Hiking – The Big Outside https://thebigoutside.com America’s Best Backpacking and Outdoor Adventures Wed, 04 Mar 2026 12:35:18 +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 Hiking – 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

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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.

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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.

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Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-half-dome-how-to-do-it-right-and-get-a-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-half-dome-how-to-do-it-right-and-get-a-permit/#comments Sat, 28 Feb 2026 10:00:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=44408 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

No hike in the country really compares with Yosemite’s Half Dome. The long, very strenuous, challenging, and incredibly scenic day trip to one of the most iconic and sought-after summits in America begins with ascending the Mist Trail through the shower constantly raining down from 317-foot Vernal Fall and below thunderous, 594-foot Nevada Fall. Climbing the cable route up several hundred feet of steep granite slab delivers a thrill that partly explains the hike’s enormous popularity.

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 sheer, 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.

Half Dome validates every step of effort you put into 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 hiker atop Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton on The Visor or Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley, in Yosemite National Park. Click photo to read about this backpacking trip.

Having been up and down those cables a handful of times over more than 30 years of dayhiking and backpacking all over the country—including many years running this blog and previously as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years—I consider Half Dome one of the very best dayhikes in the entire National Park System and certainly one of America’s hardest dayhikes.

The cables are up for hiking Half Dome usually from the Friday before Memorial Day through the Tuesday after Columbus Day, depending on conditions. A permit is required for this popular dayhike and a permit lottery takes place throughout March. For 2026, Yosemite is no longer requiring a reservation to drive into or through the park for parts of the year; see nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/reservations.htm.

This story shares what I’ve learned about navigating the competitive permit system and embarking on a demanding day of hiking that’s roughly 16 miles round-trip with almost 5,000 feet of elevation gain and loss.

Please share your thoughts or questions about hiking Half Dome in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

Hikers on Half Dome's cable route in Yosemite National Park.
Hikers on Half Dome’s cable route in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Enter the Dayhike Permit Lottery

Whether dayhiking Half Dome or hiking the cable route to its summit on a backpacking trip, advancing beyond the base of the sub-dome (below the sub-dome steps and the cables) on the Half Dome Trail requires a permit every day during the season when the cables are up. The park allows 300 hikers per day on the cable route: 225 dayhikers and 75 backpackers.

The dayhiking preseason permit lottery is held March 1-31 at recreation.gov/permits/234652, and results are announced on April 11. You can submit an application for up to six people (six individual permits) and for a range of dates, which improves your chances of success. You can only submit one application per lottery (i.e., only have your name as the permit holder or alternate permit holder on one application), and either the permit holder or alternate will have to show the permit to a ranger at the base of the sub-dome. People applying multiple times as permit holder or alternate will have all their lottery applications canceled. The cost is $10 to apply and $10 per person if you obtain a permit.

A daily permit lottery for dayhikers is held throughout the hiking season to issue permits that are unused or canceled. That’s held two days in advance of the hike date and you’ll receive notification of the permit the evening you apply (for example, you’d apply on a Thursday to hike that Saturday and get notified Thursday evening whether you received a permit).

Find more information at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/hdpermits.htm and apply for the permit at recreation.gov/permits/234652.

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A backpacker hiking up the Half Dome Trail in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking Half Dome while on a backpacking trip. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Backpack to Half Dome

Instead of seeking a dayhiking permit, you can include Half Dome on a multi-day backpacking permit. In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas. Sixty percent of permit reservations are available by lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning 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 the following Saturday. 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.

See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.”

See also my expert e-books to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” both of which include Half Dome, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you identify and plan your Yosemite backpacking trip (including navigating the permit process). Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wpres.htm.

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

Pick a Weekday in Spring or Fall

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

Not surprisingly, Saturday ranks as the most popular day for which people seek a permit to dayhike Half Dome (18 percent of applicants), with Sunday second (16 percent) and Friday third (15 percent), according to statistics from Yosemite National Park. Apply to hike it on a Tuesday or Wednesday (12 percent) and you will greatly improve your odds of getting a permit compared to applying for a Saturday.

Similarly, permit application numbers are highest from mid-June through mid-September, so your chances of getting a permit are best midweek in late May and early June or late September and October.

See the charts at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/hdpermitsapps.htm.

