet or less, only dirty snow and equally blank fog, but we calmly find the cairns marking our route back.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

A trekker above a hot spring at Storihver, along Iceland's Laugavegur Trail.
Penny above a hot spring at Storihver, along Iceland’s Laugavegur Tail.

As on other hut treks I’ve taken, these huts feel very international. In Landmannalaugar, we had met two women from South Africa, Sharon and Barbara, who advised us on the best hikes and parks in their homeland; we’ll bump into them repeatedly over the next few days. A couple from the eastern Czech Republic are backpacking the Laugavegur, staying in huts when they find space available and their tent otherwise. In the Höskuldsskáli hut, we share a long, narrow loft room with a group of families hiking together, Polish, Swiss, and American, with several kids aged from grade school to young teens; we’ll share a small, crowded hut room with the Polish family two nights later—and more than a week later, randomly run into them in the parking lot at the trailhead just off the Ring Road for Iceland’s third-tallest waterfall, Hengifoss. We also meet other Americans, from San Diego. L.A., and elsewhere.

In July in Iceland, night does not bring on the night. The daylight dims to dusk for a few hours between midnight and the wee hours of morning, when the sun merely dips below the horizon, poised to come roaring back to full brightness well before even the earliest risers have opened their eyes.

Alex, Nate, Penny and I joke that we’re dayhiking the entire, nearly 49 miles of the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails: We’ll finish it all before dark.

Save yourself a lot of time and headaches.
Get “The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.
Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.

Hrafntinnusker to Álftavatn

In the morning, after I return from the bathroom outside the Höskuldsskáli hut, Penny asks, “How’s the weather?” I respond: “About three degrees Celsius, cloudy, and very foggy.” She laughs because it’s identical to yesterday and previous days here—and comes as no surprise.

The fog lifts a bit as we resume hiking the Laugavegur south from Hrafntinnusker, slogging over wet snow. The fog rolls back in as we climb steeply but briefly to a high point, where we see a towering wall of ice belonging to the relatively diminutive—by Iceland standards—Kaldaklofsjökull Glacier faintly through the fog.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets
and “How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

 

At a final high point for the day, we look out over a vast plain unfurling below and ahead of us and see the lake Álftavatn and the hut beside it; although it doesn’t look far off, that’s just a trick of perception induced by the stark landscape’s lack of objects, like trees, that provide scale: It turns out we have more than three more miles of walking to the Álftavatn hut.

As we descend to Álftavatn, the temperature rises into the 50s Fahrenheit—and it feels like a heat wave. We strip down to one or two top layers and pants. But before we reach the hut, the taunting mist rolls back in, chasing us into rain jackets again.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

Álftavatn to Emstrur

On our third morning on the Laugavegur, I step outside the Álftavatn hut around 6 a.m. to a glorious dawn—or “dawn” as it occurs in Iceland, where this time of day does not span mere minutes, as we’re accustomed to at lower latitudes, but stretches into a few hours of low-angle sunlight. Like a lens twisting to bring our vista into focus, the first direct sunlight scrapes over the ragged landscape, throwing it all into sharp relief: the river, lake, and solitary peaks standing like sentinels gathered in a semi-circle around the lake. Some hut guests and backpackers camped in the small tent village between the hut and the lake emerge and, like me, simply stand and pan their eyes over our surroundings.

After breakfast, I start hiking ahead of my family to climb one of the peaks above the lake. I follow the Laugavegur over two footbridges across the lake’s small outlet river and up a short slope, then turn off the trail and walk easily up the northeast ridge of the peak Brattháls, which looms above the lake’s south shore.

Standing on a high point on the narrow ridge less than an hour after leaving the hut, I get a 360-degree panorama of the Álftavatn area and, spinning around to face south, the peaks we’ll hike past today. It’s a stunning preview of what lies ahead of us: Mountains brilliantly green, as if illuminated by a light within them, rise steeply to rocky, knifeblade crests carving into the—for now—partly sunny sky. Then I backtrack down to the trail to meet Penny, Nate, and Alex coming from the hut.

Want to take the world’s best adventures?
See all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

A trekker hiking from Álftavatn to Emstrur along Iceland's Laugavegur Trail.
My wife, Penny, hiking from Álftavatn to Emstrur along Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail.

Later that morning, we reach the wide but shallow crossing of the Bratthalskvisi River, and change from boots to sandals and make the icy ford with a few dozen other people on a day when we’ll periodically share the trail with what looks at times like a pilgrimage of hikers. Perhaps an hour beyond, we come to a double waterfall in a gorge crossed by a footbridge. And not much farther, we make a knee-deep and wide ford of the Kaldaklofskvísl River that’s bone-chilling.

From there, the Laugavegur crosses an expansive lava plain, flat as a tabletop, with the edge of the Mýrdalsjökull Glacier visible ahead of us. We pass between mountains unlike any I’ve seen: sheer-walled and impossibly green with moss growing up their flanks, they stand as disconnected, solitary peaks arrayed along either side of the trail, as if sculptures in a museum rather than random geologic giants. Scores of trekkers file past them under warm sunshine and the trip’s warmest temps, in the upper 50s, allowing us to hike in shorts and T-shirts for a couple of hours, before the clouds thicken and a cool breeze returns.

In mid-afternoon, we round a bend overlooking our next hut in Botnar on Emstrur, perched above another green valley flanked by cliffs, with a lobe of the Mýrdalsjökull Glacier looming ghostlike above it. Alex says to me, “Wow. Just when you think it can’t get any better, boom.”

Ready for one of the world’s great treks? Click here now for my e-book
The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

The huts at Emstrur, on Iceland's Laugavegur Trail.
The huts at Emstrur, on Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail.

Our small dormitory room in one of the huts at Emstrur has a tiny kitchen square with a sink, a countertop, and a two-burner stove, one picnic table with bench seating for perhaps 14 people, and bunks for sleeping 20 on two levels—a tight space but we make the best of it, sharing it with a group of families from Ottawa that we met briefly at Álftavatn this morning plus one of the Polish families with younger kids, including a brand-new Laugavegur celebrity: the girl who earned a rousing applause and cheers after she crossed the last river.

Before dinner, I pull my rain jacket hood up and head out alone—none of my family accepts my invitation for an hour-long walk in the heavy, misting rain—following a rocky, winding path that diverges off the Laugavegur just north of Emstrur, Thirty minutes from the hut, I step up to the brink of the ragged, vertigo-inducing rim of the Markarfljótsgljúfur Canyon, where the earth falls abruptly away for 656 feet/200meters to the white Markarfljót River, snaking along the bottom of this sheer gorge.

Alone in this weather, at this time of day, I can almost imagine being the first human to see this canyon. It makes the walk back through the intensifying rain feel warmer.

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.

Emstrur to Thorsmork

Leaving Emstrur under gray skies, we follow the Laugavegur’s switchbacks down a steep, loose gully and cross a wooden footbridge over a raging, foaming, black-water tributary of the Markarfljót River in a narrow gorge. Clouds obscure most of our views, but we catch fleeting glimpses of a few distinctive peaks all day, including one with a horn-like tower growing like a digit beside its summit, and the distant and massive Mýrdalsjökull Glacier.

Notably, today is the only day, so far, that we see not a drop of rain.

The Laugavegur delivers one more flash of excitement before we exit it. Not long before Thorsmork, we encounter the trail’s final river crossing. We easily step or rock-hop over most of its braids, then reach the last and largest channel, requiring us to ford a knee-deep, strong current, silted black with volcanic sand and rocks, and loud as if giving voice to gods angry over our invasion. Boots and socks off, sandals on our feet, leaning on our trekking poles for balance against the pushy creek, we join a small parade of trekkers braving the numbingly icy water.

Then we climb over a small hill and descend to Thorsmork, at about 650 feet/200 meters above sea level, named for the god Thor in Nordic mythology. It seems like an apropos name for the place where we finish the Laugavegur Trail.

And we’re not done yet.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

The Fimmvörðuháls Trail

The morning after finishing the Laugavegur, we eagerly devour a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, rice pudding, homemade bread, croissants, coffee, tea, juice, and fresh bananas and apples at the restaurant run by Volcano Huts in the Húsadalur Valley in Thorsmork, a 30-minute trail walk from the Langidalur hut, where we spent last night. We also had a hot dinner there last night—it’s well worth the hour’s walk.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, rain jacket, boots, soft-shell pants, trekking poles, and backpacking quilt I used on Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails. And see my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips.

See also “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking,” “5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking,” “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-family-hikes-icelands-laugavegur-and-fimmvorduhals-trails/feed/ 0 56938
When Your Kid Gets Better Than You https://thebigoutsideblog.com/when-your-kid-gets-better-than-you/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/when-your-kid-gets-better-than-you/#comments Sun, 02 Oct 2022 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28800 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Some 200 feet above the shore of Tenaya Lake in Yosemite National Park, on the face of a granite cliff with a name that sets high expectations—Stately Pleasure Dome—I crouch and contort my torso and limbs to squeeze into a slender passageway barely wider than my body. Inside this claustrophobic “chimney,” as this type of formation is known in rock-climbing parlance, I start grunting and panting loudly enough for the sounds of suffering to reach my 17-year-old son, Nate, who’s belaying me at the other end of our rope, below the chimney.

“How’s it look in there?” he calls to me from the relative comfort of his spacious ledge in the warm sunshine.

“Pretty snug,” I call back with feigned calm, beads of sweat streaming off my helmeted head as I scrape, push, and claw my way upward, inch by hard-earned inch, centimeter by blood-letting centimeter.

I’m crawling up through the identifying feature of a climbing route named Hermaphrodite Flake, which literally begins a few steps from where our car sits parked beside Tioga Road, on the narrow strip of flat ground separating Stately Pleasure Dome from Tenaya Lake. Nate and I drove into Yosemite this morning, saw no other climbers on this hugely popular cliff, and decided in that instant to make Hermaphrodite Flake our first route on a planned four-day climbing trip in the park’s Tuolumne Meadows area.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Young rock climber on Stately Pleasure Dome in Yosemite National Park.
My son, Nate, on Stately Pleasure Dome in Yosemite National Park.

I slither up the chimney behind the giant flake for about 40 feet to reach its exit hole, also just wide enough to push myself through the cramped opening—a scene that must look, to someone watching from the ground far below, like the cliff birthing a fully formed adult human. I then ascend more easily up the edge of the flake to a pair of bolts drilled into the cliff, where I can anchor myself and belay Nate up—getting my turn at listening to him grunt and pant.

“That’s the weirdest pitch I’ve ever climbed,” Nate says as he scrambles up next to me on a foot ledge. He describes how the chimney amplified my grunts and struggles—no doubt bringing stately pleasure to other climbers on the dome.

We linger for a few minutes at our little aerie high above Tenaya Lake’s waters, rippling amid colossal but immobile waves of rock domes and peaks. It’s one of the most breathtaking spots in Yosemite, and on another day, we’d find it difficult to leave this perch. But Nate and I arrived in the park just as this summer’s Ferguson wildfire, outside the park’s eastern boundary, blew up into a sufficiently large conflagration to send smoke billowing across the park. Our view consists of a ghost-like, gray landscape. We rappel to the ground.

I’ve brought Nate to a historical nexus of rock climbing in America to introduce him to multi-pitch, alpine rock climbing and help him expand his nascent lead-climbing skills.

Before the next few days are over, though, I will find myself at a point that every active parent with active, growing kids inevitably faces. And, perhaps just as inevitably for a parent reaching this crossroads in life, its arrival catches me by surprise.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite and other flagship parks using my expert e-guides.

 

Young rock climber on Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.
Nate leading the fourth pitch on Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.

Climbing Cathedral Peak

Early on our second morning in Yosemite, Nate and I stand at the base of the Southeast Buttress of Cathedral Peak, looking up at a daunting wall of gleaming, gray and cream-colored granite riddled with cracks and stacked flakes. It rises about 900 feet to the mountain’s arrowhead of a summit at nearly 11,000 feet above sea level. Vague memories pop into my head from the first time I climbed it, with a friend, when my son was almost two years old. I don’t recall it occurring to me way back then that I might return someday to climb it with him.

Two climbers in their twenties stroll over and say hi. They ask us where we intend to start climbing the Southeast Buttress; they want to avoid bottlenecking with us.

Young rock climber below Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.
Nate below the Southeast Buttress of Cathedral Peak in Yosemite.

One of them looks at Nate and asks, “How old are you?” Nate responds, “Seventeen,” and the other climber simply says, “Awesome.” But I know what he’s thinking: Here’s this kid about to make one of the most-coveted rock climbs in the country, years younger than many climbers had even conceived that they would one day scale cliffs.

Ascending a wall of rock nearly a thousand feet tall is, I would imagine, a bit like eating an entire cow: You attack it in manageable bites.

We alternate leading pitches, with me starting, and both of us going about as far as our 70-meter rope allows before anchoring to the cliff and belaying the other up. With each pitch, we rise some 200 feet, give or take, watching the Yosemite wilderness slowly expand around us and the horizons creep farther into the distance. More distant mountains, more spires and serrated ridgelines come into view.

A multi-hour climb like this one reveals its magic not in how it challenges you to push yourself to harder levels of difficulty—for both of us, the climbing feels relatively easy, almost casual—but in the uniqueness of finding yourself on a soaring wall in the midst of a wilderness so stirring that it literally ignited an environmental movement.

The summit of Cathedral Peak feels like standing on a cloud.

I’ve had the good fortune of more alpine rock climbs like this one than I can probably remember. But Cathedral Peak is Nate’s first. Reliving the experience through his eyes and words, as he talks about each pitch and points out other cliffs and peaks and dreams aloud of future climbs, kind of feels like stepping back about 30 years.

I lead the last pitch to the top. Fittingly, Cathedral’s Southeast Buttress route culminates not in a bland, broad summit, but a thrilling block of stone maybe the size of a king bed, with sheer drop-offs on all sides. It feels like standing on a cloud. I wait for the moment about 20 minutes later—and six hours after we started climbing—when Nate reaches a spot just below me where we can see each other and he first spies the airy perch of Cathedral’s summit. His facial reaction gifts me with one of the visuals I’ll remember most from this trip.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

 

Young rock climber on the summit of Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.
Nate on the summit of Cathedral Peak, with Eichorn Pinnacle below right.

Two other parties that had reached the top ahead of me have now descended off it, so for a few minutes, Nate and I have the diminutive summit of Cathedral Peak to ourselves. The smoke from the Ferguson Fire, which has moved into the Tuolumne area and retreated almost with the regularity of an ocean tide over the past few days, now mostly hovers southwest of us, choking and obscuring Yosemite Valley but only making our panorama a bit hazy. We turn to scan every horizon, looking out over the other jagged peaks of the Cathedral Range.

Then Nate suggests we have one more item of business to complete today.

Eichorn Pinnacle raises a slender, sheer stone finger about a hundred feet straight up into the air, like a freakish growth on a shoulder of Cathedral Peak. We scramble to the base of it, minutes from Cathedral’s summit. Although evening is approaching, the weather remains perfect and we have plenty of daylight remaining. Nate leads the steep and thrillingly exposed pitch to the tiny apex of Eichorn. He beams when I join him up there and tell him that, in almost 30 years of rock climbing all over the country, that was one of the best easy pitches I’ve ever climbed.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Teenager rock climber at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Nate, two summers ago, on the Lost Arrow Spire at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

Watching a Child Become an Adult

At his age, Nate really knows only the excitement of climbing—the sense of achievement in controlling and channeling one’s natural fears into a focus unlike anything we normally experience. I know that feeling well: It’s like erasing everything from your mind, and it’s powerfully rejuvenating.

At my age, I know all of what he gushes about and more, including climbing’s dark side.

But in Nate, I’ve witnessed a steady trajectory that gives me as much reassurance as is probably possible for a parent whose child dives into activities like rock climbing and whitewater kayaking—where the harsh truth is that not all risk factors lie within our control, and accidents can be catastrophic. In our numerous days of climbing together, especially over the past couple of years, he has plied me for all the information I can offer from almost 30 years of rock climbing. He has read instructional articles and learned all he can from the coaches of his indoor climbing team.

As with any beginner, at first, some of his gear placements were a little shaky. But he focused on improving his skills and has been receptive to my critiques. Most importantly, he’s embraced an ethic of safe, conservative decision-making.

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

Smiling young rock climbers at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Nate (the youngest) and friends climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve.

What astonishes me has been the speed of his progress. Just two to three summers ago, he made his first lead climbs on single-pitch sport routes—clipping bolts, the safest form of lead climbing. Only last summer, he made his first traditional lead climbs, placing his own gear on crack routes of beginner difficulty. Just this past spring, he and I spent several days climbing together at Idaho’s City of Rocks, where he upped his game, leading trad routes of solidly intermediate difficulty.

Maybe that’s one of those common threads linking the parenting experience: We watch them grow physically and emotionally. We try to instill in them the lessons we believe they must absorb by the time they leave home as young adults. And during their teenage years, they achieve a rate of acceleration too fast for us to track—what you might call adolescence escape velocity.

In some aspects of development, they suddenly rocket past us—they get better than us at something. It’s both a symbolic and a real and quantifiable advance, a representation of a kid’s leap from childhood to adulthood.

And as much as we know it’s not true—and that young person still has much to learn—it can feel like it happened overnight.

Father and son rock climbers on Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.
Nate and me on the Southeast Buttress of Cathedral Peak in Yosemite.

Climbing Daff Dome’s West Crack

Two pitches up a route named West Crack on Daff Dome, another backcountry cliff in Yosemite’s Tuolumne area, Nate and I stand on painfully tiny footholds of pointy rock where he built a belay anchor after leading the second pitch of this final rock climb of our Yosemite visit. I look up at the third pitch, feeling a bit uneasy in my gut.

Nate had volunteered to lead the first pitch, which he protected well with frequent gear up a long, diagonal crack—a pitch that, to me, felt harder than its guidebook rating when I followed him. At the top, he had said to me, “I was totally in the zone on that entire pitch. Nothing else in my head besides climbing it. I got to the top and looked around and remembered where we are.”

My 17-year-old rookie alpine rock climber had then led the second pitch after I failed at my attempt to lead through the steep and strenuous roof at its start. Nate solved the riddle of the roof partly by finding a critical, somewhat hidden handhold that I’d overlooked. And, again, when I followed, it felt harder to me than I’d expected.

Young rock climber on Eichorn Pinnacle in Yosemite National Park.
Nate atop Eichorn Pinnacle in Yosemite.

Now, looking up at the third pitch’s thin crack splitting a nearly vertical, smooth face, I’m quietly questioning whether I have the stuff to lead it today.

That’s when the shift occurs in my mind.

There come times on the psychological and emotional journey of parenting when how we see a child takes a hairpin turn. I’m guessing it often happens when the child assumes an adult role, crossing a threshold that signals a 180-degree change in direction in the fundamental terms of the parent-child relationship.

In the dozen or so years since I first tied Nate into a climbing rope, I have been the arbiter of what was safe and appropriate for him (as well as for his sister, two years younger and also an avid climber). I have made the decisions. I have led the harder pitches, all to keep him safe.

Today, I’ve come to realize that old order in our little world has shifted. With a challenging pitch looming above us, an understanding washes over me that I no longer have to shield him. He’s the better person to lead this pitch—today, anyway.

“Do you want to lead this pitch?” I ask Nate. “Because I think you’re on your game today and I’m not.”

I can almost see the eagerness erupt from him as he says: “That’s exactly the kind of pitch I’ve been hoping to lead on this trip.”

A young teenage boy climbing the Mountaineers Route, Mount Whitney, California.
Nate, at age 15, climbing the Mountaineers Route on California’s Mount Whitney.

So he takes the rack of gear and I watch him steadily make his way up the crack, sewing it up with gear. He takes a few rests on the rope, but never falls or looks shaky. When I reach him at the top of it, I blurt out, “Oh my god! I think we just got introduced to a Tuolumne sandbag!”—a term meaning a route that seems significantly harder than its rating. He laughs and says, “Yea, they call that ‘sustained 5.7 fingers?!’”

Then I add, “I knew the day would come when you’d surpass me as a climber. I just didn’t expect that to come this week.”

Humbling? Oh, yea, it is. Recognizing symptoms of my own gradual physical decline naturally breeds a little melancholy. It feels like a sort of Rip Van Winkle experience of falling asleep at age thirty and waking up to find you’re over fifty.

But my strongest reaction is pride—and an understanding that, like so much of raising a kid, moments like this are rare and special, and the period of time we get to enjoy them is fleeting. He’s a year from departing for college and an increasingly busier life. There’s no predicting how many years I’ll continue rock climbing. Always in the back of my mind lurks a sense of time rapidly accelerating. I cling tightly to days like this.

On the vast crown of Daff Dome, which looks like it could fit a couple of football fields, Nate and I search for a fixed rappel anchor to descend. Billowing wildfire smoke rolls in, obscuring even the closest domes. We laughingly trade war stories about the surprising difficulty of West Crack.

I know dangerous. Read “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

Young children rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
My kids, Alex and Nate, rock climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks. Click photo to read my popular “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

Nate still has much to learn about climbing to continue practicing it safely, well beyond hard skills like placing gear. There are skills one can only acquire through experience—as the saying goes, we gain good experience through bad experiences. He will encounter pitches so difficult to protect that they scare him and force him to stay calm and make smart judgments. He will have bad days and discover that his progress does not follow a reliably upward trajectory—there are many potholes and frost heaves along that bumpy road. He will experience the temptation to push limits beyond what’s reasonable and prudent for him and his climbing partner; and I can only hope that, when that happens, he does the right thing.

In other words, as in every aspect of his life, as a climber, he will have to continue to mature.

I’m not sure I would have predicted this reaction two decades ago, but there’s nothing bad about seeing your kid get better than you. Besides, he still can’t hike nearly as far as I can in a day, or keep up with me on a bike, or ski bumps with me. I still have that edge—for now (and my slim advantage skiing bumps may disappear by this winter with both of my kids).

But whenever my kids do surpass me physically in all of those activities, it will make me feel nothing more and nothing less than proud and pleased beyond words to see them do that.

See my e-guides to three classic backpacking trips in Yosemite and all of my stories about Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside. See also all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/when-your-kid-gets-better-than-you/feed/ 4 28800
Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay https://thebigoutsideblog.com/back-to-the-ice-age-sea-kayaking-alaskas-glacier-bay/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/back-to-the-ice-age-sea-kayaking-alaskas-glacier-bay/#comments Fri, 25 Mar 2022 09:50:00 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=770 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The water of Johns Hopkins Inlet lies flat, perfectly reflecting the first patches of blue sky we’ve seen since arriving in Glacier Bay yesterday morning. I rest my paddle across the kayak and listen. A barely audible moan of wind floats down from high in the mountains, then fades away. A bald eagle screeches, briefly piercing the quiet; but as soon as the sound passes, the silence that returns seems as deep as the sea we’re floating on.

On the second afternoon of a five-day sea kayaking trip, 55 miles up this Southeast Alaska fjord where cliffs shoot straight up out of the sea and razor peaks smothered in ice and snow rise thousands of feet overhead, I’m taking a moment to enjoy a rare pleasure: listening to the cacophony of nothing.

My seven-year-old daughter, Alex, who is perfectly content to sit back and let me power our two-person kayak loaded with food and gear, points to the eagle perched in its nest in a snag high up a cliff. “He’s watching the kayakers go by,” she informs me. A harbor seal pops its head above water nearby, inspecting us with dark eyes. Alex faintly catches her breath as she and the seal lock gazes. A moment later, it disappears with a “bloop.”

Then a sharp concussion rips open the quiet.

Our 6-seater plane, Juneau airport Our 6-seater plane, Juneau airport Steller sea lions, South Marble Island, Glacier Bay Mountain goats, Glacier Bay Margerie Glacier calving, Tarr Inlet Alex at Ptarmigan Beach. Reid Glacier, Glacier Bay Reid Glacier Reid Inlet, Glacier Bay. Lamplugh Glacier Lamplugh Glacier. Lamplugh Glacier. Brown bear print, Johns Hopkins Inlet. Arlie's iceberg, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Oystercatchers, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Black sand beach, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. West Arm, Glacier Bay. West Arm, Glacier Bay. West Arm, Glacier Bay. Oystercatchers, Lamplugh Glacier Lamplugh Glacier. Lamplugh Glacier. Kayakers, Lamplugh Glacier. Ptarmigan Beach, West Arm, Glacier Bay. Ptarmigan Beach, West Arm, Glacier Bay. Broad-leaved willowherb, Ptarmigan Beach

About six miles away, visible at the other end of the inlet, the mile-wide, 12-mile-long Johns Hopkins Glacier has dropped another immense piece of itself into the sea. The native Tlingits, who have lived on this coast for centuries, call that explosive noise “white thunder,” which strikes me as the best possible descriptor for it.

The Hopkins Glacier is the most active remnant of an unimaginably massive river of ice that filled this realm of liquid water in the geologically very recent past. Tomorrow, we will paddle up this inlet for a close-up view of that dynamic glacier. We’re hoping this improved weather will hold out at least until then.

My family, including my wife, Penny, and our nine-year-old son, Nate, are taking a sea kayaking trip run by Alaska Mountain Guides. With our two guides and six other clients, we’ve come to paddle around Glacier Bay’s upper West Arm, probing deep within a national park the size of Connecticut, at the heart of a contiguous protected wilderness the size of Greece.

By mid-afternoon, we pull up onto a rocky beach at the mouth of the inlet, where we’ll camp for two nights. The sky has mostly cleared and the water’s still dead calm. Icebergs float in the bay. Glaciers pour off of serrated peaks on all sides; tendrils of clouds wrap themselves around the mountaintops.

And throughout the evening, every 15 or 20 minutes, another sharp report booms down the inlet.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Kayaking in the West Arm of Glacier Bay.

Two centuries ago, there was no Glacier Bay. When British Capt. George Vancouver sailed the H.M.S. Discovery through Southeast Alaska’s Icy Strait in 1794, he wrote in his ship’s log about observing a “compact sheet of ice as far as the eye can see.” He was looking at a colossus of ancient, frozen water 4,000 feet thick and up to 20 miles wide that reached more than a hundred miles into the St. Elias Mountains. By the time John Muir visited in 1879, the tongue of ice that had touched the waters of Icy Strait had slid 30 miles backward. He wrote that, at night, “the surge from discharging icebergs churned the water into silver fire.”

Glacier Bay has seen the fastest glacial retreat on the planet. The ice has pulled back 65 miles, unveiling a fjord with numerous inlets and 1,200 miles of coastline. While the national park still has more than 50 glaciers covering 1,375 square miles—more than a quarter of the entire park—most are in declining health, a trend driven largely by one factor: In the past 60 years, the state’s average temperature has increased 3° F., more than twice the average warming worldwide.

A scientist who has studied Alaska’s glaciers for 40 years told me that 99 percent of them are shrinking. Just in the four decades since he first kayaked in Glacier Bay, the number of so-called tidewater glaciers, those that extend from the mountains to the sea in various inlets, has gone from a dozen to five.

Named a national monument in 1925 by President Calvin Coolidge and a national park and preserve in 1980 by President Jimmy Carter, Glacier Bay today attracts more than 250,000 visitors a year. The vast majority of them see the bay from the railing of the park’s tour boat, which is certainly a great experience. But few people go kayaking in the bay—and it is so vast—that kayakers on multi-day trips here enjoy a rare depth of solitude.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

On our first day, we paddled into Reid Inlet and explored the hundred-foot-tall snout of the Reid Glacier, where a river of gray water poured out of a blue-ice cave. After camping at the inlet’s mouth, we started our second morning with a visit to the ruins of a cabin inhabited eight decades ago by Joe and Shirley “Muz” Ibach. The couple staked their claim to mine the land a year before the bay became a national monument, and were permitted to continue living and mining there for another 16 years, making perhaps $13 after expenses in a good year, until their deaths.

Frowning at what’s left of their former one-room wood structure in the middle of the wilderness, Alex asked me, “How did they entertain themselves?” Indeed, it’s hard to imagine such solitude.

Then again, they did have that constant, entertaining soundtrack of white thunder playing in the background.

 

Johns Hopkins Inlet

Another morning of glassy waters greets us as we push the kayaks out into Johns Hopkins Inlet on our third day. Under clear skies and a warm sun that will deliver our trip’s warmest day, pushing 60º F, we cruise slowly up the inlet, passing icebergs ranging from truck-size to chunks of ice that look like abstract mantelpiece sculptures.

Capt. James Cook saw these peaks in 1778, during an identical short reprieve from the typically wet, gray Southeast Alaska weather, and named them the Fairweather Mountains. Given that the region receives six feet of rain a year and is much more frequently enveloped in fog than bathed in sunshine, it may be the most misleading place name on the planet.

We’ve arrived in late July, just a few weeks after Johns Hopkins Inlet was opened to kayaks and boats. The park closes this inlet to human traffic every year during spring and early summer to avoid disturbing the thousands of harbor seals that birth their pups and keep them on floating icebergs to protect them from predators.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

Ice chunks on beach in Johns Hopkins Inlet.

Glacier Bay is something of a northern paradise, teeming with life. Humpback whales and orcas ply its waters. On the four-hour park ferry tour up the bay that first morning, en route to our drop-off point, we saw brown bears ambling down rocky beaches and mountain goats scrambling up sea cliffs. Scores of Steller sea lions, the largest males ten feet long and over 2,000 pounds, piled up on the barren rock of South Marble Island, where researchers have counted 1,100 of them.

We spotted black-legged kittiwake nesting in sea cliffs, pigeon guillemot with its red legs and beak, and the more-common tufted puffin as well as the rare horned puffin. Some species threatened or endangered outside Alaska, like the bald eagle and marbled murrelet, abound in Glacier Bay.

The bay also offers a rare natural laboratory displaying a living timeline of plant succession in the wake of deglaciation. In the lower bay, ice-free for 250 years, a mature temperate rainforest of spruce and hemlock grows almost impenetrably thick. As one travels up the bay, the forest gets younger, dominated by deciduous cottonwood, willows, and alder. In the upper bay, there’s little vegetation beyond mosses, lichens, and a few determined wildflowers. Waterfalls plummet hundreds of feet down cliffs scarred by the glacier that scraped past just decades ago. The upper bay opens a window onto what North America looked like when the last Ice Age drew to a close 10,000 years ago.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Steller sea lions on South Marble Island in Glacier Bay.

As we paddle farther up Johns Hopkins Inlet, the icebergs crowd more densely around us, some as large as tiny islets. We weave more cautiously among them, careful not to get too close—if one abruptly rolls over, it could flip a kayak.

About three hours from our camp, we take out on a beach of sun-warmed, fine black sand a quarter-mile long, littered with blocks of ice gleaming a brilliant white in the sunshine. Gulls squawk. Backing the beach, multi-tiered Chocolate Falls sends a column of brown water crashing over cliffs. A half-mile away, the Johns Hopkins Glacier spans the entire head of the inlet, a sheer wall of ice a mile across and 300 feet tall, roaring at us at irregular intervals.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/back-to-the-ice-age-sea-kayaking-alaskas-glacier-bay/feed/ 13 770
Rafting the Green River’s Desolation and Gray Canyons https://thebigoutsideblog.com/rafting-the-green-rivers-desolation-and-gray-canyons/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/rafting-the-green-rivers-desolation-and-gray-canyons/#respond Mon, 21 Feb 2022 00:30:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50985 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Our two prop planes climb to 2,000 feet above the Green River, flying north from the tiny airport in the one-horse town in southeast Utah that shares the river’s name. The brown current far below wiggles between castle-like walls in a canyon carved deeply into the Tavaputs Plateau, a twisting labyrinth of towers and sharp edges that looks not much more decipherable from up here than it does trying to navigate it down there. The early-morning sun slashes across the tops of the tallest formations—which are about level with us—but has not yet reached the shaded canyon bottom.

Most conspicuous, though, is what’s unseen: any significant footprint of civilization beyond an occasional rough, rambling line of hardened earth and rocks that constitutes what passes for a road out here. We are heading into one of the most inaccessible patches of the U.S. West and one of the largest roadless areas in the Lower 48, to float through that yawning canyon.

A rafting and kayaking party floating the Green River through Desolation Canyon.
Our rafting and kayaking party floating the Green River through Desolation Canyon.

Thirty minutes or more after taking off, the pilot banks our plane left and all seven of us passengers—including my 23-year-old nephew, Marco Garofalo, getting full value from the co-pilot’s seat on his first bush flight—gaze out the windows to see what manner of runway awaits us in this desolate expanse of uninhabited desert.

Ahead of us appears a narrow strip of earth in a lighter shade of brown than the surrounding landscape—in the desert, the eye quickly recalibrates its sensitivity to the full and rich spectrum of brown. Minutes later we touch down and bump along a rocky airstrip that seems better suited to mountain bikes than aircraft, rolling up beside the other plane carrying the rest of our party, which landed just ahead of us.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A couple in an inflatable kayak on the Green River through Desolation Canyon.
Erin Gleason and Bill Mistretta kayaking the Green River through Desolation Canyon.

Any trip that begins with a bush flight into a remote backcountry airstrip is off to a great start. And this one is about to get a whole lot better.

After hiking 45 minutes to the river, 16 of us, family and friends, climb into rafts and kayaks and push off into the swirling, milk-chocolate water, embarking on a six-day descent of Desolation and Gray canyons on the Green River, led by guides from Holiday River Expeditions, based in the town of Green River. Nicknamed Deso-Gray by river people, this 84-mile stretch of the Green is known for more than 60 rapids up to class III, most of them easy, fun wave trains; big camps on sandy beaches, some shaded by tall cottonwoods; and the stark beauty of these vast canyons, which will remind us at times of other sections of the Green my family has floated, Lodore Canyon (also with Holiday River Expeditions) and Stillwater Canyon, but also reveal their own unique character and mysteries.

The searing June heat feels tempered somewhat by the up-canyon breeze in our faces. Flanked by high rock walls nearly identical to the Book Cliffs outside the town of Green River, we meander downriver, only covering perhaps two miles each hour because the river level has already dropped very low in this hot, dry spring (a prelude to what will become a scorching summer that eclipses heat records everywhere). Although the heavily silted water is too brown to see beneath the surface, my friend Vince Serio and I, sharing my two-person inflatable kayak, repeatedly dig our paddle blades into the sandy riverbed just a couple feet below the surface.

By mid-afternoon, 15 river miles from the put-in—but already feeling light years removed from civilization mentally—we pull the boats up to a sandy riverside camp called Gold Hole. A mostly clear, dry, windy evening arrives, along with the great relief of the canyon wall throwing our camp into shadow.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

An Unhurried Mindset

On the river by around 9 a.m. on our second morning, before the sun has fully crested the canyon wall—walls that rise taller with each mile we advance down Desolation Canyon—we paddle and float alternately through patches of warm sun and cool shade. An up-canyon wind blasts us with frequent, strong gusts; it seems to possess malign intent, bent on stalling our forward progress.

A great blue heron—the first of several we’ll see today, even more than yesterday—lifts off from the riverbank, where it had blended into the backdrop of sand, rock, and scrub brush, and glides just above the river’s surface with languid flaps of wings that span several feet. It looks absolutely prehistoric. 

Floating the Green River can induce a sense of dropping out of time. It’s easy to draw an initial impression of Desolation Canyon as true to its name—at first blush, it seems there’s nothing out here: sparse vegetation, little wildlife, no noise but for the river’s soft, percussive sounds and, less consistently, the wind.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A great blue heron in the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
A great blue heron in the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

John Wesley Powell, leading the first expedition on the Green and Colorado rivers in 1869, described this part of their journey as “a region of wildest desolation,” and the name stuck. Floating the Green more than a century after Powell, in 1980, the beloved writer Edward Abbey called it “one of the sweetest, brightest, grandest, loneliest or primitive regions still remaining.”

Before long, though, we increasingly notice the abundance of life. Herons appear in surprising numbers, so still and inconspicuous in the shallows at river’s edge that I wonder how many of them we miss. Above us, wild horses graze a steep, rocky slope. Squadrons of swallows burst from tiny pockets in the face of cliffs and raptors circle high overhead. We seek out the shade of tall, broad cottonwood trees and, on hikes out of our camps, step carefully to avoid the prickly pear cacti and other desert flora that would jab needles into our legs.

But not many people. With just six river parties permitted to launch every day during the peak summer season on the Deso-Gray section of the Green, we see perhaps two other groups each day, and only briefly, in passing.

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
 Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

A group of rafts and kayaks on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Our group on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

It doesn’t take more than a day out here for an overwhelming sense of solitude to take over—and it sits comfortably beside the prevailing unhurried mindset that quickly sets in.

On our second evening, after a day of easy floating interspersed with bumping through fun wave trains and riffles, we make camp on a beach in Flat Canyon, where several of us take a 20-minute walk on a flat trail to some of the most detailed and elaborate petroglyphs I’ve ever seen.

Sleeping on the sandy beach, my 20-year-old son, Nate, and I awaken at some point to gaze up at one of the darkest night skies in the country. Stars riddle the moonless black dome overhead, a density of pinpricks unfathomable to most people who never see a night sky in a place far from the nearest city glow. The Milky Way looks like a silent procession of faint ghosts. It makes me happy to know that my kids have, already in their young lives, seen night skies like this countless times.

Cow Swim Rapid

On our fourth morning, we run playful, easy rapids—and in flatter stretches of the Green, struggle to paddle into, or at least not get blown back to the put-in by the relentless and powerful up-canyon wind, which had howled and shrieked throughout the night.

At midday, we take out on a tiny patch of riverside sand, tying off the duckies and rafts to keep them from drifting or blowing away. Then all of us who are paddling kayaks and most of the guides hike a sandy trail about 20 minutes to stand atop riverside boulders for a good look at the class III Cow Swim Rapid.

The Green gets pinched into a narrow channel with boulders littering its riverbed. From the top of the rapid, a well-defined V-shaped tongue of fast-moving, brown water accelerates forward, eventually disappearing into—or getting swallowed by—a choppy, chaotic swirl of whitewater. Immediately after entering the rapid, we’ll have to avoid a hole between two recirculating waves on river right; a couple hundred yards or more farther down, near the rapid’s bottom, more holes lie in wait to upend any boats that wander too far left. We must run it left of that upper hole and the first curling wave and right of the lower holes. Everyone in a hard-shell or inflatable kayak feels ready for it.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

Chicken Rock overlook above Three Canyon camps on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Marco Garofalo at Chicken Rock overlook above Three Canyon camps on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

Launching the boats again, we proceed in a predetermined order, with two rafts piloted by guides leading, ready to retrieve any swimmers below the rapid. Nate, an experienced hard-shell kayaker, then sets the correct line for the four duckies following him; he’ll eddy out at the bottom of Cow Swim to help chase down anyone who swims. The other two guided rafts run sweep.

My brother-in-law Tom’s wife, Barb Peterson, who joined me in my inflatable kayak all morning—including fighting that headwind—stays on board for Cow Swim. We nail the entry move, watching the upper hole whip past close on our right. Then we smash through a series of big, loud waves, water in our faces as we work to steer rightward to avoid the lower holes. As everyone regroups below the rapid, all still in our boats, we let loose with hoots and cheers.

After a satisfying lunch—always impressed at how hungry we get just sitting and paddling—we float a few more miles into the afternoon. The wind continues its impersonation of commercial jets taking off, bending riverside bushes and tamarisk nearly to the ground.

A raft in Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
One of the rafts running Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

As we approach our next camp on a beach shaded by cottonwoods, with campsites amid juniper behind the beach, the wind seems to reach a climax, literally pushing waves upstream.

Nate spins his kayak around and tells me, “These are swells. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve surfed swells that are moving upstream on a river.”

Every evening in camp, we sit in a big circle of chairs and talk until after dark. A variety of games ensue on the beach. One late afternoon before dinner, our guides—lead guide Tyler Jameson, Lucy Gerber Brydolf, Brayden Davies, and Garrison “Gary” Petrie—plus Nate, Marco, my daughter, Alex, and my wife’s nephew, Andrew Peterson, all try to sprint the length of three upside-down duckies lined up end to end on the river (tied off to a raft)—every one of them, inevitably, toppling into the water before clearing all three wildly bouncing, inflatable boats.

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-guides.

 

More Big Rapids

On our fifth morning, we leave camp in moderate winds—a big improvement over the howling gales of the past two days—with two bigger rapids coming up immediately, the first just minutes downriver. I ask Alex, 18, if she’ll join me in my inflatable kayak. After a moment of hesitation—owing to the wind and the shade hanging over the river magnifying the chill of getting soaked by big waves—she agrees. Apparently, my prediction that we probably won’t flip and swim either of the rapids convinces her.

We paddle hard into the first one, Wire Fence, bouncing and laughing through a wave train. On one of the bigger waves, Alex gets launched upward in the bow, for an instant hovering about four feet higher than me, before we crest the wave and slide down the other side. Below the rapid, we take out on the riverbank and watch everyone else run it as I shoot photos.

Then we float around the corner to run the class III Three Fords Rapid. 

A kayaker paddling Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
My son, Nate, kayaking Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

Three Fords marks the boundary between Desolation Canyon and Gray Canyon and straddles a major geologic signature known as the Cretaceous-Tertiary Line, or K-T Line (the “K” abbreviating the German word for Cretaceous). Discovered a century ago by geologists and visible at several sites around the world, the K-T Line denotes the end of the age of reptiles and the beginning of the age of mammals, about 65 million years ago. One of the greatest mass extinctions in the planet’s history, that period saw at least 75 percent of all species on Earth, in the seas and on land, including the dinosaurs, wiped out. More than 90 percent of plankton in the oceans died, leading to the collapse of the oceanic food chain.

That story sounds like a highly relevant parable for our current times, when we are living through the Earth’s sixth mass extinction, one triggered by our use of fossil fuels driving climate change. Scientists predict that 75 percent of animal species could vanish with the next three centuries—a radically faster rate than in past mass extinctions. And yet, whatever happens to humankind, this indifferent canyon will remain for many eons.

I ask our lead guide, Tyler, where I might shoot photos of everyone running Three Fords. Tyler has river guiding in her blood. Her older sister, Larkin, is also an HRE guide and their dad, Brett Jameson, guided for HRE in the 1980s.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 12 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

Pointing ahead, she suggests I hike along the riverbank to a rock ledge several feet directly above the first two, big waves of Three Fords, which are followed by a long wave train. Alex comes with me. It’s a great spot for photos and to spectate, and we cheer everyone on as they hit the entry waves one boat at a time.

Marco enters it as one of the first duckies and blasts through the first wave. We shout encouragement and he gives us a thumbs-up—releasing one hand from his paddle in the few seconds between the first two waves. Even before Alex finishes laughingly shouting at him, “Dude, hold onto your paddle!”, his boat begins to spin sideways. Instead of hitting a line left of a very large, crashing wave, he broadsides the wave; instantly, his ducky flips, throwing him out, and he’s swept downriver.

We watch as guides in rafts scramble after him. But while still in the long wave train, Marco executes an impressive self-rescue, flipping his ducky upright and climbing back into it to resume paddling—as if nothing happened.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and a get free e-guide!

 

Duckies floating the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Duckies floating the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

His swim and dramatic self-rescue blossoms into a story we’ll retell and laugh about in camp that evening—and probably for a long time.

After lunch, we paddle two miles of riffles and flat water and take out to scout Coal Creek Rapid, a class II+ to III. This one has a hole to avoid on the right soon after entering the rapid, followed by a series of large waves and rock hazards. Farther down, there’s another hole on the left that we need to avoid and is hard to see when running it—but that seems the least of our problems.

Once again, two rafts lead the way, trailed by Nate in his kayak and the four duckies, then the other two rafts. Joined in my inflatable kayak by wife, Penny, we avoid the first hole but creep a little too far right and hit a big wave head-on that we’d hoped to avoid. Fortunately, though, we narrowly dodge a huge rock to our right, staying in our boat.

Everyone loves it, including our Colorado friends Erin Gleason and Bill Mistretta, getting an introduction to paddling whitewater in a borrowed two-person inflatable kayak on this trip.

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids
and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

Early morning on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Early morning on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

By mid-afternoon, we stop on a sandy beach some four miles beyond Coal Creek Rapid, waiting out the hot sun’s descent under umbrellas as much as possible, and then having a fun, final evening on the river, with numerous matches of Can Jam, a Frisbee-based game that Erin brought.

As afternoon slips into evening, I notice a lone bighorn sheep traversing the steep canyon slope across the river and point it out to everyone. Early the next morning—after another starry night, a sight that never fails to stir a powerful sense of awe—a choir of birdsong builds to a volume that awakens some of us.

Floating toward the takeout on our last morning, sitting in a boat as it slowly spins around in a slowly moving river, watching a panorama of soaring, timeless canyon walls unfurl a new vista around every bend, and recalling the moments of thrill in the rapids in Deso-Gray, I look at the smiles on every face and think: This is something everyone should do at least once in a hectic lifetime.

But do it once and you’ll probably decide you want to do this again and again.

See all stories about paddling trips and Utah adventures at The Big Outside, including “Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore” and “Still Waters Run Deep: Tackling America’s Best Easy Multi-Day Float Trip on the Green River.”

Read my expert tips on planning this trip and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

Take This Trip

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR rafters and kayakers of any experience level on guided trips, including families with young children. Unguided parties should have the skills for rapids up to class III and planning multi-day river trips.

Guided Trips Holiday River Expeditions, bikeraft.com.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/rafting-the-green-rivers-desolation-and-gray-canyons/feed/ 0 50985
Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Hiking Mount St. Helens https://thebigoutsideblog.com/three-generations-one-big-volcano-pushing-limits-on-mount-st-helens/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/three-generations-one-big-volcano-pushing-limits-on-mount-st-helens/#comments Wed, 19 Jan 2022 10:10:26 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7945 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The afternoon sun smiles warmly on us as my two kids and my nephew, age 10 to 15, my 76-year-old mom, and I—three generations spanning almost seven decades—plod up the final, strenuous steps to the crater rim of Mount St. Helens. The view could steal the breath away from God.

Before us, crumbling cliffs send small landslides cracking and rumbling down into the vast hole—2,000 feet deep and nearly two miles across—created by the eruption that decapitated St. Helens almost a generation before any of these kids were born. Seventy-five-mile views on this idyllic, Pacific Northwest summer day reveal behemoth, ice-capped volcanoes dominating three horizons: Rainier, Adams, Hood, and Jefferson. We hug and high-five and click off pictures, grinning with awe and no small amount of disbelief that we all actually made it up here.

That was the heart-warming mental picture that I had formed just days ago, when I scored hard-to-get permits for this climb—one of America’s most awe-inspiring dayhikes. Unfortunately, right now, sitting on rocks more than five hours into our ascent of St. Helens, events are not transpiring quite as smoothly as I had envisioned. Not at all.

I visually assess my crew. The kids look good—remarkably fresh, actually, laughing and chattering away in their own conversation. My mom, however, looks like the idiot light on her internal gas gauge has been on for a while, and now she’s running on fumes. She’s muttering to me about her legs feeling rubbery and not having any more energy. But she tells me she intends to keep going up, anyway. I’m thinking about the fact that perhaps a thousand feet of climbing still looms above us, followed by a very long descent—which, when you’re tired, can feel like one nail after another hammered into your coffin.

At this moment, a long way from the top of the mountain and even farther from the bottom, a deeply disturbing thought hits me with a cold, hard slap: Oh, no. She’s not going to make it.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens. Hiking Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens. Hiking Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens. Hiking Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens. Mount Hood, seen from from Monitor Ridge.

A Popular Hike

A week ago, I did not think we’d even be here.

Hiking Mount St. Helens is so enormously popular that you can’t spontaneously decide to attempt it on an upcoming summer weekend. Just getting permission to hike Monitor Ridge, the standard summer route up the mountain, requires planning in advance and applying online for a permit.

Nearly 14,000 people attempt St. Helens every year—and undoubtedly far more would if there were no permit system. You’d almost think it was an easy hike.

If, like me, you only got the idea weeks instead of months before the dates you have in mind, your last hope is to get on the waiting list at purmit.com and hope someone holding permits for your dates has to cancel plans and sell them. So I did—and got no response for weeks. Giving up on the crazy-anyway dream of getting us all up the mountain, I was planning to take my son, Nate, who’s 12, and daughter, Alex, 10, along with my mom, Joanne, and 15-year-old nephew, Marco Garofalo hiking some trails around the mountain—also very scenic and not nearly as strenuous as climbing St. Helens. (Note: The system for obtaining a permit to hike Mount St. Helens change in 2021 and is explained in the trip-planning details at the bottom of this story, which requires a paid subscription to read in full.)

The lower section of Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens.
The lower section of Monitor Ridge on Mount St. Helens.

Then, just days before our trip, I got an e-mail from a guy in Washington offering five permits for sale. That forced me to make a hard decision: Were my kids and my mom ready for such a huge day?

I talked to each of them in detail about the climb—which is 10 miles round-trip and 4,500 vertical feet up and down, most of it on pretty darn rugged terrain that varies from loose stones and dirt to volcanic ash that’s like hiking a giant sand dune. I told them it would probably take us at least eight hours to go up and down, and we’d have to wake up early to allow ourselves plenty of time. I also explained that we’d come down the same way we’d go up, so if we couldn’t make it for any reason, we could just turn around.

For an adventure this challenging, I believe in getting buy-in from everyone: I want them to know it’ll be hard. I want them to understand this is not a requirement, and if we agree to go for it, they each own that decision. Getting them invested in the decision usually heads off any complaining, partly, I think, because they feel they have control over what they’re doing.

I wasn’t worried about Marco. He’s an athlete and has been hiking, backpacking, and whitewater rafting with us—including two trips to Yosemite by the time he was 12, a claim that probably no one he knows back home in Massachusetts can make. I felt confident Nate would do fine, and only mildly worried about Alex; my kids have tackled hard days of hiking plenty of times without bonking or whining. Although this would be the hardest single day any of the three kids had ever attempted, I believed they were ready for it, especially if I just kept stuffing them with chocolate and snacks.

My mom, on the other hand, I wasn’t sure about. Since she first started hiking with me a quarter-century ago, she has racked up an impressive hiking resume, from the Presidential Range to Yosemite, the Columbia Gorge, and the Grand Canyon—and just a year ago, at 75, a weeklong, hut-to-hut trek with my family in the snowy, rugged mountains of Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park. [Note: After this story was first published, at age 80, my mom trekked the Tour du Mont Blanc with my family and a group of extended family and friends.]

My mom’s tough as nails. But Jotunheimen pushed her near her limits. Now, with the three kids burning with summit fever and my mom looking like someone with a nasty case of flu, I have a really bad feeling about how this is going to go down. Given how tired she is, I know the long descent will drag on agonizingly slowly. I form another mental picture of us finishing the hike by headlamps after dark, with everyone exhausted and starving, increasing the chance of someone falling and getting hurt and of me being arrested for child endangerment and elderly abuse.

I sit contemplating whether—after so many years of seeing my mom knock off some pretty hard hikes—I should tell her it’s a bad idea for her to continue up.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Hiking Monitor Ridge. Hiking Monitor Ridge Mounts Hood and Jefferson, seen from Monitor Ridge. Hiking Monitor Ridge. Hiking Monitor Ridge.

St. Helens Eruption

On Sunday morning, May 18, 1980, Mount St. Helens was rocked by an earthquake measuring 5.1 on the Richter scale. It triggered a massive landslide of rock and ice—the largest in recorded history—that bulldozed into Spirit Lake and crashed like a tsunami over a ridge 1,300 feet high. The debris roared down the Toutle River, tearing down highway bridges, killing motorists, and temporarily obstructing the shipping channel of the Columbia River 70 miles downstream.

Almost instantly, the landslide also released pressurized gases inside the volcano, causing a lateral explosion that blew out the mountain’s north face. Reaching a speed of 650 mph, the blast flattened or left dead but standing millions of trees across nearly 150 square miles of forest. More than 500 million tons of gray ash rained over eastern Washington, turning daytime to night. Thirty-six people were confirmed dead from the eruption; another 21 were never found.

The mountain that only a day before had been a 9,600-foot-high, cone-shaped stratovolcano—so perfectly symmetrical it was often compared to Japan’s Mount Fuji—had transformed into a horseshoe-shaped crater cut down to just 8,363 feet above sea level, surrounded by a scene of unfathomable destruction.

More than three decades later, this active volcano has become one of the most sought-after summits in the country—for good reason. Hikers on Monitor Ridge, on the mountain’s south side, begin in shady, cool, temperate rainforest, but soon emerge onto a stark, gray and black moonscape of volcanic rocks, pumice, and ash, with little vegetation—and infinite views on the entire ascent, all the way to the crater rim, where you will rethink any notions you have of the natural world as a peaceful place.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this hike, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

 

Hiking Monitor Ridge

The kids bubble with excitement as we start gaining elevation and get our first views; my mom, while not able to maintain their pace, keeps up just fine as the kids stop occasionally to wait. Below us, a sea of clouds pushing inland from the Pacific Ocean blankets the valleys. Three other Cascade Range volcanoes, 11,239-foot Mount Hood and 10,497-foot Mount Jefferson in Oregon, and 12,276-foot Mount Adams to the east, tower above the rows of blue, lower ridges.

We pass slower hikers, my mom overtaking people half her age—some of whom, judging by their facial expressions of mute shock and their torpid, staggering gait, are clearly not going to get anywhere near the top.

Gear up right for hiking Mount St. Helens.
See my reviews of the best hiking shoes and the 10 best hiking daypacks.

 

Hiking the upper section of Monitor Ridge, Mount St. Helens.
Hiking the upper section of Monitor Ridge, Mount St. Helens.

I’ve seen this phenomenon innumerable times, from hikers obviously in way over their heads on physically challenging peaks like Mount Washington, to rock climbers in Yosemite and mountain bikers on Moab’s world-famous Slickrock Trail; I was even guilty (or a victim, depending on your perspective) of it on my first-ever day of backcountry skiing, in Wyoming’s Tetons, as a complete and pathetically incompetent neophyte: When a place grows so famous that its name becomes almost synonymous with an outdoor activity, its renown penetrates the general public. Consequently, people with little or no experience—or sense of what they’re getting into—hear about it and decide, “Hey, let’s try that!”

Out-of-shape drinking buddies attempt it. Husbands and boyfriends talk their wives and girlfriends into it (a remarkably effective way to figure out that this relationship isn’t working for you). Lunatic fathers drag their kids up it. I admire these people for the effort, but I hope aiming too high the first time doesn’t discourage them from pursuing a more realistic goal the next time. Beautiful places like the slopes of Mount St. Helens are strewn with the dashed hopes of countless, overambitious aspirants.

So, relative to the hikers we see who are conspicuously struggling—like the woman staring daggers through her husband as she tells him, “For the umpteenth time, I’m going as fast as I can”—our team looks strong. The kids are all but trotting uphill, and my mom keeps plodding along.

But the hours tick past. About halfway up, we slowly scramble on all fours through a stretch of sharp-edged boulders that go on for hundreds of feet. Beyond it, we stop for a break and a snack in a steady breeze—the spot where my mom tells me about her rubbery legs. But she doesn’t want to disappoint the kids by asking everyone to turn back after coming this far, and she doesn’t want to sit here and wait for us.

We reach an agreement: The kids and I will go ahead at their pace. She’ll follow at hers. The way is obvious and visible from here to the top; we’ll be able to see each other.

The kids will make it. She will make it if she can.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

St. Helens Crater Rim

Whether with my kids, my mom, or friends, there’s a sweet spot I like to hit in terms of mental and physical challenge on an outdoors adventure: Shoot for that place near the outer limits of their comfort zone—exploring personal limits without pushing them too far. Hit that small, moving target and you help someone feel like a dragon slayer, like she has accomplished the impossible. I’ve done it many times with others and have felt it myself. There aren’t many experiences in life more uplifting than that.

But hitting that target is like dropping a smart bomb on a crowded city: You’d better be precise or there’s going to be a lot of ugly, collateral damage. And I’ve missed the target before, too. This game is not without risk.

The final slog to the top of St. Helens consists of 1,000 vertical feet or more of steep ash and pumice where we slide down a half step with each step up. But around 3 p.m., some seven hours after we set out this morning, I walk the final steps up to the crater rim with my kids. Nate holds his smartphone in front of himself, narrating a video. Alex just grins and says, “Aaah, we’re there.” Marco arrives right behind us, wielding his own smartphone and saying, over and over, “That’s just unbelievable,” as we all spin in a slow 360 to take it all in.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, or other parks using my expert e-guides.

Deep inside the gaping maw of the crater, steam rises from a lava dome that has grown to several hundred feet tall over the years. On the other side of the crater, there’s no mountainside, just a huge gap. Beyond, Spirit Lake reflects the deep blue of the sky, except where trees mowed down by the eruption still float at the lake’s far end like a raft constructed of hundreds if not thousands of logs. Rainier—which you only first glimpse from the rim because it’s north of St. Helens—Adams, Hood and Jefferson form an arc of white-capped peaks stretching around half of our panorama.

Maybe 15 minutes behind us, my mom walks the last steps up to the rim, breathing hard, but wearing a big smile—and an expression of disbelief. I’m more than a little surprised, too.

Days from now, Marco will tell people, “I’ve never been so impressed with anyone as with Grammy.” Still, these kids cannot yet fully appreciate their grandmother’s effort, but someday they may not believe she did this at age 76. I love the many life lessons that today will give them for years to come.

See all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside, including:

5 Tricks For Getting Tired Kids Through a Hike
Are You Ready For That New Outdoors Adventure? 5 Questions to Ask Yourself
10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

Tell me what you think.

If you found this review helpful, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/three-generations-one-big-volcano-pushing-limits-on-mount-st-helens/feed/ 10 7945
Still Waters Run Deep: Floating the Green River in Canyonlands https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-waters-run-deep-tackling-americas-best-multi-day-float-trip-on-the-green-river/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-waters-run-deep-tackling-americas-best-multi-day-float-trip-on-the-green-river/#respond Sun, 26 Dec 2021 10:00:04 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=1842 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t take young kids down that river in May. It’s much too dangerous. I tell families to go in June or later, when the river’s lower.”

That was the dire warning issued to me over the phone by an employee with an outfitter based in Moab, Utah, that offers multi-day float trips down the Green River in Canyonlands National Park. His tone completely derailed me: Based on everything I’d read and heard, May was an ideal time for a family trip on the Green—which may well be America’s best easy float trip.

From the put-in at Mineral Bottom on the Green, through 52 miles of Stillwater Canyon and then four miles more on the Colorado River to the takeout at Spanish Bottom, the river slowly unfurls beneath a constant backdrop of giant redrock cliffs and spires. Off the water, you can take side hikes to centuries-old Puebloan rock art and cliff dwellings, camp on sandy beaches and slickrock benches, and maybe even spot bighorn sheep scrambling around on precipitous rock faces.