The other good reasons for hiking in spring or fall include more moderate temperatures. Although spring can bring wetter weather, May and June are also when the waterfalls along the Mist Trail (and throughout Yosemite Valley) reach their most impressive peak runoff, whereas late summer and fall often deliver dry, pleasant weather.

Train Smartly

Dayhiking Half Dome from the usual starting point, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, entails about 16 miles round-trip with 4,800 feet of elevation gain and loss. That’s a serious day of hiking—one I’d rate as “extremely hard” in a chart that provides metrics for assessing a hike’s difficulty that you can find, along with other “hard” and “soft” measures, in my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Approaching a hike that hard casually can be a recipe for an unpleasant or worse experience. Train for it weeks in advance of the date, certainly by getting in some practice/training hikes, as well as following a regular training regimen. See my story “Training for a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.”

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

Hike Light

As with backpacking, traveling light when dayhiking helps you move faster and maintain your stamina longer, and a few pounds can make a difference. Your daypack’s weight matters and will mostly consist of food, water, and clothing layers, none of which you need to overpack.

Food weight will diminish over the day, of course, but there’s no need to pack much more than you intend to eat. Water is easy to refill along parts of the Mist Trail and most strategically at the Merced River on the JMT just above Nevada Fall, where you can top off your bladder or bottles before heading up to Half Dome and on the descent.

Wear lightweight, highly breathable hiking shoes that fit well and have a sticky outsole. See my picks for the best daypacks and hiking shoes and my “Pro Tips For Buying the Right Hiking Boots.”

Bring a hard-sided or collapsible filter bottle, like a Katadyn BeFree, which you can quickly refill when needed, and you can squeeze filtered water from a BeFree into a bladder. See my review of backpacking accessories and all water filter reviews at The Big Outside.

With a forecast for good weather, you can pack an ultralight shell jacket that’s more breathable, packable, and lighter than a rain jacket. See “The Best Ultralight Hiking and Backpacking Jackets,” all reviews of rain jackets at The Big Outside, and “5 Expert Tips for Buying a Rain Jacket for Hiking.”

I always use trekking poles on long hikes with substantial vertical gain and loss. See “The Best Trekking Poles,” “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “The 10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”

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

A backpacker on the John Muir Trail overlooking the Cathedral Range in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt on the John Muir Trail overlooking the Cathedral Range in Yosemite National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a JMT thru-hike.

See my stories “The 12 Best Hikes in Yosemite,” “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls,” and “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows” and all stories about Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.”

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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

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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.”

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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
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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.

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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

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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.”

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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.”

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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.”

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The Best Ultralight Hiking and Running Jackets of 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-ultralight-hiking-and-backpacking-jackets-of-2018/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-ultralight-hiking-and-backpacking-jackets-of-2018/#comments Thu, 19 Feb 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27175 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

You’re out on an all-day hike or a long climb or trail run or ride in the mountains. The weather forecast looked pretty good before you set out—but no one shared that memo with the wind that just started hammering your summit ridge, or the spitting rain and hail now pelting you as you contemplate the sudden drop in temperature and the miles between you and shelter. The question now is: What’s in your pack?

If you’re smart, it’s an ultralight jacket that takes up little space, but is about to gift you with just the right amount of weather protection when you need it.

This article offers my expert tips on how to choose the best ultralight shell for your needs, followed by my freshly updated picks for the best models on the market today, based on real-world, backcountry field testing and my 30 years of experience reviewing outdoor gear and apparel, including more than 10 years running this blog and previously the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years.


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 Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie.
The Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie.

Ultralight Jackets Explained

What is an ultralight shell jacket? There’s no consensus definition, and considerable variation among today’s models. But basically, the term “ultralight jacket” explains their primary advantage: They weigh under about 10 ounces—and some a fraction of that—and are very packable, often stuffing down to the size of a fist. In other words, they are usually less than half the weight and bulk of a standard waterproof-breathable jacket. While a few may be partly or even fully waterproof, many are water-resistant and windproof, providing a minimum level of protection from the elements.

While these jackets, also known as ultralight wind shells, are marketed primarily to runners, they are often a better choice than a heavier, bulkier rain jacket for dayhikers, climbers, and lightweight/ultralight backpackers who don’t expect to encounter heavy rain. I’ve used many of the models reviewed here for lightweight dayhikes and some of the more durable models for backpacking and climbing when the forecast threatened no more than light showers.

Although they certainly look very minimalist, they deliver all the protection you need from wind and light rain—the conditions many of us often encounter far more often than full-on storms. Some of them are partly or fully waterproof-breathable, and kept me dry in steady rain; but they lack the full hood coverage, features, and degree of waterproofing that a heavier rain jacket provides, and I don’t recommend ultralight jackets for hours or days of sustained rain.

The truth is, because standard, heavier, waterproof-breathable shells are, by definition, not as breathable as shells that are simply water-resistant, they are not the best choice for activities where you sweat a lot, like running or rigorous uphill hiking with a pack on, because they often cause you to get soaked from perspiration. Waterproof-breathable shells have their place, for sure. But they are heavier, bulkier, and more expensive than an ultralight jacket, in addition to being generally less useful in the situations we commonly encounter in the backcountry.

The Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody.
The Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody.

The notion seems counterintuitive, but it’s possible to have too much of a jacket. If you rarely pull on a rain jacket because it’s too much for most circumstances you encounter, then you need an ultralight jacket.

Whether you’re a dayhiker, backpacker, ultra-hiker, runner, or climber, when you choose the right ultralight shell for your activity and climate, it will probably become the jacket you grab and actually wear most often—and possibly the most versatile piece of outerwear you own, useful in a layering system tailored to any season and multiple outdoor sports.

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How to Choose an Ultralight Jacket

While many ultralight shells are similar in appearance and weight, they can vary significantly in functionality.

Simply put, the best ultralight jackets for trail running may be different from the best models for cool-weather hiking, climbing, or ultralight backpacking, and your choice will also depend on the typical weather you encounter.

The Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket.
The Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket.

Here’s what to look for:

Breathability vs. weather resistance. Ultralight jackets generally trade off fully waterproof protection for better breathability. However, models in this category can vary greatly in how each balances breathability and wind protection, and some have partially or completely waterproof fabrics while remaining ultralight and packable. But “waterproof” in an ultralight jacket doesn’t generally equal the protection of a two-layer or three-layer, heavier waterproof-breathable jacket (like Gore-Tex); sustained hard rain can cause it to wet through.

Hybrid vs. uniform shell. “Hybrid” in this context refers to the shell blending some fully waterproof-breathable fabric—usually in the shoulders, torso, and hood—with more breathable, non-waterproof fabric in the sides and underarms, allowing the jacket to release body heat and moisture in areas not likely to receive much direct precipitation. These jackets are versatile for a wide range of conditions and activity levels. By “uniform” shell, I mean either a water-resistant soft-shell fabric or a waterproof-breathable fabric—but one or the other, not a hybrid combination of both.

Insulated or not. While it’s not usually the case, ultralight jackets occasionally feature a light amount of strategically placed insulation—typically in the torso—making them more of a cool-weather, fall through spring garment, but also versatile for everything from climbing bigger mountains in summer to aerobic activities like running, Nordic skiing, or hiking and snowshoeing in winter.

Hood or no hood. For the most part, I find a simple, uninsulated shell hood almost essential in an ultralight jacket—it provides a noticeable boost in warmth and weather protection at very little cost in terms of weight, bulk, or dollars. Many ultralight shells, but not all, have a hood or a hooded version, and this comes down to personal preference as well as typical usage: If you need a shell simply for local runs of an hour or two in wind or cool temps, with a chance of a light shower, you may not need a hood. If you’re heading into the mountains for hours or days, you probably want a hood.

The Best Ultralight Jackets

I’ve listed the following jackets in order from lightest to heaviest.

My advice: Look at each of the reviews below to narrow your choices to the two or three that sound best for your needs, and then go to the complete reviews of those jackets to help you make your pick. You will support my work on this blog by purchasing any of these jackets through the affiliate links provided here or in the complete reviews, at no cost to you; in fact, you’ll usually find the best prices at those links. Thanks for doing that.

I encourage you to share your thoughts and experiences with any of these jackets, or another ultralight shell that you like, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Stay dry, happy, and safe. See my “5 Expert Tips For Buying a Rain Jacket for Hiking
and all reviews of rain jackets at The Big Outside.