I had several friends excited about it. We’d comprise a party of 17, with nine adults and eight kids, the oldest 11, the youngest my four-year-old daughter, Alex. A few adults were experienced kayakers or canoeists, but most of our party were novices. I’d assured everyone we’d have no problems, that the river current would be gentle. But I’d never taken my kids on a multi-day river trip before, and I’d never been on the Green (though I had seen much of Stillwater Canyon while mountain biking the White Rim Trail in the park).

I like uncertainty in the backcountry, but encountering surprise challenges with little kids along can be stressful—and potentially dangerous. And at the other end of our group’s age range was my 80-year-old mother-in-law, Ann. High on my personal list of Big Screw-ups to Not Commit? Losing my mother-in-law on a river.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


 

So I checked into the river’s level and talked to people who knew the Stillwater section, including an employee at another outfitter—and ultimately concluded that first guy I spoke with was blowing a lot of unhelpful hot air, probably because he had never taken kids on a wilderness trip. He reminded me of other (usually childless) people I’ve encountered who, while well-meaning, seem to think children are like fragile glass vases that will shatter if not handled with extreme care. Like most kids I’ve known, mine are as fragile as an alligator.

We decided to go for it.

Under a blazing desert sun on a May morning at Mineral Bottom, we launch a small armada of three heavily loaded rafts, two kayaks (a single and a two-person), and a canoe. If we set out buzzing with excitement—adults all smiles and kids clearly feeling like they’re joining John Wesley Powell’s first descent into the unknown—we have no idea what a lasting impact the next five days will have on us.

That first afternoon, we tie up the boats to scrub brush on a riverbank of slick mud at Fort Bottom. Then we walk 15 minutes to the ruins of a one-room log cabin built in the 1890s by a rancher named Mark Walker. Not much more than 100 square feet, all that remains of it are walls of hand-cut logs, a stone chimney, and roof beams, the willows and mud that formed the roof long gone. Still, it’s remarkable that any of it still stands after a century of abandonment. We enter through the open doorway and walk around the small area of dirt floor, the kids both amused and awed by the vision of someone residing in such a tiny space so far from civilization.

Leaving Fort Bottom, we float into early evening as the long rays of sunlight burnish the deep reds of the canyon walls and cast long shadows across the river. The rippled water displays a complexion of blurred streaks mirroring the shades of crumbling rock above.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Floating the Green River through Canyonlands National Park.
Floating the Green River through Canyonlands National Park.

We eventually find a campsite at Potato Bottom. The kids spray onto the beach to play and explore, while the adults commence what will become a three-hour ritual every afternoon of unloading boats, pitching camp, and feeding 17 people. Each morning, we’ll reverse that process—no faster—eating, packing up camp, reloading boats.

But if managing so large a group requires enormous effort, life on the river represents the diametric opposite: the height of leisure.

By our second morning, we adjust to the lazy rhythms of paddling and drifting for those several water-borne hours of each day, leaning back under a nuclear sun to watch it all slide torpidly by us: the ancient geology, the scattered, small groves of cottonwoods and willows, and the always-blue sky. We make slow progress rowing rafts burdened with several hundred pounds of gear, food, water, and humans. And the placid-almost-to-a-fault Green gives us very little speed assist. But we don’t care. We’re in no hurry.

The kids migrate between boats like pirates. They pull on a raft’s oars until bored with the task, eagerly jump at sharing the two-person kayak with an adult, take dips in the silted, chilly river, instigate water fights, and play cards or games in a raft.

We pull to a riverbank two or three times a day to investigate a side canyon or eat lunch. We know there are several other boating parties on the river because we see them in campsites every afternoon; but groups spread out on the slow river, so we rarely encounter those other people during our hours on the water. Generally by mid-afternoon, one of us lifts the lid of a cooler, and the soft hissing of a beer can opening draws our other boats toward the sound.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

Mark Fenton kayaking the Green River through Stillwater Canyon.
Mark Fenton kayaking the Green River through Stillwater Canyon.

“Dad, can we go in the kayak together?”

Our six-and-a-half-year-old, Nate, has been eyeing the two-person kayak covetously. So after lunch that second afternoon, we again shuffle bodies around between boats, and Nate and I cast off onto the brown water in the two-person hard shell. Easily gliding along much faster than the rafts, we paddle ahead of them, drift to let them catch up, circle a raft to ambush its occupants with splashes, and explore the base of cliffs shooting straight up out of the river.

Predictably, that evening, his little sister whispers the same request to me. So on our third morning I again take the two-person kayak out, this time with Alex in the front cockpit, so small her head and shoulders barely rise above the deck. She does her best to manage the two-bladed paddle that’s longer than she is tall, often content to just hold it.

“You’re an awesome kayaker,” I tell Alex. She turns around to me, her smooth-skinned little face split with such a wide smile that I have to smile, too. We spend just a couple of hours together in that boat, but I sense we’ll both remember it for a long time.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Bus to Mineral Bottom. Bus to Mineral Bottom. Bus to Mineral Bottom. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Fort Bottom. Fort Bottom. Fort Bottom. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon, Canyonlands National Park. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River.

Later that third afternoon, I’m back in the two-person kayak with one of the six-year-old girls, Sofi. I paddle us far ahead of the group, looking for an available campsite big enough for our flotilla. But we keep passing campsites already occupied. The day turns into our longest on the water as we paddle into evening, Sofi and I so far ahead of the others that we don’t see them for two hours.

I worry that everyone behind us is growing tired, hungry, and grumpy. But Sofi utters not a complaint, content to eat snack bars, occasionally dip her paddle into the river, and bask in her extended adventure in the kayak, scouting ahead of our group.

Then I hear Sofi suck in her breath softly. She lifts an arm and points to the riverbank to our right. Not 10 feet from us, a great blue heron, shockingly tall, lithe, and absolutely still, stands in a shallow eddy, one eye staring back at us. I stop paddling and we drift in silence for a moment of frozen time. Finally, the giant bird spreads its wings as if throwing a cape over its shoulders, lifts itself from the water and flaps downriver, disappearing into the backdrop of red cliffs.

Eventually, I see Mark steaming toward us in the single kayak. A longtime whitewater paddler, he’s been dubbed “the fast guy” by the young kids. He catches up and points toward river left, asking, “How about over there?” It looks like a promising spot: a flat bench-like area a short scramble up a steep, rocky riverbank from the water. It turns out to be our best campsite of the trip: acres of dry, flat ground for tents, some shade, big rocks where we set up our kitchen area and lounge—and one huge boulder that quickly earns the moniker “Kid Rock,” where the kids all nestle like puffins on a seaside cliff, lost for hours in their stories and laughter.

The kids, age four to 11, clustered on "Kid Rock."
The kids, age four to 11, clustered on “Kid Rock.”

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-waters-run-deep-tackling-americas-best-multi-day-float-trip-on-the-green-river/feed/ 0 1842
The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-quicksand-chronicles-backpacking-paria-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-quicksand-chronicles-backpacking-paria-canyon/#comments Sun, 05 Dec 2021 11:00:24 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18157 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Walls of searing, orange-red sandstone shoot up for hundreds of feet, so close together in places that I could cross from one side of this chasm to the other in a dozen strides. On the floor of Paria Canyon, a shallow river slides lazily forward like very thin, melted milk chocolate. The early-spring sunshine only occasionally finds us in here, even at midday; instead, it ignites the upper walls and sends warm light bouncing downward in a cascade of reflected glow, painting every wave of rock in a subtly different hue.

Hypnotized, I fall a short distance behind the group, pointing my camera and clicking away. Moments later, I round a bend in the canyon to see my friend, Vince, mired hip-deep in quicksand and struggling mightily.

It’s the first day of our two-family, five-day, 38-mile backpacking trip down Paria Canyon, which straddles the border of Utah and Arizona and joins the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon. We’d already had our first run-in with quicksand earlier, just an hour into our hike. At the first pool of it that we happened upon, the five kids, age 12 to 15, stood hurling rocks into the muck, erupting in fits of laughter at the baritone “bloop” each made and the sight of it disappearing almost instantly.

But now, the laugh train has left the station, and four stunned young people stare, wide-eyed and quiet, at Vince.

In the narrows of Paria Canyon.
In the narrows of Paria Canyon.

I drop my pack on a small island of dry ground and join Vince’s wife, Cat, at the edge of the quicksand pool. Vince passes us his backpack, but we can’t get quite close enough to grab a hand and pull him out. Fortunately, he’s not sinking any deeper. Quicksand occurs in Southwest canyons when the fine sand in a river bottom, usually outside the river’s current, contains just the right amount of water so that it neither flows downstream nor dries to solid earth (although it can appear solid); and it rarely seems to get very deep.

Still, it feels bottomless and as thick as cold molasses when you’re mired in it—as most of us will discover this week.

So all we can do is offer advice and watch Vince helplessly as he twists, pushes off the nearby canyon wall with his hands, and struggles to extract his legs from this pool of nature’s wet cement. After several minutes, he manages to wriggle close enough to the quicksand’s edge for Cat and I to each grab a hand and haul him out. Panting, he stands encased in a wet mold of dripping, brown goop from the waist down.

The sight will become a visual metaphor for this adventure. Paria—and its 15-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch, which gets so tight in some stretches that you have to take off your pack and squeeze through sideways—can feel at times like you were served an entire rhinoceros when you only ordered a hamburger.

Quicksand appears frequently and sometimes without warning—looking no different than the innocuous, standard-issue mud that carpets most of the canyon floor. Finding water for drinking and cooking is a daily challenge: Over its entire length, typically walked in five days, Paria has just three reliable springs, and Buckskin has no drinkable water. And the heavily silted river—too thick to drink, to thin to plant, as locals like to describe it—quickly chokes a water filter to death.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


With a narrows section that stretches for 10 miles or more, Paria poses a real flash-flood hazard; you only embark down it with a forecast of clear weather for at least three days. Buckskin’s far tighter and longer narrows, besides morphing into a sandstone coffin during a flash flood, receives little direct sunlight and dries out very slowly in spring. In fact, I’d obtained a permit for us to start in Buckskin, but we opted to bypass it and begin at White House campground, at the top of Paria Canyon, when we got reports of Buckskin being filled wall-to-wall with waist-deep ice water for miles, runoff from a recent snowstorm at higher elevations upstream.

But Paria alone or combined with Buckskin also comprises one of the most continually stunning, multi-day canyon hikes in the Southwest. Having backpacked overnight down Buckskin and up just the upper several miles of Paria two decades ago with my wife, Penny, I was eager to return and walk its entire length, showing our kids and our good friends the Serio family one of the Southwest’s premier cracks in the Earth.

It would turn out to be even more scenic than I remembered—and a bigger adventure than anyone anticipated.

After Paria Canyon, hike the rest of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

Dusk at White House Campground. White House Trailhead. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Quicksand, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Windows, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon.

Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch sit within the 112,500-acre Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness, between Kanab, Utah, and Page, Arizona. Buckskin is known as one of the longest, if not the longest continuous slot canyon in the Southwest, while Paria has become famous among backpackers for its towering walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and sandy benches for camping, shaded by cottonwood trees.

There’s no trail; you just hike down the canyon, crossing the Paria River scores of times a day, and walking right in the river when it spans the canyon narrows from wall to wall, as it does for long stretches during the first three days, in Paria’s narrows. For the most part, the river’s ankle- to calf-deep, occasionally rising to thighs or waists.

And now, in late March, it’s numbingly cold. We came prepared with neoprene socks on everyone—which make a huge difference in keeping our feet reasonably warm; everyone adapts quickly to the feeling of our feet being wet for hours. Although the kids braced themselves for the first river crossings, early on day one, I overheard Sofi Serio tell my son, Nate, “It’s kind of fun, actually.”

Plus, we’ve drawn all aces for weather, with a forecast for sunshine every day, with highs in the 60s and lows in the high 30s the first two days, then 70s and 40s.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter!

A backpacker in Paria Canyon in Utah and Arizona.
My son, Nate, backpacking Paria Canyon in Utah and Arizona.

Throughout our first day in Paria, we walk between walls that rise higher the farther we go, and are pockmarked with “windows,” or alcoves ranging in size from big enough for a bird to big enough for all five kids to clamber inside for a photo, and sometimes so numerous they actually resemble rows of windows in a multi-story building. The walls are painted haphazardly in dark streaks of black and ochre, creamy white, and innumerable variations on red and orange that look like a melting sherbet rainbow.

As our first evening drips slowly into the canyon, we stop to camp on a sandy bench on river left. I’d hoped we might reach a campsite near the confluence with Buckskin Gulch on our first night, but we haven’t seen it yet, and the group is tired and hungry. Nate and I drop our packs in camp and hike 20 minutes farther downstream just to see how far we are from Buckskin, but we never reach it. I figure our group hiked maybe six miles down canyon in six hours, including breaks, on this first day. Walking in water is slow, but we’ve also just been enjoying the scenery.

Lying in our bags inside our tents after dark, listening to the river gurgle past, we hear the hoots of an owl echoing off the canyon walls.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Find out more here.

Skull, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. First campsite, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon.

Playing in Quicksand

Nate, my daughter, Alex, and Sofi and Lili Serio stand around a small puddle of quicksand that one of them had stepped into a minute ago. Seeing that it’s no more than ankle deep, they all begin stomping around in it, laughing and shrieking. Sofi gets her boots stuck, and although she could probably extricate herself, the other three circle the wagons around her in a mock rescue drill, pulling her out by the arms—prompting even louder fits of hilarity.

On just our second day, less than 24 hours after we watched Vince wallow nearly to his belt buckle in the stuff, quicksand no longer frightens our kids. Peril has become a punch line, and quicksand merely a sandbox.

Early this morning, before our families were awake, Vince and I spent 90 minutes filtering enough water for nine of us to drink today, from river water that we’d let sit overnight in pots and every available water vessel to let the silt settle to the bottom (to keep it from clogging the filter). That gave us enough water to hike to the next spring, about six miles downriver.

Now deep in Paria’s narrows, we walk in the shade of close canyon walls that make humans look tiny. The desert Southwest harbors many canyons of wildly varying proportions—length, width, and depth—as well as shapes and characters. And a handful stand out as the cream of the crop of multi-day canyon hikes, like Zion’s Narrows, Coyote Gulch in the Escalante, Capitol Reef’s Chimney Rock and Spring canyons, and certainly just about any hike in the Grand Canyon (my favorite so far has been the Royal Arch Loop).

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon, in southern Utah and northern Arizona.
Our group backpacking the narrows of Paria Canyon.

But few compare with Paria Canyon for length, variety, and sustained beauty. For so many miles that we lose track of a sense of distance or time, we splash downriver, rounding one bend and twist in the canyon after another to a new, jaw-dropping sight of a sheer, multi-colored wall, or a huge, arch-like formation eroding into a cliff, or parallel, vertical cracks that give a wall the appearance of giant organ pipes.

See also my story “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-quicksand-chronicles-backpacking-paria-canyon/feed/ 25 18157
Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc-at-an-80-year-old-snails-pace/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc-at-an-80-year-old-snails-pace/#comments Sun, 24 Oct 2021 09:02:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25603 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Our bus winds up a narrow road in the Vallée des Glaciers, below snowy peaks of the French Alps. We boarded it with about 10 other trekkers after a late-afternoon thunderstorm ripped the sky open while we enjoyed a café and tea with chocolate mousse and a slice of blueberry pie at the Auberge de la Nova in les Chapieux, a speck of a village along the Tour du Mont Blanc. As the bus rumbles into Ville des Glaciers, a cluster of old farm buildings, I ask the driver to stop.

My 80-year-old mother wants to get off and hike.

The rain has ceased, so my mom suggests—since we’ve only hiked about five miles so far today—that we hike the final 30 minutes uphill to our destination, a one-time dairy farm turned mountain hut, the Rifugio des Mottets. I glance around at the other trekkers on the bus—all of them somewhere between one-third and one-fourth my mother’s age. None are getting off with us. They are all content to ride the bus to the hut. As they all silently watch the old lady get off to walk the rest of the way, I’m pretty sure I see some sheepish expressions.

A trekker hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland, on an alternate route to one day on the Tour du Mont Blanc.
My niece, Anna Garofalo, hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland, on an alternate route to one day on the Tour du Mont Blanc.

We are on day two of a nine-day trek on one of the most popular and majestic trails on the planet, the Tour du Mont Blanc. A roughly 106-mile (170k) footpath encircling the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot (4807m) Mont Blanc, the TMB passes through three countries—France, Italy, and Switzerland. The trek normally takes at least 10 to 11 days and entails a demanding 32,800 feet (10,000m) of elevation gain and loss while crossing—depending on which route variants one takes—10 or 11 mountain passes, the highest approaching 9,000 feet (over 2600m).

My mom, Joanne Lanza, and I are hiking alone only today; eight others in our group took a longer and more arduous route to tonight’s hut, and two more will join us in two days, in Courmayeur, Italy. And those two facts illustrate a prime attraction of the TMB.

Although the genesis for this trip was my desire to help my mother realize her dream of hiking in the Alps, my wife and two teenage kids, strong and experienced hikers and backpackers, would never hear of me going without them. Plus, I invited along some extended family and friends with a range of comfort levels and stamina in the mountains (but fortuitously including people who speak two of the three languages we will use on the TMB). Our group comprises a dozen people—we could field a soccer team.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A trekker on the Tour du Mont Blanc.
Guido Buenstorf trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc toward Courmayeur, Italy. Click photo for my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Facing the challenge of finding a multi-day Alps trek that could accommodate a diverse group, I had settled quickly on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Scenically, it has few rivals in the entire world, and we would sample the mountain culture—and food—of three nations. But most conveniently, the TMB passes through towns and villages and crosses roads frequently. While we will spend three nights in mountain huts—all in stunning surroundings, a unique Alpine experience that I wanted everyone to have—we will sleep most nights in hotel beds, something Mom’s 80-year-old muscles will appreciate. And the availability of public transportation almost every day allows Mom and anyone else to skip or shorten a hard section or sit out a rainy day.

Those convenient logistics led me to think this plan might actually work.

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks?
Click here now for my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Or click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

A teenage girl hiking down off the Fenetre d’Arpette, a high pass in Switzerland on an alternate route of the Tour du Mont Blanc.
My daughter, Alex, descending off the Fenetre d’Arpette, a high pass in Switzerland on an alternate route of the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Now, walking beside my octogenarian mother up the Vallée des Glaciers toward the Rifugio des Mottets, the only sounds are the soothing rumble of the river, the Torrent des Glaciers, and the far-off moans of an icy wind blowing off the 12,520-foot (3816m) Aiguille des Glaciers, looming above the valley.

Mom admonishes me to slow down. “Remember,” she says, “you’re hiking with a snail.” (Her informal hiking club proudly calls itself the Snails.)

We have barely begun a long, hard trek, and neither of us really knows how it will go for her, attempting to walk a substantial portion of this trail that wraps like a 106-mile-long lasso around the tallest mountain in the Alps. Although she continually amazes me in her physical stamina and pain threshold, still, the notion of an 80-year-old embarking on a multi-day hike through the Alps is kind of nuts.

But neither of us worries much about what lies ahead. And that calm optimism just may be the source of her strength.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

A trekker at the Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc. An afternoon break at the Refuge de la Nova in les Chapieux, France. Hiking to Refuge des Mottets, Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Trekkers hiking to Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Jeff, Fiona hiking to Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Guido hiking to Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Inken, Penny, and Guido hiking to Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France. View from the Col de la Seigne toward Mont Blanc. A museum below the Col de la Seigne, along the Tour du Mont Blanc. Above the Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Joanne Lanza hiking the Val de la Blanche, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Trekking down the Val de la Blanche, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy.

The Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy

An icy wind blowing down from a severely cracked glacier just above us scours the outdoor deck of the Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini as we step outside on our fourth morning on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Clouds the color of battleships cling to the tops of jagged peaks flanking the glacier, but down the Val Veny below us, rows of spires stand silhouetted against blue sky.

We’re heading in that direction. And my mother has made a unilateral decision to throw out my carefully crafted agenda.

Today, we face a nine-mile hike, with a substantial stretch of uphill, from the Elizabetta hut to the resort town of Courmayeur, Italy. I had expected my mom to walk an easy mile with us to a road and catch a bus to Courmayeur. But she decided that plan sounds a little too sedentary. She wants to hike the entire distance.

I will share this truth with you: The stereotype of the kindly old lady is a myth. Octogenarians can be irritatingly strong-willed. Especially the ones that go hiking.

Trekkers hiking to Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc, France.
Trekkers hiking to Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc, France. Click photo for my e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

In all seriousness, I think she’ll do fine—probably. Yesterday, hiking about six miles from Rifugio des Mottets to Rifugio Elizabetta, Mom had crushed the 2,100-foot ascent to the Col de la Seigne—a jaw-dropping mountain pass at 8,255 feet (2516m) where we crossed into Italy—in well under three hours. Not bad for a snail.

She naturally can’t match the pace of anyone in our group—especially the teenagers, my nephew, Marco, and my kids, Nate and Alex, who frequently bound ahead beyond sight and earshot. But she keeps plodding steadily forward, accompanied by me or others. Whenever the faster hikers stop to take pictures or grab a snack, she inevitably comes puttering along, the proverbial, persistent tortoise somehow always catching up with the hares.

Do this trek right with my e-book
The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Trekkers hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Champex, Switzerland.
Our group trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Champex, Switzerland.

Her unflagging clip yesterday, in fact, resulted in us arriving at the Elizabetta hut by early afternoon—earlier than I had expected. And she apparently wasn’t tired yet, because when Alex, Marco, our German friend, Guido Buenstorf, and I announce we were taking an afternoon hike up a steep trail behind the hut to an overlook of the glacier, she was the only taker. An entire afternoon, she told me flatly, “is too long to just hang around in the hut.”

After a 45-minute walk from Elizabetta down the valley, we make a long, 1,500-foot climb through forest and then over open, grassy, wildflower meadows onto the rolling terrain of a ridge forming the southern wall of the Val Veni. Across the valley, the Brouillard and Freney glaciers carve wide paths amid a quiver of dark stone spires. Clouds obscure the heights of Blanc, but the view is breathtaking almost every step of the way.

About four hours after leaving the hut, we reach the top of ski slopes high above Courmayeur and descend a chair lift and gondola into town, where we meet up as planned with my sister, Julie, and her 21-year-old daughter, Anna, at the Hotel Crampon. That evening, we gorge on an excellent dinner at Ristorante La Terrazza, our meals ranging from margherita pizza for Alex and Marco to an exquisite gnocci in wild boar sauce that my wife Penny and I both eat.

Alex hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Mom and Alex hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Mom and Marco hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Mom en route to Courmayeur on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Walking through Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Walking through Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Jeff passing the Refugio Bertone on the Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy.

A Dream of Trekking the Swiss Alps

In many ways, the route that led my mom and me to the Tour du Mont Blanc stretches over far more miles than we’ll hike this week. She has hiked and backpacked with me all over the U.S. for more than three decades. Bridging more than half my lifetime, it’s a route that we have kept walking together, in all honesty, longer than I’d ever expected.

In fact, I’ve twice thought that she and I had already taken our last, major hike together: the first time on a weeklong hut-to-hut trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park that turned out cold, wet, and hard, when she was 75; and then hiking Mount St. Helens when she was 76, a very strenuous, 10-mile, 4,500-vertical-foot day that stretched into 11 hours before we finished. A year after St. Helens, when my family took a weeklong, hut-to-hut trek through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, she very much wanted to join us. I reluctantly told her I didn’t think it was a good idea, and given how hard that trek was, I still believe that was a good call. But I know missing that one greatly disappointed her.

Then my father got cancer. No one suffers from that horrible disease more than the patient, of course. But a terminal illness affects the lives and decisions of a victim’s entire family. My mother took no major hiking trip for two straight summers. He passed away 16 months after being diagnosed, two days after their fifty-sixth anniversary.

Get the right pack for you. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and my “Top 5 Tips For Buying the Right Backpacking Pack.”

Hiking to the Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy.
Hiking to the Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy.

Last winter, she turned 80. She had been telling me for several years—probably going back to when she was a spry young lass barely past 70—that she’d love to hike in the Swiss Alps. The Tour du Mont Blanc seemed to offer the right opportunity to finally show her the Alps on one of the world’s great treks. My sister, Julie, offered to join us, hiking some days while providing critical logistical support by accompanying our mother on buses and trains around two harder sections of the TMB. As it turned out, they would also elect to take a long bus ride instead of joining the rest of us on day six, hiking through hours of wind-driven rain over the Grand Col de Ferret at 8,323-foot (2537m), the mountain pass where we stepped from Italy into Switzerland.

She’s remarkably fit and agile for her age, and tough. But at 80, there’s no getting around the fact that her biological clock resembles an hourglass whose bottom lobe looks nearly full. Problem is, the top lobe has opaque sides—we can’t see how much sand remains in it. Compounding matters, she had been sidelined for most of the spring with a foot injury, and wasn’t able to resume her exercise program and training hikes until only a month before we flew to Geneva.

See which section of the Tour du Mont Blanc made “My 25 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”

But as she bluntly reminds me, “I’m not getting younger. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do these trips.”

Our options seemed clear: Go to the Alps this year, accepting the risk that it may prove too hard for her, or risk regretting never having tried it. We hardly had to discuss it before deciding to go.

Hiking to Grand Col de Ferret, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Above Courmayeur on the Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Fiona above Courmayeur on the Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Wildflowers outside Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Dinner in Refugio Bonatti, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Hiking to Grand Col de Ferret, Tour du Mont Blanc, Italy. Trekkers hiking to the Grand Col de Ferret on the Tour du Mont Blanc. A trekker hiking to la Peule on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Inken hiking to la Peule, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. At Auberge des Glaciers, Tour du Mont Blanc, La Fouly, Switzerland. Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc through La Fouly, Switzerland.

Hiking Over the Fenétre d’Arpette

The water of Lac de Champex offers a razor-sharp reflection of the intensely green mountainsides across the lake as nine of us form a conga line of boots and backpacks, walking through the small, post-card town of Champex-Lac, Switzerland. The sun feels warm and the morning air chilly as we set out excitedly for our eighth day on the TMB.

But we’re still talking about last night’s dinner.

At the Hotel Alpina, a six-room inn located at the end of a road on one of the highest points in Champex-Lac, overlooking a bucolic valley and more glaciated mountains, we had the best meal of the trek—and, many of us agreed, one of the best dinners we had ever eaten. The multiple courses began with croustini de serac a l’huile de ciboulette, followed by filet de veau (veal) a l’orientale, pain de pomme de terre (potato bread), and a dessert of poire (pear) gourmande au caramel au beurre demi-sel. Looking around the long table where the 12 of us were seated, I could see everyone doing exactly what I was doing: savoring every bite in our mouths for as long as possible.

Save yourself a lot of time. Get my e-book
The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Hiking toward Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc.
My daughter, Alex, hiking toward Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Today, taking advantage of the TMB’s logistical flexibility, we’re splitting into three groups. Mom, Julie, and Anna will enjoy a rest day, taking public transportation to our next inn, in the village of Finhaut, Switzerland. The rest of us will hike two different routes from Champex to the Col de la Forclaz, near Finhaut, where I’ve arranged rides for us to the inn.

Guido, his wife, Inken Poszner, and our Boise friend Fiona Wilhelm opt for the nearly 10-mile (16k) primary TMB route via Alp Bovine (where they will confirm a rumor that the best pastries on the Tour du Mont Blanc can be bought at the dairy farm there). My family, Marco, and our friend Jeff Wilhelm (Fiona’s father) turn onto the 8.7-mile (14k) TMB variant that ascends nearly 4,000 feet (1199m) to cross over the Fenétre d’Arpette mountain pass at 8,743 feet (2665 meters)—one of the two highest points on the TMB.

I can help you plan this or another hiking trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

We follow a quiet country lane past some private homes and small lodges, beyond which the road narrows to a footpath. As we ascend a valley, the way grows increasingly steeper; we clamber over large talus boulders. After slogging uphill for a solid four hours, we wade into a small crowd of trekkers lounging in the cool breeze at the Fenétre d’Arpette, a notch in a mountain ridge. On the other side, the broad, crevassed tongue of the Trient Glacier hangs down into the valley we’re descending. Not far down the other side, we hear a loud crack and look up to see ice calve from the glacier and rain down cliffs exposed only in recent years as the glacier, like most others in the Alps, continues a fast retreat as the climate warms.

At the Col de la Forclaz, a pass with a busy, two-lane highway and a powerful wind both cutting through it, we’re met by Ilse Bekker-Maassen, who owns the Chalet Bekker with her mountain-guide husband, Edward. She transports us to her inn, a homey place in the woods overlooking Finhaut. That night, Ilse serves us a dinner of raclette, a traditional meal of Switzerland’s Valais region, consisting of raclette cheese melted over bread and potatoes which everyone would have devoured even if we weren’t ravenous from a big day’s hike.

It’s now official: We have been spoiled by the food along the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc through La Fouly, Switzerland. Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc through Issert, Switzerland. Waterfall, Tour du Mont Blanc, Val Ferret, Switzerland. Alex hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc, Issert, Switzerland. Back yard of the Hotel Alpina, Tour du Mont Blanc, Champex-Lac, Switzerland. Dinner in Hotel Alpina, Tour du Mont Blanc, Champex-Lac, Switzerland. Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc through Champex-Lac, Switzerland. Trekking to the Fenetre d'Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc through Issert, Switzerland. Trekking to the Fenetre d'Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Nate and Penny trekking to the Fenetre d'Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Nate trekking to the Fenetre d'Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland.

A Big, Last Day to Chamonix

For our trek’s ninth and final day, Ilse suggests an alternative to stage nine of the Tour du Mont Blanc. Instead, Ilse points out on the map a roughly six-mile trail from the Emosson dam, a short drive from Finhaut on the border of Switzerland and France, to the little village of Le Buet, where we can catch a short, inexpensive train into Chamonix. The trail follows a high ridge across the valley from the TMB, offering constant views of the Mount Blanc massif rather than hiking along its flanks, as we would on the TMB. So we decide to do it, and a bluebird morning sky portends one of the trip’s nicest days.

Ilse offers to drive us to the dam, but notes that anyone interested can also begin from Finhaut with an uphill hike of almost five miles and 2,000 feet just to reach the dam. Some of us opt for the longer day—including, of course, my mom, who I had actually, fleetingly imagined might be feeling kind of tired.

We hike the relentless ascent at her snail’s pace. Below us, Finhaut slowly retreats into the distance, revealing the village as a cluster of homes and hotels clinging to the steep mountainside. At the dam, we meet up with those who drove up with Ilse and eat lunch in the restaurant. Mom looks as fresh as if she’d accepted the ride instead of hiking there.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.
Click here now to learn more.

Beyond the dam, the trail immediately presents us with a short traverse across an exposed rock face—a no-fall zone with a fixed chain in place as a handrail. A trekker coming from the other direction says there are numerous similar sections for the next couple of miles. Julie, who’s recovering from a shoulder injury suffered a few weeks before the trip and has hiked with one arm in a sling all week, decides to turn back and take public transportation from the dam down to the valley; Inken and Guido join her.

For the next couple of hours, Marco, Alex, Anna, and I shadow my mother, lending her a hand or spotting or boosting her when she needs it; but she does most of the work of hauling herself up and down under her own power. I can see the kids are proud of being part of her team. They keep pulling out their phones to shoot video and pictures of her scaling these short walls of rock.

We reach a nearly vertical wall of rock about 15 feet high, requiring third-class scrambling up a rising diagonal traverse. My mom looks up at it and, rather than reacting with fear, busts out laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Oh, my gosh,” she says, chuckling. “This is unbelievable.” But with her young aides surrounding her like Secret Service agents, she scales yet another section of this trail that would turn away many people half her age.

To borrow an expression from the French: “C’est incroyable!”

Are you ready now to hike one of the world’s great treks?
Click here now for my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

At the Fenetre d’Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. The Glacier du Trient, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Alex descending off the Fenetre d’Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Trekkers by the Glacier du Trient, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland. Finhaut, Switzerland. Near Finhaut, Switzerland, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Above Finhaut, Switzerland, on the Tour du Mont Blanc. Hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Penny Beach hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Marco and his grandmother hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Jeff Wilhelm hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Marco and his grandmother hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Joanne Lanza hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland. Hiking from Emosson dam to Le Buet, Switzerland.

The Power of Positive Thinking

Years ago, I gave my mother the nickname “The World’s Toughest Grandma” for her hiking feats. (And as we hike the TMB, she is actually soon to be a great-grandmother. Chew on that fact for a minute.) But the source of what many of us describe as toughness or fortitude may reside in an attitude more fundamental to individual human nature—an attribute I’ve seen her manifest countless times over the years, like the day she stared down her fears to scale the cable route up Yosemite’s Half Dome when she was nearing 60. Where some people see a glass as half empty, my mother sees it as half full.

Science has proven that the brain influences the body’s physical health: Thinking positive thoughts boosts the immune system, counters depression, and lowers blood pressure. Focusing on the positive in their lives has helped some people with chronic illnesses live longer, while a positive view of aging can lead to better health and longevity.

Researchers at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine found that, among people with a family history of heart disease, those who had a positive outlook were one-third less likely to have a heart attack or other cardiovascular event than those with a negative outlook; positive people in the general population were 13 percent less likely than their negative counterparts to have a heart attack. According to a University of Kansas study, a simple smile reduces heart rate and blood pressure during stressful situations.

What does that mean for an old lady trying to hike day after day through the Alps?

My mother doesn’t visualize failure. Even at 80, she visualizes success. She believes she will make it, and aided by her fitness level, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy—and not because it’s easy for her, not by a long stretch. Watching her hike, you can see she’s not walking up and down mountains pain-free. Jeff will tell me later that his GPS measured today’s hike from Finhaut to Le Buet at 10.9 miles with close to 4,000 vertical feet of cumulative elevation gain. For almost anyone, at any age, that’s a huge day. Hiking five of our nine days out here, she will cover more than 43 miles of the 106-mile Tour du Mont Blanc (no one in our group did the entire route), with well over 10,000 vertical feet of climbing.

And yet, to her, the pleasure she derives from it eclipses the suffering. Her optimism is something that many people, of all ages, in any context, could take a lesson from.

Hiking to the Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France.
Joanne Lanza, 80, hiking to the Col de la Seigne, Tour du Mont Blanc, France.

All afternoon on the high, rugged traverse from the Emosson dam, we stop repeatedly to gape across the valley plunging away thousands of feet to the glaciers and jagged skyline of Mont Blanc muscling into the brilliantly blue sky. A sprawling massif more than 15 miles (25k) long, plastered with more than 40 glaciers, Mont Blanc comprises some 400 distinct summits, including some of the most famous names in mountaineering history: the Grandes Jorasses, Aiguille Noire, the Dru and Aiguille du Midi. Its true summit towers 12,000 feet above Chamonix, France, and nearly two vertical miles higher than the nearest habitations in Italy, and overlooks seven valleys in three countries.

At one point, while catching her breath, Mom looks around and says, “It’s hard, but it’s beautiful. I’m really glad I did this today.”

The Big Outside is proud to partner with sponsor Switzerland Tourism, who supported this trip and this story about trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc. Click on the Switzerland logo to find out more about traveling in that beautiful country.

With evening rapidly approaching, Anna, Marco, Mom, and I reach the Refuge de la Loriaz hut—we had told the others a while back to go on ahead of us—and begin a long descent on a gravel road through the forest. Shortly after 7 p.m., almost 10 hours after setting out from Finhaut, the four of us reach the train stop in the village of Le Buet shortly before the day’s last train pulls up at 7:41 p.m. Twenty minutes later, our nine-day journey comes full circle with us arriving back in Chamonix.

We stroll down bustling streets past scores of people talking and laughing at outdoor restaurant tables. Approaching our hotel, we see Guido and Inken sitting at a table outside, smiling at us. They congratulate Mom; Inken gives her a warm hug.

Save yourself a lot of time. Get my e-book
The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Mont Blanc seen from Chamonix, France. Mont Blanc towering above Chamonix, France. The Aiguille du Midi gondola. View from the upper station of the Aiguille du Midi gondola. At the upper station of the Aiguille du Midi gondola from Chamonix. View from the upper station of the Aiguille du Midi gondola. At the upper station of the Aiguille du Midi gondola from Chamonix.

“Watching her walk over to us, it doesn’t look like she just did this huge hike,” Guido tells me.

I just nod. How do you explain people like her? She hasn’t overcome physical pain or exhaustion, of course. She has simply decided it will not stop her from going after a sense of satisfaction that’s larger than the pain. She understands that age eventually wins out over us all. But she’s not giving in without a damned good fight.

She has a simple but powerful force on her side: the right attitude. Not to mention a good, steady snail’s pace.

See a menu of all of my stories about family adventures and international adventures at The Big Outside.

Get my personal, customized help planning this trip.
See my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

A hiker at the Fenetre d’Arpette, Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland.
Marco Garofalo at the Fenetre d’Arpette, on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.

Trip Planner: Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc 

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR anyone in moderately good physical condition, including children, with the caveat that some may want to skip or shorten harder days by using the public transportation and taxi options available along the Tour du Mont Blanc. The route is well marked and virtually always obvious—especially the primary route—so basic map-reading skills are adequate to find your way without any major problems. There are also enough other trekkers on the TMB, speaking several languages, that you can often ask directions if needed.

Subscribers to The Big Outside can read the rest of this TMB Trip Planner (below), with my tips on planning the Tour du Mont Blanc, and get access to all stories.

Want to get far more trip-planning and route details? Get my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Join The Big Outside now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

See my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside and these reviews for my top recommendations:

The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Backpacks
25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The 12 Best Down Jackets
All reviews of backpacking boots and hiking shoes at The Big Outside.

Other articles at The Big Outside that may be useful in preparing for a Tour du Mont Blanc trek include:

5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry on the Trail
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier
7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking

Guide Services Numerous companies provide guided treks on the TMB and some transport luggage daily between lodgings, allowing you to carry a very light daypack. An online search will provide a list of operators.

Resources Switzerland Tourism, https://www.myswitzerland.com/en-ch/home.html, and Valais hiking tours, valais.ch/en/activities/hiking/hiking-tours.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-the-tour-du-mont-blanc-at-an-80-year-old-snails-pace/feed/ 18 25603
Trekking Among Giants in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/walking-among-giants-a-three-generation-hut-trek-in-norways-jotunheimen-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/walking-among-giants-a-three-generation-hut-trek-in-norways-jotunheimen-national-park/#comments Sun, 24 Oct 2021 09:00:26 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6413 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On a treeless tundra plateau deep in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, we stop before a bouncy suspension bridge over a roaring, snarling whitewater river. I shoot a glance at my 75-year-old mom. In a tone that contains more fatalism than enthusiasm, she reminds me, “I’ve never crossed one of these.”

I nod, and calmly assure her, “You can do this.” But the flushed look on her face tells me she’s not buying that line. I don’t need reminding that I’d planned this weeklong trek and convinced my mom she could handle it. I had even used a couple of words I’ve occasionally called on with her over the nearly three decades of adventures we’ve taken together: “Trust me.”

This week, it seems, I’m putting that trust to the test.

Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen
Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen.

My confidence is not unfounded. I like to refer to my mom as The World’s Toughest Grandma. She didn’t even start hiking until her late 40s, when I first got her on the trail. After early forays up New Hampshire’s Mt. Monadnock, we moved on to bigger adventures together, ranging from a hut traverse of the Presidential Range to backpacking in the Grand Canyon when she was a spry lass of 62. But she’s never done anything as long or hard as this 60-mile trek. And she’s never been 75 years old on one of our big adventures, either.

It’s the second day of our hut-to-hut journey through Jotunheimen, and we’ve been hiking for five hours across a rugged, Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers. Cliffs and mountains look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. Lichen blankets glacial-erratic boulders. It’s beautiful, for sure, but rain, wind, and near-freezing temperatures have also made it a trial; the weather alone would be hard on anyone. Now we’re staring at this raging river spanned by a swaying bridge—which must look like a wobbly slackline to my septuagenarian mother.

Our multi-generation group eyeballs the bridge. In addition to my mom Joanne, the party includes my wife, Penny, our 11-year-old son, Nate, and nine-year-old daughter, Alex, and friends Jeff Wilhelm and his 20-year-old daughter, Jasmine.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen N.P., Norway.
Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen N.P., Norway.

Nate, our self-appointed guinea pig, forges across first, stopping midway to deliberately bounce the bridge like a diving board. (Not helping, Nate! I want to yell.) Alex strolls more cautiously across. My mom still looks like she might turn around and march in the other direction, all the way back to Oslo.

I recall another hike when I saw the same expression on her face. On a trip to Yosemite, when she was a youthful 58, she and I stopped at the base of the cable route on Half Dome while she contemplated scaling several hundred feet of dizzyingly steep granite. I told her we could turn back. We sat for half an hour in silence. Then she jumped to her feet: “OK, let’s go.” A little while later, we stood atop Half Dome, a beaming grin of disbelief on my mom’s face.

On this trip, I hope to see that look on my mom’s face again. Now I wonder: Have too many years gone by? Can she still make that leap of faith?

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

Besseggen Ridge

Jotunheimen—which translates as “Home of the Giants”—contains the highest European mountains north of the Alps, starkly barren peaks rising to more than 8,000 feet. Thick, crack-riddled glaciers pour off them like pancake batter that needs more water. Braided rivers meander down mostly treeless valleys, and reindeer roam wild. But best of all, a trek in Jotunheimen combines pristine wilderness with the most luxurious huts I’ve ever stayed in—many featuring private rooms, hot showers, and restaurant-caliber meals—as well as flexible route options and side trips. It seemed perfect for my kids and mom. I figured, with such decadent huts, how hard can this trip be?

One small wrinkle: Thanks to an unusually cold summer, much of the ground here remains snow-covered in late July. And rather than the average summer highs in the 50s, the forecast calls for days of rain, high temperatures in the 30s, and winds that may explain how people first got the notion that reindeer can fly.

Indeed, we had to implement Plan B yesterday—our trek’s first morning. At Gjendesheim, a hotel masquerading as a hut on the shore of an 11-mile-long finger lake named Gjende, we awoke to the meteorological manifestation of misery: The temperature sat just a few hash marks above freezing, drizzle spat from the sky, fresh snow was visible below the low cloud ceiling on the mountainsides, and the wind blew like April in North Dakota. When we saw the forecast posted in the hut promising more of the same, my mom, kids, and Penny reached a quick consensus that the 30-minute ferry across Gjende to our next hut, Memurubu, looked like a fine alternative to battling the weather. Meanwhile, Jeff, Jasmine, and I pulled on our shells and set out to hike 10 miles to Memurubu via Besseggen Ridge.

Above Olavsbu Hut
Above Olavsbu Hut.

Known as “the most famous hike in Norway,” Besseggen is one of those iconic places that draws a crowd on a nice summer day. In wind-driven, bone-shivering rain and snow, though, we saw almost no one. The three of us constituted the only spots of color on a treeless plateau of rock and tundra freshly painted white. Dressed for winter in multiple layers, gloves, and a wool hat, I had to remind myself that it is the middle of July.

And then came the magic. Four hours into our hike, the clouds lifted like a stage curtain, revealing snowy mountains rolling away to far horizons. Before us, Besseggen Ridge tilted sharply downward and narrowed to a gooseneck land bridge separating the emerald Gjende from another lake, the hypnotically blue Bessvatnet. Green mountains erupted from the water. (Picture the Scottish Highlands flooded, with equally unpronounceable place names.) The seemingly improbable sculpturing of earth and water stirred the same awe I’ve felt in places like Patagonia and Iceland. For a moment, I wished my family were there.

But only for a moment. As we scrambled down several hundred feet of exposed, rain-slick ledges, another image crowded my thoughts: of a family we encountered in the wailing whiteout earlier on Besseggen. Well before catching up to them, we heard the girl, around my daughter’s age, crying and screaming, “Cold! Cold!” She wasn’t just whining; the girl was clearly hypothermic. We persuaded her parents to turn back to Gjendesheim, the fastest retreat off Besseggen.

Now I’m a bit concerned about how my kids and mom will fare in the days ahead, trekking rugged miles over snow-covered ground, fording frigid rivers—some days through hours of the kind of cold rain and wind that suck the life from your body like one of Harry Potter’s dementors. And there won’t be a ferry or shortcut most days.

I chose Jotunheimen looking for the wildest adventure I could take my kids and mom on—and have them like it. But I didn’t expect to be testing their limits.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

On Besseggen Ridge overlooking Gjendesheim. Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen National Park. Besseggen Ridge above Bessvatnet (lake), Jotunheimen Besseggen Ridge, Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen Lake Gjende from Besseggen Ridge Sign along Besseggen Ridge Trail, Jotunheimen Memurubu Hut, on Lake Gjende Geraniums outside Memurubu Hut Wildflowers outside Memurubu Hut. Gjendebu Hut, Jotunheimen

Fondsbu Hut

The World’s Toughest Grandma isn’t about to let her grandkids show her up—or perhaps she just realizes that she really has no choice in the matter. So after Nate and Alex cross the suspension bridge, mom steels herself and goes for it. She moves slowly, stepping gingerly to minimize any bouncing. Watching her, I marvel at her ability to go far outside her comfort zone at an age when most people just want to take it easy. This trek may be pushing her limits, but she seems determined to not let it defeat her.

After the bridge, we descend a hillside of boulders and ground-hugging greenery, past jet-engine-loud waterfalls. In a steady shower, we hike beside another long, narrow lake framed by naked hills.

While my mom walks with Penny, I quicken my pace to catch up with Nate and Alex, recalling a family trip we took to the Columbia River Gorge last summer with my mom. At 74, she hiked 12 miles to Tunnel Falls and, the next day, seven miles and 3,000 feet up Dog Mountain. On that trip, my eight-year-old daughter couldn’t keep up with her grandmother. In Jotunheimen, though, Alex’s pace eclipses my mom’s. My mom hasn’t slowed much in a year; Alex has leapt forward. As much as I feel joy and pride at seeing my kids grow more capable, I feel a pang of sympathy for my mother, forced to accept this generational changing of the guard, as inevitable as rivers flowing downhill. The sight of my kids pulling away from my mom has a disorienting effect on me as well: It feels like looking simultaneously in opposite directions, into my own past and future.

I was in my early 20s when I first took my mom on a hike. I was single and steering hard into a lifelong passion for the mountains; she was a middle-aged mother with only two of five children out of college—and a few years younger than I am now. At a time in life when many young adults and their parents spend less time together, growing more distant, my mom and I found something to bring us closer.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Trekking up the Langvatnet valley, Jotunheimen.
Trekking up the Langvatnet valley, Jotunheimen.

At a basic level, two things have made my adventures with my mom possible. The first and most critical is her ability to do something that many people cannot do: step outside her comfort zone. She has been places and done things that, based on her experience prior to the middle of her life, would seem as familiar as Saturn. The second is that, for reasons still inexplicable to me, she has trusted me when I’ve said, “You can do this.”

Over the decades, even after I married, had kids, and moved across the country, we still made time for at least one annual trip. We’d hike and talk about family, books, recipes, and harder subjects, like her wishes for the end of her life. Those times entered a lockbox of memories—which will someday be my most prized legacy from her. And they have inspired me to take my kids on regular father-son and father-daughter trips of our own.

My kids and I pull ahead of the others through a cold, steady rain to Fondsbu hut, on the shore of Bygdin lake. Inside, we all peel off wet clothes and boots and feel warmth creep back into our bodies.

Want to take the world’s best adventures? See all my stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

 

At dinner, boisterous trekkers fill every chair in the hut’s 67-seat dining room for two sittings. They’re mostly Norwegians drinking heartily and bellowing “skol!” at frequent intervals. We dig into salad and bread followed by turkey with home-fried potatoes and vegetables—and for dessert, chocolate mousse with sorbet. Then Sjølborg Kvålshaugen, the hut warden, stands before the packed room, hands clasped. Six feet tall and strong-looking—with a beautiful voice that stills the Norwegians—she sings, a cappella, the jazz classic “Whenever We Say Goodbye.”

The warmth and food and good cheer lift everyone’s spirits. But after dinner, Sjølborg informs me that most of the way to our next hut is snow-covered, and tomorrow’s forecast calls for rain and temps barely above freezing. At our bunks, I share this news with everyone. My mom says nothing, her smile gone; Nate and Alex burrow inside their sleeping bags.

That’s just how a mutiny begins: when they don’t talk to you.

Kyrkja (peak), above Leirvatnet (lake), at Leirvassbu Hut.
Kyrkja (peak), above Leirvatnet (lake), outside Leirvassbu Hut.

Olavsbu and Leirvassbu Huts

Given the forecast, we unanimously agree on hunkering down for another night at Fondsbu—the park’s numerous trail options let us easily shave a day and one hut from my original itinerary. While the others read, play games, drink hot cocoa, eat chocolate, nap, and generally exult in the comfort of the hut’s two spacious living rooms, Jasmine, Jeff, and I again suit up for the worst that Norway can throw at us. We head out for a four-hour hike past icy lakes and white cascades, below dark mountains that occasionally peek through the gray fog—enjoying every moment. Knowing a hut awaits has a way of making miserable weather seem beautifully mystical.

But that rain delay is our last mulligan. Any more days off will affect our reservations at later huts. So we hit the trail again on our fourth morning, in a cold wind and intermittent rain on a 10.5-mile, mostly uphill hump from Fondsbu to Olavsbu hut. Alex, Nate, and my mom happily deploy the three trekking umbrellas I brought, until the wind keeps inverting them and threatening to Mary Poppins my featherweight children to Sweden. When we stopped for a hurried lunch on wet rocks, I see the frowns and tight grimaces on my family’s faces as they quietly huddle like penguins. The day ends with a long descent over snow that my mom negotiates slowly. She and I arrive at the hut well after everyone else, walking the home stretch in a raw, driving deluge.

Make sure your kids want to go again.
See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

The next morning, the thermometer outside the Olavsbu hut reads zero Celsius and the wind—which seems to rarely rest in Norway—moans a Gregorian chant. But the sun finally shatters the persistent overcast. So even as we again wear multiple layers and set out across snow-covered ground, the spiritual lift the sunshine gives us feels palpable. Everyone walks with a quicker, lighter step as we pass beneath peaks whose blades of gray rock carve into the oceanic sky. Jasmine, a preternaturally ebullient person who I think could find reasons for optimism living as a galleon slave, says, “I can’t believe how beautiful it is here! I’m just so happy!” My mom is doing great, clearly enjoying the scenery.

Then we come to another stream crossing.

They’re a regular feature of a Jotunheimen trek, and most hikers cross them easily. But for a 75-year-old, the pushy water and slick rocks pose a real challenge. This one—100 feet across, swift, calf-deep, achingly cold with snowmelt, its bed paved with cobblestones—looks harder than average. A walkway of rocks, some slightly submerged, offers a route across that would save us from a numbing ford—if everyone can avoid falling in.

I survey my family’s expressions: Nate, eagerness; Alex, uncertainty; my mom, mortal dread. I tell everyone that I’ll lead the kids and my mom across one at a time—quietly hoping we don’t end up with any broken bones or frigid immersions.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/walking-among-giants-a-three-generation-hut-trek-in-norways-jotunheimen-national-park/feed/ 7 6413
Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River https://thebigoutsideblog.com/reunions-of-the-heart-on-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/reunions-of-the-heart-on-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/#comments Wed, 13 Oct 2021 09:08:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=36190 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Sitting in my inflatable kayak as our flotilla of more than a dozen rafts and kayaks launches on our first morning on Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River, I just drift and wait. And it takes only a moment before the feeling sinks in deeper than the warm sunshine on my skin: serenity. The profound peacefulness generated by the simple act of floating down a wild river, surrounded by a wilderness of mountains, forest, and canyons vaster than the mind can comprehend.

It’s a good feeling, and one I’ve been eagerly anticipating.

Our party of about 30 people, including my family and two generations of other families and friends—several in their late teens and early twenties—who’ve joined us from as far away as the Boston area and Germany, has embarked on one of the great multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—if not the greatest. The Middle Fork, deep in central Idaho’s sprawling, 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness (aka “the Frank”), has earned this reputation for its mix of breathtaking scenery, frequent rapids up to class III and IV, beautiful campsites and side hikes, hot springs, world-class trout fishing, and one of the most lovely rivers to ever carve a twisting canyon through mountains.

Rafting Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

In many ways, this six-day journey is a reunion—or actually, several reunions.

For my family and two others here, this is a reunion of a formative adventure for our children that we took 12 years ago, floating the Green River through Canyonlands National Park when our kids ranged in age from 11 to four. For several years afterward, my kids referred to it simply as “the river trip”—in their minds, it became the archetype by which all future river trips would be measured. To us parents, those five days on the Green don’t feel all that long ago, of course. But looking at the young adults in their early twenties and late teens now, who were grade schoolers and preschoolers then, reveals starkly just how much time has ticked past since—and how much parenting has taken place to bring us to this point where our kids now sit in rafts and kayaks on the Middle Fork.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

This trip is also a reunion with some friends with whom we too rarely have the opportunity to share a wilderness adventure—like our German friends Guido Buenstorf and Inken Poszner, who we last saw two summers ago when they joined my family trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc—as well as a reunion with guides from Middle Fork Rapid Transit, with whom we took our inaugural trip down the Middle Fork four summers ago, an adventure my family considers one of our absolute best ever (among a long list of many outstanding ones).

And for some of us, this trip is also a reunion with a river and the gentle way of being it inspires.

Boaters on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The first day floating Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Today’s float alternates for a few hours between bouncing through easy rapids and periods of slowly drifting and spinning and gazing at the rocky riverbed—each stone sharply defined through the crystalline water, whether a foot or 10 feet below the surface. On all sides, ponderosa pine forest climbs canyon walls that soar well over 3,000 feet above us.

After stopping at 20-foot-high riverside crag for some cliff-jumping, we drop through the foaming waves of class III- Marble Rapid. Then the kayakers in our party—my son, Nate, who at age 18 is making his second descent of the Middle Fork (as is my 16-year-old daughter, Alex); plus friends Jeff Wilhelm, Mark Solon, Joe Lovelace, and 19-year-old Ben Simpson all in hard shells, and Joe’s mom, Sue, and I in my two-person inflatable kayak, spend nearly an hour paddling laps up the eddies to surf and drop repeatedly through the wave train.

By early evening, we reach our first campsite at Lost Oak, on a big, sandy beach. As we wander up to our tents, I watch everyone closely—and see exactly what I expect to see: only smiles and laughter. Turns out a day filled with running rapids, swimming, cliff jumping, fishing, and drifting lazily down one of the West’s most lovely river canyons exerts a positive impact on your mood. 

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A River Trip With Great Hiking

In the tranquil dawn of our third morning, seven of us climb into a raft at our campsite, a pretty spot known as Whitie Cox, just above a sweeping bend in the river. The campsite draws its name from a settler who became something of a Middle Fork legend in his time, known for his knowledge of this canyon. Whitie worked a mine he developed by himself until the day a collapse buried him alive in it. Now his gravestone marks a corner of this camp’s tenting area.

One of our guides, Max Toeldte, oars the raft just across the river, where we all clamber up the steep riverbank. In the mild, calm air, Sue and Joe, Guido, Pam Solon, Mark Fenton, and I follow Max along a faint footpath, ascending nearly a thousand vertical feet up a narrow ridge crest, watching the tents—where much of our group still slumbers—shrink to dots.

A hiker above Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Mark Fenton hiking above Whitie Cox camp on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Within an hour, we reach the destination of our pre-breakfast hike: a rocky point with long views both up and down the Middle Fork canyon. Horsetails of cloud cling to some of the highest ridges and summits we can see, which rise as much as 3,000 feet above the snaking Middle Fork. This obscure rocky point, like many in this canyon, offers a perspective you don’t get from a boat on the water, illustrating one of the highlights of floating the Middle Fork—the abundance of great hiking in the canyon. In fact, many of us on this morning jaunt had also dayhiked eight miles yesterday and will hike part of almost every day this week.

Our dawn ridge climb has the added benefit of making breakfast taste like possibly the best we’ve ever had.

Floating the Middle Fork Salmon River is one of “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 
A kayaker on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Joe Lovelace kayaking Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

For the morning’s stretch of relatively easy rapids, Nate fly fishes from a raft while another Boise friend, Gary Davis, takes the opportunity for his first-ever trip down a river in a hard-shell kayak—Nate’s boat. Joe, who was a kayaking instructor at Middlebury College, shadows Gary down the river, offering him tips. “I might get me one of these,” Gary says.

At lunch on a gravel bar—where several of the young people and a few oldsters jump off another cliff nearby—guest MFRT guide and Middle Fork celebrity Matt Leidecker gives us an impromptu lesson in the subject of his college degree: geology. Matt, who guided the Middle Fork for more than a decade and has run it well over 130 times, authored the definitive guidebook to the river. (Matt and I first met at a book event three years ago, when his guidebook and my book both won National Outdoor Book Awards.)

He instructs us all to bring him a river rock from the gravel bar we’re on. Separating the rocks into three piles by type—igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary—he discourses knowledgably on how the varied coloration and composition of each came to be. It’s possibly the most captivating geology lecture any of us has ever heard, and almost certainly in the prettiest setting any of us has ever listened to a lecture on anything.

Tappan Falls

Not long after lunch, in the July heat of our third afternoon, my kids, Alex and Nate, stand with me and a few others in our group on rocky ledges just below class IV Tappan Falls, a drop of about five feet where the Middle Fork pours thunderously over a barricade of boulders spanning the river, forming a recirculating wave. Immediately beyond the waterfall, the river boils up in a roiling, swirling pillow of white foam that races forward through another recirculating hole for paddlers to avoid, then past a large boulder we must also dodge, before mellowing out as the river widens, where we’ll all regroup in a big eddy.

We watch other rafts and kayakers in our group run it. Nate’s eager to hit the line correctly—and finally get some unfinished business with Tappan Falls off his mind. Four years ago, when he was a competent kayaker at 14, but also prudently cautious beyond his years, he decided against attempting Tappan in his kayak. Alex also passed up my invitation to run it in an inflatable kayak with me four years ago, and regretted it immediately after seeing me drop it successfully with another of the kids on that trip. She’s gunning to do it with me this time—but lets me know that she’s mentally calculating the odds of us getting flipped and swimming through that frothing, angry patch of river.

Paddling a ducky over Tappan Falls on the Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
Gary Davis paddling a ducky over Tappan Falls on the Middle Fork.