 

JacketScorePriceWeightWeather ProtectionBreathabilityPackabilityDurabilityWeight-to-Performance
Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell4.4$1993.5 oz./
99.2g
3.5553.55
Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody4.4$1655.1 oz./
145g
3.55544.5
Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie4.2$1405.8 oz./
164.4g
3.54.5445
Outdoor Research Helium Rain Jacket4.4$170-$1806 oz./
170.1g
4454.54.5
Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket4.1$1657.7 oz./
219g
444.544
Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody4$2809 oz./
255g
44444
The Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell in Spain's Picos de Europa Mountains.
The Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell.

Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell
Why it’s special: Lightest and most packable protection from wind and light rain.
$199, 3.5 oz./99.2g (men’s medium)
blackdiamondequipment.com

The more I wore the Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell—the lightest and most packable hooded shell in this review—the more I liked and used it. Those outings ranged widely, including running the Grand Canyon 42 miles rim to rim to rim in one day in early October, a five-day June trek through Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains, a September weekend of rock climbing in cool temps and gusty wind at Idaho’s City of Rocks, and mountain biking through a sudden downpour. And not only does this shell perform well, but it may be the greenest ultralight wind shell on the market.

The Distance Wind Shell has a basic suite of features found in other ultralight shells: It stuffs easily into its one zippered chest pocket, packing down tosmaller than a baseball, and has elasticized cuffs, an adjustable hem, and an adjustable, helmet-compatible hood. But it replaces a traditional DWR (durable, water-resistant) fabric treatment with a PFC-free, water-repellent finish that gets permanently hyper-fused to the fabric fibers, making it more durable and greener than DWRs. Best of all, of course, its breathability and weather resistance compare with the best in this category.

See my complete review of the Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Black Diamond Distance Wind Shell at backcountry.com or blackdiamondequipment.com.

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

The Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody.
The Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody.

Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody
Why it’s special: Great balance of high breathability, low weight, packability, weather resistance, and durability.
$165, 5.1 oz./145g (men’s medium)
backcountry.com

After sweating hard on a hot and humid June morning hiking up the brutally steep headwall of Huntington Ravine on Mount Washington, we hit the cool wind in the mountain’s alpine terrain—so I pulled on my Kor Airshell Hoody and it tamed that wind while breathing so well that the wet sun shirt against my skin dried out quickly. And that pattern of sweating and hitting wind continued throughout that two-day hut trek in New Hampshire’s Presidential Range.

A midweight ultralight wind shell at a hair over five ounces,the highly packable Kor Airshell Hoody balances its two superpowers of low weight and excellent breathability with respectable weather resistance and durability, as I also found wearing it running hilly trails and hiking from the Boise Foothills to early spring backpacking trips on a section of the Arizona Trail and in Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon. Besides its breathability, the ultralight, recycled, 20-denier Pertex Quantum Air ripstop nylon fabric lends the Kor better durability than the lightest ultralight shells.

With a comfortable fit and soft fabric, an elasticized hood with a low-profile brim that provides decent coverage, elasticized hem and cuffs, and two zippered hand pockets—more than found on many competitors—it’s a great choice for dayhikers, trail runners, climbers, and others who mostly need good breathability but may encounter a range of weather conditions short of sustained, hard rain.

See my complete review of the Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Mountain Hardwear Kor Airshell Hoody at backcountry.com or rei.com.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
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The Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie.
The Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie.

Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie
Why it’s special: Combo of high breathability and comfort, weather resistance, packability, and durability.
$140, 5.8 oz./164.4g (men’s medium)
backcountry.com

We expect a lot of our ultralight wind shells: We want them to breathe well when we’re hiking or running uphill while, of course, blocking the wind effectively—and feel good. On trail runs, dayhikes, and a backpacking trip from southern Utah’s canyon country in spring to the mountains of Southwest Idaho, in a wide range of weather that challenges any outer layer to keep you comfortable, the Shadow Wind Hoodie did just that quite well.

The Shadow’s distinguishing component is its lightweight but durable, 20-denier, stretch-woven fabric: Impressively breathable and resistant to light precipitation, it feels softer against skin than most ultralight shells—especially the lightest out there, which can feel a bit like a plastic petroleum product.

But it offers so much more, too. The trim fit provides space for a couple of base layers plus light insulation and very good stretch lets this jacket move with you—great for hiking, running, climbing, and other activities. The close-fitting, under-the-helmet hood is adjustable—uncommon in an ultralight shell—protects your face well and stows inside the collar. The Shadow also has three zippered pockets. Just an ounce or two heavier than the lightest hooded wind shells, it stuffs inside the chest pocket to about the size of a softball.

See my complete review of the Outdoor Research Shadow Wind Hoodie.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Outdoor Research Helium Wind Hoodie at backcountry.com, rei.com, or outdoorresearch.com.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

The Outdoor Research Helium II Jacket.
The Outdoor Research Helium II Jacket.

Outdoor Research Helium Rain Jacket
Why it’s special: Very light and packable waterproof-breathable shell.
$170, 6 oz./170.1g (men’s medium), $180, 6 oz. (women’s medium)
backcountry.com

In the world of waterproof-breathable outerwear, the Outdoor Research Helium Rain Jacket pushes the extreme low end in weight and packability—very appealing to hikers, ultralight backpackers, and trail runners. I’ve worn this six-ounce hooded shell on trail runs and hikes in my local foothills, in weather ranging from biting wind and temps in the 30s to heavily falling, wet snow for over two hours. I also wore it at times on an early September, five-day backpacking trip on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park, where it fended off heavy mist and cool winds, and through cold wind and some light rain showers on a five-day hike in The Maze District of Canyonlands National Park in early March—and for trips with no serious rain in the forecast, it saved me from carrying twice the weight and bulk in a standard rain jacket.

Constructed from 30-denier ripstop nylon, waterproof-breathable Pertex Shield, it employs Diamond Fuse technology, which uses yarns with diamond-shaped filaments that lock together, lending it relatively good durability and snag-resistance for a fabric this light. It fought off dumping wet snow while I ran and hiked and didn’t build up too much moisture inside; but breathability is not exceptional. It has an adjustable hood, comfortable fit, and one zippered chest pocket that the shell stuffs inside. For anyone needing a just-in-case ultralight shell for wind and rain, the Outdoor Research Helium Rain Jacket delivers waterproof protection in a compact package at a good value for its performance and low weight.

See my complete review of the Outdoor Research Helium Rain Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Helium Jacket at backcountry.com or rei.com, or a women’s Helium Rain Jacket at backcountry.com or rei.com.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets” and
How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.

The Rab Men’s Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket.
The Rab Men’s Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket.

Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket
Why it’s special: Lightweight and packable waterproof-breathable shell.
$165, 7.7 oz./219g (men’s medium)
backcountry.com

This ultralight rain shell kept me dry while backpacking through wind-driven rain and hail in a thunderstorm on the Continental Divide Trail in Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. At just 7.7 ounces/219 grams and packing down to the size of a softball, it was also a perfect choice for wind protection and just in case of rain (which only fell early one morning, before we got up) while backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems Route.

Rab’s 20-denier, 2.5-layer Proflex stretch-woven waterproof nylon fabric also breathes well, and the adjustable hood offers decent face protection. If you generally avoid severe weather, the Downpour Light delivers all the protection you need in a lighter, more packable design that’s far less expensive than that high-end rain shell that’s overbuilt for your needs.

See my complete review of the Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a Rab Downpour Light Waterproof Jacket at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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

Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody
Why it’s special: Warmest ultralight jacket with good weather resistance and breathability.
$280, 9 oz./255g (men’s medium)
rei.com

Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody
Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody.

The warmest and only insulated shell in this review, the Atom SL Hoody has been a go-to piece for me in situations as varied as backpacking in August in Canada’s Kootenay National Park and in October in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains; scrambling a 10,000-foot peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains and hiking to the very windy summit of 10,243-foot Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park in September; and numerous times Nordic skate-skiing in temps in the 20s and 30s.

Essentially an ultralight wind shell with some strategically placed insulation, it delivers just enough warmth for being active in cool temps without causing you to overheat. Credit the fleece under the arms and 40 grams of insulation in the torso, but no insulation in the hood or on the outside of the sleeves, where there’s just windproof shell fabric that breathes reasonably well. Arc’teryx’s Coreloft synthetic insulation is very compressible, retains heat when wet, and dries quickly. The adjustable hood stays put on your head, with or without a helmet. Whether I was standing on a windblown 10,000-footer, carrying a backpack through the mountains in conditions that shifted frequently between warm sunshine and overcast with cold wind, or perspiring profusely while skate-skiing, the Atom SL keep me warm but didn’t make me too hot. It’s ideal for cool to cold temps or anyone who gets cold easily in moderate temperatures.