After everyone else runs Tappan without swimming, Alex and I get in my boat. She throws a quick, wide-eyed glance back at me as we near Tappan and see the actual size of the drop and the waves. In that instant, I have a flashback to Alex, then just four, sitting in front of me in a two-person kayak in flatwater on that Green River trip long ago, grinning proudly as I tell her, “You’re an awesome kayaker!”

But we have no time for reminiscing right now. Alex and I dig in with our paddles as our boat plunges steeply downward over the waterfall, and rears up abruptly as we slam with surprising force into the foaming pillow of water. Seconds later, cheers greet us as we float up to the other boats in the eddy. “That went by really fast,” Alex gushes. I’m just glad she paddled more than she did at four years old on the Green River.

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You” and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

 

That evening, sitting in chairs below tall cottonwood trees on the beach in our camp at Camas Creek, Nate tells Joe and me, “I’ve literally been thinking about running Tappan Falls for four years.” It feels good to finally settle an old score.

Long after dark, I lay my sleeping bag and pad out on the ground a few steps from the steady murmuring of Camas Creek, where I’ll sleep like a baby all night—except for awakening once, briefly, to the gift of gazing up at a Milky Way that, out here in one of the darkest places in the Lower 48, looks like it was painted across the sky with a giant brush. 

Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness

Twenty summers ago, I backpacked a roughly 160-mile, north-south traverse of central Idaho’s wilderness, most of the trip in the Frank, half of it solo. My recollections of it now consist of fragmented moments: Floating neck-deep in the cool water of the Selway River. Panoramas of mountains and river canyons virtually unknown to the world—more pristine today, as federally protected wilderness, than when settlers, ranchers, and miners inhabited some of these canyons a century ago. Hiking entire days in the high country, off the rivers, literally without encountering another person, a depth of solitude I’ve rarely experienced.

[As a side note, that trip was the first of many that inspired a project I’ve recently developed with the Idaho Conservation League: a new long-distance trail called the Idaho Wilderness Trail that stretches for over 285 miles through three Idaho wilderness areas. Read my story about it.]

A hiker on the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, Idaho.
Lisa Fenton hiking the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail.

Near the end of that trip, I sat by myself on a beach on the Middle Fork of the Salmon, assessing my meager remaining food supply and feeling like I could eat at least four times as much as I had. Just then, a guided rafting party pulled up, and several grandmotherly women debarked and promptly insisted I join them for lunch. They were like angels to me. I think I ate three sandwiches, various fruit slices, and half a package of cookies. But as the afternoon slipped past, I became famished again. That evening, a private rafting party pulled up, apologized for the fact that they were assigned that campsite and invading my solitude—and invited me to dinner. I ate three heaping plates of pasta—I may have consumed a pound of it—and about half a loaf of garlic bread, besides draining a few cans of their beer.

Now, looking around our camp at Camas Creek, I realize, in a flash of memory, that this was that same beach where I’d been fed those two enormous meals on that grand adventure 20 years ago.

It’s funny how often I look into the past and see wilderness as the backdrop for some of my most enduring memories. I guess this camp represents yet another, personal reunion fostered by this trip.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

A teenage girl paddling an inflatable kayak on the Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, paddling in the front of my inflatable kayak on the Middle Fork.

Perhaps my most powerful impression of that backpacking trip two decades ago is less a specific memory than a feeling that accompanied me almost every step of the way: the calm that settles in after we disconnect completely from civilization—which increasingly only happens deep in wilderness.

I especially love seeing that feeling come over these teenagers with us, who rarely know the pleasure of complete disconnection. Out here, they’re spending their entire days interacting with each other, with the adults, and with nature.

One of my greatest fears for their future is that we end up creating a world where anyone can text, make a phone call, check their email, and post a photo from anywhere—even on the Middle Fork of the Salmon, in the largest federal wilderness area in the contiguous United States. I can’t imagine a greater deprivation of freedom that we could impose on all people. That would be a tragic threshold for humanity to cross, and one we may never be able to cross back over again.

One of the First Wild and Scenic Rivers

Our fourth day on the river begins with a couple hours of easy rapids and waves interspersed with lazy, slow floating and spinning and gawking up at the canyon walls—plus a stop at the Flying B Ranch, a private-land inholding and lodge where we buy ice cream. Shortly afterward, we enter the Middle Fork’s Impassable Canyon, the two-day stretch below Big Creek where the canyon grows narrower, with towering walls of rock and severely pitched talus slopes pinching the river on both sides, creating big whitewater.

One of today’s two largest rapids, Bernard, requires passing left of a big rock at the top, paddling hard right to avoid a large hole on the left, and then threading the needle between two boulders. But a large boulder mid-rapid leaps into view at the last second, catching some of us by surprise. My wife, Penny, and I bounce my kayak off it, spin completely around quite unintentionally, and then quickly correct our course and punch through big waves that break over the boat. 

Mark Fenton—who pulled his own unplanned 360 paddling a ducky through a rapid earlier on the trip—and I decide we’ll form the 360 Club for all boaters who execute perfect, unintended 360s in rapids.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

A raft on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
One of our rafts on the Middle Fork.

This year’s Middle Fork trip also represents a reunion with a concept and a construct—wilderness—and an experience that even those of us who are fortunate enough to ever enjoy do not get to do that nearly often enough.

The Middle Fork of the Salmon was one of the original eight rivers designated in the National Wild and Scenic Rivers System created in 1968. The River of No Return Wilderness bill passed Congress in 1979, a year after President Jimmy Carter rafted the Middle Fork with his Interior Secretary Cecil Andrus, who was also a four-term governor of Idaho (and for whom Idaho’s Cecil D. Andrus-White Clouds Wilderness was renamed after he died). Idaho Sen. Frank Church was a giant of conservation and wilderness protection. In 1984, as Church lay dying of cancer, Congress renamed the wilderness in his honor. Responding to that news, Church said, “The winners are the people of Idaho, who will enjoy the finest wilderness in the West, the crown jewel of the National Wilderness System.”

Hiking above Camas Creek on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Sue Lovelace on a morning hike above our camp at Camas Creek on the Middle Fork.

As a whitewater river, the Middle Fork drops at a uniquely steep angle for a long distance, roughly 100 miles, starting at 7,000 feet above sea level about 20 miles northwest of the tiny town of Stanley and dropping to 3,900 feet where it meets the Salmon River. While calmer sections comprise many miles of the Middle Fork, there’s a whole lot of whitewater: 100 ratable rapids, a number of them pretty big and exciting—class III and IV.

Now we, as a nation, may face a decision about whether to save the species that gave this river its name—and make a fundamental choice about values and what’s most important to us.

Boaters on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Our boats on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

After lunch at Camas Creek, before we launch, one of our guides, Dagny Deutchman gives the group a talk about the history and politics of the salmon, a keystone species here in the Northwest, which means that other species in this ecosystem largely depend on it, so much that if it were to disappear, the entire ecosystem would change drastically. Even the ponderosa pine trees that fill this canyon carry DNA from salmon that spawned in these creeks, got swept downstream to reach maturity in the Pacific Ocean, and finally swam unfathomable distances upstream, following some instinctive homing beacon to return to the very creek where each was born, there to spawn and die and nourish this ecosystem with a treasure trove of protein.

Quick to laugh and strong and capable at the oars of a loaded raft, Dagny grew up in little Salmon, Idaho, on the Salmon River, and has worked as a guide on the Middle Fork for 11 years. She explains to us how four dams on the lower Snake River in eastern Washington, downstream from the Salmon, have precipitated a severe decline in Idaho’s salmon population for decades—providing both an environmental and an economic case for removing those dams.

Among those arguments for removal: Other options for trying to restore the salmon population—none of which have worked, despite billions of taxpayer dollars spent in the effort—include restricting the season for floating the Middle Fork and Main Salmon rivers by about a third. That would not just cause economic harm to the dozens of companies that run float trips down these rivers, and businesses in places like Stanley that feed and provide lodging and other services for people like us, but it would mean significantly fewer people getting the opportunity to enjoy this experience and this place.

Alex will tell me after this trip that she’d like to work as a rafting guide when she’s old enough. I suspect that watching Dagny had some impact on her.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and my Trips page.

 

‘It Was So Fun’

On our fifth morning, five of us—Lisa Fenton, Cat Serio, Sue Lovelace, Pam Solon, and I—hike or run a roughly four-mile section of the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail no. 578 from our camp last night, Driftwood, to Fly camp, where we’ll rendezvous with the boats. At first, the trail wiggles along close to the river, where rocky crags erupt from water reflecting the golden light of sun on cliffs. Then we climb through switchbacks to cross a broad, grassy ridge between Rattlesnake Creek and Wollard Creek. Seeing the Middle Fork canyon from a prospect several hundred feet above the river gives us a sense of the canyon’s depth and vastness. It’s one of the two or three nicest stretches of hiking I’ve done on the Middle Fork.

At Fly camp, Cat and I hop onto Matt’s raft, where Cat’s husband, Vince, is fishing—as he has been all week. Unlike many in our group, Vince doesn’t obsess over paddling or hiking. He’s spending these days pulling so many trout from the Middle Fork that he’s lost count.

A kayaker in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Jeff Wilhelm kayaking Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

We go from Driftwood camp to Cliffside camp, a bit over 18 river miles, a full day with several exciting rapids—including one of the most thrilling on the Middle Fork, Cliffside, a borderline class IV where the river makes a sharp bend and forms a long train of monster waves crashing up against a wall of rock.

Inken, who wasn’t initially sure she wanted to go whitewater rafting, now grabs a seat in the paddle raft for the wet and wild ride through Cliffside. Lili Serio, one of our group’s recent high-school graduates, also jumps into the paddle raft, while her twin sister, Sofi, shares an inflatable kayak with Mark Fenton through Cliffside and several of the trip’s biggest rapids. When I ask Sofi afterward how that went, she tells me with a belly laugh: “It was so fun!”

And Guido earns membership in Club 360 by running Cliffside backward after getting spun around in his ducky—or perhaps just because he’s so good that he can paddle a kayak while facing upriver.

Got an all-time favorite campsite? See “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

Paddlers taking an inflatable kayak through Cliffside Rapid, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
Sofi Serio, with Mark Fenton hidden behind her, in the Middle Fork’s Cliffside Rapid.

In camp that evening, our last night on the Middle Fork, all of us, guides and guests, form a wide circle of chairs around the campfire for an MFRT tradition: the “closing ceremonies,” when everyone gets to stand up and share any thoughts about the trip.

It’s really a powerful exchange, with everyone sharing heartfelt sentiments and funny stories. For me, one of the most poignant comes when Nate talks about how he’s been anticipating this trip since we did it four years ago because back then he was an “introverted 14-year-old kid who liked to stay in his tent” and didn’t appreciate all the human interactions that make this trip so special. This time around, he says, he took full advantage of that.

A kayaker deep in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Joe Lovelace kayaking deep in Cliffside Rapid on the Middle Fork.

This river has now completed the metamorphosis of spirit that began the moment we launched that first morning—which, thanks to the way that a wilderness adventure warps our sense of time, now seems fuller and longer than just five days.

Floating the Middle Fork is uniquely special because of two equally important attributes: the incredible scenery and the element of high adventure, which gives people the opportunity to step outside their comfort zone and discover the intoxicating rush of taking on a challenge they might not have ever seen themselves doing.

Beyond those two attributes, though, the Middle Fork can leap onto your personal list of best trips ever when you share it with some of the best people in your life—and perhaps make new friends who are the kind of people you enjoy spending time with. (See this list of my family’s best trips ever.)

A paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

I brought this group of people I know together for this trip simply because I like them all; many had never met or didn’t know each other well. Sharing the canyon’s quiet stretches and its rapids, its beaches and aching beauty have, in just days, transformed strangers into friends.

The Middle Fork of the Salmon has reminded some of us who’ve known this truth for years, and reinforced a lesson these young people are still absorbing: that we desperately need places and experiences like this, not just because they have the power to turn strangers into dear friends in just a few days, but because without these special times and places, it’s too easy to lose sight of what’s most important in life.

So many threads connect the 12 long years separating that Green River trip with young kids to this Middle Fork float. For the parents here, though, I think what’s most gratifying is seeing how these kids have grown into young adults who love the outdoors. All reunions take place in the heart.

With all of that done, we can focus on just having fun on our last day, when the river throws its greatest concentration of rapids at us.

Gear up smartly for your trips. See a menu of all my reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

 

Rafters and kayakers on the Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
The lower canyon of the Middle Fork Salmon River.

Last Day on the River

We launch before 8 a.m. to float the final miles of the Middle Fork and then a stretch of the Main Salmon River to our takeout. Between close, vertiginous canyon walls that cast long shadows, we drop through a gantlet of 11 named class II and III rapids, many in quick succession, with much unrestrained hooting and cheering.

The last bit of the Middle Fork canyon opens up as the sun grows warmer. We bounce through riffles and make a slow turn onto the bigger and broader Main Salmon, gazing around at rock walls at least 1.4 billion years old, some of this stone predating life on Earth.

More than a century ago, early boaters with the nerve for it could navigate some 200 miles of wilderness waterway from the outpost of Salmon to the similarly secluded little town of Riggins. But it was a one-way trip, with no easy means of returning to Salmon. Thus, the moniker “the river of no return.”

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there. Join now and a get free e-guide!

 

Not sure you’re ready to join, but want to support my blog? Click here to leave a tip for The Big Outside! Thank you.

 

Kayakers and rafts in early morning on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The final morning on the Middle Fork Salmon River.

At the trip’s grand finale, class IV Cramer Rapid, an enormous recirculating hole in the middle can flip kayaks and rafts. One boat at a time, we drop over the entrance wave—skirting just right of the big hole, close enough to peer into its maw—plummeting down a steep water slide into a trough that seems to briefly eclipse the landscape around us. Then we slam into the next mountainous wave with an impact that feels like hitting a brick wall.

After Cramer’s thrilling entrance waves, which to many of us felt like sitting perched momentarily on the edge of our boats getting flipped like a pancake, getting dribbled through the long tail of tall waves below Cramer feels, appropriately, like a victory lap.

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR just about anyone willing to get wet and sit on a raft through big whitewater; riding in a paddle raft or inflatable kayak is optional (as is bringing your own hard-shell kayak). While private parties should have experienced rafters and/or kayakers with the skills to run rapids up to class IV, no experience is necessary on a guided trip.

On the Middle Fork and other Idaho rivers, I frequently use the NRS Stampede Shorty dry top pullover ($180), the NRS Maxim Glove ($60), and the Five Ten Eddy water shoes ($120).

Guidebook/River Map Middle Fork of the Salmon River—A Comprehensive Guide, by Matt Leidecker, $30, http://www.mattlphoto.com.

Guides Middle Fork Rapid Transit, (208) 371-1712, http://middleforkrapidtransit.com. Other companies offer guided rafting trips on the Middle Fork; search the Internet.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/reunions-of-the-heart-on-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/feed/ 5 36190
Hiking to The Great Gallery Pictographs of Horseshoe Canyon in Canyonlands National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-the-great-gallery-pictographs-of-horseshoe-canyon-in-canyonlands-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-the-great-gallery-pictographs-of-horseshoe-canyon-in-canyonlands-national-park/#respond Sat, 02 Oct 2021 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18355 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Here’s how you reach the best prehistoric Indian rock art in America: From Utah Highway 24, a remote two-lane bisecting the inhospitable desert between the rugged spine of the San Rafael Reef and the deep and isolated canyons of the Green and Dirty Devil rivers, turn east onto a dirt road at a small, easily overlooked sign for Horseshoe Canyon. (Reference point: It’s a tenth of a mile south of the turnoff for Goblin Valley State Park.) Drive about an hour on that sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy road—which can become impassable in heavy rain or when wind piles sand drifts across the road, and where a few roadside signs are the only indicators of civilization—to the West Rim Trailhead.

Then hike down into Horseshoe Canyon and nearly three miles up canyon to a panel of rock art that will reduce even the most seasoned pictograph and petroglyph hunters to awed silence.

The Great Gallery pictographs of Horseshoe Canyon in Utah's Canyonlands National Park.
The Great Gallery pictographs of Horseshoe Canyon in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park.

My family and another did just that on a weeklong trip to southeastern Utah. The nearly seven-mile, out-and-back dayhike of Horseshoe Canyon, a district of Canyonlands National Park, features red rock walls rising up to about 200 feet tall. But the hike’s main attraction are four pictograph panels, including one widely considered the “most significant” preserved example of prehistoric rock art in America.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A detail of the Great Gallery pictographs in Horseshoe Canyon, Canyonlands National Park.
A detail of the Great Gallery pictographs in Horseshoe Canyon, Canyonlands National Park.

We passed actual dinosaur tracks hardened into rock on the switchbacking trail that drops 800 feet from the canyon rim into Horseshoe Canyon. In the canyon bottom, where a shallow stream nourishes a few stands of cottonwoods, we stopped at the first three panels of rock art on the hike, known (in order) as High Gallery, Horseshoe Gallery, and Alcove Gallery.

Then, about three-and-a-half miles from the trailhead, we walked up to a pictograph panel of colorful figures spanning some 200 horizontal feet beneath an overhanging canyon wall: the Great Gallery. Created by people who used pigments made from powdered minerals to paint on stone—as opposed to more-common petroglyphs, which are produced by chipping away the weather-darkened surface of rock to reveal lighter stone underneath—the Great Gallery consists of a row of mummy-like figures with heads but no limbs, as well as some human-like images and others that resemble bighorn sheep. The largest figures measure over seven feet tall.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A volunteer ranger gave us an impromptu lecture about the rock art in Horseshoe Canyon, which dates back at least 2,000 years to the Archaic people, who predated the Anasazi and Fremont Indian cultures. Archaeologists are still studying the rock art of Horseshoe Canyon and trying to date it, but no one really understands the meaning or message the art was intended to convey, if any.

For information about hiking Horseshoe Canyon, see nps.gov/cany/planyourvisit/horseshoecanyon.htm.

See all of my stories about Canyonlands National Park, hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, national park adventures, and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-the-great-gallery-pictographs-of-horseshoe-canyon-in-canyonlands-national-park/feed/ 0 18355
Why I Never Miss a Wilderness Sunset or Sunrise https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-never-miss-a-wilderness-sunset-or-sunrise/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-never-miss-a-wilderness-sunset-or-sunrise/#comments Sat, 04 Sep 2021 09:00:36 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24125 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The June evening was more than a few hours old when, without warning, the sky suddenly caught fire. The kids, teenagers and ’tweeners, and some of the adults in our group scrambled up onto a nearby rock formation at least 50 feet tall to observe the sunset from high off the ground. Like a wildfire swept forward by wind, hues of yellow, orange, and red leapt across bands of clouds suspended above the western horizon, their ragged bottoms edges, appropriately, resembling dancing flames.

For a span of just minutes that felt timeless, the light painted and repainted the clouds in ever-shifting, warm colors starkly contrasted against the cool, deepening blue of the sky—as if a vast lake had ignited. We stood hypnotized and enchanted on that evening during a long weekend of camping at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve, until the last, dying flames of the celestial conflagration faded and were extinguished. For that brief time, the sunset had us all, adults and kids, completely in its thrall.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite on the Timberline Trail around Mount Hood, Oregon.
Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite on the Timberline Trail around Mount Hood, Oregon. Click photo to read about this trip.

I follow a simple rule whenever I’m in the wilderness or any natural setting like the surroundings in the primitive campground at the City of Rocks (the sunset described above is shown in the lead photo at the top of this story): I never miss any dramatic sunset. And I almost never miss a similar sunrise. The reason is simple: These are often the most sublime and inspiring times of the day. Passing on them is essentially depriving yourself of one of the best reasons to be out there.

Catching a great sunset occurs with the serendipity of meeting the person who becomes your spouse (although, thankfully, far more frequently)—it’s just a matter of being in the right place at the right time and not blowing the opportunity. The sky conjures a universe of color and emotion in fleeting moments, rushing headlong to a grand finale, after which many observers stop paying attention. But I’ve always enjoyed taking in the slow, quiet onset of dusk, spreading out like a ground fog before rising to overtake the sky. Night then settles in for its long watch, the stars emerging in a flutter of eyes popping open—a few tentatively at first, building to a visual crescendo of hundreds of thousands of specks of light.

From the buildup to sunset through nightfall, it’s the best silent film ever made. I could watch it over and over for a lifetime without ever feeling like its magical spell has diminished in power. The sky’s myriad personality changes across the span of hours from sunset through sunrise make me think that nocturnal animals have it right, and we humans sleep away the sky’s most fascinating hours.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A young girl at sunset at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, watching the sunset at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Sunset in the Everglades

Sunset from Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.
Sunset from Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.

At our campsite on a wilderness beach at Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands of Everglades National Park, which we had to ourselves for two nights on a canoeing trip, our kids, then age 10 and almost eight, abruptly forgot about their sand castles as the enormous, blood-red ball of fire that is the sub-tropical sun appeared to swell and burn with greater intensity and slipped toward the horizon. My entire family stood spellbound as that flaming orb slowly lowered itself into the vast bathtub of the Gulf of Mexico.

Witnessing the dawn comes with the challenge of rising earlier than many people prefer. But after you’ve made the effort to reach a uniquely beautiful and remote corner of the backcountry, trading a dawn that may hold the most precious moments of an entire trip for another hour or two of slumber strikes me as a lost opportunity.

When I’m sleeping outside, the first light of predawn usually awakens me, and I’m glad for that: I want to be awake. I invariably look up to see what the sky has in store. Any signal of an imminent dawn worth observing—like wispy clouds hovering above the eastern horizon, or puffy cotton balls dabbed across the blue dome—will prod me to dress and step outside the tent. If I had slept out under the stars—my default choice if the night promises to stay dry and not buggy, because why sleep inside nylon walls when I can sleep beneath a starry sky?—then all the better: I can watch it from my warm bag.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex.
Larch trees glowing with fall color, reflected in Rainbow Lake in the North Cascades National Park Complex. Click photo to read about this trip.

Dawn on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit

I have many times begun hiking before or at first light, often because I had many miles to cover, but also partly because it grants me the great privilege of watching the birth of another day. I’ve watched a carpet of crimson light unroll across mountains and canyons deep in the backcountry of places like Yosemite, the Wind River Range, below the magnificent east face of Mount Whitney, on the crest of the Appalachian Trail in the Great Smoky Mountains, from the canyon rim high above the Green River in Canyonlands National Park, in Evolution Basin on the John Muir Trail, and countless other places.

Predawn light on Dhaulagiri, along Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Predawn light on Dhaulagiri, along Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

On a fiercely chilly November morning, our last on the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal, my wife, our new Slovenian friend Gorazd, and I joined a procession of hikers and headlamp beams on a 45-minute walk up Poon Hill—a ritual for Annapurna trekkers. On its open summit, at over 9,000 feet, we gazed at a Himalayan night sky riddled with stars twinkling above the milky silhouettes of five snowy giants glowing faintly in the moonless hour before dawn—including one of the planet’s highest peaks, Dhaulagiri.

The mountains appeared to float above valleys still black with night. Slowly, rich bands of red, orange, and yellow ignited on the eastern horizon. As dawn bled across the sky, flashes of golden light struck the white crown of the first peak, and then hopped across the tops of the others. Within a few minutes, the rising sun turned the world’s greatest mountains blindingly white.

Hitting the trail early usually rewards me with solitude unknown in many places during the daytime hours, and wildlife encounters that are far rarer between mid-morning and early evening. I’ve strolled past bighorn sheep lounging casually beside the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park; heard elk bugling in the Tetons, Yellowstone, Olympic Mountains, and elsewhere; and watched a big bull moose emerge from the pond where it had been feeding on plants in Maine’s Baxter State Park.

Want my help planning any trip you read about at this blog?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

 

Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park.
Delicate Arch at sunset in Arches National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Sunset at Delicate Arch

Science provides a simple explanation for the beautiful light that captivates us at sunset and dawn. When the sun hovers near the horizon, its light passes through more atmosphere before reaching our eyes than it does when it’s directly overhead. That much atmosphere effectively erases the shorter, blue and purple rays of the visible light spectrum from our vision, while the longer red, orange, and yellow light rays remain visible but get more widely scattered across the sky.

But that explanation comes nowhere near sparking the depth of feeling of the actual event—which makes witnessing each possible wild sunrise and sunset a difficult pleasure for me to give up, no matter what obstacle stands in the way.

On the last afternoon of a three-family, spring-break trip to southeastern Utah, where we’d backpacked and dayhiked in Canyonlands and Arches national parks, I could barely muster the energy to lift myself out of the bed where I’d slept most of the day, sicker than I’d felt in recent memory. I willed myself to stand up—it felt like a mountain climb—and to go through with our plans to hike to Delicate Arch in Arches to watch the sunset that evening.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, in Yosemite, or other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

Backpackers watching sunset at a campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Backpackers watching sunset at a campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming. Click photo to read about this trip.

Just four of us went: my friend, Vince, his 13-year-old daughter, Sofi, my 11-year-old daughter, Alex, and me. It’s possible I’ve never hiked a trail more slowly than that evening. Shuffling along, I watched one person after another pass me, even the slowest, oldest, littlest, and least-fit hikers; watching sunset at Delicate Arch is a popular ritual, so there may have been more than a hundred people out there that evening. We gave ourselves more than an hour to hike the mile-and-a-half-long trail, and thanks to my torpid pace, we arrived only minutes before sunset.

We watched that striking natural sculpture of red and orange rock appear, for several minutes, to glow against the backdrop of deepening blue sky and the gleaming, snow-capped La Sal Mountains in the distance. And even though the return walk took even longer because I was so sick—our car was one of the last to leave the parking lot that night—not one step along the way made me regret the effort to watch that sunset.

We don’t get enough of them in a lifetime as it is; I can’t afford to miss any good ones.

See all of my stories about national park adventures and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-never-miss-a-wilderness-sunset-or-sunrise/feed/ 4 24125
Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures https://thebigoutsideblog.com/boy-trip-girl-trip-why-i-take-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/boy-trip-girl-trip-why-i-take-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/#comments Tue, 13 Jul 2021 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8733 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On a morning when the late-summer sunshine sharpens the incisor points of every peak and spire in the jagged skyline of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, Nate and I step inside the Sawtooth National Recreation Area ranger station, south of the little town of Stanley, population sixty-three. I chat with the ranger behind the counter, mentioning that my son and I are heading out to backpack the 18-mile loop from Pettit Lake to Alice and Toxaway Lakes.

The ranger sizes up my six-year-old, 40-pound kid, and frowns skeptically. “You know, that’s a pretty rugged hike,” he tells me.

Over the years to follow, I would become accustomed to seeing that expression on the faces of well-intentioned people worried about what I was planning to do with my children. I would also get used to hearing the tone of voice someone uses when what they really want to tell me is: “You, sir, are a crazed lunatic, and coyotes will pick your child’s and your bones clean before we even find you.”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Alex on the New Hance Trail, Grand Canyon.
Alex on the New Hance Trail, Grand Canyon.

I try to explain that I know these trails and the little boy with the stuffed dolphin has done a fair bit of hiking already—for someone who weighs less than the backpack I’ll carry for the next three days. But as we leave, I doubt I’ve allayed that ranger’s concerns. He’s probably made a mental note to check for my car at the trailhead in a few days, to make sure that the overzealous dad and his bear-snack-size kid made it out of the wilderness alive.

On the trail a little while later, Nate and I set out at a very casual pace, slowed by the frequent demands of important business like stopping to eat more chocolate or throw rocks at trees and boulders. Nature, it turns out, is conveniently well stocked with excellent throwing rocks and worthy targets.

That first evening, I hurriedly throw the tent up just before a violent thunderstorm rents the sky open. Then Nate and I huddle inside, warm and dry in our bags, listening to the pounding of rain on our nylon walls and repeatedly exclaiming, “Wow, did you hear that one?!” after each tectonic rumble of thunder quakes the air around us.

The next morning, we spend close to an hour slam-dunking rocks into Alice Lake. Each time, Nate erupts with a heartfelt belly laugh over the concussive effect of the rocks on the water’s surface. I laugh almost as hard at his laughter. After a difficult hike over a pass around 9,200 feet, we descend to Toxaway Lake with Nate looking bleary-eyed at mid-afternoon. But when we find a campsite in the woods with a small creek gurgling nearby, he revives as suddenly as if he were Superman and I had just tossed the Kryptonite it into the lake. Nate passes the next couple of hours quietly constructing stone dams in the creek.

In the evening, we hurl rocks into Toxaway, and then sit together atop a big granite slab on the shore, talking about space travel and which dinosaurs would beat other dinosaurs in a fight. On our third and final day, my first-grader cranks out nine miles with more stamina than many adults—although, by the end, he’s so punch-drunk tired that the sound of air shrieking through the pinched neck of a balloon sends him into paroxysms of hysterical laughter that make me double over laughing, too. I’d actually planned on four days, but he comes up with the brilliant plan to finish in three, get milkshakes to celebrate, camp another night nearby, then rent a two-person, sit-on-top kayak to paddle around Redfish Lake tomorrow morning, before heading home.

That was our second outing in what has become an annual, multi-day, father-son adventure together. We call it our “Boy Trip,” a term coined by Nate years ago. He’s now a teenager, and for both of us, the Boy Trip has risen to a status among the most exalted events on the calendar. Partly that’s because we always get outdoors on a fun adventure. But mostly it’s because we love carving out time for just the two of us.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Idaho’s Smoky Mountains

Fast-forward several years. Sunset looms but the air has hardly cooled in this August heat wave as we start the roughly two-mile hike to the Norton Lakes in central Idaho’s Smoky Mountains. My nine-year-old daughter, Alex, and I are backpacking in to spend two nights at the lakes with our friends Gary Davis and his girls, Mae, 11, and Adele, who’s eight.

Alex and Adele have been BFFs since they were old enough to comprehend that the world offered other children to play with besides the older siblings who snatched toys from them and occasionally dropped something on their head. As we hike, they walk side-by-side as if joined at the hip, talking constantly, which helpfully distracts them from the uphill effort.

Young girls hiking Norton Peak, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
Hiking above Norton Lakes in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

Wildfires have been burning across the entire West for weeks. Temperatures at home in Boise have been hitting 100 too much lately, and the air quality is approximately as healthy as putting your mouth over a running car’s exhaust pipe. Gary had suggested we take the girls out to the mountains, where the smoke is at least more dissipated.

As it happened, Alex and I had set aside this same weekend for our Girl Trip—the name she gives to our annual father-daughter getaway, as a counterpoint to Nate’s and my Boy Trip. Alex generously grants me a waiver for my inferior gender to enable our Girl Trip.

Just before dark on this calm and mild evening, we reach the lower Norton Lake, its shore mostly ringed by ponderosa pines, with a steep scree slope rising from one side. While Gary and I pitch our tents, the girls scout the night woods around us with headlamps until everyone’s tired enough to head for our sleeping bags. Alex and I do a Sudoku puzzle together by headlamp in the tent. She somehow thinks she solves much more of it than I do. To protect her self-esteem, I don’t contest her claim.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

Nate and me at Cove Lake in the Big Boulder Lakes, White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.

In the morning, we all hike a trail through numerous switchbacks up to a pass several hundred feet above our camp, looking back down at the Norton Lakes. After a lunch capped with copious helpings of chocolate, we follow a steep, fainter user path up onto a narrow ridge crest of broken rock. (Early tomorrow, before anyone else is awake, I’ll make a quick, dawn hike up here again and surprise three mountain goats on this ridge.) Moving carefully through a few exposed spots, we scramble along the ridge to the summit of Norton Peak, at 10,336 feet the second highest in the Smoky Mountains. Although the air remains hazy with wildfire smoke, we can see most of this range of 10,000-footers, and across the Wood River Valley to the even more severely vertical and rocky Boulder Mountains.

At the summit, the three girls pump fists in the air. Then we carefully backtrack over the ridge and quickly descend the trail back to camp, where our expedition’s real celebration of our epic achievement ensues over s’mores.

Want to read any story linked here?
Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Never Easy to Make Time

It’s never easy to cram the Girl Trip and Boy Trip into any summer, when we usually take them. Our summers are consistently chock-full with outdoor travel either as a family or me going out sans family for my work. I’m usually away for upwards of half the summer—so much that, by fall, I’m burnt out on packing and unpacking gear and ready to stay home (a feeling that I get over within about a week, actually—but that’s another story).

Still, I’ve always committed to fitting in our Girl Trip and Boy Trip every year. Nate and Alex both considered it non-negotiable, as mandatory as celebrating their birthdays. I just love that they feel that strongly about it.

I’ve always tried to steer us toward outdoor adventures that are age-appropriate for my kids—who started young enough that they were always, admittedly, fairly advanced in their abilities, stamina, and confidence for their ages. And I have deliberately avoided pushing my own agenda. I wanted them to feel we share the decision on what we’re doing.

Want this lifestyle for your family?
Use my “7 Tips for Getting Your Family on Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

Sawtooths to Grand Canyon and Mount Whitney

Our annual Boy Trip and Girl Trip don’t have to be major expeditions. We rarely leave our home state. The first, when Nate was five, consisted of him and me backpacking about a mile (he carried only a tiny daypack and his dolphin) to camp beside a creek in the Boise Foothills, a 10-minute drive from our home. To the occasional hikers and trail runners passing by, our campsite may have looked rather uninteresting; but to Nate, it felt as wild and remote as the Himalayan Mountains. Besides, we had enough sticks to launch into the creek and rocks to bomb them with to keep us occupied for hours.

Nate and I have backpacked to the Big Boulder Lakes in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, rock climbed at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve and Castle Rocks State Park, and backpacked into the southern Sawtooths with one of his buddies and that kid’s dad, camping by the shore of an unnamed lake, fishing, and exploring off-trail around a little-visited lakes basin. When he was 15, we climbed the highest peak in the Lower 48, California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney together—raising the bar for Girl Trip and Boy Trip destinations.

Click here now to plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-guides.

 

A father and teenage son climbing the Mountaineers Route on California's Mount Whitney.
Nate and me climbing the Mountaineers Route on California’s Mount Whitney.

When Alex was younger, our first Girl Trips consisted of spending weekends skiing, biking, or dayhiking together. I didn’t push backpacking with her, waiting for her to welcome that idea. When she was 10, she and I joined two families I know on a three-day, Grand Canyon backpacking trip. When she was 14, we went to Costa Rica—again raising the bar for Girl Trip and Boy Trip destinations.

These outings deliver multiple benefits. The adventures always forge memories. They give me an excuse to get out. Plus, I’m hoping to nurture in my kids a love for the same activities I enjoy. But I have a broader agenda than all of those things.

Make sure your kids want to go again.
See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

Young girl and father backpacking in the Grand Canyon.
Alex and me on Horseshoe Mesa in the Grand Canyon.

On our first trips, when they were little, my one-on-one conversations with each of them focused on such weighty matters as their favorite toys and games. But as they have grown older, we talk about their relationships with their friends, how much freedom and responsibility they want to have, those odd creatures making up the opposite gender, and how they navigate the mysterious and confusing waters of growing up.

Always, our conversations focus on whatever’s on Nate’s or Alex’s mind and consist mostly of me listening with deep interest. I want them to remember these experiences not just for the fun we had together, but as times when we could talk about absolutely anything, and I would listen and care.

And, of course, we talk about what new adventures we want to take together in coming years—because one goal of any trip should be figuring out where and when you’ll take the next one.

Like this story? You may also like “The 9 Hardest Lessons for Parents Who Love the Outdoors
and “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 

A rock climber high up the Elephant's Perch in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Nate high up the Elephant’s Perch in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

I continued these father-son and father-daughter trips right through their high-school years and beyond; Nate and I rock climbed the Elephant’s Perch in Idaho’s Sawtooths together the summer he was 19. We have created a tradition that I hope my kids see as critical to continue now that they’ve become young adults, on the brink of leaving to build their own lives. Just like they hold me to it now, I intend to do the same.

But the only payoff I really need from these experiences are the moments like one when Nate reached high to throw an arm around my shoulders and told me, “I love these trips we do together.”

That’s enough right there.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

 

The Big Outside will help your family get outdoors more.
 Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/boy-trip-girl-trip-why-i-take-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/feed/ 18 8733
Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tall-and-lonely-backpacking-utahs-high-uintas-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tall-and-lonely-backpacking-utahs-high-uintas-wilderness/#comments Mon, 05 Jul 2021 10:00:25 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=46616 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

As we get ready to cook dinner at our campsite on the edge of meadow and open forest a couple minutes’ walk from the shore of the Fourth Chain Lake, at 10,900 feet in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, the sound of approaching voices prompts all four of us to look up in surprise. It’s our second evening in the High Uintas and the two hikers coming down the trail toward us are the first people we’ve encountered since we started hiking yesterday afternoon.

Moments later, a man and his college-age son see us and stop, the father remarking, “Well, there are other people out here after all.” He says they’ve come to try to summit Kings Peak, Utah’s highest—and like us, they’re taking the long way to Kings. We joke about our success at social distancing out here—it’s mid-July 2020 and the world remains gripped in the throes of a global pandemic, while we’ve hardly said a word or thought about the topic on the lips of everyone in civilization. Then they continue down the trail toward their camp at a lower lake.

In four decades of hiking and backpacking all over the country, I can probably count on my fingers the number of trips where I’d developed an expectation of not seeing many other people—leading to surprise when it happens. This encounter further reinforces our nascent impression of the Uintas as a wilderness where solitude may be the norm, even in July, first fostered when we arrived yesterday at the Uinta River Trailhead to find just two other vehicles there (and no people). We had passed another Uintas trailhead earlier and seen precisely zero vehicles.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A backpacker hiking Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 toward Trail Rider Pass in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My wife, Penny, backpacking Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 toward Trail Rider Pass in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

With my wife, Penny, our teenage daughter, Alex, and her childhood friend, Adele, I’m hiking a six-day, nearly 50-mile loop through the High Uintas Wilderness—and the adjective “High” in the name fits this place like a favorite, old sweater.

Nearly all of our walk will remain above 9,000 feet and at least half of it over 10,000 feet, including three passes over 11,000 and 12,000 feet. That’s higher than many multi-day hikes in the West, including much of Yosemite and the Teton Crest Trail, and it compares with (and provides good preparation for) backpacking the John Muir Trail and Wind River Range. On top of that, we plan to stand on the highest rock in Utah, atop 13,528-foot Kings Peak.

Just two days into it, this trip already feels like a much-needed escape from the stress and home confinement of 2020.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Two 11,000-Foot Passes in One Day

Early on our third morning, I walk down to the lakeshore. The waters of the Fourth Chain Lake sit absolutely still, offering up a perfect, inverted reflection of the mountains. The air is calm and the temp comfortably cool as mosquitoes buzz around my head—not as thick as I’ve seen elsewhere, although they can be in the Uintas.

By mid-morning, we’re on the trail, hiking toward Roberts Pass—which, at around 11,100 feet, is just a short uphill stroll from the lake. Reaching the pass, Alex stops, looks around and says, “Is this the pass? That was it?”

Morning at the Fourth Chain Lake in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
Morning at the Fourth Chain Lake in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

After descending the other side, we hike mostly through forest until we reach a large meadow southeast of Lake Atwood. It’s past noon and everyone’s hungry—and there’s a good wind to beat down the mosquitoes—so we stop to sit on some rocks and eat. 

Our timing is perfect: As we finish up, a thunderhead rolls in, spitting rain; we start hiking as it turns to a steady rain. The shower lasts less than an hour, the sun re-emerging as we’re walking along Lake Atwood, a broad expanse of wind-whipped water below a row of soaring peaks.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

A campsite in Painter Basin, below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right) in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
Our campsite in Painter Basin, below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right) in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

A tough climb brings us to Trail Rider Pass, the highest point we’ve reached so far on this trip, at around 11,700 feet. But the vista, looking back down to Lake Atwood and ahead into Painter Basin, takes the edge off our weariness. We sit a while, enjoying the view and some nourishment until the wind cools us, then continue down into Painter Basin, following large cairns with Trail 43 rarely visible on the rocky ground.

About eight miles from Fourth Chain Lake, we set our packs down on a patch of flat, not-too-rocky ground a short walk from one of many creeks that comprise the headwaters of the North Fork Uinta River in Painter Basin, an expansive, almost barren plain at 11,000 feet below the hulking behemoth of Kings Peak.

After dinner, with the long, pyramidal shadow of Kings Peak engulfing our campsite and most of Painter Basin, the setting sun ignites billowing clouds so tall they dwarf even the mountains, crowding the sky in a wide arc reaching to every horizon. The light show shifts colors and intensity every few minutes, continually improving on itself until, after maybe an hour, its last ember winks out. Neither the breeze nor the mosquitoes have quit yet as we crawl inside the tents at dusk.

Stepping outside briefly during the moonless night, I stare up at a clear sky riddled with stars. The Milky Way resembles a faint, blotchy streak of clouds. We’ll enjoy a sky like that both nights in Painter Basin.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Hiking Kings Peak

The Uinta Mountains—which span nearly 60 miles in northeastern Utah, one of the rare mountain ranges that extend east-west—are home to an estimated 2,000 lakes, all of Utah’s peaks over 13,000 feet, and more than half of the state’s 12,000-footers. Outside popular destinations like Kings Peak, many trails and summits see little traffic, even though many pose no greater challenge than non-technical, off-trail hiking. Do some research and you’ll discover peaks where years pass between summit visitors. For backpackers and mountain climbers willing to put in the effort, in the High Uintas Wilderness—Utah’s largest wilderness area at over 450,000 acres—solitude is as plentiful as wildflowers.

On our fourth morning, we hike about a mile off-trail across the gently undulating, open terrain of Painter Basin to intersect Uinta High Line Trail 25, then follow it steadily uphill. Alex and Adele jump out front and set a strong pace. Most jolting to us: the number of people walking this trail. Over the next few hours, we’ll pass dozens of other hikers going up and coming down, virtually all of them sharing our objective. 

Reaching 12,700-foot Anderson Pass, we turn off the trail and begin the more than 800-vertical-foot hike-scramble up the north ridge of Kings Peak.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-books.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), rain jacket, insulated jacket, sleeping bag, headlamp, and backpacking stove I used on this trip.

Find expert buying tips and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 12 Best Down Jackets” at The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page.

See my expert tips in these stories:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tall-and-lonely-backpacking-utahs-high-uintas-wilderness/feed/ 4 46616
Playing the Memory Game in Escalante, Capitol Reef, and Bryce Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/playing-the-memory-game-in-southern-utahs-escalante-capitol-reef-and-bryce-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/playing-the-memory-game-in-southern-utahs-escalante-capitol-reef-and-bryce-canyon/#comments Thu, 25 Mar 2021 10:30:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=4210 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Below a deep gash in a 50-foot-tall cliff of golden sandstone, shaded from the low, late-afternoon sun of early spring, I scramble up a steep slab using in-cut holds carved into the soft rock. Ten or 12 feet off the ground, I pull myself over the lip of a ledge to peer into a narrow cut in the earth, a hidden geologic oddity that lures in a certain type of hiker for one reason: because it’s barely wide enough for humans to squeeze through. And I have to smile.

I’m grinning first of all because I’ve found just what we had hoped to see. Water sometimes pools in a couple of potholes near the mouth of this slot canyon, and the air temperature today feels a little too cool to soak ourselves in cold water. Today, though, the sandy-bottomed, giant stone teacups are dry. But secondly, touching me on a more personal level, this canyon’s entrance looks much as I remember it from the first time I hiked through here, 16 years ago this month.

In less than two hours, my impression of this place will be almost completely remade.

“Yup, it’s dry,” I tell my gang waiting on flat ground below me. So my Boise friend Justin Hayes positions himself on a small ledge partway up the slab to spot the four kids as they take turns scaling it. Then my son, Nate, 12, and daughter, Alex, 10, and Justin’s son, Riley, who’s almost 12, and 10-year-old daughter, Kellan, all scrabble up the in-cut steps and walk into the slot canyon with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

And the six of us plunge forward up Peek-a-Boo Gulch, a well-known, quarter-mile-long, and very tight slot canyon in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young boy in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, in Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
My son, Nate, in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, in Utah’s Escalante National Monument.

Our foray into Peek-a-Boo Gulch comes on the second day of a weeklong family trip to what might be called Utah’s “parks in the middle.” Between the world-famous destinations of Moab (base camp for Arches and Canyonlands national parks) to the northeast and Zion National Park to the southwest sit Bryce National Park and two lesser-known wild lands harboring a constellation of slots, arches, natural bridges, and broad canyons with soaring walls of red rock, Capitol Reef National Park and the Grand Staircase-Escalante.

I’ve planned seven days of hiking within these three parks. Some canyons will be new to all of us, while a few I’m revisiting after a hiatus of nearly two decades: Peek-a-Boo, its neighbor Spooky Gulch, and another classic Escalante trip, backpacking Coyote Gulch.

I want the kids to see these places because, if memory serves well, I’m confident these canyons will send them into paroxysms of excitement. So far, I’m right. But I’m also wondering how true my memories will be to the on-the-ground reality of places I have not seen in many years.

Memory is an unreliable recording device. Sometimes it gets details mostly right, but at other times it proves not so good with accuracy. Occasionally, returning to the site of fond recollections proves disappointing, if the place doesn’t measure up to your faded mental image of it—not uncommon if you’ve seen a lot of impressive scenery over the years since that first visit.

I wondered how differently I might see these corners of the Escalante today. If how poorly I fare whenever I play a memory game with my kids offers any clue, my mental pictures of these places may be in for a major edit.

Get the right pack for you. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best hiking daypacks.

Chimney Rock, Lower Calf Creek Falls

We started this week with a morning dayhike of the 3.5-mile Chimney Rock Loop in Capitol Reef National Park, with sweeping views of the red and white cliffs and towers of the Waterpocket Fold, a nearly 100-mile-long jumble of sandstone. Then we drove south along UT 12, one of the most scenic roads in the country, to camp at Calf Creek Recreation Area, where the kids explored the year-round creek bouncing loudly through the campground and rocky ledges nearby (requiring one non-technical and, fortunately, injury-free rescue).

The next morning—a frosty one, with the temperature about 15° F when we got up (the rest of the week would get warmer)—we hiked the 5.5-mile, out-and-back trail from the campground up the high-walled canyon of Calf Creek to Lower Calf Creek Falls. A boisterous column of water 126 feet tall, it falls in braids from a notch in a mineral-streaked sandstone cliff. Later in spring, we would have taken a dip in the sprawling pool at the waterfall’s base; but despite the warm sunshine, a blustery, cold wind discouraged that idea. By late afternoon, we started hiking toward Peek-a-Boo and Spooky.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

 

Now, in Peek-a-Boo Gulch, we pull ourselves over short pour-offs and duck through natural arches. We twist and contort our bodies to squeeze between wildly curved walls that frequently narrow to just inches wide. Justin and I shove daypacks ahead of ourselves because we wouldn’t fit through the claustrophobic passage wearing them. Even the kids marvel at the delicately sculpted rock formed, incongruously, by the sudden violence of flash floods that follow rainstorms. Small as our children are, they struggle to push themselves through many spots—and the more confined it gets, the more animated they become. We’re wading through a flash flood of superlatives.

“Wow, this is so cool!”

“That’s amazing!”

“Awesome!”

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

 

After about 40 minutes of trying to move like water flowing uphill, we emerge from the top end of Peek-a-Boo and follow an unofficial trail of footprints and cairns across about a mile of desert plateau, and then drop into the upper end of Spooky Gulch. And Spooky proves tighter than I remember—tighter even than Peek-a-Boo—with a boulder jam that I have no recollection of. The kids stare in awe at chockstones and logs jammed between the walls 20 feet overhead, indicating the high mark of a previous flash flood.

Continuously and crazily narrow, this stone corridor forces us to edge through sideways for most of its roughly quarter-mile length. In a few spots, I find myself contemplating the unsettling prospect of my head getting stuck. It brings some reassurance that I don’t recall my cranium jamming between these walls my first time through, years ago. And I’d probably remember that.

It’s nearly 8 p.m. by the time we return to our campsites at the Calf Creek Recreation Area, where my wife, Penny, and Justin’s wife, Cyndi, who drove down today, are waiting. Everyone’s hungry and tired but still tingling with excitement from the day’s adventures. Nate and Alex separately come and plop onto my lap as we sit around the campsite long after dark. Justin tells me his opinion of Peek-a-Boo and Spooky: “That was a 10, a total win.”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

Backpacking Coyote Gulch

“Well, I think we found Crack-in-the-Wall,” Nate announces as the eight of us stand at the brink of a sandstone cliff dropping straight down more than 50 feet.

It’s early evening on our third day in southern Utah. An hour ago, we started out from the Fortymile Ridge Trailhead in the Grand Staircase-Escalante, hiking with full backpacks across almost two miles of beach sand and slickrock formed from ancient, petrified dunes. At first glance, this cliff appears to offer no route to its base that wouldn’t involve rappelling. But the feature known as Crack-in-the-Wall actually provides a surprisingly easy descent, requiring only a little unexposed scrambling, a wide ledge traverse, and a squeeze through a slot about 100 feet long—too narrow to wear a pack through—that ramps gently down to the cliff’s base.

While Justin and I use a utility cord to lower the eight packs one at a time over the cliff to Cyndi and Penny below, the kids descend the Crack without needing any help. I can hear them gushing about it. Nate comes back up and announces to me, “I’m here to guide you.” When we finish lowering the packs, he leads Justin and me through the Crack. It is pretty darn cool.

Then we follow a path of boot prints in deep sand leading downhill. Before us stretches a breathtaking desert landscape of redrock towers and cliffs. The eye of Stevens Arch, some 220 feet across and 160 feet tall, looms above the Escalante River Canyon in the middle distance.

The trail deposits us in Coyote Gulch about a half-mile upstream from its confluence with the Escalante River in Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Just before 7 p.m., in calm air at T-shirt temperature, we find a sandy beach campsite beside Coyote’s shallow but clear and steadily flowing creek. We adults pitch tents below walls painted in various hues of red streaked with black water stains and fire up stoves for a pasta dinner that will be a little crunchy with silt from the creek water. The kids play by the creek, launching sticks downstream that they bombard with rocks and mud grenades.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-guides.

Coyote Natural Bridge, Jacob Hamblin Arch

On our second day, we hike up Coyote Gulch, passing through a narrow chop the creek sliced through a rock wall. We pass a flume with curved walls and a series of waterfalls anywhere from three feet to about eight feet tall that crash over ledges into calm pools. We alternate between walking in sand and wading the typically ankle-deep creek. With a year-round stream here, trees and other greenery abound, a stark contrast against the burgundy cliffs.

After six miles, we pitch tents on the downstream side of Coyote Natural Bridge, a gaping hole big enough to drive a tractor-trailer through that the stream has bored through a 40-foot-tall sandstone fin. We have the big, sandy beach in the shade of the bridge all to ourselves. The kids are tired, having walked quite a bit against the stream’s current; but they spend hours, nearly till dark, playing in the water.

Coyote Gulch.
Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

On our third morning, after just over an hour of hiking upstream, we reach a sweeping horseshoe bend in Coyote Gulch, beneath a wall some 200 feet tall that arcs overhead like a giant, standing clamshell, undercut nearly as deeply as it is high. The kids quickly discover it has amazing acoustics: We can yell a full three-word phrase and hear its distinct echo a second later.

Fresh tracks of bighorn sheep pepper the wet sand; they came through here either last night or early this morning. Just past the huge undercut we take a break below the 100-foot sandstone span of Jacob Hamblin Arch, one of Coyote’s highlights. Nate and I scramble up into the arch to pose for a photo, two ants in a massive hole in the cliff.

Coyote Gulch proves even better than memory. While never narrowing to slot proportions, the sheer walls at times loom close enough to give the impression of a deep, intimate canyon; and we frequently walk either in the creek or right beside it, magnifying that sense of intimacy. In other spots, the upper canyon walls spread a quarter-mile apart and rise up to 900 feet above the canyon bottom. In a sense, Coyote delivers a complete canyon-hiking experience, without any difficult spots, and with water for its length, but without you ever having to wade deep, cold water.

The trip’s last few miles, slogging up sandy Hurricane Wash, makes me glad we’re not out here on a hot day. The canyon walls in Hurricane begin sheer and tall but transform quickly to low slickrock domes offering no shade. Everyone has that end-of-the-backpacking-trip feeling that we’re ready to shuck off these packs. Still, I’m sure everyone, kids and adults, will carry some very positive memories of Coyote Gulch away from here.

After an hour-long drive back up Hole-in-the-Rock Road to the little, desert town of Escalante, we eat at a local restaurant and make an impromptu decision to drive to Bryce Canyon National Park, an hour away, to dayhike there tomorrow.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See “The 10 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” and
The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Bryce Canyon’s Navajo Loop, Queens Garden, Peek-a-Boo Loop

Setting out on Bryce Canyon’s Navajo Loop/Queens Garden Loop at mid-morning on a brilliantly sunny, warm Friday can offer all the wilderness aesthetics of a trip to Albertson’s Supermarket. This is a popular trail—for good reason, with constant views of hoodoos, the multi-colored, limestone, sandstone, and mudstone spires that look like giant, misshapen candles, including the famous formation called Thor’s Hammer.

But once turning onto the park’s Peek-a-Boo Loop, we drop most of the crowds without sacrificing spectacular views—like the stretch of trail below the Wall of Windows, a row of cliffs with large holes eroded through them.

I’ve been to Bryce before but had never walked the Peek-a-Boo Loop. Now I see I was missing perhaps the park’s finest trail.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

A father and young daughter hiking the Navajo Loop/Queens Garden loop, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Justin and Kellan Hayes hiking the Navajo Loop/Queens Garden loop, Bryce Canyon National Park.

Memory does often fail us—or just distorts reality. But revisiting a favorite place, at a different time in your life, forges new memories to replace the old—especially if you go with different people or your children, anyone who gives you the gift of seeing a place anew through their eyes. Now my kids are creating their own memories of these Utah parks—memories doomed to be flawed but joyful. Maybe they will return one day with their kids. Maybe the highest purpose of memories is ultimately to pass them down through generations, each handler of them altering the content with each handoff, but still preserving some precious piece of these gems.

On our trip’s last day, back in Capitol Reef again, we hook up with my friend Steve Howe of Redrock Adventure Guides for a four-hour hike. From near the park campground, he leads us into Cohab Canyon. We detour briefly up a short slot canyon, then continue down Cohab and up a side trail to Fruita Overlook, with its panorama of the park’s formations above the Fremont River Canyon. Then Steve takes us up the Frying Pan Trail. We soon head off-trail, ascending a sandstone ramp, scrambling around the heads of deep, vertiginous slot canyons, walking over slickrock domes. Finally, we reach a cliff-top overlook of the Waterpocket Fold, a spot Steve calls one of the best views in the entire park.

And it is spectacular—reaffirming my impression that Capitol Reef is a stunningly gorgeous landscape and one of our most underappreciated national parks. This is perhaps my fifth trip here, and it always measures up to my past recollections. I guess my memory still proves reliable once in a while.

Get my help planning your backpacking, hiking, or family trip and 30% off a one-year subscription. Click here.

NOTE: See my previous story about dayhiking, slot canyoneering, and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/playing-the-memory-game-in-southern-utahs-escalante-capitol-reef-and-bryce-canyon/feed/ 4 4210
After the Fall—Climbing Back from a Near-Fatal Accident https://thebigoutsideblog.com/after-the-fall-climbing-back-from-a-near-fatal-accident/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/after-the-fall-climbing-back-from-a-near-fatal-accident/#comments Sat, 20 Feb 2021 10:16:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=43934 Read on

]]>
On Oct. 19, 2020, while rock climbing in Utah’s Little Cottonwood Canyon, The Big Outside creator Michael Lanza fell about 25 feet, crashing onto a ledge and suffering severe injuries. This is the story of that nearly tragic day and its aftermath.

By Michael Lanza

The morning sun felt warm on my back as I led up the first pitch of a rock climb called Crescent Crack. Around me, the granite faces and steep, rocky mountainsides of Little Cottonwood Canyon, outside Salt Lake City, Utah, soared into a cloudless October sky. Belaying me on the ground, my 20-year-old son, Nate, fed me beta about the route. We planned to take advantage of the last pleasant weather of fall by spending a couple of days climbing together. Before long, I’d risen beyond sight of him, although we could hear each other’s calls.

Some 150 feet off the ground, near the top of the pitch, I reached a section that looked challenging. I had already placed much of the gear on my rack in the crack below me and lacked the size I needed to protect the next move. I reached down, grabbed my last piece, a cam, and bumped it up higher—keenly aware that the next piece below that one was now more than 10 feet down. I reset the cam a few times. It wasn’t the ideal size for the crack, but I believed I finally set it securely.

As I attempted the move, a foot slipped and I dropped, expecting the cam to immediately stop my fall. But it didn’t.

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks.
Nate shot this photo of me climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks about two weeks before the accident in Little Cottonwood Canyon.

I kept falling.

What transpired next occurred in just a few seconds but felt like an eternity. I got flipped upside-down, probably by the rope catching behind a leg. The brain works fast enough that I formed the terrifying thought: I’m falling too far. Then I crashed onto my head on a wide ledge—my helmet undoubtedly saving my life—and crumpled in a heap.

Pain seemed to engulf my whole body and my head spun more than I’d ever experienced in my life—more than the few times my head actually rang for minutes after hard collisions while playing high school football, more than when I rolled and wrecked my Jeep on a remote Montana highway 18 winters ago.

But there’s a human instinct when one has fallen to pick yourself right up if you can. I rose shakily to my feet.

I looked around, trying to focus, but everything in my vision was quite literally a spinning blur. I could make out the rope running from my harness up to the piece of gear that I had placed below the cam, confirming the cam had popped out—possibly the first time in 30 years of climbing that a piece of gear I’d placed didn’t hold when I fell on it. I had fallen at least 25 feet.

Far below me, Nate didn’t see or hear anything. He would tell me later that he felt my weight come onto the rope but it “felt smaller than the majority of falls I’ve caught belaying—it just locked up the device, without pulling me anywhere.” The rope apparently didn’t come tight until I hit the ledge—not absorbing any of my impact. I never lost consciousness and still remember all too vividly how hard I spiked head-first onto that rock.

Excruciating pain pulsed through my neck, back, and right thigh and I could hardly turn my head. Trying to think clearly, I realized the possibility of severe neck and spine injuries and a broken femur and knew I had to keep my spine straight.

I called out, “Nate, I’m hurt!” But my voice seemed to barely emerge from my mouth and sounded like it came to me from far away. I couldn’t process whatever he was yelling to me or immediately think of what else to say.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A rock climber high up the Elephant's Perch in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Nate high up the Elephant’s Perch in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, which we climbed together in August.

Feeling like I might pass out, I sat on the ledge, eyes closed, head in my hands. My chest heaved, hyperventilating wildly, heart like a pounding fist; even as I told myself to remain calm and think, my breathing raced out of control. I stood again, looked around at the cliff and canyon fuzzy and whirling around me, sat back down.

I had no sense of how much time passed. Nate would tell me later that after hearing I was hurt, followed by several minutes of “anxiously waiting” and hearing nothing from me, he began using his self-locking belay device to ascend the rope. But he’d only gone up about five feet when I resumed talking to him, so he returned to the ground.

Standing again, I called out once more, “Nate, I’m hurt!” I told him to lower me to another ledge with a small tree where I could set up an anchor at a height where he could then lower me to the ground. That simple operation—one I’ve probably repeated hundreds of times over 30 years—would tax my ability to focus both my vision and my mind. It felt like trying to teach myself quantum physics by reading a book about it after downing a bottle of wine.

Rescuers evacuating a rock climber in a litter from Little Cottonwood Canyon.
Rescuers evacuating me in a litter from Little Cottonwood Canyon.

I checked that the tree was sturdy and then wrapped a sling around its base. I carefully untied from the rope and began pulling it through the gear now well above me. But I forgot a critical step that, again, I’ve done hundreds of times on a cliff: I didn’t secure the rope to my harness first, in case I accidentally dropped it.

Then it slipped from my fingers. My end of the rope shot upward toward that piece of gear as the rest of the rope began whistling past me down the cliff. I bent slightly, pain shooting through my back and neck, reached for the moving rope and missed, then stabbed for it again and snagged it an instant before it whipped past me. I tied the end back into my harness—still hyperventilating furiously, heart hammering, head reeling. 

Nate slowly lowered me. Pain knifed through my thigh with each slight bump of my right foot against the cliff. Eventually, he got me down and helped me take off my harness and lie flat on the ground. A wave of relief and enormous mental and physical exhaustion washed over me—and finally, some 20 to 30 minutes after my fall (according to Nate’s later recollection), my breathing slowed almost to normal. I explained what happened and my injuries to Nate and then lay there, awake but eyes closed, content to let my mind shut down.

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside and his 17-year-old son, Nate, rock climbing Cathedral Peak in Yosemite National Park.
Nate and me climbing Cathedral Peak in Yosemite in 2018.

Nate responded as calmly and effectively as I could hope. He checked me for any bad bleeding and found none. Fortunately, we were in the lower canyon and had cell service; he called for a rescue. Minutes later, two other climbers showed up, one of them a physician, and she performed a rudimentary check for neurological damage, reporting the good news that I appeared to have normal sensation in my hands and feet.

When Nate heard the emergency vehicles pull up far below us, he ran down the steep trail to lead them up to me. About 45 minutes after my fall—a remarkably fast response for a backcountry accident, considering that, had we been miles from a road and without cell service, the response time could have been hours or more than a day—a team of EMTs and search-and-rescue volunteers gathered around me. Nate later told me that, in all, some 40 people showed up. (I still had no accurate sense of time: I later estimated two hours passed between my fall and the arrival of rescuers, but Nate certainly has a more reliable recollection of it.)

I remember answering questions from the lead EMT, him informing his team, “I’m administering morphine now,” and them loading me into a litter. Then everything got peaceful and dark.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

Severe Injuries

A patient in Intermountain Medical Center in Murray, Utah.
Me in Intermountain Medical Center in Murray, Utah.

The next thing I recall was blinking my eyes open, still very groggy, to find myself sliding in and out of a CT machine, and fading out again. Memory informs me that I awoke fully in my hospital room bed, but Nate says I answered questions from doctors and nurses in the emergency room well before that. He told me later, “I knew you were going to be okay when a nurse asked you how you fell, and you answered: ‘Downward.’”

I was in Intermountain Medical Center in Murray, outside Salt Lake City—another lucky stroke that a Level 1 trauma center lies minutes from Little Cottonwood Canyon, although probably no coincidence, given the numbers of climbers and especially skiers flocking to that canyon.

The CT scan showed severe injuries: fractured C1 and T3 vertebrae. Known as the “atlas” vertebra, the first cervical vertebra, or C1, occupies a critical location and function at the base of the skull. Fracturing it can result in a host of catastrophic outcomes, from the inability to breathe without assistance to the inability or impaired ability to speak, loss of physical sensation, numbness or tingling below the neck—and partial or complete paralysis in the torso, arms, and legs.

People who fracture C1 sometimes become quadriplegic. They sometimes die.

The third thoracic vertebra, or T3, located in the upper one-third of the spine, helps protect the nerves of the spine and feeds into the chest wall, aiding in breathing. A bad T3 fracture can also result in immediate paralysis.

I did receive one bit of good news: The thigh was just a contusion, though apparently massive—it would hurt for more than a month.

I vomited through that first night from the nausea brought on by pain narcotics. My wife, Penny, flew to Salt Lake City the next morning, a Tuesday. By that afternoon, after refusing any more narcotics—choosing the pain over the terrible nausea—I nibbled partway through my first meal since breakfast the previous day.

Taking my first “walk” in the hospital.

I took my first “walk” that afternoon: I’ve hiked more than 30 and 40 miles in a day several times—including, almost exactly a year before this accident, running the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim-to-rim, 42 miles and over 21,000 vertical feet, in 15 hours—and today, I felt overjoyed to shuffle three laps around the hospital floor. And that left me exhausted.

On Tuesday evening, not long after Penny and Nate had departed for the night, the neurosurgeon who saw me when I arrived at Intermountain Medical Center, Dr. David Nathan of Wasatch Brain and Spine Surgery, came to my room. Shaking his head in disbelief, this doctor who must routinely have to give patients heartbreaking news told me I’d been extraordinarily lucky: The fractured vertebrae remained in alignment, with no other damage. I had no neurological symptoms—no numbness, zero loss of sensation. I would not need surgery. I would spend several weeks in a neck and back brace and just might fully recover.

I felt so happy that, for a moment, I almost forgot about the pain in my body.

The next day, able to keep fluids and food down, I was discharged. As Penny and I walked—very slowly—out of the hospital, the concussion I’d suffered made itself apparent: It shocked me how painfully bright the sunshine seemed and how hard it was to simply focus on walking across a flat parking lot.

As Penny began driving us out of the parking lot, I told her, with no small degree of surprise, “There’s absolutely no way I could concentrate to drive a car right now.” (Unable to turn my head in a neck and back brace, I couldn’t drive for weeks, anyway.) Fortunately, my concussion symptoms faded by the third day after my accident.

But my neck pain would endure for months. And for our entire five-plus-hour drive home to Boise, every tiny bump in the highway felt like a collar of nails bouncing against my neck.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

Woman and two young children backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park.
Nate, Penny, and Alex on a family backpacking trip in Zion National Park.

Raising Kids Outdoors

Ever since our kids’ first days of life, our son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, have been regular companions of my wife’s and mine in the backcountry. Each took their first hike at two or three days old, riding in a carrier on my chest. They started skiing not long after they first ran across a playground. They climbed small cliffs and floated gentle rivers before they sat at a classroom desk. When they were young, I began a tradition of annual father-son and father-daughter trips. They have taken far more backpacking trips than either can remember and visited more national parks and natural landmarks than most Americans see in a lifetime.

Backpacking became the default mode of family vacations—and was something we could do together starting when the kids were quite young. (As a young teenager, Nate memorably corrected me, saying only half in jest, “Dad, backpacking trips with Mike Lanza are not a vacation.” Just last summer, Alex, at 17, laughingly confessed to us that she usually cried on the first day of our family backpacking trips. Fortunately, should this story get around, my kids are too old for the state Division of Child Protective Services to come after us.)

Perhaps more than any other activity, those countless days on trails provided fertile soil for our family growing closer—mostly because, in the wilderness, we had nothing but nature and each other. We talked for hours while hiking, gaped at mesmerizing sunsets together, and laughed in tents, mountain huts, and backcountry yurts over our adventures.

See my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

 

Young children rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Alex and Nate rock climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

For many of my best times with each of my kids and our finest moments and memories together as a family, the outdoors served as setting and catalyst. When I think about climbing, just as when I think of backpacking, skiing, and many other activities I’ve shared with family and friends, I think about the hazards of those pursuits, sure. But mostly I reflect on all the happiness those times have brought.

As our kids grew older, I let them decide whether they were interested in activities with an elevated risk level: rock climbing, backcountry skiing, paddling whitewater. I never wanted to push them into anything uncomfortable. But they both developed those interests—and I started living moments I’d dreamed of for years.

As Nate’s attraction to the mountains and rock climbing flowered into a passion, we did more and more together. When he was 15, he and I made a snow climb of the Mountaineers Route on Mount Whitney, at 14,505 feet the highest peak in the Lower 48. Two summers later, the two of us took a climbing trip to Yosemite. Although wildfires kept us away from Yosemite Valley, we spent four days rock climbing around Tuolumne Meadows.

Read “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 
Two rock climbers atop Eichorn Pinnacle in Yosemite National Park.
Nate and me atop Eichorn Pinnacle in Yosemite National Park in 2018.

Among many memories from those four days, I recall standing in early morning at the base of the Southeast Buttress of Cathedral Peak, a wall of white granite rising some 700 feet above us—thinking of how life sometimes comes full circle: I’d first climbed Cathedral Peak with a friend when Nate was a toddler at our campsite in Tuolumne with Penny and other friends. As we surveyed the cliff from below, two climbers about 10 years older than Nate started talking to me. One turned, looked at Nate and asked, “How old are you?” When he answered, “seventeen,” the guy grinned and said, “That’s awesome.”

Thinking the primary mission of that trip was to teach my son alpine rock climbing, I quickly discovered that, while he was still learning the hard skills, he’d surpassed me as a rock climber; he ended up leading some of the harder pitches we climbed that week.

On those many trips with my kids since they were young, many of the moments fused most firmly in memory came in the lulls between the thrills. Lying in our sleeping bags in our high camp on snow at 12,000 feet below the East Face of Mount Whitney, or perched side by side atop a granite spire we’d just climbed in Idaho’s City of Rocks—when he was still smaller than me and I was still leading the harder pitches—my son would throw an arm around my shoulders and tell me, “Dad, I love when we do these adventures together.”

And I’d tell him: So do I.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

Family of trekkers at Grand Col Ferret on the Tour du Mont Blanc.
My family and my nephew, Marco (right), at the Grand Col Ferret on the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Climbing Back

Recovering from a broken neck and back and living for several weeks in an extremely restrictive brace presents a daily obstacle course of inconveniences and pain that ranges from bad to grind-your-teeth awful.

Routine tasks become complicated and arduous and hurt more than I’ve ever imagined possible. Getting into and out of bed and dressing required an elaborate, multi-step procedure (taught to me in the hospital). Working on a laptop while lying down in a brace and able only to look straight up at the ceiling—and struggling to find a lying position that felt comfortable for more than 20 minutes—became an exercise in frustration. My batting average for steering food and drink into my mouth would not have earned me a spot on any baseball All-Star team. I won’t describe what it was like taking a shower or going to the bathroom—just trust me, neither provided the usual pleasurable experience.

Merely getting off a bed or couch—which I learned to do very slowly—often triggered sudden waves of throbbing at the base of my skull that spread outward like ripples on a lake, reverberating through my neck. I’d freeze, squeeze my eyes shut and grimace until it passed. More than a month after my fall, my right thigh still ached from the knot that felt like a shattered brick inside it.

Young boy and man in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Nate and my friend, canyoneering guide Steve Howe, in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

Cruelly, even the simplest pleasures proved elusive. Before this, I didn’t think anything could suck the joy out of a good beer—until I drank one through a straw because the brace made it difficult to bring a glass to my mouth without pouring it down the front of my shirt.

By the third day after the accident, I began taking daily walks—the only activity I had the green light to do (wearing my brace, of course)—and quickly discovered a harsh reality. My soreness was such that every step on the sidewalk felt like a hammer tap to my neck. An hour of strolling the flat streets of my neighborhood left me tired and in such pain that I had to lie down for longer than I had walked. I spent most of my waking hours on my back.

As if the daily discomforts weren’t enough of a reminder of what had happened to me, my mind seemed quite unwilling to let go of that episode.

For two months after the accident, my first conscious thought waking up every morning was a replay of those seconds of falling and crashing onto my head and the minutes that followed. That memory always came unbidden, springing to mind even before the awareness of the stiffness and pain in my body. At the moment when wakefulness broke through the clouds of dreams, my brain clicked “play” on that mental video and I lived it all over again. Every morning.

I’d lie there for long minutes, reflecting on what happened, what I wish I had done differently, how I almost ended up. Of the many what-if scenarios my brain busily conjured, the worst were the thought of Nate ascending the rope to find me in a condition I don’t care to imagine and the impact of that on my family.

Then I’d push those thoughts away, commence the painstaking routine of guiding my body from lying to sitting to standing, donning my brace, and steering my arms and legs into clothes, and try to have as normal a day as possible.

The mind chews on life’s traumas the way glacial ice grinds up rock—very patiently and methodically. I resigned myself to the inevitability of contemplating how I felt about this for a long time.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail, in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

Teenage boy backpacking to climb California's Mount Whitney.
Nate, then 15, hiking to our high camp to climb California’s Mount Whitney.

On Nov. 30, six weeks to the day after my accident, I had a follow-up telehealth virtual visit with the neurosurgeon who first saw me at Intermountain Medical Center, Dr. David Nathan. He gave me difficult news I had not anticipated: that my fractured vertebrae would never fully heal. There would always be scar tissue and a heightened danger of worse injury. “I don’t know how often you take a 25- or 30-foot fall when you’re climbing,” he said, to which I responded, “Once in 30 years of climbing.” Then he said, “Well, you better make it another 30 years without doing that again.” I assured him that I’ve now checked falling onto my head off my list.

He also cleared me to stop wearing the brace. After signing off with him, I took stock of my circumstances. I was walking. I could speak. I could type and work and pick my nose, the last item something I’d never thought I would need to celebrate. I felt confident I’d be able to take my family’s annual ski trip to a backcountry yurt a month later (which I did) and I had my first backpacking trip of 2021 on the calendar for early March.

Physical healing proceeds at its own pace and can feel torpid. But it happens. I’ve learned that over a few decades of occasional crimes against my body—none as bad as this, but some that leave lifelong aches as reminders and one condition that causes chronic lower back pain.

Not long after that telehealth appointment, it felt like progress that I started having days when my neck was not the part of me that hurt the most.

What Next?

Here’s what I’ve learned about surviving a near-fatal accident: I needed to talk about it with people close to me, agonizing as it was to relive—perhaps akin to how your body must violently purge itself of food poisoning. But I tired of unspooling the horrific details to someone new and watching a dark cloud pass over that person’s face as it twisted with agony over what I described.

Doctors I know personally kept telling me that many people who fracture C1 end up dead or a quadriplegic. (I didn’t miss it when they finally stopped reminding me about that.) People who understood the common outcome of a C1 fracture generally reacted the same way: They stared silently at me for a long beat—as if gazing upon someone who’d risen from the grave—and then said with unrestrained disbelief: “And you’re walking? You have the use of your fingers?” Or more concisely and directly: “And you’re alive?” As if that last query required my verbal confirmation, like when a flight attendant asks whether you’re willing to perform the duties that come with sitting in an exit row.

For a long time, I didn’t want to tell the story anymore, or post about it on social media, or write about it.

There’s a natural reaction to critique your decision-making that led to an accident. I’ve been climbing for 30 years; I know how to place protective gear in cracks quite well. It’s deeply unsettling to think I placed a critical piece poorly.

See my story “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

Michael Lanza's family sea kayaking in Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.
My family sea kayaking in Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park, Nate age 9, Alex 7.

I’ve castigated myself ad nauseam over my decision to continue upward instead of lowering to a ledge where I could have built an anchor, belayed Nate up, and had the full gear rack to finish the pitch. I may have misled myself, in part, because the difficulty rating of that pitch was relatively easy, a grade at which I’m not sure I’ve ever fallen before. Despite all the good reasons to back off, I convinced myself: It’ll be fine.

Part of my hesitancy about sharing this story was knowing the variety of reactions I’d get.

One type of reaction is from people I’ll call “the judgers,” who respond to stories about backcountry accidents with sweeping indictments of those “stupid” victims. Judgers don’t see differences between accidents attributable to human error, inexperience, or just plain bad luck. They lump them all together in one towering pile of irrefutable evidence that the backcountry is overrun by inept neophytes who endanger themselves and everyone else.

I’ve seen that attitude for decades and I think it masks a dangerous self-deception: If you believe that only “stupid” people make mistakes—and, of course, you’re not stupid—then that judgment primarily functions to reassure yourself: It could never happen to me.

A few people have asked whether I’ll climb again. Some make their assumptions eminently clear, bluntly saying, “So, are you going to play it safer now?!” (None of them are people who know anything about climbing.) Others have questioned whether someone my age should be climbing. (None of them are the friends my age who climb with me.)

Teenage boy rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Nate, then 15, rock climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve.

Our culture has weird and, it seems to me, unhealthy relationships with both risk and aging. We tell someone who’s 50 or 60 that they’re too old for sports like skiing or climbing. But we cheer the 80-year-old who celebrates a birthday by skydiving or rock climbing—which seems to say, “Well, you’re 80, so what do you have to lose?!”

I still remember an acquaintance telling me, when we were both in our early thirties, “I already feel like I’m getting old;” and a friend who’d hiked and backpacked with me for years announcing when we were both 39 that he’d gotten too old for that stuff. Two decades later, both judgments seem at once laughable and sad to me.

My role model for aging gracefully has long been my mother. She started hiking in her forties and her many adventures since include summitting Half Dome at 58 and Mount St. Helens at 76 and trekking hut to hut with my family on the Tour du Mont Blanc the summer she was 80. Today, at 84, she walks or hits her gym almost daily.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

A young family at Skilern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
My family on an early backpacking trip in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains. Click photo to read my “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

I try to make decisions objectively (although, clearly, not always with success) and recognize that risk exists on a continuum: Hiking on a trail is safer than off-trail. Sport climbing is safer than multi-pitch traditional climbing in the mountains, which is much safer than climbing the world’s highest peaks.

A few summers ago, I had a hard crash on my road bike, and not because I ride at crazy speeds. A slow leak in my front tire had softened it just enough that the bike went down as I turned a corner. Fortunately, I suffered only a nasty road rash down one side of my body, but it could have been worse. And I recognize that every trip on a bike down a road poses the real and uncontrollable danger of being hit by an inattentive motorist.

In fact, I don’t believe for a second that road cycling, mountain biking, or downhill skiing at resorts are inherently safer than much of the rock climbing I do. Skiers are littered off resort slopes every day. But I have no plans to give up any of those things and no one has suggested I should.

How about rafting or kayaking relatively safe class III rivers? How about, for that matter, driving to all the places where I do these activities?

I don’t mean to diminish the hazards of climbing—quite the opposite, in fact: I want to keep all risks in proper perspective. I think we all have a predilection to exaggerate the unfamiliar hazards and underestimate the familiar risks that we encounter so routinely that they become easy to ignore. Upwards of 40,000 Americans die every year in car accidents and over four million annually are in accidents serious enough to require medical attention. Ask yourself how many of those would happen if people always drove at speeds appropriate for the road conditions.

A young girl at Kaweah Gap in Sequoia National Park.
Alex at Kaweah Gap on a family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park.

I’ve endured the worst that can happen outdoors, but those episodes are far outnumbered by the scores of times I’ve lived all the best that it brings. I’ve felt many times the natural anxiety over bringing my kids into situations that pose risk, but also see how those experiences have beneficially shaped the young adults my kids have become and serve as parables for making good decisions.

I’m not certain how I’ll feel about tying into a rope until that moment comes. Right now, I’m inclined to think I’ll return to rock climbing. But I feel no obligation to do that or urgency to decide. And it’s okay to quit something. This stuff is supposed to be fun. You get to choose.

Some decisions cannot be reached quickly. They only emerge from weeks, months, sometimes years of thinking them through—and not because you want to take that long. We can’t help but think about life’s most impactful events endlessly. I knew this would be the case with this accident the first evening I laid in a hospital bed half-drugged and feeling the multiple aches in my body as if they were the percussions of drums being played in the next room. (And to anyone who’s read this story up to this point and still believes that I haven’t thought about that decision more than anyone else, I suggest they read it again, more closely.)

Teenage boy rock climbing the Lost Arrow Spire in Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Nate climbing the Lost Arrow Spire in Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve.

I don’t want to be eulogized with the words “He died doing what he loved” because of an accident resulting from human error. (On the other hand, if I give up the ghost on a hike when I’m 95, I’m good with that.) I intend to end my climbing career by choice—not have it ended while climbing. I don’t know when my body will let me know that time has come, but I’ll accept it. And if I’m able to follow one of my kids up some easy rock climb when I’m 80, well, I think that would be pretty damn cool.

When so much of the joy you draw from life depends on being outdoors—hearing the songs of birds and the tumbling of a creek; seeing how the clouds and sun waltz over the mountains, canyons, rivers, and lakes, following a rhythm as old and settled as the planet; feeling your body propelled under its own power over dirt, rock, or water either liquid or frozen—the deprivation of that joy is like going without air or light for too long: Only once reunited with it can you really breathe and see again.

Can I give that up? I have trouble even imagining that life.

However we spend it, life itself is fragile. Do what makes you happy and you not only find what you love—you find yourself. Anything less seems not the point of living.

Get my expert help planning your backpacking or hiking trip and 30% off a one-year subscription. Click here now to buy a premium subscription!

 

A father and son below Jacob Hamblin Arch, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Nate, age 12, and me below Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Alive

Today, four months since my fall, my injuries have mostly healed. I’m going through physical therapy for the lingering stiffness in my neck—which, sometimes when I turn my head, does a convincing impersonation of a popcorn maker. But I resumed running two months after my accident and skiing 10 weeks after it.

I’ve jokingly referred to myself as Humpty Dumpty with my family and close friends. But it wasn’t the king’s horses and men who put me back together; it was simply time, working hard to recover, and some good luck. I’m deeply grateful to the EMTs, doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals who treated me and the many volunteers from the Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office Search and Rescue team (to whom I sent a donation after I got home from the hospital), to friends who’ve helped and cared, and most of all to my family. Whatever time—and luck—I have left, I intend to remain thankful for and try to use it well.

Looking back on the four months since my accident, one day in particular felt like a big turning point.

Upper Hulls Gulch in the Boise Foothills.
Upper Hulls Gulch in the Boise Foothills.

On Dec. 18, in a final telehealth appointment with neurosurgeon Dr. David Nathan, he cleared me for resuming normal activities—with the admonition to “listen to your body” and stop if anything causes pain. As we ended our conversation—when his expression told me that he genuinely felt nearly as happy about my outcome as I did—he said, “You got kind of lucky.”

I thought: Lucky in more ways than even he realizes.

The next day—exactly two months to the day after my fall—I went out alone for my first trail run in many weeks.

I headed up a path in our local foothills that I’ve probably run and hiked well over a hundred times in the past 20-plus years. The temperature was 48, balmy for mid-December, and a slight breeze reached me in spots where the trail rounded the nose of a ridge or climbed out of the valley bottom. I ran at an easy pace, resolved to walk anytime I felt the need.

Nearing the end, with the December sun glowing dimly through diaphanous clouds, deepening the blue of the sky between clouds and creating soft, faint shadows that gave the hills depth, I lengthened my stride and picked up my pace just a tick.

On legs that hadn’t run in over two months—that hadn’t done more than short, slow neighborhood strolls for a month after my fall—and with my lungs unaccustomed to this exertion and my neck still stiff, that run felt much harder than usual.

But in many more ways, it felt really good.

See the 10 best adventures my family has taken and a menu of all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/after-the-fall-climbing-back-from-a-near-fatal-accident/feed/ 63 43934
How to Get One of America’s Best Backcountry Campsites https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-one-of-americas-best-backcountry-campsites/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-one-of-americas-best-backcountry-campsites/#respond Sat, 30 Jan 2021 10:00:11 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28502 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Precipice Lake sits in a granite bowl at 10,400 feet along the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park, about a half-mile before 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. Below the north face of 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak, with the nearest tree at least a couple of trail miles below it, the lake’s glassy, green and blue waters reflect a white and golden cliff with black water streaks that embraces the lakeshore across from the trail.

A ribbon-like waterfall, originating in a remnant glacier above the lake, pours down the cliff. Walking up to Precipice Lake reflexively triggers the part of our frontal lobe that’s responsible for the word: “Wow.”

Our small party reached Precipice Lake in late afternoon on the third day of a 40-mile backpacking loop from the Mineral King area of Sequoia; within minutes, we realized that we’d stumbled upon one of the prettiest wilderness campsites any of us had ever seen—and one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites ever (and I’ve slept in many hundreds over more than three decades of wilderness wandering, including many years running this blog and formerly the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine)—so there was no reason to hike a step farther that day.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young girl at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

We found tent sites among the granite slabs a short walk above the lake, and my then-12-year-old son and I threw our air mats and bags down on one slab and slept out under a sky riddled with stars.

You can also enjoy a night at Precipice Lake by backpacking the 40-mile loop described in my story about that family trip, which featured a few outstanding campsites (including a second that made my list of 25 all-time favorites), a mystical grove of giant sequoia trees in the wilderness that we had to ourselves, passes reaching over 11,000 feet—and miles of hiking through an incredibly photogenic landscape of razor peaks and alpine lakes so clear you could stand on the shore and read a book laying open on the lake bottom.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

A young girl backpacking past Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park.

If you want to plan that trip, now is the time. Starting Feb. 9, Sequoia National Park will issue backcountry permit reservations up to six months in advance of a trip starting date for a trip taking place during the trailhead quota period, generally the Friday before Memorial Day through the second Saturday after Labor Day, or May 28 to Sept. 18, 2021. Given the popularity of the High Sierra Trail—which passes by Precipice Lake—you should apply for your permit on the earliest date possible.

My story about that Sequoia trip also describes how to get a permit for that hike, lays out our hiking itinerary, and provides other details for planning it yourself. Like many stories about trips at The Big Outside, reading the entire story requires a paid subscription, which costs just pennies over $4/month for a year—which gets you a free or discounted e-guide—or as little as five bucks for one month.

I can also help you plan out every detail of this trip or any trip you read about at my blog. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

Don’t miss my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites,” where I share photos and short anecdotes from the prettiest places in the wilderness where I’ve pitched a tent (or slept under the stars) over three decades of backpacking all over the U.S.

That story includes links to existing stories at The Big Outside about the trips on which I enjoyed those special campsites.

See all of my stories about family adventures and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Sequoia and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-one-of-americas-best-backcountry-campsites/feed/ 0 28502
Plunging Into Solitude: Dayhiking, Slot Canyoneering, and Backpacking in Capitol Reef https://thebigoutsideblog.com/plunging-into-solitude-dayhiking-slot-canyoneering-and-backpacking-in-capitol-reef/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/plunging-into-solitude-dayhiking-slot-canyoneering-and-backpacking-in-capitol-reef/#comments Thu, 17 Dec 2020 10:56:05 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=190 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We stand on the rim of an unnamed slot canyon in the backcountry of Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park, in a spot that just a handful of people have seen before us. We’ve arrived here after hiking about two hours uphill on the Navajo Knobs Trail, and then heading off-trail, navigating a circuitous route up steep slickrock and below a sheer-walled fin of white Navajo Sandstone hundreds of feet tall, stabbing into the blue sky. Now I peer down at the narrow, deep, and shadowy crack that we have come to rappel into, and feel a little flush of anxiety.

By making the 100-foot drop into this slot canyon, to be followed by three more rappels, we will commit ourselves to going all the way through it—there will be no option to climb back out the way we’re going in. We know the walls will close in to about two feet or less apart. We also know that one long horizontal traverse through that claustrophobic chasm will require employing the rock climbing technique known as “chimneying,” where you press your feet, hands, and back against opposing rock walls, and meticulously reposition feet and hands one at a time to inch slowly sideways as you would climb up or down a chimney.

My wife, Penny, looks at me and asks gravely, “Are you sure about this?”

Neither of us is worried about ourselves. We are thinking about the two little people in our party who have never done anything quite like this before: our 11-year-old son, Nate, and daughter Alex, who turned nine a week ago.

We do have an ace in the hole, though: our other companion today, my buddy Steve Howe. Steve has been Backpacker Magazine’s Rocky Mountain Editor for years—which is how we became friends—and runs Redrock Adventure Guides. Having lived in nearby Torrey for more than two decades, he knows Capitol Reef’s backcountry quite possibly better than anyone. He and a friend of his made what was probably the first descent of this slot canyon only months ago, and Steve went down it most recently two days ago.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Although this slot has no known name, for purposes of organizing this park’s largely anonymous wilderness in his own mind, Steve has dubbed it Stegosaur Canyon, and the unnamed but distinctive white fin soaring above us The Stegosaur. He calls the narrows section that we’re looking down on a “butt-crack slot”—a highly visual descriptor meant to inspire a mental image of a slice in the rock that continues narrowing as it drops deeper, eventually pinching down to just inches wide. Someone losing their grip on the walls in the chimney section could fall and become wedged in.

It is definitely serious stuff. But Steve and I had also discussed the difficulty of the slot canyon in painstaking detail at his house last night, and he showed me his pictures of it. I thought about the challenging situations Nate and Alex have handled well before—particularly rock climbing, which most closely parallels this endeavor, and where they had to follow instructions and remain calm. I became convinced that they could manage this.

When I tell Penny again that I think the kids will be fine—and Alex and Nate both insist they want to do it—she gives in to the implacable momentum of will to move forward. But she tells me, not entirely in a joking tone, “I’m holding you responsible.”

Yes, well then. It’s good to know where you stand.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Scrambling up a flared crack on an off-trail hike in Capitol Reef.

A Little-Visited Park

We’ve come to Capitol Reef in the last week of March, on our kids’ weeklong spring break from school, to spend a couple of days on off-trail dayhikes with Steve and then backpack for three days into Spring Canyon.

Dominated by the Waterpocket Fold, a spine of sandstone ridges, cliffs, canyons, and spires that extends nearly 100 miles from Thousand Lake Mountain to Lake Powell in southern Utah, Capitol Reef is one of the largely overlooked gems of the National Park System. Situated between more-famous Zion and Bryce national parks to the southwest and Arches to the east, with minimal infrastructure and roads to attract the masses of tourists who never stray far from their vehicle, Capitol Reef (like Canyonlands, another easterly neighbor) sees a small fraction of the visitors that flood those other parks. So few people venture into the backcountry that you can show up at the visitor center’s backcountry desk here on the day you want to start a multi-day trip and grab a permit for wherever you want to hike, no reservation needed. Try that at Yosemite or Grand Canyon.

On previous visits, I had discovered that Capitol Reef has scenery comparable to its neighboring parks—but it feels wilder, less overrun. I’ve squeezed through other slot canyons here, hiked trails through a landscape of rock formations that look sculpted by a giant child with an unlimited supply of mud and crayons, and camped below night skies lit up like Times Square with stars.

During conversations at home before the trip, the kids had eagerly suggested we go backpacking and descending a slot canyon during their spring break. So we came here fired up for an adventure.

Steve Howe in Blow Sand Canyon.
Steve Howe in Blow Sand Canyon.

Off-Trail Dayhike

Yesterday, our first day in the park, we dayhiked with Steve from the end of the park’s Scenic Drive into Capitol Gorge, a wide, sandy-bottomed canyon of sheer walls. Steve pointed out petroglyphs of bighorn sheep, deer, and sun figures that are 900 to 2,000 years old, carved by Fremont Indians who once inhabited these canyons. After walking 30 minutes down Capitol Gorge, we turned onto The Tanks Trail, ascending steeply a quarter-mile to rock basins the size of small swimming pools, filled with water—features found throughout the Waterpocket Fold, explaining its name.

Then we left the trail behind, following Steve up and up onto the almost barren, wildly contorted, otherworldly rock-scape of the reef formation. Domes of rippled white, red, and golden sandstone, petrified sand dunes from the age of dinosaurs, rose above us on all sides. Alex noticed something moving in the distance, and we all turned to watch a bighorn sheep grazing on one of the rare patches of vegetation growing up there. We scrambled, often on all fours, up a steep slope of loose, shifting talus blocks, traversed a sidewalk-like ledge across a cliff, and wriggled our way up a flaring groove in stone.

Explore Capitol Reef off-trail and you quickly understand why it remains so unknown: It would take years of patient, hit-or-miss forays over its convoluted, labyrinthine topography—and countless episodes of getting turned back by impassable cliffs and canyons—to piece together a twisting, seemingly improbable route that actually got you from point A to point B. In other words, it would take the kind of time that Steve has put into getting to know this park.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Hikers in Capitol Gorge in Capitol Reef National Park. Hikers in Capitol Gorge, in Capitol Reef National Park. The Tanks Trail, Capitol Reef. The Tanks Trail, Capitol Reef. Off-trail above Capitol Gorge. Off-trail above Capitol Gorge. Off-trail above Capitol Gorge. Off-trail above Capitol Gorge. Off-trail above Capitol Gorge. Alex in Blow Sand Canyon. Off-trail below the Golden Throne. A hiker off-trail below the Golden Throne in Capitol Reef National Park. Rappelling near the Golden Throne. Squeeze chimney we rappelled. Golden Throne Trail. A hiker on the Golden Throne Trail in Capitol Reef National Park. Fern's Nipple from Navajo Knobs Trail, Capitol Reef. Navajo Knobs Trail. Off-trail above Navajo Knobs Trail. Off-trail below The Stegasaur. Off-trail below The Stegasaur. Stegasaur Canyon narrows. Nate rappelling into Stegasaur Canyon. Steve Howe in Stegasaur Canyon. Penny in Stegasaur Canyon. Nate in Stegasaur Canyon. Nate and Steve in Stegasaur Canyon. Penny in Stegasaur Canyon. Steve and the kids in Stegasaur Canyon. Alex rappelling out of Stegasaur Canyon. View from Navajo Knobs Trail. Nate, Chimney Rock Trail, Capitol Reef. Chimney Rock Trail. Chimney Rock Trail. Chimney Rock Trail. Chimney Rock Canyon. Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park. Chimney Rock Canyon. Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef. Spring Canyon. Spring Canyon. Spring Canyon campsite. Spring Canyon campsite. Spring Canyon. Spring Canyon. Kids in windows, Spring Canyon. Alex in Spring Canyon. High trail around pour-offs, Spring Canyon. Balanced rock, Spring Canyon. Spring Canyon. Chimney Rock Canyon. A view from the Chimney Rock Loop in Capitol Reef National Park. A view from the Chimney Rock Loop in Capitol Reef National Park.

At a high pass, we sat down in warm sunshine and gusts of cool, early spring wind for a break. Below us unfolded a valley lined by white and golden cliffs and spires, a spot also unlabeled on maps but Steve says is known to a few locals as Blow Sand Canyon. We hiked to its upper end, to the base of a feature that actually is named on maps and visible from many points in the park, a massive dome called the Golden Throne.

Whenever we walked across beach sand yesterday, I looked for other footprints, but saw none. In 22 years of exploring Capitol Reef, Steve told us, “I have never, ever encountered another person while hiking off-trail in the park.”

As if to punctuate that point, near the end of our rugged, six-mile, mostly off-trail dayhike, as we descended a gully of loose rock, Steve noted, “Probably no one has walked through here since I came here 10 years ago.”

That gully narrowed into a slot that abruptly turned vertical. We pulled out two ropes and we adults rappelled about 12 feet over blocks of stone jammed in between the slot’s walls; we lowered Alex and Nate over. Then we descended one at a time, helping the kids as needed, through a vertical chimney that was sort of like a twisting sandstone laundry chute. That dropped us into a short, narrow hallway that terminated at a cliff, where we made a 25-foot rappel—lowering the kids again—to the ground. As the late-afternoon March sunshine started throwing long shadows across the cliffs and domes in the distance, we picked up the Golden Throne Trail and hiked the two miles back to our car.

After seeing how Nate and Alex did on that rugged day, Steve told me, “Your kids can handle Stegosaur Canyon.”

Now we are about to find out.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure in Yosemite and other flagship parks using my expert e-guides.

Nate exploring an unnamed slot canyon in Capitol Reef.

Descending the Slot Canyon

On the rim of Stegosaur Canyon, we put on climbing harnesses. Steve makes the 100-foot rappel first, followed by Nate, who rappels on his own, though I back him up with a belay on a second rope. I lower Alex, then Penny and I follow—and we are in the hole.

I see none of the usual signs of human traffic, like a beaten path or the branches of the occasional bush broken off. We scramble over rocks deposited by periodic flash floods, push through brush, and use a rope to lower over two vertical drops of about 15 feet. The walls steadily close in and rise maybe a couple hundred feet above us, keeping us in cool shade. Then the canyon makes a 90-degree left turn, and we stop at the mouth of the narrows.

The walls close in to two feet or less apart—too tight to squeeze through wearing our daypacks, which we take off to carry in one hand while edging sideways over sand and rocks. At the chimney section, Steve and I cross first with Nate between us, talking him through placing his feet, hands, and back side against small features in the walls to inch gradually across the traverse. Maybe 20 feet below us, the canyon constricts to a crack less than a foot wide with several inches of standing water.

Leaving Nate at the other end of the 100-foot traverse, Steve and I chimney back and repeat the procedure with Alex. Both kids traverse it slowly and calmly—just the way they should—and beam with pride at the other end. Beyond the chimney section, we hike through more sandy-bottom narrows, the walls still not much more than shoulder-width apart, to emerge from the canyon’s mouth, where it ends in a 100-foot pour-off that we rappel and lower off.

Later, back at Steve’s house, he and I measure Stegosaur Canyon’s length on his mapping program: it’s 0.6 mile long. It took us three hours to descend the slot canyon itself, sandwiched between an approach hike of about three hours and an exit hike of another hour or more—a pretty full day, and one of my kids’ most exciting adventures to date.

Hike all of “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.

Penny backpacking to Spring Canyon in Capitol Reef.

Backpacking Spring Canyon

At the park visitor center on our third morning in Capitol Reef, the ranger at the backcountry desk tells me that we’re the only party that has obtained a permit to backpack into Spring Canyon today, our third day in the park. We’ll see a few dayhikers in Chimney Rock Canyon, the tributary of Spring Canyon where we’ll begin and end our three-day hike. Beyond that, we’ll have the entire canyon to ourselves.

It’s at least nine miles from the Chimney Rock Trailhead to the bottom end of Spring Canyon, where it meets the Fremont River. While some hikers knock it off in a day, backpackers often do it as an overnight trip, to spend a night below Spring’s soaring red walls. But at the canyon’s mouth, you have to ford the river to reach UT 24. When we eyeballed the river yesterday, we decided it was moving too fast and deep to ford it with the kids. So we’ll hike in six or seven miles and camp two nights, giving us a day to explore farther down canyon before hiking back out the way we came in.

The temperature sits around 60 degrees and the sun filters through a slight haze; we wear T-shirts and shorts without breaking much of a sweat starting up the Chimney Rock Trail. To our left, burnt red and orange walls rise some 300 feet tall above steep slopes of broken rock and fine sand; to our right stand darker burgundy cliffs of Moenkopi Shale with horizontal striations in hues of red, including the severe pinnacle called Chimney Rock. A 30-minute climb through switchbacks on a good trail brings us to a pass, where we start the gentle descent into broad, sun-baked Chimney Rock Canyon.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

Guide Steve Howe, Redrock Adventure Guides, Torrey, UT, (435) 425-3339, redrockadventureguides.com.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/plunging-into-solitude-dayhiking-slot-canyoneering-and-backpacking-in-capitol-reef/feed/ 8 190
Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-ruby-crest-traila-diamond-in-the-rough/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-ruby-crest-traila-diamond-in-the-rough/#comments Sun, 29 Nov 2020 17:00:29 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=42504 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Dark clouds loom low overhead, thunder periodically rents the air, and strong winds blow steadily as hurried rain showers hit us intermittently in bursts that last several minutes between equally brief dry spells. We’re hiking north on our first afternoon backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail through northeastern Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, and passing thunderstorms are making the first few hours of our trip… well, actually quite pleasant.

A backpacker on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail.

With the temperature around 70° F, the light showers and wind feel just about perfect for hiking: We switch occasionally between wearing rain shells and hiking in T-shirts, but largely don’t work up much of a sweat. Even better, as we walk into the evening (we started the hike from Harrison Pass at around 3 p.m. after driving several hours to get here), the sunlight slicing through cracks in the heavy clouds lends color and depth to the spare, high-desert landscape of sagebrush, patches of conifer forest and aspen groves, grass and wildflowers, and granite monoliths dappling the mountainsides.

My family, joined by my 17-year-old daughter Alex’s lifelong friend, Adele, is here to backpack a four-day, approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail, from Harrison Pass to Lamoille Canyon. We’ve come in mid-July, an ideal time of year in the Rubies, with wildflowers blooming, moderate daytime temperatures and comfortably cool nights, no snow to speak of, and relatively few biting insects compared to what you’d normally see in many mountain ranges in July.

At a small marker indicating that we’re entering the 90,000-acre Ruby Mountains Wilderness, we leave behind an old dirt two-track we’ve hiked for a few miles from the Green Mountain Trailhead, walking quickly and easily down a single-track trail of packed dirt. Shortly before 7 p.m., near the RCT’s junction with the McCutcheon Creek Trail, where the small creek has a good flow, we call it a day and pitch tents.

Just before disappearing over the horizon, the sun erupts through the clouds one last time, setting off an explosion of brilliant yellow that saturates the landscape more thoroughly than the spitting rain has. During the night, I awake to the Milky Way smeared across the heavens like a string of puffy clouds. The next morning, my 19-year-old son, Nate, asks me, “Did you see the stars last night?”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Overland Lake

Existing in virtual anonymity relative to renowned footpaths like the Teton Crest Trail and John Muir Trail, the Ruby Crest Trail cuts a snaking route along the spine of Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, a north-south range of granite-rimmed lake basins and arid valleys carved by ancient glaciers. Located mostly within the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, the Rubies tower thousands of feet above pan-flat valleys to the east and west. Ten peaks rise above 10,000 feet, including the highest, Ruby Dome at 11,387 feet.

Long stretches of the RCT lie above 10,000 feet, traversing an almost treeless alpine zone for miles—the kind of scenic experience that backpackers seek on more-famous trails that require competing with thousands of others for a hard-to-get backcountry permit. But no permit reservation is needed for the Ruby Crest Trail, and even in July, we only occasionally encounter other backpackers.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Morning at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
Morning at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

While not nearly as speckled with alpine lakes as bigger mountain ranges like the High Sierra and Wind River or even Idaho’s Sawtooths, the Rubies harbor some electrically blue mountain lakes cradled within cliffs and rocky shorelines—several of them along the Ruby Crest Trail.

Our second day on the RCT launches with a beautiful morning, clear and mild, the sun warm but a breeze keeping us cool as we make a long rising traverse to a ridge with a sweeping panorama of the terrain ahead. In this open landscape, we can see that the trail makes a long descent to cross the South Fork of Smith Creek, then wraps around two more ridges while rising steadily to cross the Middle and North Forks.

A backpacker on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

After lunch near the North Fork, we make a slow, nearly 2,000-foot uphill slog out of the valley, the hot afternoon sun tempered again by steady wind. That effort seems validated when we step up to a pass at about 10,200 feet. Almost 1,000 feet below us, a stone bowl holds Overland Lake like a pair of cupped hands; we’ll make camp on a rock ledge jutting into one corner of the lake, at around 9,400 feet.

But this pass also marks the first point hiking northbound where we can see the backbone of the Ruby Mountains extending for many miles ahead—and how the Ruby Crest Trail mostly hugs those heights. That’s where we’ll walk for the next two days.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

The Crest of the Ruby Mountains

Leaving Overland Lake by 9 a.m. on morning three, we follow the RCT as it circles around the dramatic cirque of Overland Creek, stepping over a tiny creek below a pretty waterfall and two other spring-fed streams. Craggy ridges plunge down the walls of this broad bowl, where the rare, solitary conifer tree speaks to a harsh, dry environment. At one point, we get a view back toward 11,045-foot King Peak, where soaring cliffs ring a cirque high above us.

Alex and Adele set a strong pace as we make a long, steady climb, eventually catching up with Nate and my wife, Penny, who left our last camp about 30 minutes ahead of the girls and me. A couple of hours beyond Overland Lake, we top out on a high plateau of rocks, scant, low vegetation, and wildflowers spotting the ground with color here and there. From this point, we will be traversing the spine of the Ruby Mountains on our longest day on the Ruby Crest Trail.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

A backpacker on day three on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking on day three on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Jagged peaks loom in the distance. A passing thunderhead spits fat rain drops at us while we eat lunch on the plateau, but never produces real rain or lightning. We pass three solo backpackers heading south, but no one else all day. Miles away, in the valley west of the Rubies, dust devils raise tornado-like, brown spouts high into the sky. All day, the breeze keeps us cool and the temperature remains comfortable for hiking in shorts and T-shirts.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

 

After the day’s final uphill, we reach 10,893-foot Wines Peak, the highest point on the Ruby Crest Trail. Nate turns around to gaze far back over all that we’ve traversed today, then smiles and says, “It just never stops being amazing.”

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Gear Tips Trekking poles are recommended for the Ruby Crest Trail’s significant descents and ascents. See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles” and my stories “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”

The Ruby Mountains are relatively dry and can get hot in summer; wear supportive but lightweight boots or shoes that breathe well (not waterproof)/ See all of my reviews of hiking shoes and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), rain jacket, down jacket, sleeping bag, and camp stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

See my expert tips in these stories:
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-ruby-crest-traila-diamond-in-the-rough/feed/ 4 42504
The 5 Rules About Kids I Broke While Backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-rules-about-kids-i-broke-while-backpacking-in-rocky-mountain-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-rules-about-kids-i-broke-while-backpacking-in-rocky-mountain-national-park/#comments Tue, 29 Sep 2020 09:00:50 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9748 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

“I’m dying!” my son, Nate, bellowed to the entire forest in the Wild Basin of Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park. “This pack is too heavy!” We were just 30 minutes up the trail at the outset of a three-day backpacking trip. It was a trip that seemed like an unmitigated disaster for the first two days—then morphed into an adventure my kids clearly enjoyed and that helped expand their outdoor interests.

For me, those three days in Rocky serve as a reminder about the many ways you can do it wrong when taking kids outdoors, but how simple it is to make it right.

Nate had just turned 10 and was carrying his own backpack, containing his clothes, sleeping bag, pad, a liter of water, and a few snacks and small, personal items like stuffed animals. My daughter, Alex, was seven and still carrying just a daypack. My wife, Penny, couldn’t make that trip. An old friend who lives in the Denver area, Bill, had joined us on this hike in the southeast corner of Rocky Mountain National Park, on the east side of the Continental Divide and south of the park’s tallest and most famous mountain, 14,259-foot Longs Peak. Bill carried our cooking kit for me. But I still had most of my family’s gear and food. My pack weighed about 60 pounds.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Ouzel Lake, Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.
Ouzel Lake, Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park.

But because I’ve long believed that the relative happiness level of our family backcountry trips always depended more on how much my kids were enjoying it than on how much I was suffering, we stopped and dropped our packs so I could lighten Nate’s load. I somehow shoehorned his sleeping bag inside my already bloated pack. This made him happier—but it did not put an end to the litany of complaints raining on me on that trip.

“When are we going to stop? When are we going to find some shade?”

An hour into our second morning, Alex began bombarding me with questions in a tone intended to convey her general displeasure. We had only three easy miles to hike from our campsite the first night (which had also been just three miles from the trailhead) to our next campsite at Ouzel Lake. My kids had hiked three times as far on multiple occasions. That day, they were having none of it.

We were on a trail with no shade, under a hot, alpine sun. During a brief lull in Alex’s diatribe, Nate told me, “We’d better stop soon or I’m going to die of heatstroke.” My son has always had a flair for melodrama.

Finally, I parked them in the minimal shadow of a burned-out snag and piled snacks in front of them. After several minutes of quiet consumption, their moods shifted 180 degrees. Reaching Ouzel Lake an hour later—which sits in ponderosa pine forest below a wall of 12,000- and 13,000-foot peaks—almost completed their metamorphosis back into laughing children who enjoy being out in the woods. But the real win came when Bill’s girlfriend, Jenna, showed up with a fly-fishing rod and gave the kids a patient lesson in using it.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

Hiking to Siskin camp in Wild Basin. Aspens in Wild Basin. Hiking to Siskin camp in Wild Basin. Hiking to Siskin camp in Wild Basin. Hiking to Siskin camp in Wild Basin. North Fork St. Vrain Creek, Wild Basin. Thunder Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park.

Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids

I violated five of my own “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids” on that backpacking trip in Rocky:

No. 3 Take Baby Steps

Even though we hiked fairly short distances each day, I was pushing them harder than they wanted to work on that occasion.

No. 4—Employ Bribery Strategically

Despite having witnessed child meltdowns in the backcountry many times, it took me a surprisingly long time on that second day to recognize that both of my kids just needed a short break for some food; I was too focused on finding shade for them for that break, when there wasn’t any shade.

School-age kids at a campsite in Wild Basin, on a backpacking trip in Rocky Mountain National Park.
My kids at a campsite in Wild Basin, on our backpacking trip in Rocky Mountain National Park.

No. 5 Tear Up Your Agenda

I had planned a trip that followed my agenda rather than considering what would help them enjoy the trip more—and I was lucky that Jenna showed up with a fly rod.

No. 6 Talk and Listen

I should have invoked the no-whining rule early on, while talking and listening to them to hear why they weren’t happy.

No. 7 Let Them Ask to Carry More

Although Nate had carried that much weight in his backpack a few times that summer, on this particular trip—which was at a higher elevation than my kids had previously hiked—he just felt too tired and was struggling with that much weight.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Fishing in Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park. Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park. Near Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park. Near Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park.

But I did do a few things right on that adventure. I made sure we camped near water both nights: The kids played in a creek near our campsite at Siskin for an hour-and-a-half the first afternoon, and fished and played in Ouzel Lake for hours on our second day and third morning.

And I did follow my own advice about not giving in to frustration and apathy (Tip No. 2). Taking young kids outdoors can be a lot of work. But I always happily paid that price in return for the pleasure I get being out in the wilderness, the time we have together as a family without the constant interruptions and distractions of civilization—and the moments when I see my kids really excited about being out there.

Note: I write more about this backpacking trip in Rocky Mountain National Park in a chapter of my National Outdoor Book Awards-winning book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

See my story “The 5 Best Tips for Hiking With Young Kids” and all of all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and a get free e-guide!

 

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-rules-about-kids-i-broke-while-backpacking-in-rocky-mountain-national-park/feed/ 7 9748
Hard Lessons: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-the-hard-way-backpacking-oregons-eagle-cap-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-the-hard-way-backpacking-oregons-eagle-cap-wilderness/#comments Fri, 21 Aug 2020 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6950 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Just as I reach the 9,572-foot summit of Eagle Cap, the first thunderclaps boom so close that I feel them in my ribs. The rain follows within minutes, catching me dashing down off the summit—and not just to avoid being charbroiled by a lightning bolt, though that prospect is on my mind. But mostly I’m thinking about the fact that my son forgot all of his outer layers—rain jacket, fleece jacket, and wool hat—on this backpacking trip. And somewhere below me, my family is hiking through this cold, windy downpour right now.

We had discovered Nate’s oversight only in the car, four hours from home. After some deliberation, we decided to go on with this five-day loop through Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, anyway. It would be sunny and dry most of the time. Maybe we’d get lucky and avoid any rain. Maybe our pre-teen would even absorb a lesson in personal responsibility from this. Most likely, of course, if we got caught on the trail in a thunderstorm like this one, I would be handing my rain jacket over to him.

I didn’t anticipate that a storm would hit during the only 90 minutes of the trip that I’m separated from my family for this side hike up Eagle Cap. Trotting down the stone-littered trail as fast as I can, as sheets of rain and black clouds make the afternoon look like dusk, I have a mental picture of my skinny son wet and shivering—and wonder whether the hardest lesson of this episode will be reserved for me.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Hiking to Horton Pass
Hiking to Horton Pass.

I’m not sure what caused the question to pop into my head as we drove toward the East Eagle Trailhead in the Wallowa Mountains yesterday, but we were almost there when I got a bad feeling and said, “Nate, did you pack your rain jacket?”

He groaned and muttered, “No.”

I sighed, biting my tongue. After a pause, a related concern came to mind, and I asked, “Nate, did you pack your fleece jacket?”

Another groan, louder and more sustained that the first. “No-ooo,” he said painfully.

Then, going for the trifecta, I asked him, “How about your wool hat?”

This time he sounded like a contestant losing in the final round of a very close game show—frustrated but resigned. “No,” he repeated.

“Nate,” I said, indulging my paternal instinct to state the glaringly obvious, “We’re going backpacking for five days and you have no warm clothes.”

My son, to his credit not ignoring the gravity of the situation, responded, “Nobody’s more unhappy about this than I am.”

Penny, my wife, and I discussed our options. Do we turn around, change plans, or lose a day of hiking in exchange for another day of driving? Whatever it says about us as parents, we decide: no. Besides me handing over my jacket to Nate if it came down to that—the unspoken truth she and I both understood—we had other options that would preclude any dangerous scenario unfolding, though we didn’t discuss them just then. Maybe we would see whether Nate figures out what to do if and when circumstances demand it.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

East Fork Eagle Creek Trail. Camp on East Fork Eagle Creek, Eagle Cap Wilderness. East Fork Eagle Creek Trail. Hiking to Horton Pass View of Lakes Basin from Eagle Cap summit. Sunset from camp above Lakes Basin In the Lakes Basin. Trail junction, Lakes Basin. Mirror Lakes, Lakes Basin. Mirror Lakes, Lakes Basin. In the Lakes Basin. Trail 1806 to Glacier Pass Trail 1806 to Glacier Pass Trail 1806 at Glacier Lake Near Frazier Lake Hiking to Little Frazier Lake Nate at outlet creek of Little Frazier Lake Camp, Little Frazier Lake Little Frazier Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness. Trail 1820 to Hawkins Pass Trail 1820 to Hawkins Pass Trail 1816 south of Hawkins Pass Waterfall, Trail 1816 Above Trail 1816

Wallowa Mountains

Although we live only about a four-hour drive from the closest trailheads in the Eagle Cap Wilderness, for various reasons, we had never before gone backpacking here as a family (though I’ve gone backcountry skiing). It seemed like a good choice for escaping the heat and wildfire smoke plaguing much of the West in recent weeks. But until we dove deep into these 9,000-foot mountains, we had no idea what we were missing.

Sprawling over more than 350,000 acres in the Wallowa Mountains of northeastern Oregon, the Eagle Cap Wilderness has been protected as a primitive area since 1930 and was among the inaugural group of federal wilderness areas designated in The Wilderness Act of 1964. With granite peaks, wildlife including white-tailed deer, Rocky Mountain elk, black bears, bighorn sheep, and mountain goats, abundant wildflowers, and a deep winter snowpack that lingers well into summer, the Eagle Cap feels like a cross between the High Sierra and the Rocky Mountains.

While a few spots are fairly popular, like the scenic Lakes Basin, the fact that these mountains sit a long day’s drive from any city means you can eat a pretty big slice of solitude here.

We’re hiking a roughly 34-mile loop from East Eagle Trailhead in the southeastern corner of the wilderness. I expect a nice balance between the range’s best scenery—including a tour through the Lakes Basin and the optional side trip up Eagle Cap—and some deep solitude.

Want a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight packs.

East Eagle Creek Trail

Setting out from the trailhead on our first afternoon, under a hot, August sun on a trail with only intermittent shade, Nate tells me the heat is “brutal and blistering.” He then adds, after a pause, “It doesn’t help that you got me up early.” We had awakened the kids at 8 a.m. at home for what turned out to be a four-and-a-half-hour drive to the trailhead. My son does not respond well to be woken up, and he can carry that grudge for hours. But as we all slip gradually into the unpressured, relaxing rhythm of being in the mountains, he shakes off his foul mood and starts bouncing down the trail.

Wildflowers carpet the valley of East Eagle Creek. Long ridges frame the valley in granite cliffs and rock bands. The shallow, fast creek tumbles over occasional cascades. At a tributary stream that we cross on a log, we all pour icy water over our heads and dunk our caps in. By late afternoon, a bit more than six miles in, we pitch tents in a dry, grassy meadow near East Eagle Creek. Evening brings salmon-colored alpenglow on the west faces of the peaks above us, followed by a sky riddled with white specks and painted thickly with the smear of the Milky Way.

By early afternoon on our second day, we are following East Eagle Creek Trail 1910 up the broad valley to the creek’s headwaters in a starkly beautiful granite-scape with small, scattered copses of conifers, below walls of granite and vast fans of talus. The smoke from distant wildfires spreads a thin haze across the sky.

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-books.

 

Trail junction, Lakes Basin.
Trail junction, Lakes Basin.

At one switchback, Alex, my nine-year-old daughter, seeing the path we’ve hiked far below us, says with amazement at how far we’ve come, “Dad, look at the trail way down there.”

At Horton Pass, just over 8,400 feet, we have a family meeting about hiking the spur trail to the 9,572-foot summit of Eagle Cap, about two-and-a-half miles and 1,100 feet up and back. The kids turn thumbs down; they’re ready to find a campsite in the Lakes Basin just downhill from us. Penny’s content to join them. But it cuts against the grain of my constitution to pass up a summit that’s so close within reach. Watching my family head downhill, I drop my pack and head up Eagle Cap.

The trail to the summit is a delight—at times traversing a narrow, spine-like ridge, and frequently offering long mountains views. At the summit, I stand atop dizzying cliffs overlooking the blue-green gems of the Lakes Basin far below. But I pause to enjoy the view for only a few seconds; lightning has that effect on me.

Hustling down the rocky trail, pelted by rain, I see one of our tents pitched just ahead. Reaching the camp, I pull our other tent from my pack and quickly pitch it. Once we’re all warm and dry inside, Alex and Nate breathlessly regale me with their story about the storm’s onset. When the rain hit, they immediately found a campsite. Nate—wearing a T-shirt—issued instructions to his mother and sister about holding the rainfly over the interior canopy to avoid getting it wet while pitching it.

So maybe Nate did glean a valuable lesson from forgetting his jackets: When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. I tell Nate he handled the situation well—doing exactly what I’d have done without a rain jacket and insulation: get inside a tent and sleeping bag.