See my complete review of the Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Arc’teryx Atom SL Hoody at rei.com or arcteryx.com.

See all trail-running gear reviews and outdoor apparel reviews at The Big Outside.

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10 Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-expert-tips-for-hiking-with-trekking-poles/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-expert-tips-for-hiking-with-trekking-poles/#comments Tue, 17 Feb 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38338 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

If you’ve opened this story, you probably already recognize this truth: For backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, mountain runners, and others, trekking poles noticeably reduce strain, fatigue, and impact on leg muscles and joints, feet, back—and really on your entire body. And that’s true no matter how much weight you’re carrying, whether a daypack, an ultralight backpack, or a woefully heavy backpack.

But if you’ve opened this story, you also probably already have a sense of this often-overlooked truth: How you use poles matters. If you use them correctly, you’re gaining their benefits on virtually every step of your hike; if not, they become dead weight. This story provides 10 highly effective tips on using poles, from basics like adjusting pole length, gripping the strap, and moving uphill and downhill on trails, to managing steep terrain, fording streams, advanced tips for aiding balance, and more.

The tips below are based on my experience of many thousands of trail miles and more than three decades of backpacking, dayhiking, climbing, trail running, and taking ultra-hikes and ultra-runs—plus a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear as a past field editor for Backpacker magazine and for many years running this blog. I believe this story will give you expert tips on hiking with trekking poles that you will not find anywhere else.


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 n Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

With practice, using trekking poles can become so second-nature that you don’t have to think about what you’re doing—your body works on muscle memory, and your pole plants and movement become more efficient and effective. Mountain runners can even get skilled at rapidly swinging poles to assist with balance and braking when running trails downhill.

See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles” and my story “How to Choose Trekking Poles.”

Tell me what you think of my tips, ask any questions, or share your own 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 about that trip.

Ready for new poles? See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles.”

A backpacker on the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

#1 Set the Pole Length

For hiking on well-graded, flat to moderately steep trails, adjust the pole length so that your elbow is at a 90-degree angle when holding the pole upright, its tip planted on the ground, right in front of you. On many well-graded (not terribly steep) trails, you may not feel the need to adjust this length setting.

But on steeper terrain or trails, your poles may feel too long when going up or too short when going down. If so, shorten the pole by 5-10cm for hiking uphill and lengthen it a similar amount for hiking downhill. With a little practice, you will quickly learn your preferred length in different terrain.

The adjustable sections of poles typically employ one of two different mechanisms. Here’s how to set each of them correctly:

  1. Twist-lock cams tighten and loosen, of course, by twisting them. Don’t over-tighten them: Turn the mechanism until you feel the cam tightening, then secure it with just another quarter-turn. If you’re applying much effort to twist it, you’re over-tightening it.
  2. Locking levers have a small screw for adjusting the lever’s tension, so that it’s not so loose that the sections collapse easily, or too tight to open and close the lever. That screw will only require slight adjustment, and depending on the design, you might be able to do it with your fingers, or it will require a tool like a Phillips screwdriver (the size found on many multi-tools and Swiss Army knives) or an Allen key. Take note of whether your poles have shafts whose diameter varies slightly from end to end, so that you find the lever tension setting that’s not too tight or loose with the poles either extended or collapsed.

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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.

#2 How to Grip the Pole Strap

To use poles properly, slide your hand through the strap before grabbing the pole grip, and wrap your thumb over the strap; that enables you to pull down on the strap—and lean onto the pole—without over-gripping and fatiguing your hands.

Pole straps are generally easily adjustable. Set them so that the strap wraps your hands comfortably when holding the strap as described above. Adjust straps if needed for wearing gloves (which is usually only necessary for thick, warm gloves).

A tip: Sometimes when hiking down steep, rocky terrain—when the risk of falling is elevated—I remove the straps from my wrists to avoid the poles getting in my way and somehow worsening injuries if I trip and fall. My concern is tripping over the pole or having the pole cause a severe twist of my arm or shoulder because my wrist is in the strap when I’m falling. Plus, when descending, we primarily lean on the poles and use them for balance and supporting our weight rather than to help propel us forward, so the straps are less important, anyway.