The sunset paints the western sky orange. Alex bounces around, taking photos with her point-and-shoot camera, burbling about the storm. Nate paces, saying, “Wow, we had quite an exciting day today!”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

Sunset from camp above Lakes Basin
Sunset from camp above Lakes Basin.

Lakes Basin to Little Frazier Lake

Shortly after dawn on our third morning, while my family sleeps, I walk five minutes down to Mirror Lake with my camera. The storm has blown away the wildfire smoke. The glassy, absolutely still lake offers a crisp reflection of Eagle Cap and the cliffs and conifers ringing the shore as the sun throws horizontal, red light across the lake.

By 9:30 a.m., we hit the trail on a glorious day that will reach into the 60s, with blue skies and a comfortable breeze. From Lakes Basin, we climb 1,150 feet to 8,496-foot Glacier Pass, overlooking the gray, rocky basin holding island-studded Glacier Lake, below 9,595-foot Glacier Peak. Soaking up the view as we eat lunch at the pass, Penny says to me, “I feel kind of stupid that we’ve lived in Boise for 14 years and I’ve never been in these mountains. It’s beautiful.”

I’ve found that the best trips keep hitting you with surprises and gradually exceed your expectations of the place, and the Eagle Cap Wilderness starts having that effect on all of us.

Like this story? See my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and my very popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

By mid-afternoon, we park at a campsite near the outlet of Little Frazier Lake, which sits at 7,488 feet in a cirque almost entirely enclosed by cliffs and mountainsides dappled with pockets of snow. A short walk from our tents, the swift but shallow creek drops through a series of cascades—meeting our kids’ primary standard for a campsite: that it has a nearby stream they can wade into and try to dam up with rocks (a project they have undertaken in countless small waterways from the Grand Canyon to the North Cascades without lasting environmental consequences). I spot a deep pool on the creek’s edge and lie down in it in my underwear and T-shirt, the latter carrying three days of trail funk, lingering until the frigid water has me close to shivering. It feels luxurious.

We saw several parties of backpackers in the Lakes Basin. But we’re the only people here, and we have what appears to be the only campsite on this lake.

After dinner, Alex asks me to scramble with her up the ledges above camp. We end up climbing several hundred feet, high enough that our tents shrink to colorful little dots, while alpenglow paints the rocky peaks and pinnacles surrounding Little Frazier Lake.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Little Frazier Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness.
Little Frazier Lake in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Hawkins Pass, Crater Lake

Our fourth morning begins partly cloudy, with mild temps and a breeze that takes the edge off, so I’m not even breaking a sweat as we hike the long switchbacks up to Hawkins Pass. Ascending through another almost treeless, rocky cirque, we gaze down over the dramatic basin holding Little Frazier Lake and out over an arc of mountains stretching to a far horizon.

Reaching Hawkins Pass, at 8,304 feet, the view stops us. Tall, sheer rock walls rise about the green, forested valley of the South Fork Imnaha River. Nate says, “Dad, it looks like the City of Rocks”—one of our favorite spots in Idaho, where hundreds of granite monoliths populate the high desert. It reminds me of valleys I’ve seen in the Swiss Alps. There’s not another backpacker in sight; in fact, we’ll see only a few over these last three days of our trek.

See all of my stories about Family Adventures and my story “Are You Ready For That New Outdoors Adventure? 5 Questions to Ask Yourself.”

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there. Join now and a get free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/learning-the-hard-way-backpacking-oregons-eagle-cap-wilderness/feed/ 16 6950
Great Trip: Backpacking The Glacier Peak Wilderness https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-glacier-peak-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-glacier-peak-wilderness/#respond Thu, 13 Aug 2020 10:00:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=13671 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Some places just find their way into your heart and stick there. I fell in love with the entire North Cascades region of Washington on my first trip to the Glacier Peak Wilderness more than 20 years ago. I’ve returned several times since to backpack and climb, but the five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop really stands out for its scenery and adventure, as you’ll see in this photo gallery.

Backpacking this loop, my family and three friends enjoyed five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it. Not only were spots like Spider Meadows and Spider Gap, the Upper Lyman Lakes basin, Image Lake, and the area around Buck Creek Pass absolutely stunning, but this trip produced one campsite that made my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites and two camps that made my list of the nicest campsites I’ve hiked past.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

It also harbors one of my favorite backcountry lakes that I have seen over more than three decades of backpacking all over the U.S., including 10 years as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and many years running this blog.

Plus, this hike has a little spice: the off-trail route over 7,100-foot Spider Gap, which holds snow all summer and can be challenging, depending on the firmness of the snow and the skill level of the backpackers. But when done smartly, it’s relatively easy: We took our young kids over Spider Gap without any issues. I can advise you on how to do that right while helping you plan this trip; see my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

See my feature story about this trip, “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” which has many more photos. Reading that story in full, including my expert tips to help you plan this trip, requires a paid subscription.

See my All Trips List for a menu of all of my stories about outdoor adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. 
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-glacier-peak-wilderness/feed/ 0 13671
The Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak https://thebigoutsideblog.com/roof-of-idahos-sawtooths-hiking-thompson-peak/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/roof-of-idahos-sawtooths-hiking-thompson-peak/#comments Wed, 12 Aug 2020 09:00:55 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19920 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Morning fog hung like a damp, cold blanket over the Sawtooth Valley as my wife, Penny, and I started hiking in early morning from the Redfish Trailhead, minutes from the shores of Redfish Lake. Before long, we caught our first view of our destination—and it looked quite far off: the pinpoint summit of 10,751-foot Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho’s best-known mountain range, the Sawtooths.

From where we started our dayhike, 6.5 circuitous miles and 4,200 vertical feet separated us from that lofty piece of granite, including on- and off-trail hiking through aspen and ponderosa pine forest, up a hanging valley with a steep headwall, over a stretch of talus and scree, and a bit of third-class scrambling.

But Penny had never stood atop Thompson, and we had a bluebird, late-July day. We fully intended to get there.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Thompson Peak towers prominently above the Sawtooth Valley at the eastern front of the Sawtooth Range, where a row of jagged peaks and spires extends for miles. Looking up at them reminds me of the view of the Tetons from Jackson Hole (although the Sawtooths do not match the relief or heights of the Tetons). I’ve hiked and backpacked all over America for about four decades, including many years as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and running this blog, and from my perspective, Thompson Peak stands out as a great hike with five-star scenery much of the way, challenging terrain that’s feasible for many fit hikers, and a spectacular summit

According to Idaho—A Climbing Guide, by Tom Lopez, 33 summits in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains exceed 10,000 feet. That total depends on which ones you count. Using that guidebook, I’ve put together a list of 37 Sawtooth peaks over 10,000 feet that look worthy of climbing, although some may be considered just subsidiary summits of another mountain.

Click here now for my expert e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

The unofficial "trail" to Thompson Peak. The unofficial "trail" to Thompson Peak. Goat Lake and Thompson Peak. In the cirque below Thompson Peak. The headwall to the Thompson-Williams saddle. Scrambling to Thompson's summit. Thompson Peak summit. Descending off Thompson Peak.

The top of Thompson lies just close enough to the nearest trailhead to reach in a day, and just far enough away to make that a pretty full, rigorous day. But it’s a day filled with much of what we head into the mountains for: challenge, inspiring scenery, deep quiet, perhaps a frigid dip in an alpine lake, and a surprising degree of solitude for the highest peak in a well-known mountain range.

Penny and I broke out above treeline while the fog still filled the valley below us, but it burned off quickly. A little while later, we passed the alpine lake that sits in a stone bowl at 9,000 feet—a lake unnamed on maps but often called Goat Lake by locals—below the dramatic spires of Thompson’s east ridge. Farther still, small, shallow tarns reflected those spires. I looked around at the magnificent cirque framed by Thompson Peak and its neighbor, Williams Peak, a fine destination for a hike even if you have no intention of attempting one of these summits.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

A hiker on her way up Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, hiking Thompson Peak (the summit in upper right of photo), the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Four-and-a-half hours after starting out, Penny and I scrambled about 15 feet of steep, blocky rock onto the sloping tabletop that comprises Thompson’s summit. The breathtaking view took in Goat Lake 1,700 feet below us; most of the Sawtooths to the east and south; the shimmering Salmon River in the Sawtooth Valley and another great Idaho mountain range, the White Clouds, to the east; and the rumpled blanket of peaks and canyons of the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness to the north.

There was hardly a breath of wind, the sun beat down warmly, and we had the roof of the Sawtooth Mountains to ourselves on that July weekday.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Thompson Peak is a great mountain climb. It’s shockingly scenic just about every step of the way. It’s varied and challenging, long and tough: Afterward, Penny, who has climbed a lot of mountains, was surprised at how strenuous it was. It’s ambitious and rewarding.

See my stories “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” for a description of the standard hiking route to the summit of Thompson as well as other great dayhikes and backpacking trips in Idaho’s premier mountain range, and “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit.” and all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/roof-of-idahos-sawtooths-hiking-thompson-peak/feed/ 14 19920
The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-of-idahos-sawtooths-backpacking-redfish-to-pettit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-of-idahos-sawtooths-backpacking-redfish-to-pettit/#comments Tue, 11 Aug 2020 13:21:12 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=40534 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Hiking up a forested section of Trail 101 in the Redfish Creek Valley of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, as I’m following a short distance behind a trio of loudly jabbering, 15-year-old boys—my son, Nate, and his buddies Kade and Iggy, whom Nate has invited on their first backpacking trip—we weave through an area where boulders the size of construction vehicles flank the trail. Iggy interrupts his own nearly unbroken monologue over various civilization-related topics, looks around and mutters, “Wow, this is awesome.” He pulls out his phone and shoots a video of the boulders.

That brief moment reinforces for me a truth I’ve learned over the years: The best way to introduce kids of all ages to the outdoors is to raise your own kids to love the outdoors, and let them organically spread the good word among their friends.

When Nate had suggested to me just weeks earlier that we take his friends backpacking, I knew immediately where to go: the core of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, where we’d cross passes over 9,000 feet with expansive views of a sea of jagged peaks, and camp each night beside beautiful mountain lakes ideal for swimming and fishing. More than 20 years of exploring all over the Sawtooths on numerous backpacking trips, long dayhikes, and climbing have convinced me that the area between Redfish Lake and Pettit Lake harbors the best backpacking in Idaho’s premier mountain range.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Backpackers hiking Trail 101 in Redfish Creek Valley, Sawtooth Mountains Idaho.
Backpackers hiking Trail 101 in Redfish Creek Valley, Sawtooth Mountains Idaho. Click the photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

As someone who’s had the good fortune of having backpacked all over the country and in many other countries as a past field editor for Backpacker magazine and now for many years running this blog, I also recognize how friendly the Sawtooths are to relatively inexperienced backpackers, with moderate elevations (most on-trail passes are just over 9,000 feet), stable summer weather, no permit hoops to jump through, few mosquitoes after July, and a network of good, well-marked trails that’s extensive enough to plan backpacking trips ranging from easy to ambitious.

Plus, the Sawtooths are a spectacular mountain range—looking like a little sibling of the High Sierra or Tetons for their serrated skylines and mountain lakes that compare in beauty (if not in numbers) with the Sierra and Wind River Range. (See my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” to learn all you need to know to plan and pull off a five-day, 36-mile Sawtooths hike through the area covered in this story—which I consider one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”)

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A backpacker above the Redfish Valley of Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Kade Aldrich backpacking above the Redfish Valley of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click the photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

At a pace set by the boys—with time afforded to breaks, amusing each other with their antics fording a shallow creek, and their non-stop conversation liberally peppered with terms like “dope” and “dude”—we reach the Cramer Lakes, some four hours and more than seven miles up the valley from where we started our hike today. We find an established campsite beside the middle of the three Cramer Lakes, looking across the calm water at a foaming, braided waterfall perhaps 20 feet tall tumbling loudly into the lake. The boys pitch their tent and then take a swim in the chilly lake.

After dark, I can hear the boys in their tent laughing and chattering late into the night. I leave the rainfly off my tent, gazing up at the usual emergence of a clearly defined Milky Way and thousands of sparkling pinpoints of light above the Sawtooths, which form the heart of the Central Idaho Dark Sky Reserve, the first gold-tier International Dark Sky Reserve in America.

See the best of the Sawtooths using my expert e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

 

Baron Lakes

In the morning, I awaken shortly before a blue-sky sunrise slowly pours over the jagged peaks above the Cramer Lakes, with golden highlights backlighting the tips of the spires and ridges high above us.

I don’t wake the boys, letting them dictate when we will pack up and move on. Impressively, they’re up before 9 a.m.—soon after direct sunlight starts heating up their tent—and getting their breakfast. Kade limps over to me barefooted and asks, “Can you tell me what this is on my foot?”

I look at it. On the ball of his foot, right behind his big toe, he has a puncture wound. I recall seeing him return from the boys’ evening swim barefoot; he’d walked probably 500 yards without shoes, over rocks and forest ground. (I’m quietly glad Nate wore his shoes.) So I pull out my first-aid kit, clean the wound and tape over it to protect it from dirt and bacteria.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Backpackers above the Baron Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My son, Nate, with friends Kade and Iggy, backpacking above the Baron Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click the photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

While doing this, I share with Kade the true story of when I was on a backcountry skiing yurt trip with a group of friends and I got an infected finger. Fortunately, two friends with me were physicians and the yurt was stocked with a full first-aid kit, including a sterile syringe, scalpel, and local anesthetic. My friends performed minor surgery on my finger to drain pus from it, warning me that an infection left untreated could result in me losing the finger. I tell Kade to keep his puncture wound clean, and I suspect my tale has convinced him to wear shoes in the wilderness.

We leave camp by late morning for the eight-mile hike to Baron Lakes, including a nearly 2,000-vertical-foot climb to a pass at over 9,000 feet on the Baron Divide. By mid-afternoon, we reach the pass and drop our packs to soak in the view. I remember the awestruck feeling I had the first time I backpacked to the Baron Lakes, not long after moving to Idaho. Staring up at the long ridge of spires and pinnacles linking Monte Verita and Warbonnet Peak, I thought I must have stumbled upon the prettiest spot in the Sawtooths.

While I still think it’s one of the prettiest, I also recall a series of trips in these mountains, thinking with each new one that I had, once again, found the most spectacular corner of the Sawtooths. I gave up that quest when I realized I would keep thinking that about every new spot here that I explored.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get exclusive gear discounts and a FREE e-guide! Join now!

 

The boys and I make the quick descent on Trail 101 to the Upper Baron Lake, finding a couple of nice tentsites a short walk from the lakeshore, an incredible perch overlooking Baron Lake—the middle and largest of the three lakes—and the peaks ringing it. Immediately, we head down to the upper lake’s shoreline, locating the perfect spot to jump off a ledge a few feet above the lake’s surface into the shockingly chilly water, swimming quickly to the rocky shore to warm up in the sun and repeat. The boys make several more leaps into the lake after I’ve had enough.

Early the next morning, as I watch the dawn light creep down the faces of the cliffs and spires above Baron Lake, Nate walks over to me. He’s up at dawn—unusually early for my teenage son—and we admire the view together. Then he grabs his camera and heads for the shore of the upper lake, telling me later, “I got some awesome shots there. The water was just like glass, a perfect reflection of the mountains, and the sunlight was just coming in with this great light. I threw a rock in the lake and watched the ripples go all the way across to the other side.”

Even in the age of smartphones, the natural world provides the best entertainment.

Then, true to form and age, he retreats to his tent to sleep for a couple more hours, before we pack up and hike out the eight miles back to Redfish Lake.

Click here now for my expert e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

 

Cramer Divide to Edna Lake

Fast forward two summers and another two-generation backpacking trip in the Sawtooths: a four-day, roughly 27-mile hike from Redfish Lake to Pettit Lake—again in the area with what I consider the best backpacking in this range. This time, I’m with my wife, Penny, Nate, now 17, and our daughter, Alex, 15, as well as two more buddies of Nate’s—Sam and Elias—and family friends Gary Davis with his daughters, Mae and Adele, who are close in age to Nate and Alex and good friends with them.

On our second morning, our group of adults and teenagers spreads out while hiking uphill from the Cramer Lakes, eventually trickling in pods of two and three up to the pass over 9,000 feet on the Cramer Divide. A chain of 10,000-foot peaks marches away from us, an arc of big, toothy rocks embracing the cirque of the Cramer Lakes, including one of the highest summits in the Sawtooths, 10,716-foot Cramer Peak (just 35 feet lower than the highest in the Sawtooths, Thompson Peak, a super dayhike described in this story).

A total of 57 summits top 10,000 feet in the Sawtooth Mountains, and nearly 400 alpine lakes, many sitting well over 8,000 feet, shimmer in high bowls sculpted by long-ago glaciers. The range lies protected within the 756,000-acre Sawtooth National Recreation Area, which encompasses the equally beautiful White Cloud Mountains across the Sawtooth/Salmon River Valley, and most of the range is designated wilderness.

Not sure how to plan this trip? Don’t have time? Click here now to get my expert help planning your next trip.

 

A network of almost 350 miles of trails presents myriad opportunities for exploring the Sawtooth Wilderness, from the relatively accessible trails we hiked on the two trips described in this story, to more remote footpaths deeper in the wilderness, such as the 57-mile hike a friend and I took that I wrote about in this story.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack and tent I used on this trip.

See my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” and my stories “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” and “The Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak,” and all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside.

See also my story about the 286-mile-long Idaho Wilderness Trail, which passes through the Sawtooths.

Find menus of gear reviews, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

 

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-of-idahos-sawtooths-backpacking-redfish-to-pettit/feed/ 6 40534
Here’s How I Can Help You Plan Your Next Trip https://thebigoutsideblog.com/planning-your-next-trip-i-can-help-you-do-it-right/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/planning-your-next-trip-i-can-help-you-do-it-right/#comments Sun, 26 Jul 2020 10:00:37 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30501 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Do you have a backpacking trip or other outdoor adventure on your calendar for this year and questions about how to pull it off? Or do you want to take a big trip this summer or fall but have no plans yet? Whether it’s Sequoia, Glacier, Grand Canyon (the photo above shows me on the canyon’s Tonto Trail), Idaho’s Sawtooths, the Wind River Range, the Southwest, or many other destinations, I can show you exactly how to make your dream trip happen. Read on.

Right now is the time to plan it, and I can show you exactly how to make your dream trip happen.

There are basically three ways to tap into my expertise at The Big Outside: joining for access to all stories; buying an expert trip e-book; and getting my custom trip planning. (Spoiler alert: Scroll down to number three to learn how I can give you a customized trip plan—or just click here for that.)

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside on the summit of Clouds Rest, Yosemite National Park.
Me on the summit of Clouds Rest in Yosemite.

No. 1: Join The Big Outside

At The Big Outside, you’ll find hundreds of feature stories about the best hiking, backpacking, and other outdoor adventures in America and around the world. In them, you can read about my trips and view dozens of photos and (usually) a video, and use my expert advice on how to pull off these trips yourself. Most feature stories require a paid subscription to read, and that lets you read any story at my blog.

That advice saves you many hours of research and hundreds or thousands of dollars in guide or outfitter fees, and gives you the benefit of my decades of experience backpacking, hiking, and taking other adventures.

Click here now to join The Big Outside.

“The Big Outside is the BEST place for backpacking and hiking information! Everything from the trip reports, e-guides, and gear reviews are really top notch. I am constantly expanding my bucket list after visiting.”

—Jason (comment posted at The Big Outside’s About page)


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter and receive great ideas for your next adventures. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


No. 2: Buy an E-Book

See my menu of expert e-books to numerous backpacking and hiking trips in flagship national parks and hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.

For $12.95 to $21.95 per e-book, you get much more detailed advice and expert guidance on planning each trip than is found in my feature stories.

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside backpacking the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Me backpacking the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

That includes step-by-step advance-planning direction on matters like acquiring a backcountry permit, to often several options for daily hiking itineraries and campsites.

I currently offer e-books to trips in Yosemite, Grand Teton, Glacier, Grand Canyon, and Zion national parks, and Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, as well as hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps of France, Italy, and Switzerland, and some of my expert hiking and backpacking tips.

Click here to see them all.

While you can purchase an e-book without having a paid subscription, by buying a one-year subscription, you get one free or deeply discounted e-book.

 

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, or other parks using my expert e-books.

No. 3: Get My Custom Trip Planning

When you feel you want more than the information offered in my feature stories and e-guides—or you simply don’t have the time or expertise to plan a trip yourself—get my personal help planning your trip.

My Custom Trip Planning page explains how I will give you an in-depth, fully customized and complete trip-planning consult, covering all necessary pre-trip planning, from any required permit to questions about season and weather, logistics, itinerary, campsites, difficulty, and basic gear questions.

Plus, I will tell you how to execute your trip on the ground in the safest and most enjoyable way, answering all of your questions—and probably many questions you didn’t think to ask.

“Just worked with Michael on planning a trip to the Grand Canyon. I’m a fairly experienced backpacker, but Michael’s vast experience is next level. I plan on hiring him for every trip from here on out!”

—Dave (comment posted at The Big Outside’s Custom Trip Planning page)

The Best Deal: A Premium Subscription

With a premium subscription, you get the best deal available at The Big Outside: a one-year subscription, your choice of any e-book for free, PLUS my customize trip planning—a $482 value for $439.95, saving you 33% off a one-year subscription (the biggest subscription discount that I offer).

Thanks for reading and following The Big Outside.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/planning-your-next-trip-i-can-help-you-do-it-right/feed/ 4 30501
Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-crazy-after-all-these-years-hiking-in-the-white-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-crazy-after-all-these-years-hiking-in-the-white-mountains/#comments Thu, 09 Jul 2020 09:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6317 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The sun beams down approvingly as Mark and I start hiking from Crawford Notch, the head-turning cleavage in the heart of New Hampshire’s White Mountains. The temperature sits in a perfect zone somewhere between warm and cool. Not a trace of humidity moistens the air, while an idyllic breeze stirs it enough to keep the ravenous mosquitoes and black flies at bay. Recognizing the rarity of this meteorological gift, the birds sound like they’re singing an enthusiastic ode to the morning.

This early-June day has launched so idyllically for these mountains that we instinctively wonder how long it can last. That concern looms particularly relevant, under the circumstances.

My good friend Mark Fenton, who lives in the Boston area, and I are setting out on a two-day, roughly 23-mile hike from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch. We’ll spend tonight at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Galehead Hut, perched on a ridge overlooking the tortured topography of the Pemigewasset Wilderness—“the Pemi”—in the remote interior of the Whites. Most of our trek follows the Appalachian Trail—including the high, exposed stretch across Garfield Ridge and Franconia Ridge, which we’ll hit tomorrow, when the forecast suggests that the skies may turn unwelcoming and rain hard on our party.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Our adventure has launched auspiciously enough. If you’ve hiked much in the Northeast and fail to recognize this morning’s perfect weather as evidence that Lady Luck is working your corner, you have bigger issues than a good hike can resolve.

But as we ascend the steep, rocky Avalon Trail, sweating hard despite the mild temperature, I’m reminded—as I am every time I revisit the Whites, which I have come to know intimately over many, many years—that hiking here is really hard.

It should come as no surprise to me by now. I’ve hiked more miles in these mountains than I could estimate; I even authored a hiking guidebook to New England for several years. Still, like jumping into an icy lake, the constant high-stepping and relentlessly arduous nature of these trails shocks me every time I come back.

Ultra-Hiking

Mark and I have a habit—our wives might describe it as an addictive behavior, or just plain stupid, accusations we make no attempt to refute—of packing in more miles of hiking than would seem reasonable for the amount of time we have allocated. That’s just how we roll.

Living on opposite sides of the country, we shoot for at least one hike together every year; in a good year, we get in two. And we like to go big, partly for the challenge, but mostly because we want to see as much beautiful backcountry as we can in what limited free time we have. We have shared some huge adventures, including dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim to rim, hiking 50 miles across Zion National Park in a day, a one-day Death March of the Presidential Range, and thru-hiking the John Muir Trail in a week. Maybe we do it because we need to convince ourselves we still can hike those distances. It may also be that we partner for these hikes because we are both among the few people who can tolerate how much the other talks on the trail.

Several times now, we have taken big dayhikes in the Whites. The Whites are the most spectacular mountains in the Northeast, so we love coming here. Our outings here have ranged from just under 18 miles—a distance that can cause some hurt on these strenuous trails—to an extreme 32 miles with about 10,000 feet of elevation gain and loss.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

This year, though, Mark and I have embraced the wisdom that has come to both of us slowly and reluctantly: We are bowing to certain realities. I’m nursing a three-day-old, deep bone bruise in my left foot, suffered in a short rock-climbing fall. (With perhaps just a little more wisdom, I might instead be resting it. But that’s a lesson for another day.) And Mark had been lobbying hard via e-mail over the past few weeks to lower our expectations for this get-together, complaining that his schedule hasn’t permitted much time for exercise lately. Although he’s one of the fastest and strongest hikers I know, he seems relieved that my foot has given us a viable excuse to temper our ambitions, spreading out over two days a hike that we would normally make in one.

Nonetheless, we’re excited about our plan. Mark will hike some trails and tag some summits he has not set foot on before, and I’ll see parts of the Whites I haven’t been to in years.

Summit of Mt. Flume, Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.
Summit of Mt. Flume, Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.

Zealand Notch to Galehead Hut

By early afternoon, from the Twinway west of Zealand Notch, Mark and I detour a few minutes down the Zeacliff Trail. Atop cliffs facing east, we look out over Zealand Notch, Mt. Carrigain, the Willey Range, and in the farther distance, the Presidential Range—surely one of the best views of the Pemi Wilderness.

A few hours later, conscious that the 6 p.m. dinnertime at Galehead Hut is rapidly approaching, we hustle up the rugged ascent to the 4,902-foot summit of South Twin Mountain, pausing only briefly to soak up a 360-degree panorama of the Whites. We had considered making the 2.6-mile, out-and-back trip over to North Twin—which I have not stood on in many years and Mark has never hiked. But that would definitely make us late for dinner. The depth of the hole between the two peaks only solidifies our resolve to hike that mountain another day.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-guides.

Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.
Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.

So after the steep descent of nearly a mile off South Twin—a knee-pounder that I remember as brutal, and feels even more unforgiving than I remember—we step inside Galehead Hut at 5:50 p.m. We’re greeted by the hut “cru” of five college-age men and women, who let us know that we’re the only guests on this Wednesday night. The hut just opened for the season four days ago; by this Saturday, it will be full.

Rebuilt in 2000, with small, quieter bunkrooms and a bright dining room, Galehead isn’t the most popular of the AMC’s mountain huts. But it’s cozy and in a great location roughly midway between Crawford Notch and Franconia Notch.

Mark and I have arrived during the AMC’s yearlong celebration of the 125th anniversary of its immensely popular mountain huts. The eight backcountry structures that now comprise the system—stretching from Carter Notch across the Presidential Range, to Zealand Notch, the edge of the Pemi Wilderness, Franconia Ridge, and Lonesome Lake—host nearly 40,000 visitor nights every year. Untold numbers of future avid hikers, backpackers, and conservationists—including many children—received their introduction to the mountains through a stay at an AMC hut.

On my first Presidential Range traverse, in my twenties, two friends and I stayed at Lakes of the Clouds and Madison Springs huts. I’ve shared many great adventures with my mom, who started hiking in middle age: We’ve backpacked in the Grand Canyon, hiked in Zion and Glacier, and made three trips to Yosemite. But one of the most memorable was our traverse of the Presidentials, staying at Madison and Lakes.

Standing outside Galehead in the evening, listening to the familiar trill of the white-throated sparrow pierce the calm air, I think about how my personal history in the Whites, tracing back three decades, weaves together the many disparate threads of my life.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

On the Twinway headed toward Galehead Hut.
On the Twinway headed toward Galehead Hut.

Classic White Mountains Hikes

At one time in my life—many years ago, when I had fewer responsibilities and a surplus of free time, a notion so foreign to me now that it seems like someone else’s life—I hiked in the White Mountains every weekend possible from June through October (before I discovered winter hiking and backpacking). I fell in love with these mountains—their severe contours and the physicality of hiking here, their wind-blasted heights and lesser-known corners reached only through a mountain of effort. I wasn’t very well traveled then; I’ve seen many magnificent natural landscapes across this country and around the world since. The Whites struck me back then as still wild, too rugged to ever tame completely.

Today, I look out at specific peaks and remember people in the past with whom I was once very close. I walk trails here accompanied by the memory of the person I was at different times in my life, which helps me understand who I am today.

Sharing the trail again with Mark, we recall past hikes together. Last year, I hiked the nearly 14-mile length of the Carter-Moriah Trail over the Carter Range, while Mark—nursing plantar fasciitis in one foot—joined me on North Carter to traverse five of the seven summits in the range, before we descended the nearly four miles of the Nineteen-Mile Brook Trail. It was a hot but sunny day on peaks that offer arguably the best views of the Presidential Range.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

The summer before, in stifling heat and humidity on a July day that topped 100° F in Boston, we hiked a 17.4-mile loop from the floor of Franconia Notch over the five summits of Franconia Ridge: Flume, Liberty, Little Haystack, Lincoln, and Lafayette. A lot of people hike those last three summits every summer; far fewer venture up Mts. Liberty and Flume, missing out on some incredible—and often solitary—panoramas. As we took a break in Greenleaf Hut, Mark recalled his family staying there a few years back, and his kids “practically running down the ridge after we summited Lafayette. We couldn’t keep up with them. Lisa and I would see hikers and ask, ‘Did you see two kids go by here?’”

But our apex effort came seven years ago, when Mark and I knocked off the Pemi Loop: a 32-mile, approximately 10,000-vertical-foot circuit from Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway over Bondcliff, Mts. Bond and Garfield, and Franconia Ridge. We laugh recalling that brutally hot and humid July day, each of us drinking at least 10 liters of water in 14 hours and still finishing dehydrated. Even as a thunderstorm poured rain on us while we descended through the woods on the Osseo Trail, we sweated profusely from the humidity. I’ve been itching to repeat that hike ever since, though whether for the scenery, the challenge, or because I’m a glutton for punishment, I’m not sure.

On South Twin Mountain, White Mountains, N.H.
On South Twin Mountain, White Mountains, N.H.

Map/Guidebook The AMC White Mountain Guide describes all trails and includes topographical maps, amcstore.outdoors.org.

Contact Appalachian Mountain Club, (617) 523-0655, outdoors.org. Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, White Mountains, (603) 466-2721.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
Join now to read ALL stories and a get free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-crazy-after-all-these-years-hiking-in-the-white-mountains/feed/ 12 6317
Sawtooth Jewels: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/jewels-of-the-sawtooths-backpacking-to-alice-hell-roaring-and-imogene-lakes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/jewels-of-the-sawtooths-backpacking-to-alice-hell-roaring-and-imogene-lakes/#comments Fri, 19 Jun 2020 09:00:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=13095 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

We sit on the bank of Pettit Lake Creek and remove our boots and socks to ford it. It’s the third week in June, and winter is just winding down in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. The creek barrels downhill, barking and bursting with snowmelt. My friends Chip and Jan Roser are already partway across, moving carefully over the rocky bed. At the opposite bank, Chip turns around and shouts to us, “It’s freezing.”

It’s certainly very close to freezing, anyway—this creek was snow just a little while ago. In fact, if this water was only a few degrees colder, we could walk across its surface without getting wet.

Nate, my 13-year-old son, steps into the creek, and immediately—almost instinctively—turns around and steps back up onto dry land, his eyes wide. A shiver rips through his body and rattles the words that squeak from his mouth as if each word is a complete sentence: “It’s. Really. Cold.” His voice and eyes telegraph a clear message: He doesn’t want to step back into that water.

I just nod, giving him a moment to contemplate on his own the even less-appealing idea that our overnight hike to Alice Lake—one of the prettiest and most beloved jewels of the Sawtooths—won’t happen without us getting to the other side of this frigid, 20-foot-wide stream. It was Nate who suggested we backpack to Alice Lake, for reasons that go back half of his short lifetime.

I watch his face reveal his thoughts as his expression shifts from shock to dread, resignation, and then determination, all within about a minute. Then I tell him, “You can do this. We’ll get across it quickly.” Chip comes back over to take Nate’s pack for him, and the three of us, using poles for balance, start across. It is foot-numbing, brain-freezing cold. At midstream, the water rises above my knees and up Nate’s thighs. I remind him to step carefully and not rush in this pushy current. “Oh my god, it’s freezing,” he says, gasping the words.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.
Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

And then we’re across. Nate all but leaps onto dry ground, bends over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily, and shakes the chill from his body like a dog shaking off water, laughing at how painfully cold that was. Pain is funny after you’ve survived it.

We’ve come here to backpack overnight to Alice Lake, and possibly hike above Alice to Twin Lakes and the 9,200-foot pass separating this valley from that of Toxaway Lake, because Nate wanted to return to the scene of an event from seven years ago. When he was six, he and I backpacked the 18-mile Alice Lake-Toxaway Lake loop in late summer, taking three days—our second “boy trip“ together, the name Nate gave years ago to our annual father-son adventures.

Now, he recalls that first, big backpacking trip together only in fragmented and foggy pieces of a six-year-old boy’s memory, like the reassembled shards of a shattered mirror reflecting a broken, partial image. A frigid creek ford did not pose enough of an obstacle to keep him from wanting to revisit that special place in memory.

Click here now for my expert e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

 

A backpacker fording Pettit Lake Creek, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Nate crossing Pettit Lake Creek, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Nate backpacking Trail 95 to Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains. Nate backpacking Trail 95 to Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains. Nate backpacking Trail 95 to Alice Lake. Nate backpacking to Alice Lake. Nate backpacking to Alice Lake. Nate and me at Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness.

Alice Lake

Beyond the ford of Pettit Lake Creek, our uphill hike to Alice Lake turns less exciting, though not devoid of smaller challenges. At around 8,000 feet, still below Alice, we encounter nearly continuous snow cover in the forest. Between short, sun-warmed segments of open trail, we walk long stretches over densely consolidated but melting, mushy snow two or three feet deep, stepping over the knee-deep postholes of previous hikers. We follow the trail around a pond reflecting the sharp arrowhead of 9,901-foot El Capitan jutting into the sky.

By early evening, a few hours after leaving the trailhead, we reach the lake and find two patches of open ground for our tents, where direct sunlight slashing through gaps in the tree canopy has melted away the snow.

At almost 8,600 feet, Alice Lake, about three-quarters of a mile long, remains mostly frozen today—officially the first day of summer, although the mountains appear oblivious to the calendar. But open water at our end offers a flawless reflection of a row of jagged, snowy mountains. Cotton-ball clouds dapple a sky as deeply blue as the ocean. The water is so clear that rocks on the lake bottom look as sharp and as close as words on the page of a book in your hands.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.
Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

It’s a view that makes for great photos—and perhaps helps jog the memory of a teenage boy from a time when he was a small boy.

I remember pieces of that first trip here with Nate, like the unrestrained, convulsive laughter that erupted from him each time he hoisted a rock as large as he could lift overhead and slam-dunked it into Alice Lake; he couldn’t get tired of the baritone splash it created, as if it surprised him each time. We’d stopped at Alice’s shore expressly for the purpose of bombing the water with rocks, after camping the night before a bit shy of the lake. As a thunderstorm rapidly approached on the first afternoon of that long-ago trip, I had hurriedly erected the tent moments before the bruised and blackened sky tore open. Torrential rain and loud, tent-rattling gusts, accompanied by the percussion of thunder, pounded our thin, nylon walls so loudly that my little boy slithered his sleeping bag up very close to mine.

Tonight, we get friendlier weather than that night below Alice Lake seven years ago: It’s clear and windy but not cold. The four of us relax around the campsite, Nate joining in our adult conversations, as I recall he and I engaging in a serious debate, seven years ago, over which dinosaurs would emerge victorious in head-to-head battles. It being the summer solstice, the sun doesn’t set until nearly 10 p.m., when the wind calms and the temperature drops quickly.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

A hiker nearing the Alice-Toxaway Divide in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains. Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness. Chip above Twin Lakes at the Alice-Toxaway Divide. Twin Lakes from the Alice-Toxaway Divide. View from the Alice-Toxaway Divide. Nate backpacking below El Capitan. Chip below El Capitan, Sawtooth Wilderness. Nate crossing the creek below Alice Lake. Nate at our campsite from seven years before.

Alice Lake-Toxaway Lake Divide

Early the next morning, Chip and I strike out on a short hike as Nate and Jan sleep in; my son still appreciates his sleep as much as he did as a first-grader, and Jan may just be smarter than us. We head up the trail toward the Alice Lake-Toxaway Lake Divide, the 9,200-foot pass between these two valleys. The sun, though still low, shines warmly from a cloudless, cerulean sky. The overnight temp dropped into the high 30s, firming up the snow, making for easy walking. A couple of times, we lose the trail, hidden beneath the snow cover, but eventually regain it and reach the pass.

Around us unfolds a mountain landscape barely beginning to emerge from winter on this summer solstice. White covers almost all that we can see. The Twin Lakes, just 300 feet higher than Alice, remain completely locked in ice. When we made plans for this weekend, we’d thought we might hike 10,651-foot Snowyside Peak above the pass, fifth highest among more than 40 peaks that rise above 10,000 feet in the Sawtooths. But that will wait for another time. We make a quick descent back to camp to have breakfast with Nate and Jan.

By late morning, the four of us shoulder our backpacks for the hike out. Falling behind Chip and Jan, Nate and I find a logjam below Alice Lake that we walk across easily to avoid one boots-off, feet-numbing ford of the creek that we see other backpackers making. Even better, down lower, we will find a user trail along the northwest side of Pettit Lake Creek that allows us to avoid the frigid crossing that started this trip.

Chip Roser above Twin Lakes at the Alice-Toxaway Divide, Sawtooth Mountains.
Chip Roser above Twin Lakes at the Alice-Toxaway Divide, Sawtooth Mountains.

But before we get down that far, as we’re hiking through pine forest about 30 minutes below Alice Lake, below the snow line, I stop beside a small clearing amid the trees just off the trail—an established campsite. And I immediately realize what I’m looking at. “This is it,” I tell Nate. “This is where we camped that first night.”

He instantly knows what I’m talking about: our boy trip when he was six. I’m sure he’d have walked right past this spot without remembering it. But he agrees I’m correct, and strolls around the big patch of packed dirt, smiling and chattering on about how special that trip was, as I imagine him searching his memory for elusive fragments of those few days half his lifetime ago.

Then Nate tells me: “I love our boy trips together.” I agree enthusiastically, even as I know that it will be many years before Nate understands how much I enjoy these trips.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

 

See the best of the Sawtooths using my expert e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/jewels-of-the-sawtooths-backpacking-to-alice-hell-roaring-and-imogene-lakes/feed/ 8 13095
Backpacking the Canadian Rockies: Kootenay’s Rockwall Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/best-of-the-canadian-rockies-backpacking-kootenay-national-parks-rockwall-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/best-of-the-canadian-rockies-backpacking-kootenay-national-parks-rockwall-trail/#comments Wed, 06 May 2020 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19829 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

A few hours into our hike’s first day, we round a bend in the trail to a sight that can stop you in your tracks: a pair of skyscraping stone monoliths rising thousands of feet above the treetops. Silhouetted by the sun arcing toward the west, the peaks resemble nothing less than a pair of El Capitans standing shoulder to shoulder. Farther along, one of the tallest waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains comes into view: Helmet Falls, plunging 1,154 feet (352m) over a cliff in two braids that recouple before the column of water crashes into the rocks at its base, spraying a fine cloud of mist into the air.

But these scenes are just a warm-up act for the majesty that awaits us on this four-day family backpacking trip.

Helmet Falls, Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park.
Helmet Falls, Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park.

Backpacking the Kootenay Rockwall Trail

We’re hiking the approximately 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, in the vertiginous heart of the Canadian Rockies. Well known among Canadian backpackers but less so among Americans and international trekkers, the Rockwall arguably deserves a place on any list of the world’s prettiest trails.

The route’s name comes from its defining geological feature: a nearly unbroken, massive limestone escarpment in Kootenay’s Vermilion Range, plastered with glaciers and towering in some locations about 3,000 feet (900m) above the trail. Backpackers follow the base of this wall for more than 18 miles (30k) of the route (although the wall extends farther than that). It’s no exaggeration to liken it to dozens of the tallest cliff in Yosemite Valley, El Capitan, lined up in a row stretching for miles.

The Rockwall Trail isn’t actually a single trail, but a U-shaped, point-to-point route that links up several trails and usually takes four to six days. It begins and ends in the valley of the Vermilion River, which flows emerald green with glacial flour, flanked by peaks rising to over 10,000 feet on the British Columbia side of the Continental Divide, west of Kootenay’s more-famous sister park, Banff. Backpackers on the Rockwall walk through larch forests and meadows carpeted with wildflowers, and may encounter wildlife like mountain goats.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Although we’re in grizzly country and the Rockwall Trail crosses three named passes (and a fourth, unnamed pass east of Limestone Peak), this is, in many ways, a beginner-friendly backpacking trip. Trails are well marked and easy to follow. The passes range from about 7,300 to 7,700 feet—elevations that rarely affect hikers more than leaving you winded. There are bridges over the creeks (we never had to get our feet wet), and designated camping areas with bearproof, metal lockers for food storage, pit toilets, and even picnic tables in the camps’ cooking and eating areas.

Shortly after 5 p.m., almost six hours after hitting the trail on our first day, we reach the Helmet Falls backcountry campground, having hiked nearly 10 miles. Most of the campsites have already been claimed, but we find an empty one in a copse of trees at the quiet edge of the campground. From here, tomorrow, we’ll begin a two-day walk along the base of the Rockwall formation, beginning with a visit to Helmet Falls, whose steady white noise reaches our campsite from a half-mile away. After dark falls, it lulls us quickly to sleep.

Stay dry in the Canadian Rockies. See “The 6 Best Rain Jackets for Hiking and Backpacking.”

Ochre Creek Trail, Kootenay National Park Helmet Creek Trail, Kootenay National Park. Helmet Creek Trail, Kootenay National Park. Helmet Creek Trail. Helmet Creek Trail. Helmet Falls, Kootenay National Park. Helmet Falls, Kootenay National Park. Rockwall Pass Trail, Kootenay National Park. Rockwall Pass Trail, Kootenay National Park. Rockwall Pass Trail, Kootenay National Park. Rockwall Pass Trail. Rockwall Pass.

Rockwall Pass

In warm sunshine and a cooling breeze, we stroll across a gently sloping alpine meadow to its high point: Rockwall Pass, at about 7,300 feet (2,230m). A vast wall of rock shoots up more than 2,500 feet above where we stand, with a small glacier tucked into the shadows at its base. We drop our backpacks for lunch and to just gape for a while.

It’s our second day on the Rockwall Trail—and will be our biggest day of this trip. We’re hiking almost 11.8 miles (19k) with about 2,600 feet (800m) of uphill, from Helmet Falls campground to Numa Creek campground, including two passes: Rockwall Pass and Tumbling Pass.

Three times since yesterday afternoon, we’ve met other backpackers who look at our son, Nate, 14, and daughter, Alex, 12, and expressed astonishment that we’re hiking the entire Rockwall in four days instead of five, and hiking over 12 miles over two passes on our second day. I actually would have gotten a permit to stay at Tumbling Creek camp, to shorten our second day—though I still would have thought my family capable of finishing it in four days—but Tumbling camp was booked full when I reserved my permit. So we’re going all the way to Numa Creek campsite today instead.

The only people not surprised by our itinerary are my kids: They’re kind of proud of the fact that we’re hiking a distance that other people consider crazy.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

 

 

Like the most popular backpacking routes in flagship U.S. national parks—think Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Glacier, Grand Teton—the Rockwall’s popularity is such that Parks Canada must manage it through the permit system. And they keep backpacker numbers at a level that ensures a surprising degree of solitude on the trail. While we share each camping area with 15 or more other parties every night—most of them two to four people—for most of each day, it feels like we’re out here on our own.

Grizzly bears roam these mountains in significant numbers, we’re taking appropriate precautions, carrying pepper spray and small, powerful air horns, and walking close together. (As it turns out, we won’t see any bears over the trip’s four days.) At one point, when Nate and Penny, my wife, fall a short distance behind Alex and me, Nate calls out for us to wait. “Dad, you’re going to have to take some responsibility for making sure you don’t get ahead of us,” he scolds. Hearing your own words thrown back at you by your kids always hits your ears like an unexpected echo that’s kind of validating and only mildly annoying.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get exclusive gear discounts and a FREE e-guide! Join now!

 

Wolverine warden cabin, Rockwall Trail. Numa Pass Trail. Tumbling Pass, Rockwall Trail. Tumbling Pass, Rockwall Trail. Numa Pass Trail. Mountain goat at Tumbling Pass. Numa Pass Trail. Numa Pass Trail. Nate above Numa Pass. Floe Lake. Hiking to Floe Lake. Hiking to Floe Lake. Floe Lake warden cabin.

Tumbling Pass

“Oh, wow, look at that glacier!” Nate says.

We’ve reached Tumbling Pass, at over 7,300 feet (2,233m), after a tough, steep hike in early evening on our second day. Looking almost close enough to hit with a stone, the severely cracked Tumbling Glacier pours down the monstrous cliff face in front of us. Between the glacier and us, four mountain goats amble along the rocky ridge of a glacial moraine.

We plop down in the grassy meadow to take a break and just soak up this scene. Penny says, “It’s a lot easier hiking 12 miles with a big pack when you have views like this.”

A couple hours later, we shuffle into Numa Creek campground at 7:45 p.m., after a 10-hour day. I expect both kids to drop from exhaustion. But instead, Nate takes the initiative to pitch our tents, and Alex helps organize food for dinner and heads across the creek to the camp’s cooking area. With more trips under their belts than any of us could remember, they’ve become a couple of fine young backpackers.

While eating dinner by headlamp light in the dark, we meet John and David, a father-son team backpacking the Rockwall together, John retired and David a teacher who’s married and has a young family.

Nate tells me later, “That will be you and me someday, Dad.” I tell him I look forward to that, though I’m in no rush to reach that age.

A trip like this goes better with the right gear.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents.”

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures. Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/best-of-the-canadian-rockies-backpacking-kootenay-national-parks-rockwall-trail/feed/ 2 19829
Why I’m Still Planning Trips for ‘After’ the Coronavirus https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-im-still-planning-trips-for-after-the-coronavirus/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-im-still-planning-trips-for-after-the-coronavirus/#comments Sat, 21 Mar 2020 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38582 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

It feels very weird lately to be posting blog stories about “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First” or “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

It also feels very weird to be making plans for trips this summer—as I am doing—while we all hunker down in our homes in the planet-engulfing shadow of a horrifying pandemic that has already claimed thousands of lives and threatens to kill millions worldwide, perhaps millions just in America.

It seems a little tone deaf to think about backpacking at a time when schools and colleges are closed across the country and the children we’ve exhorted for years to get outside are closeted in their homes and bedrooms because indoors seems like the safest place.

When national parks are closing out of concerns about spreading the coronavirus.

A young boy backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

When so many people are out of work or losing critical income, and city streets and playgrounds look like ghost towns, and medical clinics and hospitals are starting to get overwhelmed (even though it has clearly barely begun) and it feels dangerous just to walk into the supermarket.

Fear of COVID-19, the disease caused by the novel coronavirus, has gripped us possibly more than any viral, mass fear has seized entire populations in decades.

Like many of you, I’m thinking about my family and their safety—every minute of every day, it seems lately. While we have plans for this summer, we will, of course, cancel them if there are lingering concerns over a public-health threat or our safety—because we don’t know how long this emergency will last—or if financial circumstances just don’t permit us to go.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Sunset at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Sunset at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve.

But I also reflect on how much the countless wonderful times we’ve spent together outdoors have brought us so much closer together as a family. We have fondly looked forward to the rafting and kayaking and climbing plans on our calendar for June and backpacking trips in July.

Such hopes feel appallingly trivial even as I type those words—and at the same time, they feel critical to helping us regain a sense of normalcy, to believe that the world will someday be healed again, mostly, and that we will carry on.

Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunset from a campsite in the Tetons.

That’s why, even as this crisis appears on the verge of exploding to the worst-imaginable scenarios, I have been quietly making plans and applying for backcountry permits for trips later this summer—trips I hope will happen. I have two backpacking permits for July, a third for mid-September, and I’m applying for a fourth in late August to early September.

If I can’t take any of these trips, I’ll be out just the small cost of a permit application. If I can take them, not only will my family, some friends, and I enjoy much-needed, psyche-rejuvenating escapes, but we will be supporting local businesses, tipping waitresses, and helping the people whose livelihoods depend on those of us who will eventually return to national parks and other wild spaces and the communities surrounding them.

I intend to continue posting stories at The Big Outside because I believe our current situation will turn around and everyone—including you and my other readers—will want and need to get out again and enjoy the very activities, places, and people that make life fulfilling.

I will keep producing the stories that give you ideas and information for your next trip because I believe you want to read them.

I will help you plan your next trip if you want my help, because I am still hearing from readers who want to plan trips, in spite of all the uncertainty—or just maybe because of all the uncertainty.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

A hiker in early morning above Stillwater Canyon on the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.
Early morning above the Green River in Canyonlands National Park.

In the weeks and months ahead, we will all have our own sets of priorities and choices to make in the best interests of ourselves and the people we love.

For now, I will vigilantly follow all public-health behavior recommendations and orders so that nothing I do endangers other people. (If you still cling to any doubt about the coronavirus threat, watch this video message from Italians.)

I will get out on our local trails as often as possible, exchanging very brief, friendly greetings and nods of mutual understanding with people I pass at a social distance—because especially at times like this, we need little doses of nature more than ever.

I will enjoy the company of my family while I simultaneously hold tightly to the belief that we will emerge okay from this dark and challenging time.

I will do these things, most of all, because I need to embrace hope. Sometimes, hope is what keeps us going.

May you and yours remain healthy, celebrate every day together, and be very, very safe out there.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-im-still-planning-trips-for-after-the-coronavirus/feed/ 6 38582
The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-5-day-hike-in-spains-picos-de-europa-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-5-day-hike-in-spains-picos-de-europa-mountains/#comments Tue, 11 Feb 2020 10:02:50 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=37865 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Minutes into our hike through the jaw-dropping Cares Gorge in northern Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park, we come upon several chamois grazing beside the trail. A deer-like animal about the size of a goat, chamois are the emblematic fauna of the Picos, regularly seen in the alpine areas of these mountains. As my family aims cameras and phones at them, they strike regal, chin-held-high poses—and stare back at us as if we are the true curiosity.

I can’t help but see a bit of symbolism in this brief encounter between species—because as we walk through a herd of chamois in a gorge that looks like an impressionist painting with its soaring, white and gray limestone cliffs dappled with greenery, curiosity defines my reaction to this place. And the greatest curiosity is that this mountain range—which looks like a smaller replica of Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, and lies just two flights from major U.S. airports and obviously a much shorter distance from numerous European cities—has retained a surprising degree of anonymity.

Until just months before this trip, in fact, I had never heard of the Picos de Europa—and I’ve made a living for years seeking out the world’s best hiking trails.

A teenage girl hiking through the Cares Gorge in Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking through the Cares Gorge in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park. The lead photo at top of story shows my family in the Cares Gorge.

I’ve come to the Picos with my wife, Penny, our 18-year-old son, Nate, and 16-year-old daughter, Alex, to trek about 52 miles (84k) over five days through the highest and most rugged and vertiginous peaks of the Picos de Europa, in the part of the range known as the Central Massif. We’ll stay in lodging in villages and in mountain huts as we hike a loop through the heart of these mountains that already have me intrigued.

But as the mountains sometimes dictate, our plan will not unfold quite as planned. Instead, it will morph into the kind of trip that becomes a memorably wonderful adventure precisely because of the unexpected.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


The Cares Gorge

Although the Cares Gorge is one of the most popular dayhikes in the Picos—attracting hundreds of hikers on nice summer weekends—today, a Monday, it’s quiet. In the second week of June, the air remains pleasantly cool for hiking. The trail rises at a mostly gentle angle as we ascend the gorge. As we anticipated before the trip, this will be one of our easiest days.

The ease of the hiking contrasts with the vertiginous character of the gorge: The trail, while meticulously constructed, wide, and never precarious—in other words, very Euro-civilized—frequently presses up against sheer walls of rock towering overhead, with precipitous drop-offs of hundreds of feet to the narrow, boulder-choked, whitewater river at the bottom. A dense, gray blanket of clouds hovers among the tops of cliffs and spires high above us, tendrils of fog slithering through gaps in the walls, alternately engulfing and revealing the highest ramparts of the gorge.

A hiker in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Alex hiking in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.

There’s nothing subtle about the Cares Gorge. From the moment we drove into the tiny village of Poncebos, where the road ends at the bottom of the Cares Gorge and where we’ll finish this loop hike in five days, the scenery has enchanted us. Perhaps an hour into our hike, Nate, spinning around and craning his neck to take in the panorama, tells me, “I approve of your choice of a hike, Dad.”

Overlapping three very different regions of northern Spain—Asturias, Cantabria, and Castilla y León—the Picos were part of Spain’s first national park when the Massif de Peña Santa was declared the National Park of Covadonga Mountain in 1918. In 1995, it became Picos de Europa National Park.

Covering just over 166,000 acres (67,455 hectares)—making it slightly smaller than Shenandoah National Park and slightly larger than Zion National Park in the U.S.—the Picos has been designated a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve because of its unique limestone peaks, many rising to well over 8,000 feet (over 2,500m); forests of oak and beech; biodiversity of fauna including chamois, raptors and other birds, 137 species of diurnal butterflies, salmon in its rivers, and wolves; and some of the most unique karst formations, or caves, in Europe.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Hikers in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
My family hiking in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa.

Three hours and 7.5 miles (12k) of relatively easy hiking from Poncebos, we reach the upper end of the Cares Gorge and the village of Cain, squeezed in tightly between tall cliffs. Even on a quiet Monday, the handful of local restaurants on the one short, main street are doing a bustling business. Hungry and facing a couple more hours of hiking to reach tonight’s lodging, my family randomly picks one of the restaurants and eats more than any of us probably thought we would.

Then we start walking up the winding, narrow road—nearly empty of vehicles—leading south out of Cain, soon turning onto a trail that climbs steadily. The wind picks up and the darkening overcast spits intermittent light rain at us. By the time we reach our hotel in the little, hilltop village of Cordiñanes, we are ready for another large meal and our beds—and we have little inkling of what we’ll face tomorrow. 

A Surprise Snowstorm

As my groggy family wolfs down an early breakfast, our trekking guides enter the hotel dining room. Longtime Picos guide Alberto Mediavilla Serrano and his assistant guide, Celso Suarez Fernández, sit with us to have their coffee and discuss today’s plan. I met Alberto via email through a good friend of mine in the States who’s a mountain guide and a friend of Alberto’s and recommended him as the best guide in the Picos. Alberto, it turns out, is a reader of The Big Outside and very generously offered to join us for the last four days of our trek.

Given the weather that awaits us and our unfamiliarity with the Picos, welcoming Alberto’s offer will be the best decision we make on this trip.

Light rain starts falling as we’re readying to leave. Stepping outside, in the second week of June, we begin a walk back in time into winter.

Make your hikes better. See my reviews of “The 5 Best Rain Jackets For Hiking and Backpacking” and 8 best daypacks.

 

Hikers on the trail from Cordiñanes to the Refugio Collado Jermoso, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Hiking the trail from Cordiñanes to the Refugio Collado Jermoso.

We hike steadily and at times steeply uphill, winding through forest and traversing a footpath across the face of a short cliff, following a marked trail leading from Cordiñanes to the Refugio Collado Jermoso, where we have reservations for tonight. But Alberto had cautioned at breakfast that the usual, direct route to that hut may not be safe if covered with snow—which we’re likely to encounter higher up. “There is an exposed section where it’s better not to fall, and the rocks will be covered with ice,” he told us. However, we can take a somewhat longer route around that lacks such dangerous exposure.

By late morning, we reach an elevation in the rocky, alpine Asotin Valley where the rain abruptly transforms to wet snow. The swirling wind blasts us from various directions, growing stronger as we get higher. It feels more like Scotland’s Northern Highlands in March than the north of Spain in June.

Hikers in a snowstorm on the trail from Cordiñanes to the Refugio Collado Jermoso, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Taking a break in the snowstorm on the trail to the Refugio Collado Jermoso.

At times, the fog retreats enough to give us a view, and we spin in a circle like a dog preparing to lie down, gaping at enormous limestone cliffs flanking the valley. The mountains continue to slip in and out of clouds and the wind strafes us with horizontal snow, which accumulates to several inches on the ground, obscuring the trail—and making Alberto’s knowledge of the Picos invaluable. We continue uphill, wearing shells layered over insulation and hoods up. 

I periodically ask Alex and Nate whether they’re warm enough. But they shrug off my concerns: My kids are long accustomed to trips occasionally not going as expected. They’ll both tell me later that today was actually fun for them. I will never get tired of hearing them say that about hiking through the mountains as a family.

See my story “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 
Hikers in the Fuente Dé cirque, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Hiking into the Fuente Dé cirque en route to Espinama.

At a trail junction, with the snow still falling, Alberto suggests we descend a short distance to take shelter in an old stone hut, smaller than a one-car garage, once used by park rangers. We eat lunch inside it, out of the storm, and discuss our options—but it doesn’t require much discussion at this point. We’re all convinced it would be crazy to continue upward through this intensifying snow and wind toward the Jermoso hut. The weather “is much worse than the forecast said it would be,” Alberto says.

We decide to play it safe and descend to the nearest village, Espinama, a cluster of stone houses and small businesses in the next valley. Once we’ve hiked up above the stone hut and regained cell reception, Alberto pulls out his phone in the blowing snow and reserves us rooms in Espinama.

Then we commence a long downhill of more than 2,600 vertical feet (800m) through dozens of switchbacks, dropping below the snow line into the magnificent cirque of the Fuente Dé, where we return to spring and walk through intermittent showers and sprawling meadows of wildflowers. Although we will miss hiking one of the alpine sections of this trek, from the Jermoso hut, we can still get right back on our itinerary tomorrow morning and hike to our next mountain hut.

Fuente Dé and the Refugio Cabaña Verónica

In the chilly air on our third morning in the Picos, the six of us—my family, Alberto, and Celso—crowd into a cable car with other hikers, most of them out for a dayhike. The glass-walled capsule rises quickly to hundreds of feet above the meadows, gliding past the cliff faces that form the breathtaking Fuente Dé cirque. Ten minutes after boarding the cable car, we step out at its upper station some 2,600 vertical feet (800m) above the meadows where we began this short journey into the sky.

From the smiles on my family’s faces, I know we’re all thinking the same thing: Now that’s civilized.

Alberto leads us walking along a flat, lonely dirt road winding into the mountains. Yesterday’s storm has passed, but the sky remains overcast and the air cool, and fresh snow blankets the ground a few inches deep. At a hairpin bend in the narrow road, we pick up a trail angling upward into a high cirque, the snow now reaching our calves. We reach what seems like the belly of the clouds—and enter the fog. Finally, we see our destination just uphill from us: the Refugio Cabaña Verónica, at just over 7,600 feet (2325m).

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

Hikers climbing to the Refugio Cabaña Verónica, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Hiking toward the Refugio Cabaña Verónica in the Picos.

Jorge, the ponytailed, thirty-ish hutkeeper, invites us inside the tiniest mountain hut I’ve ever seen. A repurposed gun emplacement from a decommissioned U.S. Navy battleship that was dismantled in Bilbao, it wound up high in the Picos de Europa because a local man—clearly with an active imagination—thought it would serve an excellent and more peaceful second life as a mountain hut. He had it dissembled, transported on donkeys to this high cirque, and reassembled here.

Inside are three stacked bunks, each not much wider than a twin bed, separated by about two vertical feet of space; Jorge tells us each bunk normally sleeps two people. A small table with a couple of chairs occupies nearly half the floor space; a small stove and kitchen setup, shelves and cabinets, maps, and a bench line the walls, and daylight pours in through two porthole windows. The entire hut interior is about the size of a large walk-in closet.

Alberto says he once shared this hut with 13 people, all stranded in a snowstorm. They slept three to a bunk—the middle person on each with his head at the feet of the other two, like batteries in a headlamp—and Alberto says he didn’t have enough room to get up and pee when he needed to go. Surveying the limited floor, with barely enough space for stepping around one another, we can’t imagine how another five people would have slept on it. Sardines enjoy roomier sleeping quarters than that.

Hikers outside the Refugio Cabaña Verónica, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
Hikers outside the Refugio Cabaña Verónica.

Jorge confesses that the hardest part of his job isn’t living in a claustrophobic metal can, it’s answering the same questions repeatedly—and on summer weekends, he’ll see some 500 to 1,000 dayhikers visiting this hut after riding the Fuente Dé cable car. I’ve already asked him two of those questions: How long are you here for? (Answer: the entire season, May to November.) And how often do you go down to the valley? (Answer: once or twice a week.)

As we’re listening to Jorge’s and Alberto’s stories and sipping the coffee, tea, and hot chocolate Jorge serves us, I notice through the open door that we can now see the valley far below. We all step outside to find the clouds have lifted. Sunlight beams onto us, reflecting blindingly off the snow and revealing the great horseshoe of towering rock walls and knife-like peaks looming over the Refugio Cabaña Verónica. 

Jorge asks the name of my blog—Alberto told him about it—and when I answer him, he says, “Oh, I already know of it.” He says he bought a Gregory Baltoro after reading my review. We live in a small virtual world.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, and other parks using my expert e-guides.

 

A hiker on the trail to the Refugio Cabaña Verónica, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
My wife, Penny, descending through snow below the Refugio Cabaña Verónica.

Backtracking toward the cable car station to walk from there to tonight’s lodging, the Hotel Aliva, I notice a high pass in the long escarpment of peaks above us and ask Alberto, referring to the hut we’ll hike to tomorrow: “Is that the pass to Urriellu?” He says it is, and in these snow conditions, he thinks it would be unsafe, at least without ice axes. With this much snow in the Picos, we’ve resorted to planning our hiking itinerary, Alberto tells us, “one day at a time.”

We finish a marvelous day walking down another lonely dirt road to the Hotel Aliva, situated beside a dirt road on a high, treeless plateau with stunning mountain views. Guests arrive both on foot and by car, and it has private rooms—it’s more hotel than hut. In the cafeteria and bar, we sip beers and hot drinks, laughing over our day and playing cards before dinner.

Refugio Vega de Urriellu and the Naranjo de Bulnes

We awaken on our fourth morning to a blue sky and fog creeping up the bucolic valley below Aliva. By around 9:30 a.m., we set out down the quiet dirt road, descending into a valley and walking past scores of fat, brown cows lying beside the road and grazing the almost treeless, grassy valley, the clanging of their bells drifting in the cool, dry air. We pass a sheep dog sitting calmly on an embankment above the road; the sheep in his charge part before us. Several trekkers pass by heading up to Aliva, but we see only a few cars in two-plus hours walking the road.

A stream courses down the valley, occasionally disappearing underground and reemerging above ground farther down—a common occurrence with the streams in these limestone mountains, where there are also almost no lakes. Sheer cliffs and spires rise a thousand feet tall above the wildflower-carpeted slopes to our left. Alberto points out a couple with long, moderate rock-climbing routes on them. We pass clusters of small, almost windowless, one-room stone shelters with roofs of clay tiles—cow huts. Alberto tells us the tile makers traditionally molded the roof tiles over their thighs to create their half-pipe shape.

Below the town of Sotres, which huddles against the mountainside across the valley, we turn onto a trail toward the Refugio Vega de Urriellu—commencing a 1,000-meter (over 3,000-foot) uphill slog to the hut where we will spend the night. Before long, a soupy fog rolls in and engulfs us.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips. Want my help with yours? Click here.

 

The valley above Sotres, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
The valley above Sotres, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.

My family ended up in the Picos de Europa almost accidentally. As it happened, June was when we had time for a longer trip this year—but trails in many mountain ranges remain largely buried under snow then. I discovered the Picos while researching hiking destinations online, but also discovered a dearth of information. I found maps but virtually no detailed trail and route descriptions and no guidebook.

As frustrating as that was, I gradually came to a happy conclusion regarding what that information vacuum said about the Picos: Somehow, these strikingly picturesque limestone peaks have evaded the spotlight. Then we had the serendipitous good fortune of meeting Alberto through a friend of mine.

A hiker at dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu in Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
Trekking guide Alberto Mediavilla at dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu.

Where the trail angles upward across a mountainside of wildflowers and rocks, Alberto stops us outside a small, one-room, stone house that stands just a few steps off the path. He shares with us the story of the woman who lived there for 40 years without electricity or plumbing. Rosa was known for making the best cheese in the region, so people would hike up to her tiny home to buy her cheese. She got her water from a pipe that led from a stream running past her hut. She had no communication with the outside world. Alberto got to know her during the two summers and one winter he worked in the Urriellu hut—which, he tells us, had no heater then, so in winter they sometimes stayed warm by stringing a line across the dining room to play volleyball.

Alberto would regularly walk the trail past Rosa’s little hut and visit with her. Several years ago, in her seventies, with government regulations requiring cheese makers to use sanitary conditions that she could never replicate in her hut, she had to give up her trade. Alberto stopped by one day to find her weeping. “I just sold my last cow,” she told him between sobs. “I do not know what I will do tomorrow if I’m not making cheese.” She now lives down the valley in the village of Bulnes, and her old one-room, stone house sits empty.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

A chamois at dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
A chamois at dawn outside the Refugio Vega de Urriellu.

Throughout our four days of trekking with him, Alberto finds moments to tell us stories of his mountain-based lifestyle, from his days working in the Urriellu hut to the past 15 years he has guided every summer and worked every winter providing field reports on snow conditions to the government agency that produces avalanche forecasts for the Picos. Listening to Alberto, Nate says to me, in a tone of awe and envy, “He just does whatever he can to be in the mountains all the time.”

After about two-and-a-half hours of hiking uphill, mostly in fog, Alberto turns to us and says with a laugh, “Can’t you see the hut right there in front of us?!” We see only a wall of white. Not until we are about 50 feet from the stone building does it emerge from the dense cloud we’re in.

‘The Heart and Soul of the Picos’

Minutes after we begin hiking on our last morning, we stop at a spot overlooking the Urriellu hut, which squats at the foot of the 1,600-foot (500m tall) face of 8,264-foot (2519m) Naranjo de Bulnes, the most famous peak in the Picos. Beneath a cloudless, electrically blue sky, our view stretches from Bulnes and an arc of rocky peaks to a sea of clouds filling the valley far below us.

Alberto turns to us and says, “Our days have been fine so far, but the alpine areas that I will show you today are the heart and soul of the Picos.”

A hiker overlooking the Naranjo de Bulnes peak in Spain's Picos de Europa Mountains.
My son, Nate, overlooking the Naranjo de Bulnes peak in Spain’s Picos de Europa.

Mountain Guide Alberto Mediavilla Serrano, alberto.mediavilla@gmail.com.

I also got useful information from guide Mike Stuart of Picos Rock and Snow, thepicosdeeuropa.com/picos-rock-and-snow, thepicosdeeuropa@gmail.com.

Lodging The Casa Maru B&B in Camarmeña—a charming village of a few narrow, cobblestone streets and nine residents in summer, perched on a mountainside about a mile/1.5k and hundreds of feet above Poncebos and the Cares Gorge trailhead—has two guest rooms and a commanding view of the bottom of the Cares Gorge and the most-famous peak in the Picos de Europa Mountains, the Naranjo de Bulnes. Hosts Alberto Rosado and Jhousy Rubio, who together speak Spanish, English, French, and German, serve a delicious and substantial breakfast and share info on local hiking trails; casamaru.com, info@casamaru.com.

The Hostal Poncebos offers affordable rooms (although with thin walls, so you will hear neighbors in adjoining rooms) and meals and sits right on the Rio Cares, a few minutes’ drive or a short walk from the end of the road and the trailhead for Cares Gorge; booking.com/hotel/es/hostal-poncebos.html.

The season for both lodges runs from roughly early June until mid-October.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding gear I used in the Picos: the Deuter Trail Pro 36 and Trail Pro 34 SL and Gregory Miwok 18 and Maya 16 daypacks, the Black Diamond Helio Active Shell rain jacket, the Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell, and the Oboz Sawtooth II Low Waterproof hiking shoes.

Want to make your pack lighter and all of your backpacking trips more enjoyable? See my “10 Tricks for Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of the 10 tricks here and the lightweight backpacking guide here without having a paid membership.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-5-day-hike-in-spains-picos-de-europa-mountains/feed/ 28 37865
Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me) https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-endanger-my-kids-in-the-wilderness-even-though-it-scares-the-sht-out-of-me/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-endanger-my-kids-in-the-wilderness-even-though-it-scares-the-sht-out-of-me/#comments Sun, 09 Feb 2020 10:00:10 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=22288 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

A glacial wind pours through a snowy pass in the remote mountains of Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park. Virtually devoid of vegetation, the terrain offers no refuge from the relentless current of frigid air. Some of the troops are hungry, a little tired, and grumpy; mutiny doesn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility, so I don’t want to add “cold” to their growing list of grievances. I coax everyone to push on just a little farther, down out of the wind to a sun-splashed, snow-free area of dirt and rocks for lunch.

But I don’t like the looks of the steep slope we have to descend. Blanketed in snow made firm by freezing overnight temperatures, and littered with protruding boulders, it runs hundreds of feet down to a lake choked with icebergs—in mid-July. A trench stomped into the snow by other trekkers diagonals down to our lunch spot. It’s well traveled, but someone slipping in that track could rocket downhill at the speed of a car on a highway. I turn to our little party—which ranges in age from my nine-year-old daughter to my 75-year-old mother—and emphasize that we have to proceed extremely carefully.

We inch our way across a span of snow broader than a football field is long. Within twenty feet of the safety of the dirt where we intend to stop, I hear my wife behind me shriek, “Nate!” And I spin around to see my 11-year-old son sliding downhill, accelerating rapidly.

By sheer luck—or perhaps just because he weighs so little—he stops abruptly about 30 feet below us, caught on the lip of a moat that has melted out on the uphill side of a boulder. (With a little more speed, he might have slammed into that boulder, miles from the nearest road and many hours from the nearest emergency room.) I tell him to remain still, then usher everyone to the lunch spot and kick steps into the hard snow down to Nate to lead him to safe ground.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


A young boy and girl trekking up the Langvatnet valley in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
My kids, Alex and Nate, trekking up the Langvatnet valley in Jotunheimen National Park, Norway.

I hesitate to share that story because some people will read it and judge me a bad parent who willingly places his children in harm’s way. Some parents may see it as validation for their fear of taking kids out into nature. I’m a father (and not mentally unbalanced, honestly); I understand that protective instinct. I’ve also seen how quickly everything can go wrong in the backcountry—a few times, in fact, which is a few too many. But seeing danger suddenly grab one of my kids and hurl him down a mountainside felt like simultaneous blows to my head and heart. For the rest of that trip, and occasionally since, those three seconds of horror have replayed in my mind, and I’ve chastised myself for not simply guiding my kids and my mom one at a time across that slope (as I did when we continued that descent—uneventfully—after lunch).

Now, several years after that beautiful, weeklong, hut-to-hut trek in Jotunheimen, my family and the friends who joined us look back on it fondly. In spite of that haunting memory of Nate’s slide and a deep understanding of the inherent risks, I continue to take my kids backpacking into wilderness, rock and mountain climbing, whitewater kayaking and rafting, and backcountry skiing. The reasons for that derive from societal forces as much as personal values, and are as complicated and vexing as parenting itself.

But I’m still not sure what terrifies me more: knowing how close we came to tragedy, or my enduring belief that exposing my kids to this kind of danger is somehow good for them.

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You” and “My Top 10 Family Outdoor Adventures.”

Alex, 6, at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve. Alex, 13, at Idaho's Castle Rocks State Park. Alex trekking in Jotunheimen National Park. Nate canyoneering in Capitol Reef National Park.

Raising Wild Kids

I became a father at age 39, on the brink of middle age, and began playing parent by ear with only a vague sense of the melody (which inevitably means hitting a lot of bad notes before finding the right ones). I’d had a good life through my thirties, working as an outdoor writer, spending more days outside every year than many avid backpackers, climbers, skiers, and paddlers spend in 10 years. In some ways, I think it may have been harder to surrender that freedom at that age than it might have been 10 years earlier. Suddenly, the cold reality of fatherhood had taken away my ability to head out anytime the desire hit me.

I saw only one conceivable strategy for preserving my charmed lifestyle—and my sanity: I had to raise my children to love the outdoors as much as I do.

Shortly after my son and daughter came along in the early 2000s, author Richard Louv coined the term Nature-Deficit Disorder in his bestseller Last Child in the Woods, revealing just how little time children in many Western nations spend outdoors. As my kids reached school age, I began to realize how many parents believed—based on overwrought news reports that painted a picture very different from the statistical reality—that child abductors lurked everywhere, making the streets and playgrounds unsafe for children to wander around unsupervised (as if they were, you know, children). Instead, parents actively managed their children’s time through organized sports and music lessons and “play dates” with other kids—which I believe helps foster the impression in kids’ minds that “playing” involves one friend, maybe two or three, not the larger gatherings required for activities like pickup sports games.

It slowly dawned on me how radically the topography of childhood had shifted in the decades since I’d traveled over it.

Like what you’re reading? Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter!

 

Young family at Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
My family on an early backpacking trip in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

Then my children reached a transitional age from elementary school to junior high, and they and their peers seemed to phase out almost all outdoor activity. They still played soccer, but only in organized leagues; I rarely see any kids in our residential neighborhood engaged in the pickup ball games that dominated my time at that age. For many of this generation, the games that kept my peers and me outside and physically active are replaced by electronic entertainment that keeps them inside and inactive.

My son and daughter, now in their later teen years, move comfortably between two strikingly disparate worlds. One is the world they love to visit: nature. They have explored many wild places that I didn’t even know the names of as a boy: Sequoia (lead photo at top of story), Zion, Olympic, Glacier Bay, Capitol Reef, Everglades, and in the state of their birth, the Sawtooth and White Cloud Mountains and Middle Fork of the Salmon River, among other public lands. They were skilled and experienced wilderness travelers before they became teenagers.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

At the same time, when we’re home, my teenagers live in the walled-in, plugged-in, touchscreen, modern world. They communicate or play electronically with friends who are in their own homes more often than in person. If I tell my kids to go outside, they look at me as if I’ve suggested that they go live in a hollowed-out log and subsist on grubs; they tell me that none of their friends are outside or see any reason for going out. From their perspective, formed by comparing themselves with the kids they know, this is perfectly normal.

That bothers me—particularly the normalization of living almost entirely indoors. But what bothers me even more is adult society’s complicity in the growing home confinement of its children.

Like Sisyphus pushing his boulder up the mountain, I’ve spent nearly two decades raising wild kids from the most wired generation in history.

Backcountry skiing, Boise Mountains, Idaho. Nate backcountry skiing near Galena Summit, Idaho. Nate backcountry skiing, Boise Mountains, Idaho. A mother and young boy sea kayaking below Reid Glacier in Alaska's Glacier Bay National Park. Young girls cross-country skiing to a backcountry yurt in Idaho's Boise National Forest.

Young Backcountry Skiers

Snowflakes float silently out of a gray ceiling and fingers of fog probe the mountainsides within view as five of us slowly ski uphill on Pilot Peak in southern Idaho’s Boise Mountains. Our group includes my friends and regular backcountry-skiing partners Paul Forester and Gary Davis; Gary’s 15-year-old daughter, Mae, out on her first-ever day of carving wild snow; and my son, Nate. Mae and Nate grew up as neighbors and have become close friends in high school.

After climbing steadily uphill for more than an hour, we reach the top of an open meadow that slopes downhill for several hundred vertical feet from where we stand. Pine forest flanks the sprawling meadow on all sides, many of the trees scorched, blackened husks since a major wildfire last summer—the kind of blaze that has become larger and more common throughout the West as the climate warms. I wonder what that portends for the future of skiing for these teenagers—although that may someday seem trivial in light of the larger climate-related problems facing their world. (Read about the impacts of climate change in my book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.)

Nate backpacking in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Nate backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

But today, in a winter of one snowstorm after another, white fluff covers the ground deeply here, at over 7,000 feet. We dig a pit nearly two meters deep to evaluate the likelihood of an avalanche occurring where we want to ski. We’ve deliberately picked a run we know doesn’t get steep enough to make an avalanche likely. Still, risk is like pine sap on clothing—no matter what you do, you can never eliminate it completely, anywhere. The three adults here feel the enormity of responsibility we bear to keep these two young people safe.

After judging the avalanche risk low enough to ski here, we head downhill one at a time. Nate and Mae both face-plant in the powder and come up laughing. After a couple of laps up and down, Mae feels a sports injury acting up, and Paul’s having a binding issue; they and Gary decide to ski down to the car, and offer to wait there while Nate and I ski another lap. So we take them up on it.

As we make the last uphill climb, Nate confesses: “The first few times we went backcountry skiing, I was just trusting you when you said it would get more fun, because it wasn’t a lot of fun those first times.” I nod; skiing up a mountain is hard work. “But now I get it. This is great,” he says, gesturing at the heavily falling snow and deeply quiet ponderosa pine forest around us, “and every time we go, I like it better.”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

A teenage boy and tweener girl standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington.
My son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, standing on the crater rim of Mount St. Helens, Washington.

A Generation Indoors

Few of Nate’s and Mae’s peers experience anything even remotely resembling our day on Pilot Peak.

Then-National Park Service Director Jonathan Jarvis told National Geographic magazine in 2016, “Young people are more separated from the natural world than perhaps any generation before them.” While national parks saw record numbers of visitors three years in a row—with 325 million in 2016—those people are mostly Baby Boomers (and predominantly white, another concern of National Park Service managers). The average age of visitors to Yellowstone is 54, while the number of people under age 15 going to national parks has fallen by half in recent years.

Any parent can tell you where those kids are. Children age eight to 18 spend more than seven hours a day on electronic screens, according to a Kaiser Family Foundation study. (The New York Times news story about the study carried the headline: “If Your Kids Are Awake, They’re Probably Online.”) But that figure under-represents the reality: They multi-task on multiple devices and actually cram nearly 11 hours of media consumption into those seven-and-a-half hours.

Responsibility for our national parks, even our planet’s livability in this era of accelerating climate change, will fall soon upon the shoulders of these teenagers and children. We may discover what happens when we raise a generation of children as if they were indoor cats.

At a wedding not long ago, I had the weirdly jolting experience of watching virtually everyone college age and under dancing with their phones in their hands—recording a video, taking a photo, or constantly ready to do either. They didn’t want to separate from their technology even for the length of a pop song. My kids have spent days at a time in the wilderness; they’re used to being offline for long periods. But for many of their generation, being disconnected poses a significant psychological obstacle to getting out in nature.

Anyone with an Internet connection can read reams of material demonstrating why too much screen time is unhealthy for kids. Some data also suggests that certain uses of devices aren’t bad for kids. But I worry more about what they’re missing by staying online indoors.

A growing body of research demonstrates what many of us know intuitively: that being in nature makes us physically and emotionally healthier.

University of Utah cognitive psychologist David Strayer found that a group of Outward Bound participants performed 50 percent better on creative problem-solving tasks after three days of wilderness backpacking. His explanation: immersion in nature somehow gives the prefrontal cortex, the brain’s overtaxed command center, a much-needed break. Researchers at the University of Exeter found that increasing green space near people’s homes made them measurably happier. Other studies have shown that people with a window view of greenery perform better in school and at work and recover faster in hospitals. Whatever physiological indicators are measured—stress hormones, brain waves, heart rate, or protein markers—the evidence is clear: Our bodies prefer being in nature.

Young girl backpacking the High Sierra Trail, Sequoia National Park.
Alex backpacking the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.

But I think the ongoing conversation about how little time kids spend outdoors misses one critical point.

Adults tend to discuss the issue as if it’s a problem created by kids. Mine were born in the 21st century. They and their peers did not invent the Internet, online games, or electronic devices. They also did not create an urban and suburban environment where, compared to my boyhood, far more private and public property is fenced off or otherwise off-limits to playing, biking, sledding [insert childhood play activity of choice here] out of concern about “safety” (i.e., lawsuits). Today’s kids did not decide against walking to school; parents have created this generation of children who get driven to school.

Viewing this issue on a larger canvas, we should all worry about who will take on tomorrow’s conservation battles. Activism doesn’t arise from nothing—it is a fire stoked by experiences. Environmentalism’s greatest champions began as young people passionate about wilderness and nature. Responsibility for the future of our national parks, the air we breathe and water we drink, even our planet’s livability in this era of rapidly accelerating climate change, will fall soon upon the shoulders of these teenagers and children.

We may be in danger of discovering what happens when we raise a generation of children as if they were indoor cats.

Backpacking to Spider Gap, Glacier Peak Wilderness. Alex trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy's Dolomite Mountains. Alex hiking Angels Landing, Zion National Park. Nate kayaking Idaho's Payette River.

Family Adventures

A couple of years ago, when I asked my then-13-year-old daughter, Alex, what she’d like to do for our annual “girl trip,” she contemplated it only briefly, then said, “Let’s go rock climbing.” We had a wonderful time on the granite cliffs of Idaho’s Castle Rocks State Park, where she reached the top of some of the hardest routes she’s ever climbed.

My son, Nate has developed twin passions for climbing and whitewater kayaking, and grown quite competent at both. As we paddled the class III whitewater of Idaho’s Payette River, a short drive from our home, on a summer day not long ago, I asked his advice on the correct line through an approaching rapid. Nate smiled at me and said, “Don’t worry, Dad. I wouldn’t just let you do it on your own.”

Both of my kids were crushed to learn we couldn’t take our annual ski trip to a backcountry yurt last winter, because a major wildfire the previous summer had damaged much of the yurt and trail system in the Boise National Forest. It would have been our tenth straight year, going back to when Alex was four. (We have plans to renew that tradition this winter.)

Moments like these reinforce my gut feeling that my wife and I have done something right by taking them camping and climbing, backpacking and skiing since they were babies.

The Big Outside can help your family get outdoors more. Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

When my little world briefly turns to poo-poo, I know the cure—the instant injection of happiness delivered by going backpacking for several days, or spending a day skiing, climbing, or hiking, or taking an hour-long trail run. I see that same reaction in my kids and their friends who join us outside—an instant shot of joy. Children who grow up without that experience may never teach it to their own kids. For nearly all of the history of homo sapiens, we have been creatures of nature. Only in the past few generations have more and more people become distanced from it, fomenting a misguided notion of the natural world as alien to us.

Teenage climber backpacking to high camp below California's Mount Whitney.
Nate backpacking to our high camp to climb California’s Mount Whitney.

I don’t delude myself about the risks of my kids climbing, whitewater kayaking, backcountry skiing, or even just backpacking; I’ve seen the worst that can happen out there. I also understand how activities with a relatively low level of risk can be a sort of gateway drug to riskier pursuits; and how young people, especially, are sometimes drawn to danger like a moth to the flame. Still, risk is something we can estimate and make decisions to minimize; one obviously doesn’t have to climb cliffs or paddle whitewater. A simple walk in nature probably involves much less risk than we accept without thought when we get in our cars every day.

I’ve also seen how my kids draw real life lessons from what we do outdoors. We all learn to manage risk through experience; and outside, risk is so visual and visceral that those lessons get fast-tracked. On a cliff or in a whitewater rapid, danger is in your face. It provides an effective metaphor, when the time is right, for talking about the sort of hazards young people too often view blithely, like alcohol, drugs, sex, and cars.

Plus, there’s simply no analog in civilization for the time my family spends together in the backcountry, when we’re all disconnected from our electronics. We talk to each other. We tell stories. We laugh. In other words, we resort to the basic form of human communication that is the cornerstone of human civilization: verbal. Probably like most families, mine almost never spends hours a day talking and sharing time together in the “real world.”

To a new parent asking my advice, I’d suggest establishing strict limits on screen time for young children (and impose the rule on yourself at home, because if kids are good at anything, it’s imitating their parents). I would postpone getting a kid her first cell phone for as long as possible—it’s electronic methamphetamine, and most kids (and adults) get addicted immediately.

Like this story? You may also like “The 9 Hardest Lessons for Parents Who Love the Outdoors.”

 

A young girl watches a mountain goat while hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park.
Alex and a mountain goat on the Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park.

But we’re never turning back the clock of childhood to a time before smartphones, tablets, laptops, social media, texting, and Youtube. That genie escaped the bottle years ago. Short of whisking your family off to live in the remote Arctic, insulating your child from the influences of society is as realistic as expecting him to never disagree with you. Their friends have phones and computers. They’ll reach an age where they routinely use a computer or other device for schoolwork. (Then try monitoring screen time.) As with most adults, the lives of children grow increasingly interwoven with technology.

Negative reinforcement—restricting a child’s access to anything—only goes so far. At some point, you have to grant your kid the freedom and responsibility to make decisions, which they will do with or without their parents’ endorsement, anyway. That’s called growing up.

To get my kids off screens, I have to offer them something better. And to find that something, we go outside.

The "kids raft" running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The “kids raft” running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Better Than Screens

The mountain goat seemed to appear out of thin air as we neared Gunsight Pass in Glacier National Park. Nate, then nine, and Alex, seven, froze in their tracks and stared at it—not in fear so much as wonder. It was their first mountain goat. We exchanged stares for several minutes, until the goat yielded the trail by plunging down the mountainside below us, which was basically a cliff. Alex peered down from the spot where the goat had stepped off the trail and said, “I can’t believe it went down there.”

Moments later, we encountered an older couple hiking in the opposite direction, who sized up our kids and gushed, “We’re impressed! We never had any luck trying to get our kids to backpack.” After they had passed, Alex turned to me and pointedly said: “You didn’t get us to do this. We wanted to do it.”

Six years after that hike in Glacier, Nate, then 15, and I laid in our 0-degree sleeping bags on an April evening, in a tent pitched on snow at 12,000 feet below the soaring cliffs and spires of the East Face of California’s Mount Whitney. Hours after reaching the 14,505-foot summit of the highest peak in the contiguous United States via a mountaineering route, we were tired and proud as we recalled details of the day.

Feeling inspired by this story? Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

Not sure you’re ready to join, but want to support my blog?

Click here to leave a tip for The Big Outside! Thank you.

 

Nate and our team on the Mountaineers Route, Mount Whitney.
Nate and our team on the Mountaineers Route, Mount Whitney.

Then Nate threw an arm around my shoulders and spoke words that he’d said before and I’ll never get tired of hearing: “I love it when we do these things together.”

Am I endangering my kids by taking them on these outdoor adventures? I understand the honest answer to that question too well to deny it. But the anxious moments have been relatively few.

More significant are the positive impacts the outdoors has on my children. It’s making them better people—better able to manage the challenges and stresses they will encounter in “normal” life; better citizens for helping to address the myriad difficult choices the future holds for society; and well-rounded, mature individuals better able to follow a path that leads to happiness.

That last item is what matters most to me.

So I view that question through the wide-angle lens that reveals the whole picture of what it’s like to be a young person today. And from that perspective, I’m convinced that, rather than endangering them, the outdoors is saving their lives.

See all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-i-endanger-my-kids-in-the-wilderness-even-though-it-scares-the-sht-out-of-me/feed/ 15 22288
Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades https://thebigoutsideblog.com/like-no-other-place-paddling-the-everglades/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/like-no-other-place-paddling-the-everglades/#comments Thu, 19 Dec 2019 10:38:00 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=316 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Under a hot February sun and cloudless sky, we launch our kayaks from a tiny spot of sandy beach into the perfectly still, dark-chocolate waters of the East River in South Florida’s Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park. Within minutes, flocks of snowy egrets fly in close formation overhead. White ibises, black anhingas, tri-colored herons, and brown pelicans flap above the wide river and the green walls of forest on both sides. Great blue herons lift off effortlessly and glide on wings whose span equals an average human’s height.

A little while ago, when we turned off US 41 onto an unmarked dirt road, just a few miles north of the boundary of Everglades National Park, a small, homemade sign nailed to a tree greeted us with the message: “Welcome to the real Florida.” Although the driving directions I received for this put-in on the East River seemed to invite error—they were of the “turn left past the end of the guardrail” variety—that sign made me think we’d landed in the right place. The bird life we’re seeing confirms it.

My ten-year-old son, Nate, and I share one two-person, sit-on-top kayak; my wife, Penny, shares another with our daughter, Alex, who’s almost eight. We are setting out for a few hours of paddling this river’s pond-like open stretches and tight mangrove tunnels—and getting can-almost-touch-them close to wildlife that you cannot see on most of the planet.

Tomorrow, we will set out for three days canoeing and camping in the Ten Thousand Islands of Everglades National Park.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Mangrove tunnel, East River, in the Fakahatchee Strand. Great egret, Everglades. Great blue heron, Everglades. Nate and baby alligator, Everglades. Mangrove tunnel, East River, in the Fakahatchee Strand. Paddling the East River in the Fakahatchee Strand. Paddling the East River in the Fakahatchee Strand.

Our companion today, guide Justin Shurr of Shurr Adventures—who will lead us through the East River’s labyrinth of mangrove tunnels—points at a small, easily overlooked shadow on the dark water.

“See that thing that looks like a piece of driftwood?” he says. “It’s not driftwood. It’s an alligator.” As is typical, only the gator’s head breaks the surface; most of its body floats just below, hidden from sight until you get close. But, Justin explains, you can estimate its size using a simple, reliable formula: Every inch of distance from its eyes to the end of its snout translates to a foot of body length. “That’s a twelve-footer,” he tells us.

We paddle a wide arc around it.

In fact, there are a lot of gators. We see several just in the 20 minutes before we enter the first of five mangrove tunnels on the river. Justin calmly points out each one—with an estimate: “That’s an eleven-footer. Those are ten or eleven-footers.” In the murky water, which is only two to three feet deep, we see alligators lurking motionless on the mucky bottom, and keep eyes peeled to avoid passing right over one.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

An alligator in the East River.

The Fakahatchee Strand Preserve State Park is billed as “the Amazon of North America.” A swamp forest approximately twenty miles long by five miles wide, it contains a variety of habitats from wet prairies to islands of tropical hardwood hammocks and pine rocklands. The Fakahatchee has 44 native orchids and 14 native bromeliad species. Get lucky—or unlucky, depending on your perspective—and you could happen upon Florida panthers and black bears, Eastern indigo snakes, Everglades minks, and diamondback terrapins here.

Entering the mangroves, we steer the kayaks through passages so tight that we can grab branches in the spaghetti tangle on either side to pull ourselves forward. The trees form an actual tunnel, with the twisted canopy arching just above our heads. We break down our paddles and each use just half of one to push forward in water inches deep.

A bit more than three miles downstream, after exiting the last tunnel and entering a broad stretch of brown river, we turn around and retrace our strokes. With no discernible current, going upstream is no different than going down.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

 

After pushing and pulling our way back through the tunnels, with the put-in where we began this tour in sight, Nate and I have drawn far ahead of Penny, Alex, and Justin when we realize they’re yelling at us. I look back. Justin points to our left, at a gator swimming on a collision course with us—or perhaps we are on a collision course with it. I swing the kayak in the other direction.

As we are quickly learning, the Everglades seem placid—but below the surface, this is a uniquely wild place.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Canoeing the Ten Thousand Islands

Launching into Chokoloskee Bay at 7:30 a.m. on another windless, sunny morning, our second in the Everglades, our two canoes manufacture the only ripples in a vast table of saltwater. Nate and I again share a boat, Penny and Alex the other. We rose before dawn to time our departure for the outgoing tide, and not just so it would help gently propel us outbound—which is not an insignificant service given that Penny and I are essentially solo engines for canoes weighed down with camping gear, a watertight food bin, and five-gallon water jugs. But the main reason for our carefully planned timing is that much of this expansive but shallow bay will transform to mud flats by early afternoon, when the tide is low.

We are headed out to Tiger Key, one of the outermost of the Ten Thousand Islands in Everglades National Park.

Across the bay, we enter a wide channel winding through flat islands covered in mats of dense mangroves. My nautical map shows hundreds of these isles, called “keys,” knitted together by a labyrinth of channels. Looking at the map and our surroundings, we quickly see how easily you could get lost in this giant maze of thickly forested, shell-and-sand mounds that all look the same.

Contact Everglades National Park, nps.gov/ever. Find good information on planning a wilderness trip at nps.gov/ever/planyourvisit/wilderness-trip-planner.htm.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/like-no-other-place-paddling-the-everglades/feed/ 2 316
10 Expert Tips for Doing Adventure Travel Right https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-10-rules-of-adventure-travel/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-10-rules-of-adventure-travel/#comments Mon, 21 Oct 2019 09:00:21 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15199 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

What exactly is “adventure travel?” While we may all define it slightly differently, I think there are universal commonalities to it. Real adventure transports you into a physical and emotional place you have never gone before, or rarely go. It brings surprises and occasionally hardships. But the good surprises are a gift that often comes wrapped in wonder and awe, while the hardships teach us something about the world and, usually, about ourselves.

Our earliest adventures can help kindle a fire for more experiences that deliver that buzz again—that feeling of being entirely on your own and not knowing what’s going to happen next, but whatever lies ahead, you’re eager to leap into it.

I’ve been fortunate to build a career around outdoor writing and photography and explore the backcountry of many national parks and wilderness areas, as well as travel around the world to pursue adventures from Patagonia to Iceland, Norway to Nepal to New Zealand and other places.

My idea of adventure travel has evolved quite a bit over half a lifetime.

Scrambling Bernia Ridge in Spain's Aitana Mountains.
Scrambling Bernia Ridge in Spain’s Aitana Mountains.

Today, I find that buzz more elusive. Experience makes you safer, more confident, and less susceptible to surprises—and all of that’s generally good. But I hope to never strip away all of the surprise and mystery from travel.

I still recapture that feeling now and then, as I did not long ago on New Zealand’s hardest hut trek, the Dusky Track. And these days, I often experience that surprise and wonder vicariously, through taking my kids on adventures that give them that buzz of discovering new surprises.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

And those don’t have to be overseas: My kids have gotten that buzz many times domestically, including when we whitewater rafted and kayaked Idaho’s remote Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and backpacked the spectacular canyon of the Paria River in Utah and Arizona.

I’ve found there are universal aspects to any great adventure. So whether you’re planning your first national park visit or an international trek, I think you’ll draw some ideas and inspiration from these 10 tips for more rewarding adventure travel.

Click on any photo to read my story about that trip, and please share your own tips or thoughts on my tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story.

Hiking Trail 712 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
Hiking in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, in Italy’s Dolomites.

No. 1 Do Some Research

When I was planning a multi-day, hut-to-hut trek for my family in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains (lead photo at top of story), I realized we were heading to a very popular destination that would be packed with tourists in the high season, especially August. So besides planning our trip for mid-July, I wanted to find a trail that would be less crowded than the well-known and extremely popular Alta Via 1, which I’d read about many times in magazines and websites.

I found that the Alta Via 2 was considered the hardest of the high routes through the Dolomites. On it, we’d enjoy a similar experience as on the AV 1 in terms of scenery, huts, and culture, but we’d see far fewer people, have less difficulty booking huts, and as a bonus (in my view), we’d enjoy some rugged hiking that would deliver more excitement than the popular, well-manicured trails. I was right, as you can read about in my story “The World’s Most Beautiful Trail: Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.”

Find out all you can about where you’re going before you get there—it will help you have a better experience. One of the smartest things I’ve ever done was to start a list of trip ideas, years ago, including planning details and information sources (like links to stories); it’s now well over 18,000 words long—and growing—with hundreds of trip ideas. (I need to live a long time.) Keeping a list of trip ideas will provide motivation to keep getting you out again and again.

Like this story? You may also like my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

Children greeting trekkers in Upper Pisang on Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Children greeting trekkers in Upper Pisang on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

No. 2 Don’t Go Entirely By the Book

Several days into a 17-day trek around the Annapurna Circuit in the Himalayan Mountains of Nepal—on our honeymoon—my wife and I and four new friends we’d met the first day, who’d become our trekking companions, stopped for the night at a teahouse in a tiny village called Lower Pisang. The guidebooks recommended staying there, so we saw dozens of other trekkers, and the locals seemed accustomed to catering to foreign tourists. While Lower Pisang had mud and stone buildings and views of massive, icy peaks, it held no surprises for us. In a way, it was like many of the world’s most popular treks, where you’ll meet people from many countries—which is part of the magic of adventure travel, but also can make such trips seem too homogenized if you don’t break away from the beaten tourist path at times, too.

Although we were tired and feeling the effects of higher elevation, we decided to walk uphill from Lower Pisang to Upper Pisang, which, clearly, few other trekkers bothered to do. There, on dirt paths between ancient stone homes, children ran out to greet us, shouting and laughing and pulling on our clothes to lead us through their village. We found a tiny teahouse, accessed by climbing up a wooden ladder to the second-floor balcony, where the owners served us tea and showed us their kitchen, a dirt-floored room with a single, kerosene burner.

Visiting Upper Pisang was the kind of experience that makes a trip more special. Don’t always do what everyone else does. Treat the guidebook as just that—a set of rough guidelines and advice, not a step-by-step manual. Be curious and flexible, look around, and explore.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Dawn light on Dhaulagiri, from Poon Hill on Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Dawn light on Dhaulagiri, from Poon Hill on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

No. 3 Sometimes, Do What Everyone Else Does

On one of our last mornings on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit, we rose long before sunrise and hiked by the light of headlamps in the frigid cold, following a quiet procession of trekkers up a well-beaten footpath leading out of the village of Deorali. Reaching the bare crown of Poon Hill, at over 9,000 feet, we watched and waited beneath the dome of a Himalayan night sky riddled with stars.

Soon, rich bands of red and yellow slowly ignited the eastern horizon and dawn seeped across the sky. A flash of golden light struck the snowy cap of Annapurna South, and then leapt like wildfire across the tops of the other, giant peaks crowding the skyline before us: Dhaulagiri, The Fang, Hiun Chuli, and Macchapucchare, floating above valleys still coal-black with night. An iconic experience for Annapurna trekkers, it always draws a parade of people, and was one of the most gorgeous sunrises I have ever witnessed.

While I firmly believe in tip no. 2, sometimes there’s a good reason why a certain place or experience is popular with travelers. A crowd isn’t always a bad sign.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Click here now to learn more.

 

My wife, Penny, near the summit of Norway's highest peak, Galdhøpiggen (2,469m).
My wife, Penny, near the summit of Norway’s highest peak, Galdhøpiggen (2,469m).

No. 4 Ask Questions and Trust Your Gut

Never blindly place your fate in someone else’s hands. Professional guides, experienced friends, or an acquaintance who seems to know what he or she’s doing—they may possess more technical skills or local knowledge than you, but that doesn’t mean they possess infallible judgment, and it certainly doesn’t mean they understand your skill or comfort level as well as you do. And even experienced people can make mistakes—I know too many stories about professional guides making shockingly bad judgments.

Whomever you’re with, pay attention, ask questions, understand what you’re getting into, and make yourself heard when decisions are being made. And if it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my downloadable, expert e-guides.
Click here now to learn more.

A hiker above waterfalls in Stong, Iceland.
Nate Simmons checking out the waterfalls in Stong, Iceland.

No. 5 Eat Something Weird

I’ve eaten dal bhat in Nepal (quite good), paella in Spain (delicious), haggis in Scotland (better than you think), blackbird (also better than you think) and raw shark (not better than you think) in Iceland, and alligator in New Orleans (almost vomited), among other unusual local delicacies. There are reasons beyond culinary curiosity that I like to try new dishes.

If I hadn’t been willing to risk tasting something that I didn’t like, I wouldn’t have found the many dishes that I did like. And the truth is, in many countries, locals are much better at cooking their own traditional foods than they are at preparing foreign dishes for tourists who will only eat what’s familiar to them. (I once saw ketchup substituted for tomato sauce on a pizza—which made me especially happy that I didn’t order that or the pasta.) Plus, trying a regional dish communicates to local people that you want to get to know their culture, which can open doors.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside. Join now!

 

But really, this suggestion is a metaphor for a broader piece of advice: Adventure travel is supposed to be about stepping a little further out on the limb emotionally than you’ve ever ventured before. Sure, be sensible about what you eat: Uncooked food in some countries can contain bacteria that your stomach may not be used to, causing gastrointestinal discomfort for a day or two—it’s happened to me. But don’t over-worry, especially about kids—they’ll adapt quickly, and learning to expand their tastes is good for them.

Dive in headfirst. Try something new. It just might expand your horizons and change your life.

Time for a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight packs.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

See all of my stories about international adventures and my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Was this story helpful? If so, would you like to support my work by clicking here to leave a tip for The Big Outside?

Thank you.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-10-rules-of-adventure-travel/feed/ 8 15199
The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-wildest-shore-backpacking-the-southern-olympic-coast/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-wildest-shore-backpacking-the-southern-olympic-coast/#comments Sun, 20 Oct 2019 09:06:09 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=998 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On a remote, sandy beach on Washington’s Olympic coast, we stop in our tracks and gaze up. A wall of muddy earth rises some 300 feet into jungle-like rainforest. A thick strand of hemp rope dangles down this steep, eroding embankment. A ladder of wooden steps built into the muddy ground rises in tandem with the rope.

We’re going up it.

We’ve reached this spot after an hour of stepping and clambering cautiously over a beach tiled with big boulders, each one coated with wet, slick kelp and barnacles. Our group of six—including my wife, Penny, our school-age son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, my brother-in-law, Tom Beach, and his 15-year-old son, Daniel—crossed that beach while racing the clock against an incoming tide that was rapidly transforming that rocky stretch of coast to ocean. Now, this rope ladder marks the start of a three-mile-long overland trail through the rainforest. This detour off the beach is necessary to get around Hoh Head, an impassable section of coast where cliffs rise straight out of the pounding ocean.

Mussels plastered to a boulder on the Southern Olympic Coast.

“Oh, there’s a slug! There’s ANOTHER slug!” Nate excitedly calls out every sighting of these slimy creatures that are as long as his hand as I follow Alex and him up the rope ladder—bracing myself to, in theory, catch a tumbling kid.

It’s early on the first afternoon of our three-day, 17.5-mile backpacking trip on the southern stretch of the Olympic coast, from the Hoh River north to La Push Road. On the outer edge of the Olympic Peninsula, Olympic National Park protects the longest strip of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States. You can’t order fried seafood or buy a T-shirt anywhere along these 73 miles of seashore. In fact, it’s one of the few remaining pieces of ocean-view real estate in the Lower 48 that Lewis and Clark or Capt. George Vancouver would recognize.

It’s also one of America’s most stunningly beautiful shores. Up and down the coast, scores of stone pinnacles—called sea stacks—rise as much as 200 feet out of the ocean, some of them topped with a copse of a few trees, others just bare rock. Some lie close enough to the beach to walk to them at low tide; others erupt from the sea far offshore. They were once part of the mainland. Composed of harder sandstone than much of the headlands that face the Pacific, the sea stacks remained standing after the waves eroded away softer rock and dirt surrounding them.

Seeing the stacks that stand hundreds of yards from the beach speaks volumes about what the ocean does to this coast.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

On the beach near the Hoh River, Olympic coast. Hiking past the headland at Diamond Rock. On the beach near the Hoh River, Olympic coast. Alex examines a giant tree downed by the ocean. Daniel hiking a boulder-strewn section of beach. Alex hiking a boulder-strewn section of beach. Nate climbs a rope ladder around Hoh Head on the Olympic coast. Nate hiking the overland trail around Hoh Head. Tom and Daniel hiking the overland trail around Hoh Head. Nate hiking the overland trail around Hoh Head. Penny hiking the overland trail around Hoh Head. Nate hiking the overland trail around Hoh Head.

Olympic National Park

We follow the overland trail through primeval rainforest, where mosses grow thickly on enormous trees. On this windward side of the Olympic Mountains, up to 14 feet of rain a year sustain one of Earth’s largest virgin temperate rainforests, an ecosystem possibly containing more living biomass than anywhere in the world. Sitka spruce and western red cedar grow to 150 feet tall, with diameters of 10 or 15 feet; Douglas fir and western hemlock soar well over 200 feet. Ferns carpet the ground.

Offshore upwellings of nutrient-rich cold water nurture a food chain ranging from the foundation species of life—phytoplankton and zooplankton—to invertebrates, many kinds of fish, seals, sea lions, sea otters, and humpback, gray, minke, and blue whales. Salmon spawn in wild rivers. You can see bald eagles, tufted puffins, and many seabirds. Olympic National Park offers a tremendous diversity of recreational activities, but its greatest value may be in the incredible diversity of life it sustains.

Get the right gear. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 7 Best Backpacking Tents.”

As we hike, fog swirls around in the treetops—although not far to our right, inland, we can see blue sky. Just a few hours ago, in Forks, the little town on US 101 that has reinvented itself as a tourist destination for fans of the vampire book series, Twilight, it was sunny and in the 70s. Here on the coast, it’s foggy and in the 50s. That’s not unusual here.

Even during this relatively “drier” season, in mid-August, boot-sucking mud defines much of the trail. And while my topographical map, with its 80-foot contour intervals, suggests this trail is a gentle stroll through the woods, in reality the path plunges repeatedly into 20-foot-deep ravines and climbs steeply back out of them. We walk toe-to-heel across slick logs over bogs of knee-deep muck, stride over tree roots as big around as an anaconda, and scramble up and down numerous wooden ladders and steps built into the saturated earth. This trail around Hoh Head will be the roughest three miles of the trip.

By mid-afternoon, having taken five hours to hike a bit more than five miles, we grab a spacious campsite in the forest near Mosquito Creek. Beyond the edge of our site, an eroded bluff drops steeply about a hundred feet down to a rocky beach buffeted by waves as the tide rolls in.

The kids drop their packs and dart immediately down the trail to the beach. After pitching our tents, I find them wading knee-deep in a wide pool where Mosquito Creek backs up behind the beach. They have already constructed sand castles, and outfitted long chunks of driftwood as battleships, complete with sand-and-stick cannons. As they launch into extended explanations of their ships, I touch the cool creek water and note that the air temp is still in the 50s, and the sun a faint orb glowing weakly through the gray overcast. But my kids don’t even seem to notice the chill.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-wildest-shore-backpacking-the-southern-olympic-coast/feed/ 18 998
Photo Gallery: Floating Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-floating-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-floating-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/#respond Wed, 14 Aug 2019 13:15:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=34881 Read on

]]>
As our big group of several families and friends disembarked from our flotilla of rafts and kayaks and wandered up to our campsite on a sandy beach beside the river, I started surveying facial expressions. We had just finished the first day of a six-day float trip down Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River—a day filled with running rapids, swimming, cliff jumping, fishing, and drifting lazily down one of the West’s most lovely river canyons—and I wondered: What was everyone thinking?

It didn’t take long to ascertain the collective mood: All I saw were smiles, laughter, and the kind of deep calm most of us don’t experience often enough. This did not surprise me. I knew from experience that’s the effect the Middle Fork has on people.

In mid-July, our party of 30, consisting of my family and two generations of several other families from as near as Boise and as far as the Boston area and Germany, plus our skilled and very fun guides from Middle Fork Rapid Transit, took one of the classic multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—and arguably, the greatest. The Middle Fork, deep in the largest federal wilderness area in the Lower 48, central Idaho’s 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, has earned this renown for having some 100 ratable rapids, many of them class III and IV, beautiful campsites and side hikes, hot springs, and world-class trout fishing—and being one of the prettiest rivers to ever carve a twisting canyon through mountains.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

We saw bighorn sheep, bald eagles, and osprey, and took side hikes that ranged from the riverbanks to hundreds of feet above the river, with long views up and down the canyon.

Running thrilling whitewater every day, the trip descends more than a vertical half-mile through a canyon that changes from a forest of lodgepole pine and Douglas fir at higher elevations, to open terrain of ponderosa pine and rolling, grassy hills in the middle canyon, and finally the lower Impassable Canyon, the third-deepest gorge in North America, where sheer cliffs rise straight out of the river and we crashed through a swift succession of rapids.

This was my family’s second trip with Middle Fork Rapid Transit, which specializes exclusively in trips on the Middle Fork of the Salmon—and who I highly recommend, because they take their trips to a higher level: Not only is the food excellent and the guides skilled, experienced, and knowledgeable about everything from the canyon’s natural and human history to the current state of endangered salmon, but MFRT assembles a guide crew who are uniquely interesting people with rich lives outside of their guiding jobs.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up now for my FREE email newsletter.

 

Watch for my upcoming feature story about our float trip down the Middle Fork Salmon River. Meanwhile, see my feature story about our first trip down the Middle Fork; that story has many photos and more details about planning it.

And see all of my stories about family paddling trips and all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-floating-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/feed/ 0 34881
A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-simple-equation-of-ultralight-backpacking-less-weight-more-fun/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-simple-equation-of-ultralight-backpacking-less-weight-more-fun/#comments Fri, 14 Jun 2019 11:00:57 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=2779 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

What if you could do one thing to make every backpacking trip more enjoyable? Thousands of miles of backpacking have taught me what that one thing is: keeping my pack light. All of the superfluous ounces removed from my pack add up to fewer pounds on my back, and that makes each trip better. And a smart approach to ultralight and lightweight backpacking does not compromise safety or comfort—the point is to increase comfort and safety. If you’re not accomplishing both objectives, you need a new strategy.

In this article, I’ll share my tips for minimizing pack weight while staying safe and comfortable on every trip, learned over the course of more than three decades of backpacking—including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine, and even longer running this blog.

Like many backpackers—maybe like you—when I first started taking multi-day hikes, I packed gear based on what I believed I needed to take; I didn’t think about how much weight was going into my pack. (The lightest gear was also beyond my budget then, and I hadn’t yet learned the tricks for getting higher-quality gear cheap).

In other words: My entire thought process was framed around thinking about what to bring, instead of thinking about only taking what I absolutely needed. That’s important because the first approach increases weight, and the second approach reduces it.

My evolution toward a lighter and lighter pack was driven by comfort, but also emerged from a gradual rethinking about why I’m out there: It’s not about having stuff. It’s about experiencing a place.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


If you want to go truly ultralight, that often involves creating a fixed or only slightly flexible gear list and establishing a weight limit (typically 15 pounds or less base pack weight, not including water and food). I’ve taken that approach on longer treks like the John Muir Trail, and it made those trips more enjoyable.

But lightening your pack doesn’t have to require strict rules or limits. I don’t embrace extreme measures. I don’t live in one pair of socks (nor do I ever carry more than three pairs) or make my own gear. I won’t sleep only on a wafer-thin foam pad, because the energy saved through reducing my pack’s weight by ounces would be eclipsed by the energy sacrificed to sleep loss. I don’t forego some optional gear that I choose to carry (like my DSLR camera and two lenses, because of my work ).

Get the right backpack for your trips. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

I prefer to follow a set of guidelines and customize my gear for each trip’s circumstances (including who I’m with and how far I’m walking each day). My pack’s weight varies from trip to trip—in one place I may use a tarp and a 30° F bag, in another a tent and a 20° F bag. I don’t aim for having the absolute lightest pack on the trail, but I scrutinize everything, trying to make my load as light as possible.

That guiding principal has completely changed my on-trail experience and how I go about planning a hike.

Whether your goal is going truly ultralight, or simply making your trips more comfortable by lightening your pack significantly, the tips that follow will help you realize significant weight savings. And that just might revolutionize your backpacking experience.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop.

Why Lighten Up?

I started out backpacking with the conviction that more stuff made you safer and more comfortable. Carrying 50 pounds or more enough times persuaded me to question that assumption—but gradually seeing that I didn’t really need all that stuff convinced me that assumption was wrong. I’m now convinced a heavy pack is often a major factor in backcountry injuries and accidents, particularly common ones like blisters, sprains, strains, and falls.

There are many reasons for lightening your load, among them:

  • You want to hike farther each day.
  • Your knees or back have begun bothering you and you want to continue backpacking without suffering.
  • You’re already carrying most of the gear and food for your young kids who can’t carry much weight yet.
  • You’re carrying climbing gear for a multi-day trip.
  • You simply want to avoid carrying a painfully oversized pack.

Certainly, if you plan to attempt a major thru-hike on any long trail like the JMT (which I can help you plan—click here to find out how), your chances of success will hinge more on your pack weight than on weather or your fitness level on day one.

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Hiking with a lighter pack lets most people walk a little faster and farther. I like seeing as much of a place as I can within the time I have. Ultralight backpacking enables me to walk farther, in the same amount of time, without using more energy than when I carried a heavier pack. I’ve done for myself what the auto industry did by making cars lighter: I’ve increased my miles per per unit of energy burned.

That said, ultralight backpacking is not necessarily synonymous with ultra-long days (sometimes called “fastpacking”). However far you want to hike each day, or your body is capable of going, your enjoyment of every step along the way will correlate directly with how many pounds are on your back.

A backpacker hiking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail.
Mark Fenton backpacking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail.

The Big Picture

Making decisions that determine your pack weight begins with knowing what your destination may throw at you. Know the climate for that time of year and the weather forecast. Know how much water will be available. Find out what you can about the difficulty of the trails you’ll hike, the number and difficulty of any river fords, or anything else that can slow you down.

Then digest this information with a chaser of perspective. In many mountain ranges, you’ll be told that snow can fall even in August. But in reality, if you’re heading into New Hampshire’s White Mountains for four days with a forecast of 75° F highs and lows around 50, you’d roast in a 15° F bag.

On the other hand, if I’m heading out for a week in Glacier National Park in late August or September—knowing that the weather forecast loses reliability over that length of time and across such a large area of high mountains—I’ll carry a three-season puffy jacket (as opposed to lighter summer insulation) and long underwear, and wear boots that will keep my feet warm and dry if it does snow. That buffer of insulation might enable me to still use a light, summer-rated bag—but I may instead consider a 15- or 20-degree bag worth the extra ounces.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

Not ready to join yet? Click here now to buy my downloadable e-guide version of this entire story.

Trimming pack weight smartly has to be part of a complete strategy for a trip. If I’m planning to hike 15 or 20 miles a day and want to plan food for, say, five days, I need a high degree of confidence that every one of my companions and I are capable of walking that far in the terrain we’ll encounter.

Any number of factors could drastically reduce your daily mileage, including:

See also my stories “5 Smart Steps to Lightening Up Your Backpacking Gear Kit” and “The Best Ultralight Backpacks.”

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-simple-equation-of-ultralight-backpacking-less-weight-more-fun/feed/ 26 2779
American Classic: Backpacking The Teton Crest Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/american-classic-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/american-classic-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Fri, 17 May 2019 09:49:01 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=948 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

That first full day was a hard one.

We had hiked less than an hour into the backcountry of Grand Teton National Park the night before, camping in the dense forest surrounding Phelps Lake, where we saw mule deer grazing at dusk and the wind howled through the dark night. In the morning, probably tired from the long previous day of traveling to Jackson, we got a slow start under packs heavy with too much old, oversize gear. The sun starts baking the open lower section of the Death Canyon Trail by mid-morning; so our gorgeous hike beneath soaring granite cliffs and along a roaring cascade quickly also became a hot, dusty climb.

Death Canyon is not the kind of place its name conjures. One of the several major east-west-oriented canyons carved deeply into the eastern front of the Tetons, pouring creeks into Jackson Hole and the Snake River, Death Canyon abounds with life. We saw deer, moose, lots of birds, and black bear scat. On the long ascent of the canyon’s headwall to Fox Creek Pass, we practically waded through vast meadows of wildflowers.

Death Canyon Shelf on the Teton Crest Trail.
Death Canyon Shelf on the Teton Crest Trail.

And it only got better from there. Knackered from the miles and the alpine sun and not yet acclimated to the high elevations, we nonetheless felt pulled along the Teton Crest Trail over Death Canyon Shelf, a 9,500-foot bench sandwiched between a three-mile-long, 500-foot-tall cliff and the deep trench of Death Canyon. Boulders as big as small houses lay strewn about this tableland, their sides and edges so neatly squared off they look quarried. After pitching our tents near the rim of Death Canyon, with a view of the jagged Tetons unlike anything these native Easterners had seen before, we tried bouldering on those massive rocks, but discovered they had edges that sliced like razors.

After watching the sunset slowly paint the peaks golden, we turned in for a well-earned crash. But one of the locals decided to interrupt our rest. During the night, I heard heavy clomping just outside our tents, and unzipped the door to see a bull elk almost close enough to lean out and touch it, staring back at us as if trying to discern what manner of beast lay before him. In the frosty early morning, we sat on the rim of Death Canyon with binoculars, counting upwards of a dozen moose several hundred feet below us on the canyon floor.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

I fell in love with the Tetons on that first visit, almost 20 years ago, when three old friends and I backpacked from Death Canyon Trailhead to Leigh Lake Trailhead, including a stretch of the Teton Crest Trail. It’s step for step one of the most gorgeous mountain walks in America, a true classic offering all the elements of an unforgettable adventure: views of the incomparable skyline of the Tetons and deep, wide, glacier-scoured canyons flanked by enormous cliffs; wonderful campsites, wildflowers, mountain lakes and creeks; and a good chance of seeing moose, elk, marmots, pikas, mule deer, and black bears.

That’s why I keep coming back.

Click here now to get my e-guide The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

 

North Fork Cascade Canyon. Upper Paintbrush Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. Upper Paintbrush Canyon. Phelps Lake. Phelps Lake. Moose on trail below Death Canyon. South Fork Cascade Canyon.

Alaska Basin, Cascade Canyon

Incredibly, the scenery kept improving as we hiked north, following the Teton Crest Trail across the polished granite slabs of Alaska Basin. At Sunset Lake, I noticed the pointed crown of the Grand Teton jutting up above a notch in a band of cliffs rising over the lake. That view stuck with me, and every time I’ve passed that spot since, I’ve looked for the Grand peeking at me through that notch.

We paused for a long look from 10,372-foot Hurricane Pass at the tiny Schoolroom Glacier and the green speck of its meltwater lake, and the Grand, Middle, and South Tetons lording high above the enormous cliffs and patches of green in the South Fork of Cascade Canyon. Years later, on another hike through that canyon, I would notice dirty glacial ice visible in cracks in the dirt and rocks covering much of the barren uppermost reaches of the canyon, the buried ice extending well beyond the Schoolroom’s obvious boundaries.

A backpacker above the North Fork of Cascade Canyon.
Bill Mistretta above the North Fork of Cascade Canyon.

Near a campsite in the South Fork, we shivered in an icy creek and watched whistling marmots scurry around on talus. From our campsite in the South Fork, we hiked out-and-back up to Avalanche Divide, another pass well over 10,000 feet, overlooking the emerald waters of Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon, below the long, formidable cliff band identified on maps simply as The Wall.

We then knocked off the toughest day of our journey, going from the South Fork of Cascade over to Paintbrush Canyon, including the hot, arduous climb over 10,700-foot Paintbrush Divide. But on a trip where the scenery just seems to keep getting better every day, this day may have been the zenith. We cooled off—actually, went mildly hypothermic—in Lake Solitude. And we managed to avoid tripping and falling off the trail zigzagging up out of the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, despite the distraction of staring down that U-shaped glacial trough at the arrowheads of the Grand Teton and Mts. Owen and Teewinot rising more than a vertical mile above it.

On our last night in the Tetons, camped in Paintbrush Canyon below cliffs streaked with geologic strata, I lay awake for I’m not sure how long, listening to tremendous gusts building from high above us and growing in volume for several seconds before slamming into our trembling tents with a roar like a train passing close by. I had not yet heard the term katabatic winds, but when later I learned what it meant, I remembered that night.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail. Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 
The Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf.
The Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf.

The Crest of the Tetons

The Teton Crest Trail presents a couple of innocent deceptions. First of all, it does not stick to the Teton crest, if there even is one contiguous crest linking these densely packed spires and boulder heaps. That would require rock-climbing gear, advanced skills, and a high degree of emotional comfort with seeing a couple thousand feet of air beneath your heels. But the Tetons do follow a north-south orientation that, at least on a map, forms something of a crest. And the Teton Crest Trail follows the course of the range, mostly sticking to alpine terrain, but also traveling through two of the most spectacular clefts ever carved into granite, Cascade Canyon’s north and south forks.

The other misleading notion is calling the trip a trek of the Teton Crest Trail—it’s merely a good, simplified description and the name approximately describes the journey. But it is not strictly that; because the TCT lies deep in the mountains, hiking it requires linking with other trails as well. The good news is the variety of options for trips of different length and character created by accessing the TCT via trails leading up some of the range’s parallel, roughly east-west canyons. Granite, Open, Death, the main Cascade, and Paintbrush Canyons are all worthy destinations, as are the canyons in the adjacent national forest land that access the trail, including Phillips, Moose, and Teton. Or begin at the southern terminus of the TCT, off WY 22 just east of Teton Pass. You may discover, like me, that one hike here is like one potato chip: not nearly enough.

Read all of this story, including my tips on planning this trip, and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-guide. Join now!

 

Above Death Canyon. Above Alaska Basin Death Canyon Shelf. North Fork Cascade Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. Moose, North Fork Cascade Canyon. Death Canyon Shelf. Paintbrush Divide Geraniums, Death Canyon Sunset Lake, Teton Crest Trail The Teton Crest Trail above the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

Can’t Get Enough

Since that first trip, I’ve returned to the Tetons some 20 times—and counting—backpacking, climbing, backcountry skiing, and taking long dayhikes on pieces of the Teton Crest Trail and the various feeder trails that access it. One of the most enjoyable was one of my most recent: taking my kids, then age eight and six, on a three-day loop of Paintbrush and Cascade Canyons—their first backpacking trip in the Tetons—capped off with a sighting of two big bull moose on our last day.

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-guides to the Teton Crest Trail and
the best short backpacking trip there.

 

After so many visits, I still haven’t grown jaded about these mountains—I can’t seem to get enough of them. There are peaks and climbs still on my tick list, and hikes I want to repeat with my children. I’ve explored many corners of the range, but still consider a multi-day trip on the Teton Crest Trail one of the finest adventures in America.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

See my story “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail” and my story about backpacking a section of the Teton Crest Trail with my family and a couple of friends. And get my e-guide The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Want to make your pack lighter and all of your backpacking trips more enjoyable? See my story A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of that story for free, or click here to download that full story without having a paid membership.

South Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton N.P. South Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton N.P. Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf. Spearhead Peak, Teton Crest Trail. Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf. Campsite, Death Canyon Shelf. Loveage in Death Canyon. North Fork Cascade Canyon. Teton Crest Trail, Death Canyon Shelf.

Take This Trip: The Teton Crest Trail

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR beginner to intermediate backpackers with a moderate level of fitness—the more fit, the more you’ll enjoy the harder days. Backpacking experience is less critical because trails are obvious and well-marked, so anyone capable of reading a map won’t get lost. Challenges include potential afternoon thunderstorms, acclimating to elevations generally between 8,000 and nearly 11,000 feet, and protecting your food from black bears (see Concerns below).

See my expert tips in “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking” and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

Find menus of gear reviews, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page.

Want to make your pack lighter and all of your backpacking trips more enjoyable? See my “10 Tricks for Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of the 10 tricks here and the lightweight backpacking guide here without having a paid membership.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/american-classic-the-teton-crest-trail/feed/ 66 948
Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/heavy-lifting-backpacking-sequoia-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/heavy-lifting-backpacking-sequoia-national-park/#comments Mon, 22 Apr 2019 09:00:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9502 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I stare at the backpack on the ground in front of me. At 85 liters, with every milliliter of it stuffed with about 60 pounds of gear and food, it looks like something that should be lowered by a crane into a container ship rather than attached to a person’s back. If it had legs, teeth, and an appetite for meat, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

In fact, standing at the Sawtooth Pass Trailhead at 7,820 feet in Sequoia National Park, looking up at our imminent ascent to 9,511-foot Timber Gap, I’m thinking the chances that I’ll have an easy time of it are very, very slim. Probably like most parents, before I became a dad I had absolutely no idea how much heavy lifting was involved.

With no small amount of dread, I heft my pack onto one bent knee, slip an arm through a shoulder strap and turn myself until the pack rests heavily on my back. Then I straighten up, feeling like I’ve already surrendered points at the outset of a wrestling match against a formidable opponent. This backpack and I are fated to spend a lot of intimate time together over the next six days.

And of course, this is all my doing.

I wanted to take my kids on their longest backpacking trip to date. I knew they were ready for it, and I liked the idea of exposing them to the shift in mindset that occurs after you’ve been on the trail for more than a few days. But our son, Nate, 12, and our daughter, Alex, 10, still do not carry their full share of gear and food. So I figured our limit was six days. But even with the lightest tents and other gear, fitting some 50 pounds of food inside two adult backpacks required some aggressive shoehorning. My wife, Penny, is carrying the heaviest load she has shouldered in years, and Nate eagerly accepted more than he’s ever carried, including our necessary third bear canister. Still, much of that 50 pounds of food ended up in my pack.

I’ve also been eager to backpack with my family in Sequoia, in the southern High Sierra, home to many of the highest mountains and one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48—a pristine and incredibly photogenic land of razor peaks and alpine lakes so clear you could stand on the shore and read a book laying open on the lake bottom. Hearing about our plans for a nearly 40-mile loop from the park’s Mineral King area, Penny’s brother, Tom, and his 18-year-old son, Daniel, decided to join us.

 

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

While I’ve thru-hiked the John Muir Trail through this part of the Sierra and explored other corners of it—including a rugged, partly off-trail, 32-mile hike in the John Muir Wilderness—this would be my first deep foray into the backcountry of Sequoia, our second national park (designated 18 years after Yellowstone and a week before Yosemite, although the latter had been protected in 1864 as a public trust of California).

With my burly pack compressing my middle-aged spine, we start hiking at mid-morning in classic High Sierra weather: beneath a cloudless, blue sky, with the temperature in the low 60s and a breeze that’s very possibly saving me from heat exhaustion as we plod up through dozens of switchbacks on a sunbaked mountainside. Still, even in these pleasant conditions, within minutes, sweat pours from my head like a fountain.

Redwood Meadow Grove and Bearpaw Meadow

“I just startled a black bear about a quarter-mile back down the trail,” a backpacker tells us.

It’s late afternoon on our first day, and we’ve pitched tents in a spacious campsite in the forest by Cliff Creek, north of Timber Gap. The backpacker, just passing through, saw the bear on the trail we’ll hike tomorrow morning. It reminds me of what the ranger at the Mineral King ranger station told us when we picked up our permit this morning: This past winter saw the lowest snowfall in recorded history in Sequoia National Park, one fallout of which was less natural food sources for bears this summer—making them particularly aggressive in their pursuit of human food. It’s also a reminder of how climate change is affecting our parks. “Be extra careful,” the ranger had said.

In the afternoon sun, we boys take a bracing dip in pools in fast-flowing and frigid Cliff Creek. After dinner, all six of us play a long match of our new, favorite card game, Wizard. Although everyone’s tired, much yelling and laughing ensues—my family takes games very seriously. As we hit the trail the next morning, Nate and Penny passionately debate hands from last night’s Wizard game.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


On our second day, we enter one of the highlights of backpacking in this park: a backcountry grove of giant sequoia trees at Redwood Meadow Grove. We had visited the Giant Forest in the park the day before starting out on this backpacking trip, and it’s majestic—but almost as busy as a shopping mall. Now, as the only people out here, we feel like the Lilliputians in Gulliver’s Travels. Trees stand too tall for us to see their crowns, with trunks so big around that all six of us could not link arms around some of them, and branches as thick as the base of a Douglas fir. In the heart of Redwood Meadow Grove, we stop for lunch at the unoccupied ranger station, lounging in an eclectic variety of old, outdoor chairs left outside the log building.

That evening, another mild and clear one, we pitch our tents without rainflies in the forest of the backpackers camp just below Bearpaw Meadow. Then we walk the short distance to the rocky ledges of the meadow, high above the Middle Fork Kaweah River, to watch the sunset turn the peaks of the Great Western Divide to gold.

 

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and my Trips page.

 

Hamilton Lakes, Precipice Lake

On a trail contouring across the face of a cliff, hundreds of feet above the deep Middle Fork Kaweah River, Alex points at a smooth, waterslide-like groove in the granite across the canyon, where sheer granite walls and spires stab at a cerulean sky. She says to me, “A glacier used to be right there?” I tell her that’s right.

It’s our third morning, and we’re facing our biggest climb of the trip: more than 3,000 feet, spread over 6.4 miles, to 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. It’s warm but there’s a nice breeze. Most significantly for me, my pack has gotten much lighter—a major relief. My family consumes an impressive volume of food every day, and since I’m carrying much of it, my pack sheds several pounds daily.

By midday, under a hot sun, we reach the largest of the Hamilton Lakes, at 8,235 feet. Everyone needs a break. I start filtering several liters of water while Penny and Tom dig out lunch food and the kids head for the water; before long, we adults join them for a swim. The lake is almost completely enclosed by towering, impassable cliffs and pinnacles, except on its north side, where the High Sierra Trail zigzags up through steep ledges en route to Kaweah Gap—still 2,500 feet above us. [Note: Hamilton Lakes made my list of nicest backcountry campsites I’ve walked past.]

Time for a better backpack? See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight/thru-hiking packs.

A bit after 5 p.m., I walk up to the rocky shore of small, oval-shaped Precipice Lake, still 30 minutes below Kaweah Gap. At 10,400 feet, with the nearest tree at least a couple of trail miles below us, the lake’s glassy, green and blue waters sit in a granite bowl, reflecting a white and golden cliff with black water streaks on the opposite shore. A ribbon-like waterfall, originating in a remnant glacier below the north face of 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak, pours at least 100 feet down the cliff. I unconsciously mutter, “Wow!” Standing beside me, Tom, who’s backpacked in some spectacular parts of the High Sierra, says, “Yea. Incredible spot.” [Note: Precipice Lake made my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.]

Nate had been saying for at least an hour coming up the trail that he would take a swim in Precipice Lake, “although it’s probably going to be pretty frigid.” As we all congregate at the shoreline, he keeps his vow, plunging into the icy waters; then Daniel and I join him. Before long, we reach a unanimous consensus to spend the night here instead of continuing over Kaweah Gap and camping in the Nine Lakes Basin on the other side.

A steady wind rakes the campsite, but it’s beautiful up here. We have a view back down this high valley to the Hamilton Lakes and the row of granite monoliths rising across the valley. High above Precipice Lake, scores of slender spires line up atop a long ridge of Eagle Scout Peak.

While Tom and Daniel and Penny and Alex find flat spots on ledges above the lake for their tents, Nate and I decide to sleep under the stars. We lay our pads and bags out on a flat slab big enough for both of us. Long after dark, the two of us lie in our bags looking up at a sky shot full of stars above the dark silhouettes of peaks.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/heavy-lifting-backpacking-sequoia-national-park/feed/ 53 9502
New Year Resolution: Getting Unplugged https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-resolution-getting-unplugged/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-resolution-getting-unplugged/#comments Wed, 02 Jan 2019 10:00:02 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=16574 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Right before New Year’s Day, for the tenth year of the past 12, my family and another did something we have eagerly anticipated annually for almost as long as my children’s memory reaches backward. It involved skis, backpacks, and spending four days at a yurt tucked away in snow-covered mountains a few miles from the nearest, very lonely, winding, two-lane road. But the details matter only inasmuch as they steer us toward our ultimate goal: We really go there to get completely unplugged.

We do that mostly for ourselves, of course. But I think we need this notion of disconnecting to catch on more widely, to save us all from ourselves.

There’s really not much to do at the yurt where we’ll stay in Idaho’s Boise Mountains, about a 90-minute drive from our homes, and that’s exactly why we go. There’s only plenty of snow for skiing and sledding, and there’s a warm, if primitive shelter furnished with all we really need: bunks, solar and propane lights, a wood-burning stove for heat, a two-burner stove for cooking, and an outhouse.

Well, there’s also one more, very important quality to this escape: the incredibly therapeutic effects of secluding ourselves from civilization in a vast forest stilled by winter.

 

I know dangerous. Read “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 

My daughter, Alex, skiing on one of our earlier yurt trips.
My daughter, Alex, skiing on one of our earlier yurt trips.

Adults today can remember a time, not long ago, when we didn’t live almost constantly connected to the world. Most kids today can’t. Most children don’t know boredom—and boredom can actually be good. It forces a child to create his own entertainment, or just be alone with her own thoughts. I wonder how young people can become more caring and empathetic adults without the benefit of introspection.

The near absence of boredom is almost unknown in human history, and certainly unknown to people born even as recently as the late 20th century. No previous generation has grown up having all of their friends perpetually at their fingertips, or a parent ever just a tap away to fulfill every request and resolve every conflict. No previous generation has been constantly immersed in a river of entertainment always flowing over them.

We might wonder what kind of adults emerge from a childhood like that, because they will soon be in charge.

And even though most adults can remember not being constantly connected, many of us rarely experience complete and sustained disconnection these days. How many of us check work email at home or on our phones on weekends and weeknights? We simultaneously bemoan this form of dependency and are loathe to go cold turkey and pull the plug.

Disconnecting often requires going to a place where you cannot connect.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter, or enter your email address in the box in the left sidebar or at the bottom of this story. And follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

My son, Nate, daughter, Alex, and family friend Lili Serio, skiing to Banner Ridge yurt, Boise Mountains, Idaho.
My son, Nate, daughter, Alex, and family friend Lili Serio, skiing to Banner Ridge yurt.

Four Days Without Wifi

Although we’re unplugged, boredom is not a problem on our yurt trips. Picture four adolescents excited about going someplace where they will not have wifi, cell coverage, or screen time for the better part of four entire days. Not only that, but they eagerly spend most of the daylight hours outside, in snow and freezing temperatures.

And when they come inside the yurt, our kids mostly just talk and play with each other and their parents. That’s something most of us don’t do nearly enough in civilization. Technology and social media have created a tragically ironic new reality: making social animals like humans more antisocial. But that’s what the constant availability of screens has done to us. That has become the norm.

It’s a beautiful place to disconnect, to be sure. We ski groomed trails through ponderosa pine forest with occasional views of snowy mountains rolling away for miles. We regularly see the tracks of small animals like snowshoe hares, and I once saw wolf tracks in the snow while ski touring by myself on one yurt trip; I wondered how fresh the tracks were, and whether the wolf was nearby, watching me. But we rarely see other people because few day trippers visit these trails, and the handful of yurts are spread out.

We scheduled our annual yurt trip for mid-winter this year, instead of over a long New Year’s weekend as we have several times, because snow has been a disappointingly scarce natural resource around here in early winter in recent years. I’ve witnessed how climate change is affecting nature everywhere, and I fear that it will significantly alter our annual tradition by the time my children are adults, and not for the better.

 

Check out my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and “My Top 10 Family Outdoor Adventures.”

 

Vince Serio cross-country skiing in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
Vince Serio cross-country skiing in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

Learning to Get Unplugged

Our kids are becoming adults shaped in part by regularly getting unplugged: people for whom carrying a backpack into mountains or canyons for several days is normal activity.

While they are rooted deeply and firmly in a generation—and now, to our greater misfortune, an entire culture—more intricately and constantly connected to one another than even Orwell imagined, they also understand the far more subtle but deeper pleasures of getting unplugged.

I’m happy for that fact not only for personal reasons, but because I know it will make them happier and more capable of managing the inevitable troubles and stresses of everyday life. A growing mountain of data affirms what I believe intuitively. Apparently, climbing on trees and building snow shelters out in nature improves their creativity, social skills, and resilience; and disconnecting from electronic screens for days actually makes them more empathetic. For children and adults, getting out in nature is good for the brain.

Those sound like good things to me. I think we need to start a movement of getting unplugged, because our culture and our world just may depend a little bit on our continued ability to do that.

I believe that because it has long worked for me.

So this year, I’ll make the same resolution I’ve made for many years: to get completely unplugged as often as possible, for an hour, or several hours, or days at a time. I’ll be gleefully out of contact with most of the world, while in deeper and more meaningful contact with whomever my companions are.

So just leave me a message. I’ll get back to you later—maybe much later.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

See all of my stories about our annual family ski trips to a backcountry yurt and all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

♦

Do you like my blog? You can help me continue producing the stories you read at The Big Outside by making a donation in any amount—$5, $10, $25, $50, $100 or more—using this Support button. Thank you for supporting The Big Outside.









♦

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-year-resolution-getting-unplugged/feed/ 12 16574
Photo Gallery: Hiking and Backpacking Utah’s National Parks https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-utahs-national-parks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-utahs-national-parks/#respond Mon, 30 Jul 2018 09:00:15 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28672 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

All of America’s 59 national parks possess special qualities and scenery, without a doubt. But southern Utah’s concentration of unique and awe-inspiring landscapes sets its five parks apart from the rest—and they’re each quite different from one another. You should see them all, and a prime season for hiking the Southwest is just around the corner. In this blog post, I’ll share many photos from Arches, Bryce Canyon, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, and Zion, and tips on the best ways to explore these parks.

For starters, how do the five southern Utah parks differ from one another?

Arches has more than 2,000 natural stone arches, as well as hundreds of soaring pinnacles, giant fins, and balanced rocks. Bryce Canyon holds the world’s greatest number of hoodoos, or bizarrely sculpted pinnacles created by erosion.

 

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

A hiker in Partition Arch, Devils Garden, Arches National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm relaxing in Partition Arch, Devils Garden, Arches National Park.

Canyonlands is a vast wonderland of multi-colored cliffs, deep canyons, tall spires, and two major rivers. Capitol Reef’s Waterpocket Fold, a nearly 100-mile-long, jumbled ridge of rock, conceals sandstone domes, natural bridges, beautiful canyons, and bighorn sheep. And Zion, Utah’s first and one of America’s flagship national parks, may be the most varied and magical, from the 2,000-foot cliffs of Zion Canyon (lead photo at top of story) to a backcountry filled with geologic anomalies.

Ready to plan your next hiking, backpacking, or paddling trip to any of these parks?

Start by getting some inspiration and ideas from the gallery below, which contains photos from the numerous trips I’ve taken dayhiking, backpacking, and paddling in Arches, Bryce Canyon, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, and Zion National Park. Below the photo gallery, find links to the many stories at The Big Outside about these adventures in southern Utah’s national parks, from relatively easy trips ideal for young families (which I took with my family when our kids were young) to very hard-core adventures.

 


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Click here to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Angels Landing, Zion National Park. The Great Gallery pictographs, Horseshoe Canyon District, Canyonlands National Park. Taylor Creek Trail, Zion National Park. The Subway, Zion National Park Chesler Park Trail, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. Big Spring-Squaw Canyons Pass, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. Navajo Arch, Devils Garden, Arches National Park. Navajo:Queens Garden loop, Bryce Canyon National Park. Near the Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park. The Narrows, Zion National Park. Bighorn sheep skull in the backcountry of Capitol Reef National Park. Spring Canyon campsite, Capitol Reef National Park. Stillwater Canyon, Green River, Canyonlands National Park. Backpacking across the Waterpocket Fold, Capitol Reef National Park. Taylor Creek Trail, Zion National Park. Above the Green River, Island in the Sky District, Canyonlands National Park. La Verkin Creek, Kolob Canyons, Zion National Park. A hiker on the Observation Point Trail in Zion National Park.

Looking for beginner- and family-friendly dayhikes and other trips in southern Utah’s parks? Check out my stories about the best dayhikes in Utah’s national parks, my favorite hike in Bryce Canyondayhiking in Arches, and floating the Green River through Canyonlands (one of my family’s best trips ever).

Want to find the best backpacking in the Southwest? See my stories about backpacking Zion’s NarrowsThe Needles District of CanyonlandsSpring Canyon in Capitol Reef, and a traverse across Zion, as well as “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest” and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.” And definitely read my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

 

Plan your backpacking trip in Zion’s Narrows or other flagship national parks using my expert e-guides.

 

A backpacker on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.
David Gordon on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.

Are you ready for some top-shelf, expert adventures in the Southwest? See my stories about descending Zion’s incomparable Subway, slot canyoneering in Capitol Reef, and one of the most eye-popping backpacking trips I’ve ever taken, a mostly off-trail route along the spine of Capitol Reef’s Waterpocket Fold (photo above).

Like most stories at The Big Outside, most of the feature stories linked here require a paid subscription, which costs just pennies over $4 a month for a full year or as little as 5 bucks for one month. My blog can help you find and plan all of your adventures. Get full value from it. Click here or the blue button below to subscribe now.

 

Get my help planning your backpacking, hiking, or family trip and 25% off a one-year subscription. Click here.

 

See my All National Parks Trips page for a menu of all stories about national parks adventures at The Big Outside.

Read about my National Outdoor Book Award-winning book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, which chronicles the year my family spent taking wilderness adventures in 11 parks threatened by climate change.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Want to read any story linked here? Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus a FREE e-guide. Subscribe now!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-and-backpacking-utahs-national-parks/feed/ 0 28672
Ask Me: Protecting Your Family From Ticks While Hiking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-you-protect-your-kids-and-yourself-against-tick-borne-diseases/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-you-protect-your-kids-and-yourself-against-tick-borne-diseases/#comments Wed, 02 May 2018 07:00:56 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12410 Read on

]]>
Hello Michael,

I just stumbled on your amazing blog and ordered your book—I can’t wait to read it! I am completely inspired by your blog. I have one question: I am from the Northeast originally and a cousin of mine had very serious, chronic Lyme disease, which has instilled a huge fear in me of that and other tick-borne diseases. How do you protect your children from these things? Do you spray them down with insect repellent? (I try to avoid chemicals as much as possible.) Thank you so much for your help and your wonderful blog!

Sincerely,
Sarah
Encinitas, CA

 

Hiking the Old Jackson Road in the Presidential Range, N.H.
Hiking the Old Jackson Road in the Presidential Range, N.H.

Hi Sarah,

Thanks for writing and for following The Big Outside, and for buying my book. I hope you enjoy it.

I grew up in Massachusetts and visit family there every summer. I know people and I’ve met other hikers and backpackers who’ve contracted Lyme disease, and it’s horrible if not diagnosed and treated soon. Tick-borne diseases are a bigger problem in some regions, like the Northeast, than other parts of the country, primarily from May through July.

The federal Centers For Disease Control points out that 95 percent of Lyme disease cases occur in 14 states: Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Vermont, Virginia, and Wisconsin. The CDC site also reports that more than 60 percent of the cases of misleadingly named Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever occur in five states: Arkansas, Missouri, North Carolina, Oklahoma, and Tennessee.

None of the states on either list are in the West, but that website also notes that infected ticks can also be found in neighboring states and in some areas of Northern California, Oregon and Washington.

That paper also notes that 42 percent of people living where Lyme disease is common reported taking no preventive measures against ticks.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter, or enter your email address in the box in the left sidebar or at the bottom of this story. Click here to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Follow my adventures on Facebook, TwitterInstagram, and Youtube.

 

My daughter hiking in the Boise Foothills.
My daughter hiking in the Boise Foothills.

See cdc.gov/ticks for more information on preventive measures.

I worry more about protecting my kids from UV exposure, to be honest. But that’s not to dismiss the dangers of ticks.

The CDC recommends using insect repellents on exposed skin that contain at least 20 percent DEET (the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends products for kids with up to 30 percent DEET and reapplying every two hours), and treating clothing, boots, and gear like tents with permethrin. The AAP also notes that disease transmission doesn’t usually occur until the tick has been attached for at least 48 hours.

Besides repellents, the best strategies are wearing clothing that covers exposed skin in situations that call for it—including tucking pant legs inside socks or gaiters—and inspecting your kids once or twice during a long hike and right after the hike. I’ve plucked many a tick from my kids and myself (as well as, more rarely, leeches). Ticks are easy to remove if you find them quickly. Once it has embedded, it’s a little harder to get one off, but always use tweezers and grip and steadily pull on the tick until it releases. They won’t give up easily; I once had one on my behind and my wife had to pull on it with tweezers for a minute or two to get it off. But it came off.

Ticks are most prevalent in tall grass and at the boundaries of forest and open, grassy areas, and leaf-covered ground. If you’re walking off-trail or on a narrow trail flanked by grass or brush, wear long pants tucked into the tops of socks.

 

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

 

A hiker takes in the view from the Zeacliff Trail, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton takes in the view from the Zeacliff Trail, White Mountains, N.H.

Mostly, I tried to make my kids (who are now teenagers) aware of ticks beginning when they were very young—and I find that just telling them, “Check yourself for ticks,” grosses them out enough to inspire them to perform a thorough personal inspection (although it’s critical to show them how to do that, and show them what a tick looks like when you find one). Inspect younger kids yourself. Inspect dogs closely; they run off-trail and often pick up ticks and bring them into the home. There are products for dogs, including tick collars, sprays, and shampoos.

Symptoms of tick-borne diseases can resemble other, more-common illnesses, so if someone becomes ill and you suspect Lyme disease, it’s important to tell your doctor that the sick person has been outdoors recently and possibly exposed to ticks.

 

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

I hope that’s helpful. Read that CDC paper, it’s very useful.

Nice to hear from you. Check out a menu of all of my stories about family adventures and my All Trips page at The Big Outside.

Best,
Michael

 

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.

Got a question about hiking, backpacking, planning a family adventure, or any trip I’ve written about at The Big Outside? Email it to me at info@thebigoutsideblog.com. For just $75, I’ll answer your questions via email or in a phone call to help ensure your trip is a success. See my Ask Me page.

—Michael Lanza

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-you-protect-your-kids-and-yourself-against-tick-borne-diseases/feed/ 7 12410
Photo Gallery: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/#respond Sun, 07 Jan 2018 10:00:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9119 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Everyone has favorite campsites from unforgettable backcountry trips. I’ve been fortunate to have pitched a tent in many great campsites over nearly three decades of backpacking and trekking all over the U.S. and the world. This photo gallery spotlights several camps from my list of 25 all-time favorite campsites, which I update regularly. Among them are jaw-dropping spots like Death Canyon Shelf along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park, The Narrows in Zion National Park, Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier, Johns Hopkins Inlet in Alaska’s Glacier Bay, a couple of unbelievable spots in the Grand Canyon, and Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park (photo above).

My 25 favorite campsites are located deep in the wilderness of beloved national parks like Yosemite, Glacier, and Canyonlands, along the John Muir Trail, and some spots you may not have heard of, from the East Fork of the Owyhee River to the Glacier Peak WildernessParia Canyon, and a couple different mind-blowing beaches deep in the canyons of the Green River.

I update my list of favorite backcountry campsites regularly, every time I visit another that deserves a spot on this inspirational roster. The gallery below, in fact, includes a photo from Titcomb Basin in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, where two friends and I spent a night during a 39-mile backpacking trip last September. I’ll write about that trip later this year at The Big Outside.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter, or enter your email address in the box in the left sidebar or at the bottom of this story. And follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

Check out the photos below and see whether you’ve been to some of my favorite campsites—or maybe discover that you want to visit some (or all) of them. Below the gallery, you’ll find a link to my feature story covering all 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

 

Colorado River, Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona. Campsite one in The Narrows, Zion National Park. At a campsite near Royal Arch in the Grand Canyon. Campsite on the East Fork Owyhee River, in eastern Oregon. Campsite at Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park. Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park. Campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming. Big Spring camp in Paria Canyon in Utah and Arizona. Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming. Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier.

See photos of all 25 campsites (plus several that used to be on my list) in my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites,” which has links to existing stories about each of those campsites at The Big Outside, and trip-planning information on how to visit each one yourself.

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

See all of my stories about family adventures and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

 

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there. Don’t miss any stories. Subscribe now!

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/feed/ 0 9119
Ask Me: How Do I Outfit a Growing Kid Affordably? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-i-outfit-a-growing-kid-affordably/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-i-outfit-a-growing-kid-affordably/#comments Thu, 09 Nov 2017 10:00:32 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17629 Read on

]]>
Hey buddy,

Been a longtime reader of your blog. I am a father of a six-year-old daughter. When I was younger, my parents encouraged us to be active outdoors, and it is something that has stuck with me for my entire life. I am a huge fan of the way you have been able to encourage your kids to join you, and have been making a lot of progress getting my daughter excited about outdoor activities. We do a lot of geocaching, rock climbing, backpacking, and camping. The problem I am running into is the cost needed to properly outfit and gear my daughter.

Over the years I have spent quite a bit of money on making sure she has the right clothes and gear for our trips, but she grows so fast that I am typically unable to get more than a season out of anything. I was thinking about buying her used gear moving forward, but I am not able to find any good secondary markets for children’s clothes and gear. Right now, I rely heavily on L.L. Bean for her (seems to be the least-expensive, quality gear), but even then, spending $150 on a parka she will use once is a little overkill for me.

Do you have any advice or know of any good secondhand sources for kids’ gear?

Love everything you do, keep up the awesome blog!

T.J.
Dallas, TX

 

My son, Nate, backpacking in Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
My son, Nate, backpacking in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

Hi T.J.,

Thanks for writing. I can appreciate your problem, watching my kids zooming through their teenage years and growing like weeds.

For starters, see my story “5 Tips For Spending Less on Backpacking and Hiking Gear.”

Those tips are primarily meant for adults who aren’t growing out of their gear and clothing fast, but there may be some useful info in there for you, including shopping the discount online retailers, like The ClymbSierra Trading Post, and Steep & Cheap, and website’s with regular sales and bargains, like Backcountry.com, ems.com, moosejaw.com, sunnysports.comrei.com, and REI Garage. Sometimes you’ll find stuff that was expensive several months ago available at deeply reduced prices. (By the way, besides getting you gear and clothing at bargain-basement prices, any purchases you make through links in this story will help support my work on this blog.)

Online and brick-and-mortar retailers also have regular sales, of course, timed for changes of season and before the holidays. If you’re not in a rush to get something, waiting for those sales can save you money. Buy gear in the off-season—hiking gear is cheapest in late-summer and fall clearance sales. Ask local gear stores whether they have any demo gear they’re selling cheap.

Honestly, if you go hiking, camping, and climbing in generally good weather, inexpensive fleece or wool from discount stores will work fine. When I was a young and poor hiker, I’d hit thrift stores and find wool sweaters and cheap rain jackets that got me through hiking and camping trips.

 

Check out my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and “My Top 10 Family Outdoor Adventures.”

 

My daughter, Alex, backpacking in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Have you looked into whether there’s a used-gear exchange in your city? I’ve found at couple of them where I live. They’re great places to pick up used gear and apparel that’s in good shape and inexpensive. I have an app on my phone from myresaleweb.com that lists exchanges (of all kinds, not just outdoor gear) in many states, including Texas.

You should also find out whether any local outdoor-gear stores ever hold used-gear sales or garage sales, where people can bring stuff they want to sell cheap. Some REI stores host garage sales occasionally for members; go to rei.com/promotions/garage-sale. Local and regional hiking and outdoor clubs may do the same thing.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to sign up for my FREE email newsletter by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

CraigsList can be a good resource for inexpensive but good-quality gear—although you may have to check the site frequently for some time before you get lucky and find what you need. My son picked up a used kayak on CraigsList that was like new and about half the price of buying the same boat new.

It requires some time and effort, but there are ways to get outdoor gear and clothing more cheaply.

Best,
Michael

 

Make your kids want to go again. See my “10 Really Cool Outdoor Adventures With Kids.”

 

Michael,

I appreciate the response, all very helpful info. I am lucky enough to have an REI right down the street, but was unfamiliar with Sierra Trading Post.

Thanks again.

T.J.

P.S. If you haven’t been to either of the two national parks in Texas you are missing out!

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.

Got a question about hiking, backpacking, planning a family adventure, gear, or any topic or trip I write about at The Big Outside? Email it to me at michaelalanza79@gmail.com. For $60, I’ll answer your questions via email to help ensure your trip is a success. I will also provide a telephone consult for $75. Write to me and I will tell you whether I can answer your question (I usually can). You may find helpful information in stories on my Ask Me page and All Trips page, and in my skills stories and gear reviews.

—Michael Lanza

NOTE: I tested gear for Backpacker Magazine for 20 years. At The Big Outside, I review only what I consider the best outdoor gear and apparel. See categorized menus of all of my Gear Reviews at The Big Outside.

♦

Do you like my blog? Please help me continue producing the stories you read here by making a donation in any amount using this Support button. Thank you for supporting The Big Outside.









♦

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-i-outfit-a-growing-kid-affordably/feed/ 8 17629
Middle of Nowhere: Hiking Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/middle-of-nowhere-hiking-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/middle-of-nowhere-hiking-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-trail/#comments Tue, 07 Nov 2017 10:00:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25510 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I pause on a trail 300 feet above one of the West’s wildest rivers, deep in the second-largest wilderness area in the contiguous United States. Below me, Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River bends like an elbow between steep mountainsides of ponderosa pines in a canyon nearly 4,000 feet deep. I notice people and rafts on a beach campsite—the first people I’ve seen since I started hiking from Boundary Creek seven miles upstream almost three hours ago, planning to reach Indian Creek, another 20 miles downstream, by this evening.

Suddenly, a nasal shriek startles me. I spin around to see an elk crossing the trail I’d walked minutes ago. And I think: Welcome to the Idaho wilderness.

Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River near Big Bend.
Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River near Big Bend.

I’m dayhiking the 27-mile stretch of the Middle Fork River Trail 44, from Boundary Creek to Indian Creek, on this July day to rendezvous with my family and 19 other friends and extended family who are flying in small planes to the grass landing strip at Indian Creek tomorrow morning.

From there, we’ll launch on a six-day rafting and kayaking trip down the Middle Fork, in the heart of the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness—known among wilderness buffs as “the Frank.” Tonight, I’ll camp with our guides from Middle Fork Rapid Transit, who are floating our party’s boats and gear from Boundary to Indian today. They’re doing that because the water’s unusually low for July—too low to bring our entire party on this upper section of the Middle Fork (a water-level rule set by the U.S. Forest Service).

As much as that bush flight low over the mountainous wilderness of central Idaho promises to be really scenic (I know—I’ve taken more than one), I wanted to hike rather than fly over a canyon that several Middle Fork aficionados advised me was not to be missed. Last night, I camped with our guides Alex, Mark, Topher, and Conner at Boundary Creek, where they rigged the rafts through a violent thunderstorm, during which a bolt of lightning and long rumble of thunder seemed to strike right above the campground; I felt it in my chest. The dozens of boaters camped there were all talking about it afterward.

At 6 a.m. this morning, I started down the Middle Fork River Trail 44 from Boundary Creek, soon discovering that the hiking in the canyon of the Middle Fork—something we’ll do for portions of almost every day this week—is a big part of what makes floating the river such a unique adventure.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here for my e-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


Hiking the Middle Fork Salmon River

One of the original eight rivers designated in the National Wild and Scenic Rivers System in 1968, the roughly 100-mile-long Middle Fork of the Salmon is widely considered one of America’s finest multi-day, wilderness river float trips, probably second only to the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. That reputation stems both from its whitewater—some 100 ratable rapids, many of them class III and IV—and the stunning beauty of this deep, rugged canyon, where cliffs and steep, grass and sagebrush slopes rise to meet ponderosa pine forest.

See my story “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Incomparable Middle Fork Salmon River.”

The Forest Service manages the number of boating parties on the Middle Fork through a permit system—and it’s one of the hardest river permits to get in the West. Thanks to that system, you rarely encounter other parties while on the river. Still, you occasionally pass other groups of about two dozen people camped beside the river.

On the Middle Fork River Trail, which parallels the river for nearly 78 miles from Boundary Creek campground to the Big Creek Bridge, you will occasionally see boating parties in camps and on the river, but few or perhaps no other backpackers. It’s one of the rare multi-day hikes in the West that offers both five-star scenery and a sense of what wilderness solitude feels like.

On a roughly 160-mile, two-week backpacking trip some years back across parts of the adjoining Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness and most of the Frank, I encountered a grand total of exactly two other backpackers. More recently, during our six-day rafting and kayaking trip on the Middle Fork, several of us took side hikes to overlooks, hot springs, a waterfall, and ancient Indian rock art.

You deserve a better backpack. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight packs.

Johnson Point

In late afternoon on our fourth day on the river, some of the boats pull up to the rocky shore at river left and several of us pile out with daypacks. We start up a path that ascends at a relentlessly steep angle, through dozens of switchbacks, gaining 1,200 vertical feet in just 1.2 miles. Not surprisingly, given how many days’ walking we are from the nearest road, we are the only hikers on this trail.

The view from Johnson Point, Middle Fork Salmon River.
The view from Johnson Point, Middle Fork Salmon River.

Within an hour, we reach the trail’s end atop cliffs. Far below us, the slender the ribbon of sparkling river weaves through the Middle Fork’s deep, starkly beautiful canyon. From up here, the canyon looks like a forbidding chasm of stone spires and cliffs with scattered pines and grassy slopes here and there, and hardly a flat square foot of flat terra firma—terrain friendly only to the likes of bighorn sheep. Our guides had told us this spot, Johnson Point (lead photo at top of story), is the best overlook on the Middle Fork. They were right.

We took several side hikes during our six days floating the Middle Fork. While our guides and others in our group boated the river on our second day, some of us dayhike the 10-mile section of the Middle Fork River Trail from our first camp, at Little Creek, to our next campsite, Whitie Cox. On day three, we tied up to shore at the mouth of Loon Creek and hiked a mile upstream to hot springs, where the kids were perfectly content to soak while a few of us hiked another mile up along the boulder-strewn creek.

Before departing our campsite on our fourth morning, we took the steep, half-mile hike up to Aparajo Point, another overlook with long views up and down canyon. Day five featured three short hikes, each different and worthy: a one-mile walk up the wide tributary canyon of Big Creek, where some in the group fished for trout; a 15-minute uphill hike to the enormous, clamshell-like Veil Cave, where the kids stood under a thin waterfall freefalling 100 feet or more; and a 10-minute walk from our tents at Stoddard camp to a rock wall covered with ancient pictographs.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
Click here now to learn more.

Remote Wilderness

Part of the challenge of backpacking the Middle Fork Salmon River canyon is getting there. The Middle Fork River Trail 44 ends at Big Creek, in the middle of the wilderness. You can start at the trail’s southern end at Boundary Creek, near Stanley, Idaho, and turn around to retrace your steps. You can fly in to or out from one of the backcountry airstrips on the Middle Fork. Or you can arrange a vehicle shuttle and hike down one tributary canyon, like Loon Creek, and up the Middle Fork to finish at Boundary Creek (a 67-mile trip), with the option of making the trip longer by hiking out-and-back farther down the Middle Fork from Loon Creek.

Veil Fall, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
Veil Fall, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.

That remoteness explains why the Middle Fork canyon offers so much solitude on the trail.

On that 27-mile, 13-hour, first day’s solo hike from Boundary Creek to Indian Creek, I see no other people on the trail—only boaters on the water, in camps, or taking a break off the water—until 20 minutes before reaching Indian Creek. Two men on horseback ride up from the other direction. They stop in front of me, looking puzzled to see someone with a daypack on a trail almost 30 miles from the nearest road.

“Where are you coming from?” one asks me.

“Boundary Creek,” I tell him.

“Whoa, that’s a long way,” he says.

“Yea,” I say with a nod, “it feels like it right now.”

Mid-summer gets very hot in the canyons of the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness—good for boating and taking side hikes off the river, but a bit too hot for backpacking. Late spring features moderate temperatures, although road access can be blocked by lingering snow. Late August into October is the best time to backpack the Middle Fork of the Salmon and surrounding mountains of the Frank.

Find descriptions of numerous hikes along the Middle Fork in the boating guide The Middle Fork of the Salmon River—A Comprehensive Guide, by Matt Leidecker ($32, nrs.com).

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/middle-of-nowhere-hiking-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-trail/feed/ 2 25510
Ask Me: How Old Were Your Kids When You Started Taking Big Trips? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-old-were-your-kids-when-you-started-taking-big-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-old-were-your-kids-when-you-started-taking-big-trips/#comments Sun, 29 Oct 2017 09:00:47 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9772 Read on

]]>
Hi Michael,

We have a newly turned six-year old, a three-and-a-half-year-old, and I’m expecting! How old were your kids when you started doing “big” trips with them? By big I mean hiking and camping for multiple nights, etc.

Sara
Huntsville, AL

Hi Sara,

I love this question.

Since my kids were born, I’ve been a big believer in making outdoor activity just a normal part of our lifestyle for them. I’ve also been a big believer in the idea that, while I knew doing anything with little kids was always going to be a lot of work, we should make it as enjoyable and as easy as possible for all of us by doing trips that were feasible for their ages.

We took long car trips and car-camped with our kids (in places like Idaho’s Craters of the Moon National Monument, shown in the lead photo, above) from the time they were infants. They very quickly got accustomed to spending hours in a car, sleeping in a tent, and just being outside. We also flew with them from a young age, and my wife and I have both had the unenviable experience of flying alone with two little kids!

The summer before our son turned one, we spent several weeks driving around the West, car-camping and dayhiking mostly. We backpacked a bit with him as an infant, but we encountered the rule of diminishing returns in the sense that it was hard to get very far with a baby when we’re carrying him and so much infant-related stuff (including clean and used diapers) and have to frequently stop to attend to his needs. Once our daughter came along, two-and-a-half years after our son, my wife and I put backpacking as a family on hold for a few years. I still backpacked for my work, and my wife would get out occasionally with friends (while I stayed home with the kids).

 

Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho. City of Rocks National Reserve, Idaho. Floating the Green River, Canyonlands National Park. Backpacking in Upper Paintbrush Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Cross-country skiing in the Upper Geyser Basin, Yellowstone. Backpacking the West Rim Trail, Zion National Park.

Dayhiking is very accessible with young kids. Before they’re walking, you can carry them and are only limited by how far you can walk. When they were toddlers, I believed strongly in letting them walk as much as they wanted, to instill in them the understanding that they will hike and not be carried unless necessary; this requires some patience, because little kids are very slow and stop to check out every stick, rock, bug, flower, etc. But you want them to be eager hikers by the time they’re four and five, when you certainly can’t carry a kid.

I found that with both of our kids, age six was a turning point where they had the stamina for hiking enough distance to start backpacking with them. Until they were nine or 10 years old, they would carry only a small daypack with some water and a few small, stuffed animals inside (my kids were relatively small; some bigger kids might start younger). I don’t know whether you’ve already found my “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” but one of those tips is to wait until your child asks to carry more weight before giving him or her a heavier backpack.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to get email updates about new stories and gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

I guess the shorter answer is that I suggest you begin taking your kids out on trips when they’re very young, but plan trips that are realistic, given how much work is involved in caring for young kids every day. And don’t do everything for your kids; train them to handle age-appropriate tasks (helping pitch the tents, carry gear from the car, etc.), so that as they get older, they understand that this is a family effort and they eventually help make every trip a little easier than the last one.

You might also be interested in my stories “Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures,” my “10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors,” “My Top 10 Family Adventures,” and all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

If you’re planning to backpack with young kids, take a look at the bigger packs in my “Gear Review: The 10 Best Packs For Backpacking.”

And before you know it, you’ll be reading my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You.”

Thanks for writing. Keep in touch, let me know how it goes for you.

Best,
Michael

Michael,

Thanks for the response. I have read the tips online and I also purchased your book a while back.

I’ve realized part of my mistake has been avoiding fairly active outdoor activities, like hiking, up until this point. So now I feel like I have to do even more encouraging in order for them to get out and about and even halfway enjoy it. I think I avoided it with my kids when they were very little because we live in Alabama where the heat and humidity are almost murderous for an adult, much less an adult with a baby strapped to his or her chest! However, now I have young kids who growl at the idea of a one-mile walk on asphalt. I have a lot of makeup work to do!

I like your point about age-appropriate tasks. Even my three-year-old loves to feel included in that way and likes being a “big kid.”

Sara

Hi Sara,

You’re still starting them young enough to nurture a real love for getting outside. I’ve found that my kids have good days and bad days, like adults do. Some days I ease up on them, others I urge them on and use a little soft bribery, like the promise of chocolate bars halfway through the hike. (For many years when our kids were younger, that halfway point was a goal they looked forward to for the chocolate reward.) See my “5 Tricks For Getting Tired Kids Through a Hike.”

You’re welcome. Thanks for buying my book, I hope you enjoy it.

Michael

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.

Got a question about hiking, backpacking, planning a family adventure, gear, or any topic or trip I write about at The Big Outside? Email it to me at michaelalanza79@gmail.com. For $60, I’ll answer your questions via email to help ensure your trip is a success. I will also provide a telephone consult for $75. Write to me and I will tell you whether I can answer your question (I usually can). You may find helpful information in stories on my Ask Me page and All Trips page, and in my skills stories and gear reviews.

—Michael Lanza

 

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-old-were-your-kids-when-you-started-taking-big-trips/feed/ 2 9772
The Big Outside Trip Planner: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-big-outside-trip-planner-backpacking-mount-rainiers-northern-loop/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-big-outside-trip-planner-backpacking-mount-rainiers-northern-loop/#respond Fri, 27 Oct 2017 13:00:06 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=29309 Read on

]]>
A backpacker on Mount Rainier National Park's Northern Loop.
A backpacker on Mount Rainier National Park’s Northern Loop.

Welcome to The Big Outside’s Trip Planner for backpacking the Northern Loop in Mount Rainier National Park.

This planner describes how to plan and execute a backpacking trip on Rainier’s 37.2-mile Northern Loop, the trip featured in my story “Completely Alone Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop” at The Big Outside. That story includes photos from this trip.

Rainier’s Northern Loop is a scenic and much shorter alternative to the mega-popular Wonderland Trail that includes one of the best sections of the Wonderland, but is an easier backcountry permit to get than the full Wonderland.

Thank you for purchasing a paid subscription to The Big Outside in order to access content like my trip planners. I appreciate your support for the work I do on this blog.

If you would like my personal, customized help fully planning this trip for you—or any other trip you read about at this blog—see my Ask Me page for details on how I can do that for you.

—Michael Lanza

Backpacking the Northern Loop, Mount Rainier National Park

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR moderately experienced backpackers and families with children—basically anyone capable of hiking several miles a day, on sometimes rocky or snow-covered trails, with moderate elevation gain and loss. The main challenge is weather, which can change quickly and vary greatly on different sides of the mountain: high winds and cold rain and even snow can occur any time of year, though the east side of Mount Rainier is drier than the west side. This trip is on Rainier’s north side, so weather can be a mix of what’s occurring east and west of the mountain. Black bears are the only large animal of concern, but they rarely pose a threat or problem; designated campsites have bear poles for food storage. Trails are generally obvious and well-marked.

Season Mid-July through September is peak season, though trails sometimes remain snow-free and the weather good into October, a time when there are fewer backpackers. Snow often covers higher trails well into July, but lower-elevation trails are snow-free by late spring; check conditions with rangers.

The Pacific Northwest often has stable, dry weather and pleasant temperatures from early or mid-July well into September. Summer temperatures typically range from highs in the 70s and 80s Fahrenheit to lows in the 40s and occasionally 30s. Still, major rainstorms can hit in summer, and cold, heavy rain or snow can fall in late summer, so check the forecast before hiking into the backcountry.

The Itinerary The Northern Loop traditionally started from the end of the Carbon River Road, in the park’s northwest corner. But that road has been closed to vehicles beyond the Carbon River ranger station on the park boundary since the November 2006 flood. To start the hike here, you must walk or mountain bike five miles of closed road to the Ipsut Creek Campground, which is now managed as a backcountry campground; this adds 10 miles round-trip to the 32.8-mile Northern Loop.

The most direct access now is from Sunrise, where you can hike 2.2 miles of trail to reach the Northern Loop above Berkeley Park, making the total hike 37.2 miles (to start and finish at Sunrise). The loop can be hiked in either direction; if possible, plan your itinerary to camp at Mystic in clear weather to catch the early-morning view of Mount Rainier reflected in the lake’s calm waters.

Getting There To reach Sunrise, from WA 410 outside the park’s White River (northeast) Entrance, follow Sunrise Road to its end. To begin from the Carbon River ranger station, follow WA 165 south from Wilkeson; where WA 165 bears right, continue straight onto the Carbon River Road and follow it to its end.

Permit A permit is required for backcountry camping. You can make a reservation or obtain one first-come, but many campsites, especially along the Wonderland Trail, become fully booked from July through September. The park begins accepting reservation applications on March 15, only online, for up to about 70 percent of backcountry campsites, for trips beginning through the end of September; after that, permits are only issued first-come, in person.

All requests received between March 15 and March 31 are processed in random order, so submit a reservation application during that time period: The park stops accepting reservations for the Wonderland Trail on March 31 (in past years, all reservable campsites for the Wonderland were often booked for the entire backpacking season by April 1). There is a non-refundable, $20 reservation-application fee. Find more information at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm.

See my tricks for snagging a permit in my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Map Trails Illustrated Mount Rainier National Park map no. 217, natgeomaps.com.

Concerns Black bears are the only large animal of concern, but they rarely pose a threat or problem; designated campsites have bear poles for food storage.

Gear Tips Bring clothing layers, boots, and a three-season (not mountaineering) tent that can handle more wind and weather than you might expect in summer in mountain ranges farther south. That includes a higher-quality, waterproof-breathable rain jacket with an adjustable hood that provides full coverage, and supportive, waterproof-breathable boots that will keep your feet warm and dry in cold, wet conditions.

See my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside and these reviews for my top recommendations:

Gear Review: The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight/Thru-Hiking Packs
Gear Review: The 5 Best Backpacking Tents
Review: Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The 5 Best Rain Jackets for the Backcountry
Review: The 10 Best Down Jackets
All of my reviews of backpacking boots and hiking shoes.

Contact Mount Rainier National Park, (360) 569-2211, nps.gov/mora.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-big-outside-trip-planner-backpacking-mount-rainiers-northern-loop/feed/ 0 29309
To My Kids: Yes, the Worst Can Happen. Be Careful Out There https://thebigoutsideblog.com/to-my-kids-yes-the-worst-can-happen-be-careful-out-there/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/to-my-kids-yes-the-worst-can-happen-be-careful-out-there/#comments Mon, 16 Oct 2017 09:00:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25249 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Hi Nate and Alex,

There was a tragic story in the news recently of yet another accomplished young climber who’s now dead. He actually survived an avalanche that killed his girlfriend while they were backcountry skiing in Montana, but he could not endure the avalanche of grief and pain that followed. He took his own life the next day. He was 27, his girlfriend was 23. They were both way too young. It’s unspeakably awful.

This story will probably fly off your radar soon, I know. But I can’t avoid thinking about that terrible double tragedy. For me, it’s a stark reminder of the inherent danger in many outdoor activities I’ve done with you two since you were little—a danger only magnified if we let all that’s fun and rewarding about what we do blind us to the darker reality. A story like this one throws a harsh light on a contradiction I’ve grappled with since you both could walk: The very experiences I know are helping shape you into wonderful young adults also pose a real risk to you.

That’s why I’m writing this letter to you. (I know you’re thinking, “What’s a letter?”) We could talk about this, too; I love the honest, free-flowing conversations we have. But sometimes it’s easier to communicate and absorb thoughts laid out in writing. I’d like to know what you think of this after you read it.

I don’t even want to type the names of that young couple, now dead, simply out of respect for the horrible pain their parents and families are suffering; I’d rather not do anything to compound that, including writing words that sound judgmental of anyone. (Here’s a story in Climbing magazine about them.) Many of us in the broader climbing community know his name not only because of his accomplishments, but because of the echoes it creates of the accomplishments of his father, who wrote for and edited Climbing magazine for 30 years. I remember reading his stories about mountaineering in Alaska, putting up new routes that sounded chilling and impossible to me.

 

Young children rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks National Reserve.
Alex (front) and Nate on an early rock climb at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

In a way, their names almost don’t matter—and I don’t mean that disrespectfully. This month it’s their names; a couple months ago, the names were different, and in another month or two, there will be new names of young people who’ve perished long before they should have on some mountain or river. While it would be hyperbolic to describe the premature deaths of climbers, kayakers, backcountry skiers and other outdoor enthusiasts as an epidemic—there aren’t that many—it would trivialize tragedy to ignore a pattern that has devastated innumerable survivors.

Many climbers, whitewater kayakers, extreme skiers, and others have questioned their participation in a sport that has claimed the lives of too many of their friends. It’s kind of like a rare, incurable disease: We know it will strike again, although we don’t know who, and it will break hearts every time. Yes, some of these fatalities involve elite athletes pushing boundaries in their sport; but other victims are regular people like us, experienced and inexperienced, who make a costly mistake or sometimes no mistake at all, beyond choosing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We may be powerless to stop it completely, but I hope you learn that choices made—which climbs to make or rivers to paddle—help determine that fate.

What’s relevant is that these two people grew up in families and a broader culture where outdoor adventure was normal and fun and a certain level of risk was considered acceptable. Just like you guys.

 

Climbers on the Mountaineers Route, Mount Whitney, California.
Nate and our party on the Mountaineers Route, Mount Whitney, California.

When I was a young adult, not all that much older than you two, I never really expected disaster would visit me in the backcountry——until it did.

I vividly remember walking up the driveway of my friend Rick’s parents’ house the day after he was killed while rock climbing with your mom, me, and two friends. I’d known his parents for almost two decades—Rick was the younger brother of my best friend in high school. I was terrified they’d be angry and blame me. Instead, they hugged me, and they have never suggested I was at fault.

They taught me a lot about inner strength, grace, and forgiveness in that moment. It’s a lesson I’ve tried to emulate in my life ever since—which isn’t easy. But I could not comprehend just how much strength they exhibited until you two came along, and I could at least begin to understand the huge crack that opens in the life of a parent who loses a child. That emptiness can never be filled.

 

Rafters in Cliffside Rapid, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
Alex (front middle) and friends, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.

I also vividly remember returning a year later to the mountain where Rick died, just with your mom (we weren’t married yet), to hike that peak. Something in me needed to revisit that place. I don’t remember now whether I expected to gain some resolution to the guilt and pain I’d been carrying for a year just by going back there. But I didn’t.

After hiking the mountain, Mom and I had a cabin to ourselves—a beautiful spot on a lake where we paddled a canoe at sunset. That evening, something happened to me emotionally, and I just fell apart. I blubbered painfully, with loud, heaving sobs for, I don’t know, an hour or two. Your mom listened with understanding, trying to say the right things. Unfortunately, no words can ever change what has happened.

Yes, I know I’ve said this to you a billion times, but it can’t be overstated: There’s no cure for survivor grief. On a certain level, I can understand how that young climber reached the decision to end his own life after he wasn’t able to save the woman he loved (although I certainly believe that’s not the right choice). I’ve been to the place where he was emotionally, and it’s horrible beyond words. Even now, more than 20 years later, thinking about it can literally melt me down into tears.

 

Rock climbing at Idaho's City of Rocks.
Nate lead climbing at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

Looking back now, I don’t think I’d ever been stricken with such overwhelming sadness before or since then, until your grandfather died last year. It felt like grief was drowning me—that I’d never surface again. But while healing moves at a mercilessly slow pace, and never really occurs completely, you eventually do resurface. I ultimately decided that you don’t redeem one life ended too soon by wasting your own. You find redemption by living a worthwhile life. The two of you are a big part of that.

It’s impossible to convey to you just how much I wish I had made a different decision that day about doing that climb. But you never get those decisions back. That’s the part of that pain that never, ever heals.

That’s why I want to impart that lesson to you: I don’t want you to make a mistake that you (or your mom and me) will regret forever. For a parent who has taken his or her children backpacking, rock climbing and mountaineering, running whitewater rivers, and backcountry skiing, the worst nightmare is the disaster that lurks out there somewhere, like a mountain lion: unseen until it strikes.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to get email updates about new stories and gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

Teenager trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps of France, Italy, and Switzerland.
Alex trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps.

Years ago, when you were little, a couple we’ve known for many years and climbed with countless times, but who live in another state now—and have kids the same ages as you two—asked me: “Aren’t you afraid of teaching your kids to climb?” It was a good question. My answer was: yes, of course I am. Parents can certainly worry irrationally about their kids; we are hard-wired for worrying. But there’s nothing irrational about concern for the safety of young people who rock climb, kayak whitewater, backcountry ski, or otherwise enter environments where hazards are real, ever present, and beyond our absolute control.

I wonder whether any rational, honest parent who introduces his or her child to such activities could not wrestle with questions of personal responsibility. I’m sure there are many parents who would question our judgment—who might presume we lack a healthy fear of danger. But they couldn’t be more wrong. Getting a close-up view of the margins of life has the opposite effect: It gives you a deeper and richer appreciation for every moment of life, because we’ve been reminded that life’s endpoint remains always unknowable. Getting older and seeing more and more of your peers and then your parents pass away has a similar effect.

The outdoors brought Mom and me together, and we simply decided the outdoors would remain central to our lifestyle after you two came along; we couldn’t imagine a different life. So we’ve watched you grow up in the outdoors. We saw how you loved scrambling around on the boulders and granite towers on our regular camping trips to the City of Rocks, going back to when you were toddlers. We took you backpacking and floating flat rivers—activities with less objective risk than climbing or whitewater kayaking—and thankfully (for our sanity), you both loved our family adventures.

 

A kayaker in Marble Rapid, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.
Nate kayaking Marble Rapid, Middle Fork Salmon River, Idaho.

We never wanted to push either of you into climbing or other risky outdoor sports; you both developed the interest in them at your own speed. I do believe that you’ve drawn larger life lessons from our shared outdoor experiences—including that risk is part of life, it’s unavoidable. (One of my favorite quotes is from Helen Keller: “Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men—as a whole—experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.”)

I believe that what you learn about safety outdoors also crosses over to helping you better evaluate risk in everyday actions like driving a car, or when you face choices over dangers like drugs. And you have both shown us a level of maturity that I don’t remember many of my peers having at your ages. You make us proud.

Now you’re both teenagers—an age where, at some point, we all make some questionable choices. It happens, and we’ll forgive you. (As a side note: A couple months ago, I interviewed the father of one of America’s most-accomplished young climbers, a kid just a few years older than you two. And that dad said to me: “Oh, your kids are hitting that age where they’ll do things outdoors on their own, but they still have the judgment of teenagers. There have been times when my son came home from, say, a day of backcountry skiing, told me what they did, and I said, ‘What? Really? You did that??? Are you kidding me?’”)

I don’t expect you both to suddenly reap a lifetime’s harvest of wisdom from this letter. I’m still sowing that field myself, and I’m much older than you (as you both often remind me).

Child in a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
Nate descending a slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

But I like to seize opportunities whenever I can to remind you that you can’t let your guard down when you’re climbing, running whitewater, backcountry skiing, even backpacking. Tragic accidents occur in part because, on some level, we don’t believe it could happen. That disbelief can allow us to pay a little less attention to small errors that lead to big problems. And the unbearable sadness that follows them derives in part from having let ourselves believe that we’re so smart and safe that it couldn’t happen to us.

I left that illusion behind forever on a chilly, late-summer morning on a cliff in Maine more than 20 years ago. If I had the power to do so, I’d yank that illusion from your minds and tear it up. That’s what I’m trying to do every time I have this conversation with you. But that’s a hard lesson to absorb.

I don’t want you to learn from personal experience that the worst can happen out there. Believe it now. That will help you make better decisions when you confront those choices.

 

Trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
Alex on a weeklong trek on the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

We will climb and backpack and paddle and ski together more. But now you both stand at the brink of adulthood, when you’ll do these activities without me always there to supervise and impose caution on your decisions. So I have just one simple, earnest request.

Please be careful.

Love you.

Dad

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

See all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside, including “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 

Young family at Skillern Hot Springs, Smoky Mountains, Idaho.
My family on an early backpacking trip in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains.

 

 

♦

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









♦

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/to-my-kids-yes-the-worst-can-happen-be-careful-out-there/feed/ 11 25249
Photo Gallery: Exploring North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-north-carolinas-blue-ridge-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-north-carolinas-blue-ridge-mountains/#comments Sun, 10 Sep 2017 09:00:02 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24729 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Spanning Georgia to Pennsylvania, the Blue Ridge Mountains reach their apex in a rumpled carpet of forested mountains sprawling across western North Carolina. Scores of peaks over 5,000 and 6,000 feet—the highest east of the Mississippi—host craggy summits, hundreds of beautiful waterfalls, and more plant species than any other park in the country.

And, by the way, some of the nicest hiking in America.

The name “Blue Ridge” comes from the bluish tint of the mountains when seen from a distance (usually from a high overlook), caused by the trees releasing isoprene into the air, creating the blue haze. Trails often begin in the forest, but many ascend above treeline to expansive vistas and pass some of the prettiest waterfalls I’ve seen in more than three decades of hiking all over America and the world.

The Blue Ridge Parkway, which snakes for 469 miles along the spine of Blue Ridge Mountains from Great Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina to Shenandoah National Park in Virginia, provides a convenient and scenic base of travel for hitting many of the more than 100 trailheads and over 300 miles of trails along it. In North Carolina, many of the best hikes are protected within the Pisgah and Nantahala national forests.

The photo gallery below shows the hikes I took during a week of hiking in western North Carolina; I think the images will show you the scenic quality of this area. Below the gallery, you’ll find links to stories I’ve published about hiking in backpacking there at The Big Outside.

Please leave a comment at the bottom of this story if you care to suggest a hike I didn’t get to, or have any ideas or feedback for other readers and me.

 

Get the right pack for you. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and 6 favorite daypacks.

 

Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest. Linville Gorge, Pisgah National Forest. Crabtree Falls, Pisgah National Forest. A viewpoint along Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest. Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest. Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest. A viewpoint along Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest. Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest. Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest. Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest. Art Loeb Trail, Tennent Mountain, Pisgah National Forest. A viewpoint along Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest. View from the Art Loeb Trail, Pisgah National Forest. Devils Courthouse, Pisgah National Forest. Devils Courthouse, Pisgah National Forest. Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest. A hiker on the Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina. A viewpoint along Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest. A viewpoint along Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest. Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest. North Cove, Blue Ridge Parkway, Pisgah National Forest.

For detailed info, see all of my stories about hiking and backpacking in North Carolina, including “The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway,” “Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell,” “Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains,” and my feature story “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains.”

 

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

 

Find more info at visitnc.com, and see this RomanticAsheville.com list of the top 60 waterfalls near Asheville (some of which are in my above photo gallery).

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter, or enter your email address in the box in the left sidebar or at the bottom of this story. Click here to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Follow my adventures on Facebook, TwitterInstagram, and Youtube.

 

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-north-carolinas-blue-ridge-mountains/feed/ 1 24729
Ask Me: Where Should We Backpack With Kids in North Cascades National Park? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-with-kids-in-north-cascades-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-with-kids-in-north-cascades-national-park/#comments Tue, 15 Aug 2017 09:00:23 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=9490 Read on

]]>
Michael,

I just stumbled upon The Big Outside! Wow! Amazing! Thank you for it! I LOVE it!

We have two girls, ages 11 and 9. Our first “major” backpacking trip last year was to Olympic National Park. Covered 30 miles in 8 days. Obstruction Point to Moose Lake, Third Beach to Toleak, and Graves Creek to O’Neil. What a trip! Each girl carried about 10 pounds and my husband and I each about 40 pounds. This trip took three to four months of planning. We fell in love with the Pacific Northwest.

Unfortunately, I dropped the ball this year in planning another fantastic westward-bound trip. I am scrambling to put something together. I am looking at North Cascades, primarily because they do not accept online reservations—first come, first served.

I would like any recommendations for this area. Interested in a loop but doesn’t necessarily have to be. We just love the mountains, old-growth forests, lakes, wildflowers, etc. Not interested in camping on top of mountains. Thought we could definitely do a 4- to 5-day trip, or hike in, spend a few nights, hike out and do another section. We are flying in on a Sunday, so hoping for good luck obtaining a permit since it is during week, instead of a weekend.

Thank you and hike on!

Jennifer
Cincinnati

 

View of Ruth Mountain from Hannegan Camp, North Cascades, Washington.
View of Ruth Mountain from Hannegan Camp, North Cascades, Washington.

Hi Jennifer,

Thanks for writing and for the nice words about The Big Outside, I’m glad you enjoy it.

Good on your family for doing such an ambitious first backpacking trip in Olympic National Park! My family has also backpacked the southern Olympic coast, and my wife and I (before kids) backpacked a five-day loop in the northeast corner of the Olympic Mountains (which is much drier than the west side) from Obstruction Peak to Deer Park, Gray Wolf Pass, Lost Pass, Cameron Pass, Grand Pass and Grand Lake, which I recommend when your kids are ready for something a little more rugged.

I’m also a big fan of the Pacific Northwest. (I was Backpacker magazine’s Northwest Editor for many years.) You’re planning a trip to one of my favorite mountain ranges, the North Cascades, where I’ve dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed numerous times. It’s pretty rugged and there aren’t many multi-day loop options, although there are almost-loops that are pretty long. But there are trails I’m familiar with that would be good choices for your family, I think.

 


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

We backpacked with our kids, when they were nine and seven, from Hannegan Trailhead, which is just outside the park’s northwest corner, about 3.5 miles to a backcountry campsite called Hannegan Camp, which is in the national forest and doesn’t require a permit. About a half-mile or less before Hannegan Pass, it’s a nice spot where the kids played in a small creek and we had views of Ruth Mountain. On a weeknight, you probably wouldn’t find that camp full. We used it as a base camp for dayhikes up to Hannegan Pass and Hannegan Peak (one mile and 1,200 feet above Hannegan Pass via a pretty good trail with excellent views); and out-and-back partway onto Copper Ridge, a rolling, alpine ridge with spectacular views of the North Cascades and Mount Shuksan. We were there in mid-summer 2010 and there was a lot of snow in some places. There’s also a user trail, not shown on maps but pretty good, from Hannegan Pass leading south across alpine terrain to the snowy slopes of Ruth Mountain (which I skied some years back with friends in late July!). All three side hikes from Hannegan Camp are really scenic with a quick payoff of views.

The full backpacking loop of Copper Ridge and the Chilliwack River Trail from Hannegan Trailhead is a more rugged and strenuous loop of some 34 miles, which I’ve long wanted to do, but we didn’t attempt with our kids on that trip because of its length, the time we had, and the amount of snow still on the ground then.

 

Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park.
Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park.

One of the most popular hikes in North Cascades National Park is Cascade Pass, 3.1 miles one-way and 1,800 feet from the trailhead at the end of Cascade River Road (outside Marblemount). I’ve hiked to the pass a few times, including once with our kids when they were two and about four months. From Cascade Pass, you can continue another 2.2 miles and 1,800 feet on the trail up Sahale Arm to Sahale Glacier Camp at 7,200 feet, one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites ever. It’s a rugged hike and very exposed to bad weather, but a wonderful spot with amazing views and a chance of seeing mountain goats. You can break up the ascent over two days by spending the first night in Pelton Basin camp, just beyond Cascade Pass, then hiking to Sahale Glacier Camp from there on day two. I give more tips on that trip in this Ask Me post.

Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, North Cascades National Park, Washington.
Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, North Cascades National Park, Washington.

You should also see this story about hikes in North Cascades National Park, which offers more details about Cascade Pass/Sahale Arm, Hannegan Peak, and another good possibility for your family, the Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, which you should save for a nice day and later summer, when most of the snow has melted off.

Another kid-friendly trip to consider in Olympic National Park, which you may still be able to get a permit for, is Royal Basin, also in the park’s northeast corner. I backpacked there by myself once; it’s gorgeous. You actually begin outside the national park boundary, on the Dungeness River Trail, where you don’t need a permit to camp within the first mile in one of the nice, established sites on the river, amid big trees. Royal Lake is a beautiful spot ringed by peaks, about eight steadily rising (never steep) miles from the Dungeness River Trailhead via the Royal Basin Trail. Spend two nights at Royal Lake, and on your free day hike the unmaintained, user trail heading south from the lake less than a mile up into Royal Basin; the trail isn’t shown on maps, but it’s a pretty good path into the alpine zone with lots of wildflowers, some small tarns for playing and a swim on a hot day, and an arc of rocky peaks. You can also follow a faint and steep use path that leads to a pass between Mount Deception and Mount Fricaba overlooking Deception Basin, a spectacular and remote cirque. I didn’t descend into that basin, but it looked quite steep and rugged.

I hope that’s helpful. Let me know how your trip goes. Get in touch anytime and thanks again for following The Big Outside.

Best,
Michael

Michael,

My sincere thanks for responding to my email. You are full of information. I hope your website gets more families like mine to become more adventurous.

Since I last wrote, we have decided to tackle the Cascade Pass Trail you described and do the Sahale Glacier. We spoke with the ranger there and it should be no problem to do that since we will be backpacking in the area for five days. He said one of those five days we should be able to score the site. We will also spend some time in San Juan Islands and have hired a guide to take us kayaking/camping with the orcas and sea life. However, I always like to have plan B, so I will check out your suggestions with Hannegan and Copper Ridge. I bought the Falcon Guide, Hiking in the North Cascades, by Erik Molvar, which should educate me more on the hikes.

I certainly will let you know how this trip fares. It should be epic just like last year’s trip. I am “on the ball” now and am looking into the Grand Tetons for next year! So little time, so many awesome adventures to be had!

Many thanks!
Jennifer

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.

Got a question about hiking, backpacking, planning a family adventure, or any trip I’ve written about at The Big Outside? Email it to me at info@thebigoutsideblog.com. For just $75, I’ll answer your questions via email or in a phone call to help ensure your trip is a success. See my Ask Me page.

—Michael Lanza

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-backpack-with-kids-in-north-cascades-national-park/feed/ 1 9490
Photo Gallery: Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/#comments Sun, 18 Jun 2017 09:00:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12582 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The annual tradition began when my son, Nate, was five years old, and we hiked about a mile up a trail in the Boise Foothills, starting at a trailhead a 10-minute drive from our house, and camped beside a creek small enough to step over. It was the most mellow trip we’d take, and the closest to home, on the annual father-son outdoor adventure that we’ve come to call our “boy trip.” My daughter, Alex, two years younger, adapted that name and gave me a pass for my inferior gender when we began taking an annual “girl trip” together. Now it has grown into something bigger than any one, individual outing.

It’s never easy to cram the Girl Trip and Boy Trip into any summer, when we usually take them; but I commit to making time for both of them every year. Nate and Alex both consider it non-negotiable, as mandatory as celebrating their birthdays. They will both ask me repeatedly when we’ll take our trip and what we’ll do. The fully expect that each adventure will grow bigger, leading up to a major trip when each of them graduates from high school. Personally, I hope the tradition continues well beyond.

The photo gallery below conveys some of the fun of these annual outings—and shows the beauty of the places where we take them. See my story “Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures.”

See also my “10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors,” my popular “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids” and “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You,” and all of my stories about Family Adventures at The Big Outside.

 

The Big Outside is proud to partner with sponsors Backcountry.com and Visit North Carolina, who support the stories you read at this blog. Find out more about them and how to sponsor my blog at my sponsors page at The Big Outside. Click on the backcountry.com ad below for the best prices on great gear.

 

 

Alex at Hell Roaring Lake, Sawtooth Mountains. A young boy backpacking below Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains. Young girls hiking Norton Peak, Smoky Mountains, Idaho. My daughter, Alex, on the Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon. My daughter, Alex, on the New Hance Trail, Grand Canyon. With Alex on Horseshoe Mesa, Grand Canyon. Nate and Flipper hiking to Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Nate climbing at Castle Rocks State Park, Idaho. Father and son backpacking in the Big Boulder Lakes of Idaho's White Cloud Mountains. A young boy fishing at Lake 8522, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Teenage boy backpacking to climb California's Mount Whitney. Nate at Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Alex at Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to get email updates about new stories and gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 


 

♦

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









♦

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-my-father-son-and-father-daughter-adventures/feed/ 4 12582
How to Have More Fun and Be Safer Outdoors https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-have-more-fun-and-be-safer-outdoors/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-have-more-fun-and-be-safer-outdoors/#respond Tue, 13 Jun 2017 09:00:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15420 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

People occasionally ask me the same basic question about hiking, backpacking, or some other outdoor activity: How much do I need to know to do this? They ask that question, of course, because they want to keep themselves and their family or friends safe. And you can find the answers to questions like that—and probably many others that you have—in one place.

At The Big Outside, some of my most-read stories are the ones in which I offer my tips on skills like ultralight backpacking, avoiding blisters, getting a hard-to-get national park backcountry permit, and taking better outdoor photos. Readers also frequently find my “10 Rules of Adventure Travel” and “10 Tips For Keeping Kids Happy and Safe Outdoors.”

10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.
10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.

My “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids” may be the most enduringly popular story at this blog, and my more-recent follow-up to that story, “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You,” has gained a similar following.

I’ve organized all of my stories about outdoor skills on my Skills page, where you can click to find not only answers to many of your questions, but maybe also learn which questions to ask. See also my Ask Me page, where you’ll find sub-pages, organized by subject, listing the many blog posts in which I answer questions directly from readers, including an Ask Me page of questions about various outdoor skills.

 

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

 

I’ve learned a thing or two from 30+ years of getting out there and 20+ years as an outdoor writer; my background motivated the creation of this website and blog. These days, whenever I’m out backpacking (as on the 86-mile trip through northern Yosemite National Park where I took the lead photo at the top of this story) or taking an ultra-hike, or on a big adventure with my family, I’m always thinking about how to do it as safely as possible and how to make it as fun as I can.

I’d certainly appreciate your suggestions for new skills stories I could write for my blog—especially topics that would have broad interest to other readers. Please feel free to write to me at mlanza@thebigoutside.com. Or simply tell me what you think of my blog by commenting below or at my About page.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to get email updates about new stories and gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

♦

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button in the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.


♦

 

The Big Outside is proud to partner with sponsors Backcountry.com and Visit North Carolina, who support the stories you read at this blog. Find out more about them and how to sponsor my blog at my sponsors page at The Big Outside. Click on the backcountry.com ad below for the best prices on great gear.

 

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-have-more-fun-and-be-safer-outdoors/feed/ 0 15420
Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-waterfalls-of-the-north-carolina-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-waterfalls-of-the-north-carolina-mountains/#comments Sun, 04 Jun 2017 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23706 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Sunlight still lit up the trees high up the mountainside above me, visible through the canopy of maple, oak, and tulip poplar trees, but down in the bottom of the valley, dusk had settled in at least an hour earlier. Rosebay rhododendron and a variety of ferns carpeted the ground. I had the trail all to myself hiking to Moore Cove, in the Pisgah National Forest of western North Carolina; and save for the songs of some birds and the soft conversation of water flowing over rocks, the silence exerted an immediate calming effect—like I had taken a happy pill. It’s lovely to have a piece of Appalachian forest to yourself.

Then I reached Moore Cove and gazed up at a 50-foot waterfall free falling in a veil of silvery water over the lip of a deep, rock alcove. 

Moore Cove Falls in North Carolina's Pisgah National Forest.
Moore Cove Falls in North Carolina’s Pisgah National Forest.

While I do most of my hiking and backpacking in the West, a region known for its big vistas, I first fell in love with hiking in the Appalachian Mountains—which have big vistas, too. But these older, Eastern peaks deliver some of their best moments in more intimate scenery, where you’re in the scene, standing in the stream or walking behind the waterfall—as you can do at Moore Cove.

And few areas of the country have waterfalls of such beauty and in such abundance as western North Carolina.

I leapt at an opportunity to spend a week last October chasing waterfalls, fall foliage color, and classic Southern Appalachian views while dayhiking in the mountains surrounding Asheville, N.C., and backpacking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I hiked to numerous waterfalls along the Blue Ridge Parkway, in the Pisgah and Nantahala national forests and Gorges State Park, including famous ones like Crabtree Falls (lead photo at top of story), more obscure but pretty ones like Roaring Fork Falls, and the tallest in the East, 811-foot Whitewater Falls.

The photo gallery below spotlights several of the waterfalls I saw.


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Rainbow Falls, Gorges State Park and Nantahala National Forest, N.C. Whitewater Falls, Nantahala National Forest, N.C. Moore Cove, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Turtleback Falls, Gorges State Park and Nantahala National Forest, N.C. Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Crabtree Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Rainbow Falls, Gorges State Park and Nantahala National Forest, N.C. Soco Falls, off US 19, North Carolina.

See all of my stories about dayhiking and backpacking in the western North Carolina mountains, including:

The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.”
In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains.”
Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.”
The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes” for a description of a hike along the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there. Join now and a get free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-waterfalls-of-the-north-carolina-mountains/feed/ 5 23706
Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-conservation-matters-rafting-the-green-rivers-gates-of-lodore/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-conservation-matters-rafting-the-green-rivers-gates-of-lodore/#comments Mon, 20 Feb 2017 10:00:06 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=22455 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

The momentarily sedate current of the Green River pulls our flotilla of five rafts and two kayaks toward what looks like a geological impossibility: a gigantic cleft at least a thousand feet deep, where the river appears to have chopped a path right through the Uinta Mountains of northeastern Utah. Sheer, cracked cliffs of burgundy-brown rock frame the gap. Box elder, juniper, and a few cottonwoods grow on broad sand bars backed by tiered walls that seem to reach infinitely upward and backward, eclipsing broad swaths of blue sky. A great blue heron stalks fish by the riverbank. We notice movement on river left and glance over to see two bighorn sheep dash up a rocky canyon wall so steep that none of us can imagine even walking up it.

These are the Gates of Lodore, portal to a canyon as famous today for its scenery and wilderness character as it was infamous for the catastrophes suffered by its first explorers, who set out in wooden boats a century and a half ago to map the West’s greatest river system.

Much has certainly changed since John Wesley Powell’s historic journey through the Canyon of Lodore. But thanks to conservation struggles in the past—decades before the teenagers among us were born—much about the canyons incised deeply into the ancient layers of rock here in Dinosaur National Monument remains the same as Powell saw.

Rafting through Whirlpool Canyon in Dinosaur National Monument.
Whirlpool Canyon in Dinosaur National Monument.

And yet, we live in a time when the lessons of history seem in danger of drowning in muddy political waters where facts are described as “alternative” and truths are reshaped to suit the agendas of the powerful. The story of how these canyons narrowly avoided concrete walls that would have transformed rivers into reservoirs feels like an intensely relevant one to impart to another generation.

Our party of 30—friends and family ranging in age from 12 to their sixties, including seven kids and five guides with Holiday River Expeditions—has launched on one of the West’s classic, multi-day, wilderness river trips: floating the Green River through Dinosaur National Monument, on the Utah-Colorado border. Covering 44 river miles in four days, we’ll run a handful of class III and IV rapids, three of which Powell gave ominous names: Disaster Falls, Triplet Falls, and Hells Half Mile. We’ll also dayhike to see prehistoric pictographs, stand beneath icy waterfalls, and spot more bighorn sheep than any of us has ever seen on one trip.

As we float toward Upper and Lower Disaster Falls that first afternoon in Lodore, I suspect some of us are thinking about Powell’s account of his party’s encounter with these rapids—where they lost a boat.

On June 9, 1869, Powell wrote: “I see the boat strike a rock, careen and fill with water. The men lose their oars; she strikes another rock with great force, is broken in two, and the men are thrown into the river.” Three days later, he wrote: “As Ashley and his party were wrecked here, and as we have lost one of our boats, we adopt the name Disaster Falls for the scene of so much peril and loss.”


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Joe Lovelace kayaking Upper Disaster Falls, Lodore Canyon.
Joe Lovelace kayaking Upper Disaster Falls, Lodore Canyon.

But we see a different Green River today than Powell did, its flow now harnessed by the Flaming Gorge Dam, almost 50 river miles upstream from the Gates of Lodore. While the difficulty of the rapids varies with seasonal fluctuations in water level, the Green River no longer courses through the canyon of mystery that Powell explored. And our guides have scores of descents of this river between them.

One by one, each boat drops into the growling throat of the class III rapid, squeezing safely through a tight pinch between two boulders and avoiding an intimidating “hole” where recirculating water could flip a fully loaded raft. I watch my 15-year-old son, Nate, his expression serious and focused as he paddles his kayak flawlessly through the trip’s first big rapid. In another raft, my 13-year-old daughter, Alex, and two of her best friends scream more with delight than fear through their 30 seconds of thrill in Disaster Falls. Powell’s team never knew how much fun this could be.

By early evening, we stop to camp on a sprawling, sandy beach at Pot Creek. Across the river, a sheer cliff the color of dried blood rises hundreds of feet. One of the parents in our group, Amy Steckel, tells me, “This is probably the nicest campsite I’ve ever seen.”

Find your next adventure in your Inbox. Sign up for my FREE email newsletter now.

Sounds of Silence Trail, Dinosaur National Monument. Marco above the Sounds of Silence Trail. The Gates of Lodore. The Gates of Lodore. Day one, Lodore Canyon. Nate in Upper Disaster Falls. Joe in Upper Disaster Falls.

Hells Half Mile

We stand on ledges above a chaotic train wreck of boulders and thunderous whitewater, the rapid that Powell named Hells Half Mile. We’ve arrived to scout it in time to watch a private party of rafts run it—conveniently serving as our guinea pigs. As they drop in one at a time, one raft gets pinned atop a boulder near the bottom of the rapids. After at least 20 minutes of failed attempts to rock the boat free, someone from one of the group’s other rafts throws a rope out from the far riverbank and they pull the raft free.

It’s early on our second afternoon, another sunny and hot July day. Wind blows up the canyon, although not as strongly as yesterday afternoon. We’ve already run the rapids called Harp Falls—so low we didn’t have to scout it—and Triplet Falls, where we spent close to an hour scouting. As the name implies, it consists of three sections of rapids, the last of them the trickiest, a slot not much wider than a raft, where the current could pin a boat against a rock the size of a school bus. But every boat ran it without a hiccup.

Our guides point at different spots in the melee of churning liquid, strategizing how to navigate through Hells Half Mile. Lead guide Dave Snee, an experienced river rat in his thirties, whose long hair and hipster mien belies the seriousness he brings to his job, stands with three guides in their twenties, Larkin Jameson, Erika Bash, and Trevor Fredrickson. Nearby, our fifth raft oarsman, Larry Huie, who introduces himself as “Sherpa,” doesn’t look the age he confesses to: 66. Sherpa began his river guiding career here in 1976—about a quarter-century before these kids in our party were born.

They concur on taking the rafts down the gullet of Hell, a narrow tongue of green water flanked by white foam and big, scary-looking rocks. We’ll have to avoid a couple of large, recirculating holes about halfway down, and below them, skirt right of a massive boulder mid-river. To most of us, it looks daunting. Nate and other group’s other kayaker, Joe Lovelace, a Middlebury College student, decide they will swing right of the first two holes, punch down the middle, and then Joe will peel right into the final hole “just to see what it’s like,” while Nate will take a slightly tamer line to the left.

Dave and Trevor run their rafts first, as the rest of us watch from the ledges. They make it look almost easy. Then we all return to our boats to follow. Nate and Joe nail the line they intended. Joe tells me afterward that Nate “went exactly where we planned to go.”

Marco Garofalo meets a bighorn sheep in Lodore Canyon.
Marco Garofalo meets a bighorn sheep in Lodore Canyon.

Later, drifting lazily in calmer water, we let the boats spin us through panoramas of soaring, multi-colored cliffs. While Disaster and Hells—as well as Harp and Triplet in higher water—do occasionally even flip or pin rafts that have a guide at the helm, much of this trip is a slow, gentle float, staring up at rock layers older than the dinosaurs whose abundant fossils spurred the creation of this national monument. (We saw the roughly 1,500 fossils at the monument’s Quarry Exhibit Hall the day before launching on the Green—a must-see stop in Dinosaur. See link at bottom of story.)

Though certainly not nearly as deep, vast, or geologically significant, Lodore Canyon has something of a Grand Canyon quality to it, with long stretches of easy water between rapids, and the walls rising higher as we float down canyon. And we’re seeing much more wildlife than I’ve ever seen in the Grand Canyon.

We float past a couple of mule deer with two fawns in tow, and a while later, two bighorn sheep rams, with their thick, curved horns, grazing at the riverbank—among the five bighorn we spot today alone. “I’ve never seen so many bighorn sheep in one day,” my wife, Penny, says. Her 23-year-old niece, Natalie Beach, says, “I’ve never seen a bighorn sheep!”

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

Lodore Canyon. Pot Creek camp, Lodore Canyon. Pot Creek camp, Lodore Canyon. Pot Creek camp, Lodore Canyon. Pot Creek camp, Lodore Canyon. Day two, Lodore Canyon. Deer in Lodore Canyon. Joe and Nate scouting Triplet Falls. Triplet Falls, Lodore Canyon. Triplet Falls, Lodore Canyon.

The Dam That Almost Drowned Echo Park

Our boats glide slowly past the base of Steamship Rock, a sheer, golden wall, streaked with black water stains, rising for hundreds of feet straight up out of the water. Across the canyon, about a half-mile away, more water-streaked cliffs and buttes stand like a city of petrified skyscrapers. Between these walls, the Yampa River slides lazily into the Green, the confluence so still that the tan waters display a mirror-sharp reflection of the canyon walls.

On our third morning, we’ve entered Echo Park, a breathtaking spot where the Green exits Lodore Canyon and enters Whirlpool Canyon—a junction of rivers that came perilously close to disappearing.

When in a place named Echo Park, there is one thing you must do.

Sitting in Larkin’s raft, my 18-year-old nephew, Marco Garofalo, who flew out from Massachusetts for this trip, 13-year-old Ava Steckel, whose family has joined us from Boise, and I take turns yelling into the still, warm air. Each time, after a delay of several seconds, our words bounce back to us as crisply as we spoke them.

Echo Park in Whirlpool Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument.
Echo Park in Whirlpool Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument.

Echo Park came perilously close to being submerged under a reservoir—and the decision to do that would have been made by people 2,000 miles away, most of whom had never seen it. It isn’t a reservoir because of a conservation battle now recognized as one of the great victories in the movement’s history—and a victory for all Americans.

In the 1950s, the proposed Colorado River Storage Project would have erected two dams in Dinosaur National Monument: a wall 500 feet tall at Echo Park, a short distance downstream from this confluence, which would have backed up both the Green and Yampa rivers for miles, beyond the monument’s boundaries; and a second dam at Split Mountain, where our trip will end tomorrow. The project would have completely inundated these magnificent canyons—submerging the rapids in these canyons, the rich habitat for bighorn sheep and other wildlife, and invaluable archeological sites of human history. Led by the Sierra Club’s first executive director, David Brower, a coalition of conservation groups fought the proposal, rallying enough public opposition to persuade Congress to remove the dams in Dinosaur from the project.

Had their efforts failed—or if no one had even attempted to fight those dams—my family and our friends would not be floating down this remarkable canyon today. These canyons are the compelling evidence of the wisdom in protecting pristine rivers, mountains, and other areas in nature forever, rather than destroying them for short-term economic gain.

That victory may be decades old, but the work of conservation seems never done. Today, in fact, it once again looms as important as ever.

Hells Half Mile, Lodore Canyon. Hells Half Mile, Lodore Canyon. Bighorn sheep in Lodore Canyon. Day two in Lodore Canyon. Day two in Lodore Canyon. Rippling Brook waterfall, Lodore Canyon. Lodore Canyon. Lodore Canyon. Wild Mountain campsite, Lodore Canyon. View from Wild Mountain campsite.

‘Any Fool Can Destroy Trees’

Some members of Congress, state legislators, and county elected officials in the West are lately rolling out proposals to “take back” federal public lands into state ownership. This is mostly a partisan con job: These elected officials are consistently Republicans with financial support from mining, oil and gas, and other extractive industries. They make the historically incorrect and deceitful claim that the states once owned or controlled federal lands within their borders.

They also hustle the false promise that state governments can manage these lands better than the federal government does now. It’s a brazen lie. Most state budgets would plunge into the red just trying to pay for the first major wildfire. The result of any state takeover of federal lands—as many advocates for it have acknowledged—would be states selling off those lands to private interests, who would maximize their profits by cutting off public access and exploiting the lands for natural resources.

This is a political shell game with the highest consequences: At stake is public access to lands that we, as citizens, have always owned. The federal government controls 640 million acres of public land that we all use for rafting, kayaking, hiking, backpacking, climbing, fishing, hunting, skiing, camping, horseback riding. Those lands support an outdoor industry that pumps $646 billion into the U.S. economy—more than the auto industry.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside. Join now!

 

The U.S. Forest Service, which manages 191 million acres of public lands, was created expressly to protect our forests from rapacious exploitation by the logging and mining industries in the late-19th century. Supporters of today’s movement for state takeover of federal lands in the West are just the latest in a long line of shameless charlatans.

In an 1897 article in the Atlantic Monthly, John Muir wrote: “Any fool can destroy trees. They cannot run away; and if they could, they would still be destroyed—chased and hunted down as long as fun or a dollar could be got out of their bark hides… God has cared for these trees, saved them… but he cannot save them from fools—only Uncle Sam can do that.”

Guide/Outfitter Holiday River Expeditions, BikeRaft.com. See the monument’s website (below) for a complete list of outfitters.

Contact Dinosaur National Monument, nps.gov/dino.

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/why-conservation-matters-rafting-the-green-rivers-gates-of-lodore/feed/ 1 22455
Photo Gallery: Paddling the Everglades https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-paddling-the-everglades/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-paddling-the-everglades/#comments Tue, 17 Jan 2017 10:00:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=3718 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

I confess: Everglades National Park was not near the top of my to-do list before I went there the first time, during an all-day layover in Miami waiting for a flight to Chile to trek in Patagonia. After a short hike in the park, I knew I had to return with my kids. My family spent our first day there paddling through a series of long mangrove tunnels on the East River (lead photo above), watching scores of exotic birds fly just overhead: snowy egrets, white ibises, black anhingas, tri-colored herons, brown pelicans, great blue herons (everything that flies here seems to have a color in its name). And we saw alligators—several of them, up to 12 feet long—floating listlessly on the river’s surface.

We also spent three days canoeing and camping on a wilderness beach at Tiger Key in the Ten Thousand Islands, seeing yet more birds like osprey and brilliantly pink roseate spoonbills, as well as a dolphin that circled my son’s and my canoe one afternoon, and awe-inspiring sunsets into the Gulf of Mexico every evening.

Mid-winter is the prime time of year for canoeing or kayaking in Everglades National Park: few mosquitoes, mild temperatures, lots of exotic birds—and the gators are relatively inactive because, for them, it’s cold. (But we also kept a good distance from them.)

If, like me, you have not considered the Everglades before, I have this advice: Rethink that position. Trust me on this. Check out these photos and the link below them to my full story about that trip.

 

Great egret, Everglades National Park. Mangrove tunnel, East River. Brown pelican, East River. Alligator, East River. Osprey, Chokoloskee Bay, Everglades. White ibises, Tiger Key, Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades/ Sunset, Tiger Key, Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades. Roseate spoonbills, Tiger Key, Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades.

Read my full story about that trip, “Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades,” which has more photos, a video, and tips on planning this trip yourself.

Our Everglades trip was the last of 11 national park adventures we took with our kids in one year, which I wrote about in my award-winning book Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today and others. I invite you to get email updates about new stories and gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box in the left sidebar, at the bottom of this post, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

 

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-paddling-the-everglades/feed/ 3 3718
Two Letters, Three Fathers, and a Reminder of What’s Really Important https://thebigoutsideblog.com/two-letters-three-fathers-and-a-reminder-of-whats-really-important/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/two-letters-three-fathers-and-a-reminder-of-whats-really-important/#comments Sun, 15 Jan 2017 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17050 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

About 20 years ago, when I was living in rural New Hampshire and syndicating a weekly outdoor column in newspapers across New England, I received a letter—yes, a letter, delivered by the U.S. Postal Service—from a guy who lived near me, offering himself as a hiking partner. He was a few years older than my father. But there was something about his letter that prompted me to write back, and it sparked an unusual friendship centered almost entirely on our hikes together.

But one detail of Doug’s life story inspired me the most: He had retired from his corporate job early, in his mid-50s. In other words: He had decided to make enjoying life his top priority. I’ve had many reasons to think about that philosophy and about Doug recently, and to contemplate the things that are truly important to me—which, in our fast-paced, hyper-connected culture, can be all too easy to forget.

We took many hikes together in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and Green Mountains of Vermont, in all seasons, including in winter on those notoriously frigid peaks. Doug was a smart, interesting, and opinionated guy, who didn’t tolerate fools but respected people who could intelligently challenge his views. I have undoubtedly forgotten many of the conversations he and I had. But I will never forget having to call him from a phone in rural Maine, after a longtime friend of mine was killed in a rock climbing accident while we were climbing a route on Mount Katahdin in Baxter State Park. I had to tell Doug what had happened, because he was planning to drive up the next day to backpack in Baxter with me.

He told me, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” A lot of people say that kind of thing at times like that. But Doug was true, and when you hear those words from someone like that, you know he actually means them.

 

Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures.
Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures.

A New Life

After my wife and I moved to the West in 1998 to start a new life in a place where the outdoors could be central to our lifestyle, Doug and I exchanged emails almost weekly. He’d update me on news from New England and his prolific hiking schedule. More than a year after I last saw him, he wrote to me with excitement about his plans to spend three months as a volunteer teaching English to rural schoolchildren in Nepal. Although he’d be living without running water, electricity, and any link to the outside world, he told me the only hardship he foresaw was being apart from his wife, Cynthia, for so long.

He concluded that email to me with: “Don and I are off to the Whites this weekend.” Those were the last words I’d read from him.

A few days later, I received sad news: While hiking up 5,367-foot Mount Madison (lead photo at top of story) in New Hampshire’s Presidential Range with a friend, Doug dropped dead of a heart attack. It shocked all of us who knew him well. Doug was a fit and avid hiker who regularly hiked the tallest peaks in the Northeast. I never had to wait for him on the trail. He often liked to boast, “I’m the oldest guy on this mountain.” He was 66.

The Big Outside is proud to partner with these sponsors. Please help support my blog by liking and following my sponsors on Facebook and other social media and telling them you appreciate their support for The Big Outside.


 

 

 

 

 

All these years later, I still exchange annual holiday letters with Doug’s widow, Cynthia. And I occasionally think about Doug, just as we all get reminded—by random, mundane events in everyday life—about old friends or relatives no longer with us. But I thought about Doug again not long ago when I received a letter—yes, a letter, in the mail (the second letter of this story’s headline)—from his daughter, Jennifer, who was kind enough to send me a copy of a newspaper column I wrote a week after Doug passed.

I had forgotten about that column; but rereading it, I not only remembered writing it, but it resurrected for me detailed recollections of the person I once knew. In this digital age, when many communications are so ephemeral—emails, texts, Facebook posts, and tweets—receiving this copy of something I wrote two decades ago was a reminder that the durability of the written word preserves memories, sometimes even better than photographs do.

Doug’s decision to retire early and spend most of his time climbing mountains instead of sitting behind a desk proved prophetic, in a way. Many people work until their mid-60s; he might easily have worked right up to the day he died. Instead, he gave himself a decade of maximizing his time with people he cared about and doing the things he loved. He literally hiked right up until the moment he left us.

 

Backpacking the Olympic coast, one of "My Top 10 Family Adventures."
Backpacking the Olympic coast, one of “My Top 10 Family Adventures.”

A Terminal Illness

None of us can know when our time will come, or when we will lose someone close to us.

Last June, my father passed away, 16 months after he was diagnosed with stage four prostate cancer. He was 78. My family—my mother, four siblings, and my parents’ 11 grandchildren, including my two kids—recently spent our first Christmas without him. Knowing his cancer was incurable, we had all prepared ourselves as best we could for his passing. But we can never know just how powerfully we’ll miss someone until he’s gone.

Prior to my father’s diagnosis, he was a healthy and active person; it was easy to imagine him being with us for many years. But when my parents first received his diagnosis and shared this difficult news with my four siblings and me, they simply pointed out that they had reached an age, in their late 70s, when they no longer harbored any illusions that life promises any guarantees.

My dad and me, four months before he died.
My dad and me, four months before he died.

A terminal illness throws a bright spotlight on the precariousness of life and the urgency of time. And unlike someone dying suddenly and unexpectedly, as terrifying as a terminal disease is, at least it gives us a little time—and if we use that time wisely, perhaps it grants us a little wisdom. In his final months, my father and I shared some of our best conversations and connected in a way that I wish I’d been wise enough to do many years ago.

Reasons for optimism are often out there; sometimes you just have to look a little harder to find them.

At an age when more than half of my life is statistically behind me rather than ahead of me, I look back and wonder why I wasted so much time in my young adulthood arguing with my father over politics or some other inane topic of relative insignificance, instead of simply talking about whatever interested him or me, or listening to him do something he always did well: tell funny stories about his friends and our extended family.

 

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by a USA Today Readers Choice poll and others. Get email updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box at the bottom of this story, at the top of the left sidebar, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

 

That brings me to the third father in this story—me—and some statistics about American parents that are as perplexing as they are disturbing.

My father’s illness has informed me in my relationships with my son and daughter. I have to be their father, but I strive to also be someone they can talk to. That’s why, as my kids rocket through their teen years, whenever my son asks me to play chess, or my daughter wants to do a Sudoku puzzle with me—or one of them spontaneously plops down next to me and starts talking about anything—I drop whatever I’m doing. And while I won’t be able to resist the urge to try to guide them down a path with good footing, I’ll try to let them embrace their own opinions. I’d rather spend more time finding ways to agree with them, or just listening, than finding ways to disagree.

 

My daughter, Alex, age 8, on a backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.
My daughter, Alex, age 8, on a backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.

Lost Family Vacation Time

Not long ago, I attended a conference of the Family Travel Association, at a picturesque Montana resort deep in the forest north of Yellowstone National Park. There, I listened to speakers lament how low a priority Americans give to time off with their families.

A 2015 study titled “The Work Martyr’s Children: How Kids Are Harmed by America’s Lost Week,” conducted by Project Time Off, a coalition of organizations committed to encouraging Americans to use their vacation time, surveyed 754 American children age eight to 14. It found that six out of seven kids say their parents bring work stress home, and 75 percent say a parent is unable to stop working while at home. Six in 10 say they get upset when their parents prioritize work over time with them.

While the children surveyed say their best memories are from family vacations, half of all families have not taken a vacation together in the past year. Project Time Off reports that Americans have a grand total of 429 million unused vacation days.

Here’s the good news from that study: 82 percent of kids said they want their parents deeply involved in their lives. Even among 13- and 14-year-olds, it was still a strong 74 percent.

My friend and FTA’s Executive Director Chris Chesak wrote to me: “Over the past decade, an abundance of psychology research has shown that experiences bring people more happiness than do possessions.”

I couldn’t agree more.

When we worry about the amount of time today’s children spend in front of electronic screens versus the time they spend being physically active and getting out in nature, we should consider the example we, as parents, set for them.

Over the years, I’ve met many retired people who lamented that they had worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with their family. But I’ve never met an older person who lamented not working enough.

We can’t choose the time and place of our last breath. We can only choose what we do with our time before we draw that last one.

NOTE: The problem of children spending so little time in nature motivated my teenage son, Nate, and me to climb the highest peak in the Lower 48, California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, to raise money for Big City Mountaineers, an organization that introduces urban youths to the wilderness—a cause Nate and I strongly believe in. Read my story about that climb and how our team, including five readers of The Big Outside, raised over $25,000 for Big City Mountaineers.

See my stories “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” “My Top 10 Family Adventures,” “Boy Trip, Girl Trip: Why I Take Father-Son and Father-Daughter Adventures,” all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/two-letters-three-fathers-and-a-reminder-of-whats-really-important/feed/ 3 17050
Video: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-rafting-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-rafting-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/#respond Tue, 15 Nov 2016 11:00:16 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21207 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

On a six-day rafting and kayaking trip on one of the world’s premier wilderness rivers, Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon, my family and 21 friends and relatives enjoyed beautiful canyon scenery, great side hikes to waterfalls and overlooks hundreds of feet above the river, and big whitewater: The roughly 100-mile-long Middle Fork has some 300 ratable rapids, many of them class III and IV.

This video captures the unique beauty, thrills, and magic of rafting and kayaking the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Hiking to Johnson Point above Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Hiking to Johnson Point above Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Besides thrilling whitewater from class II to IV every day, the trip descends more than a vertical half-mile through a canyon that changes from a forest of lodgepole pine and Douglas fir at higher elevations, to open terrain of ponderosa pine and rolling, grassy hills in the middle canyon, and finally the lower Impassable Canyon, the third-deepest gorge in North America, where sheer cliffs rise straight out of the roiling waters.

The Middle Fork of the Salmon is also one of the most remote rivers in America, lying deep within the second-largest federal wilderness in the Lower 48, the nearly 2.4 million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness. We saw bighorn sheep, bald eagles, and osprey, and made side hikes to hot springs, waterfalls, and overlooks hundreds of feet above the river with long views up and down the canyon.

 

On a wilderness trip this long, you cross a magic threshold of forgetting what day it is, or caring what time it is. You move according to the pace of the river, and live by the simple rhythms of nature—you feel far enough removed from civilization that its headaches can no longer reach you. I especially loved seeing it happen to the kids on our trip, who rarely know what it’s like to be fully disconnected.

Watch the video below, then read my feature story about that trip, which has many photos and more details about pulling it off. Find more info on guided trips with our outfitter, Middle Fork Rapid Transit, which specializes exclusively on the Middle Fork of the Salmon. And see all of my stories about family paddling trips and all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

 

 

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons below, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

 

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter, or enter your email address in the box in the left sidebar or at the bottom of this story. Click here to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Follow my adventures on Facebook, TwitterInstagram, and Youtube.

 

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures. Subscribe now to read ALL stories and get a free e-guide!

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-rafting-idahos-middle-fork-salmon-river/feed/ 0 21207
Photo Gallery: Exploring Joshua Tree National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-joshua-tree-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-joshua-tree-national-park/#respond Mon, 24 Oct 2016 10:00:29 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20904 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

In the Southern California desert, where the Mojave and Colorado-Sonoran deserts overlap amid a sea of hundreds of granite monoliths, lies one of America’s most unusual outdoor playgrounds: Joshua Tree National Park. Long known as a mecca for rock climbers, with some 8,000 established climbing routes, the park also has miles of trails for hiking, running, and horseback riding, beautiful camping among rock formations where kids can scramble around, and a vast backcountry to explore within its nearly 800,000 acres, more than half of which is protected as wilderness.

I’ve made several trips to Joshua Tree over the years, mostly to rock climb, but also with my family. The photos below are from my most-recent visits, climbing and hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Real Hidden Valley, and elsewhere, running the trail up 5,461-foot Ryan Mountain, and walking the path through the fascinating Cholla Cactus Garden in late afternoon on a mild, mid-winter day, when the low-angle sunlight backlighting the cholla cacti seemed to make them glow with an inner light.

With elevations ranging from around 1,500 feet to the 5,816-foot summit of Quail Mountain, the park hosts a diversity of flora and fauna. Ocotillo, jumping cholla and prickly pear cacti, blackbrush, and Mojave yucca salt the dry ground. Black-tailed jackrabbits dash between islands of vegetation, and rattlesnakes lurk in the rocks. With luck, you might see bighorn sheep on the cliffs.

But the park’s signature species is the spiky Joshua tree. With thick, twisting limbs terminating in dense clusters of needle-like leaves that evoke a medieval mace, the Joshua looks like some unfinished cross between a small tree and a tall cactus. Actually a yucca, Joshua trees grow profusely above 3,000 feet in the Mojave Desert. Viewed against a towering wall of golden granite or clouds ignited by a setting sun, a sea of Joshua trees stretching to the horizon constitutes one of the most unique and stirring landscapes in the national park system.

The Big Outside is proud to partner with these sponsors. Please help support my blog by liking and following my sponsors on Facebook and other social media and telling them you appreciate their support for The Big Outside.


 

Sadly, the Joshua tree’s future looks dire in its namesake national park, due to climate change. I write about that and other impacts of the warming climate in my award-winning book about my young family’s adventures in 11 national parks, Before They’re Gone: A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

At this southern latitude, this desert proves nearly inhospitable to people in summer, but quite pleasant in fall, winter, and spring—giving it a long peak season during a time of year when many northern, mountain parks and public lands are much less accessible.

Click on the photo gallery below to view the images in slide show mode. Then see my stories “Facing the Biggest Challenge Inside: Friendship and Climbing Rocks in Joshua Tree National Park,” about climbing and hiking there with an old friend, and “In the Land of Dr. Seuss: Exploring Joshua Tree,” about climbing and hiking in the park with my family.

See also all of my stories about California national parks and about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

 

Historic Ryan Ranch, Joshua Tree National Park. Joshua Tree National Park. Scrambling in Ryan Campground, Joshua Tree National Park. At Ryan Campground, Joshua Tree National Park. Rock climbing, Joshua Tree National Park. Joshua Tree National Park. Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park. Rock climbing in Real Hidden Valley, Joshua Tree National Park. Ryan Mountain, Joshua Tree National Park. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park.

 

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by a USA Today Readers Choice poll and others. Subscribe for updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box at the bottom of this story, at the top of the left sidebar, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

♦

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.

♦

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-exploring-joshua-tree-national-park/feed/ 0 20904
3-Minute Read: Rafting Through Dinosaur National Monument https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-rafting-through-dinosaur-national-monument/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-rafting-through-dinosaur-national-monument/#respond Sun, 16 Oct 2016 10:00:55 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20753 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Our flotilla of five rafts and two kayaks drifted lazily toward what looked like a geological impossibility: a gigantic cleft a thousand feet deep where the river appeared to have chopped a path right through the Uinta Mountains of northeastern Utah. Cracked cliffs of burgundy-brown rock framed the gap. Called the Gates of Lodore, its’ a canyon as famous today for its scenery and whitewater as it was once infamous for the crises that befell its first party of explorers, led by a one-armed Civil War veteran, who set out in wooden boats a century and a half ago to map the West’s greatest river system.

Rafting Lodore Canyon on the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument.
Rafting Lodore Canyon on the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument.

In July, joined by 21 friends and relatives, my family took a guided, four-day, 44-mile rafting trip on the Green River through Dinosaur National Monument, on the Utah-Colorado border. Our five guides from Holiday River Expeditions led us safely through challenging rapids, including Disaster Falls—where that exploration party, led by John Wesley Powell, suffered the loss of one of their wooden boats, splintered to pieces on rocks—Triplet Falls, and Hells Half Mile, all named by Powell.

We pitched our tents each night on sandy beaches below soaring canyon walls and a night sky riddled with stars—some of the prettiest campsites I’ve ever experienced. We hiked up side canyons to view prehistoric pictographs and stand beneath icy waterfalls. We saw at least 10 bighorn sheep—more than perhaps any of us had seen on one trip, ever.

I’ll post a feature story about this trip, with many more photos and a video, later. Meanwhile, for information about a guided trip next year, contact Holiday River Expeditions, bikeraft.com.

And see all of my stories about trips in Utah parkspaddling, family adventures, and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

 


Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Subscribe now to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.


 

Marco Garofalo and a bighorn sheep in Lodore Canyon.
Marco Garofalo and a bighorn sheep in Lodore Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument.

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-rafting-through-dinosaur-national-monument/feed/ 0 20753
Photo Gallery: California’s National Parks https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-californias-national-parks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-californias-national-parks/#respond Thu, 25 Aug 2016 10:00:23 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20189 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

Examine the wealth of natural places protected within our 59 national parks, and you’ll quickly see that no state has more than California’s nine (more even than Alaska’s eight). And arguably, no state has a greater diversity of parks than the Golden State, from desert to snowy mountains, giant sequoias and redwoods to rocky islands, the highest peak in the Lower 48 to the lowest and hottest patch of scorched earth. The list includes some of our most iconic and beloved parks and some of the least-known, least-crowded, and most mysterious: Channel Islands. Death Valley. Joshua Tree. Kings Canyon. Lassen Volcanic. Pinnacles. Redwood. Sequoia. Yosemite.

Doesn’t that list make you want to start planning a trip right now?

How many lifetimes would it take to really explore all of California’s national parks? I’m confident the answer is one, and I’m two-thirds of the way there and working hard on my list. See the gallery below of photos from five of California’s nine national parks, and I think you’ll discover some inspiration and ideas for your next adventure.

The Big Outside is proud to partner with these sponsors. Please help support my blog by liking and following my sponsors on Facebook and other social media and telling them you appreciate their support for The Big Outside.

 

 

 

See a menu of all of my stories about adventures in national parks in the Golden State, or scroll down to California on my All Trips By State page. Or click on the name of any California park in the list below for stories about it that I’ve posted at The Big Outside:

Death Valley National Park
Joshua Tree National Park
Kings Canyon National Park
Sequoia National Park
Yosemite National Park

See also my stories “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my feature story about thru-hiking the John Muir Trail, and “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of California’s Mount Whitney.

Read about my National Outdoor Book Award-winning book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, which chronicles the year my family spent taking wilderness adventures in 11 parks threatened by climate change.

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by a USA Today Readers Choice poll and others. Subscribe for updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box at the bottom of this story or in the left sidebar, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button in the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.

 

Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park. Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park. Surprise Canyon, Death Valley National Park. Clouds Rest, Yosemite National Park. Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree National Park. Half Dome, Yosemite National Park. Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park. A young girl amid giant sequoias in Redwood Meadow Grove, Sequoia National Park. Climber on Sail Away, Joshua Tree National Park. Lake Marjorie, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-californias-national-parks/feed/ 0 20189
Photo Gallery: Celebrating the National Park Service Centennial https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-celebrating-the-centennial-year-of-the-national-park-service/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-celebrating-the-centennial-year-of-the-national-park-service/#comments Mon, 22 Aug 2016 10:00:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17234 Read on

]]>
By Michael Lanza

When the National Park Service turns 100 on Aug. 25, it will mark not just the diamond anniversary of what writer and historian Wallace Stegner famously called “the best idea we ever had”—it marks the evolution and growth of that idea from a handful of parks created in the early days to a system in many ways without parallel, that protects 52 million acres of mountain ranges, canyons, rivers, deserts, prairies, caves, islands, bays, fjords, badlands, natural arches, and seashores in 59 parks. Without that protection, these places that draw visitors from around the world would otherwise almost certainly have been exploited and destroyed.

After the designation of Yellowstone in 1872 (lead photo, above) as the world’s first national park, several more followed before the NPS was born in 1916, many of them now legendary names: Sequoia, Yosemite, Mount Rainier, Crater Lake, Glacier, Haleakalā, Hawaii Volcanoes, Wind Cave, Lassen Volcanic, Mesa Verde, Rocky Mountain. During the same time period, President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed 18 national monuments (a number exceeded by only one president, Barack Obama, who has designated 19 monuments), many of which later became national parks, including Grand Canyon and Olympic.

The Big Outside is proud to partner with these sponsors. Please help support my blog by liking and following my sponsors on Facebook and other social media and telling them you appreciate their support for The Big Outside.

 

 

 

Throughout 2016, The Big Outside is featuring numerous stories about national parks to celebrate the National Park Service centennial, including the photo gallery below of images from nearly all of the national parks I’ve visited (close to half of the 59, so I have more work to do), and some NPS-managed national monuments.

Read more about the Park Service’s history and how you can join its centennial celebration at nps.gov/subjects/centennial. Find a national park and more information about the NPS at nps.gov/findapark.

See the All National Parks Trips page for a menu of all stories about national parks adventures at The Big Outside, or click on the name of any park in the list below of some of my favorites for stories I’ve posted at this blog about that park.

Canyonlands National Park
Everglades National Park
Glacier National Park
Glacier Bay National Park
Grand Canyon National Park
Grand Teton National Park
Mount Rainier National Park
North Cascades National Park
Olympic National Park
Rocky Mountain National Park
Sequoia National Park
Yellowstone National Park
Yosemite National Park
Zion National Park

Click directly to these stories for ideas for your next trip:

Photo Gallery: 10 Amazing National Park Adventures (and How to Pull Them Off)
5 Classic (Age-Appropriate) National Park Adventures For Families
Photo Gallery: 11 National Parks, One Year
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit

Read about my National Outdoor Book Award-winning book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, which chronicles the year my family spent taking wilderness adventures in 11 parks threatened by climate change.

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by a USA Today Readers Choice poll and others. Subscribe for updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box at the bottom of this story or in the left sidebar, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

This blog and website is my full-time job and I rely on the support of readers. If you like what you see here, please help me continue producing The Big Outside by making a donation using the Support button at the top of the left sidebar or below. Thank you for your support.









 

Lower Yellowstone Falls, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. General Sherman Tree, Sequoia National Park. Royal Arch Loop, Grand Canyon National Park. Angels Landing, Zion National Park. Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park. Big Springs in The Narrows, Zion National Park. Along the Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in Grand Canyon National Park. Chesler Park, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. A hiker below Skyline Arch in Arches National Park. Taylor Creek Trail, Zion National Park. Clouds Rest, Yosemite National Park. View from near Sunrise Point, Bryce Canyon National Park. High Sierra Trail, Sequoia National Park. Near Fruita Overlook, Capitol Reef National Park. Rock climber atop The Incisor, City of Rocks National Reserve. Phelps Lake, Grand Teton National Park. Sol Duc Falls, Olympic National Park. North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon National Monument. A great egret in Everglades National Park. Mountain goat along Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park. Emmons Glacier, Mount Rainier National Park. Lamplugh Glacier, Glacier Bay National Park. The Subway, Zion National Park. Glenns Lake, Glacier National Park. Above the Green River, Canyonlands National Park. Southern Olympic coast, Olympic National Park. Great Sand Dunes National Park. North Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon National Park. Sahale Glacier, North Cascades National Park. Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park. Climbing Mount Whitney, Sequoia National Park. Surprise Canyon, Death Valley National Park.

 

 

]]>
https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-celebrating-the-centennial-year-of-the-national-park-service/feed/ 2 17234