At just about all other times when hiking, without the wrist straps, you lose the major benefit of having poles: their ability to help you move forward and conserve energy

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton, Grand Canyon,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Backpackers on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

#3 Use Poles to Propel Yourself Forward

When hiking relatively level terrain or gentle uphills, take a cue from cross-country skiers: Use poles to help propel yourself forward by planting the pole behind your back foot—which is the foot on the same side as the pole you’re planting when you swing your arms in a normal walking gait—and pushing off.

This will not, of course, feel or look quite the same as Nordic skiers who are sliding rapidly on skis over snow. The effort shouldn’t, for instance, cause serious fatigue in your arms and particularly your triceps muscles. But thousands of slight push-offs over the course of several miles translates to a significant, cumulative amount of weight taken off your leg and back muscles. Hikers using this technique will notice the energy efficiency gained.

Plus, if your goal is exercise, as with Nordic skiing, this technique will give you more of a full-body workout than just walking.

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Click here now to learn more.

Hikers ascending steep snow in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Hikers ascending steep snow in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

#4 Using Poles on Steep Ascents

On steep ascents, plant poles alternately in front of you, swinging your arms the same as when walking gentler terrain (right arm forward with the left foot, left arm with the right foot); but plant each pole close enough that your elbow is bent, so that you can lean on the pole strap to gain a bit of upward leverage. A straight arm doesn’t convey much leverage onto the pole.

Some heavier, more-versatile poles have extended grips on the upper shafts, useful for holding the poles below the grips on exceptionally steep uphills without your hand slipping or holding cold metal. This is most useful for climbers and backcountry skiers.

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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.

#5 Using Poles on Steep Descents

On steep descents—both on-trail and especially off-trail—use poles for balance and to reduce the impact of constantly stepping down. Employ these two techniques depending on the steepness (and follow tip #1 for lengthening your poles):

See my picks for “The 10 Best Trekking Poles” and all of my reviews of trekking poles 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.”

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 my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside for categorized menus of all of my reviews and my expert buying tips.

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How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-hike-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-in-a-day/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-hike-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-in-a-day/#comments Sat, 14 Feb 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26579 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Minutes after we started hiking down the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail, we descended through short, tight switchbacks where the trail clings to the face of a cliff. The earth dropped away precipitously beyond the trail’s edge; we gazed down nearly a vertical mile into the bottom of The Big Ditch. Not much farther along, we stopped, awestruck, at a breathtaking overlook of perhaps the most famous canyon on the planet.

Those first vistas laid bare the audacity of our plans: to walk across this awesome chasm in one push, on a 21-mile, nearly 11,000-vertical-foot, rim-to-rim dayhike.

On a visit to the Grand Canyon in mid-October—one of the two brief windows annually that offer the best chance for ideal weather for this adventure—my wife, Penny, and I, joined by our friends David and Kathleen Ports, made what has become possibly the most coveted grail for avid and very fit hikers and trail runners. A rim-to-rim hike traverses one of the most inspiring, rugged, vast, vertiginous, arid, and unforgiving landscapes in America. And that’s just a short list of the applicable adjectives.


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 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.”

Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

I have both hiked and run the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim-to-rim (r2r2r) in one day—42 miles and over 21,000 vertical feet—and hiked rim-to-rim-to-rim over two consecutive days (that time combining all three corridor trails, making it 44.5 miles). Going r2r2r in one day is an enormous challenge, and spreading it out over two days, or hiking in just one direction in a single day, still represents a very, very big undertaking — one that, based on what I have seen each time I’ve done it, many hikers underestimate.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim” offers expert tips specific to the unique challenges of successfully and safely hiking or trail running rim to rim in a day, including preparing for it, the ideal seasonal windows, tips on strategy and direction to hike, gear, and all possible hiking itineraries combining the three corridor trails, the North Kaibab, South Kaibab, and Bright Angel trails.

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A hiker on the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail. Click photo to read my story about this two-day r2r2r hike.

It’s unquestionably one of the most beautiful dayhikes in the country. The Grand Canyon’s severe verticality and desert climate create a landscape where seemingly endless views accompany you almost every step of the way. In the canyon’s bottom, or Inner Gorge, instead of looking out over an infinite maze of canyons sprawling for miles, you pass through a more intimate environment. Rim-to-rim hikers follow the North Kaibab Trail’s winding course through lower Bright Angel Canyon, walking along a lively creek, between close, dark rock walls that shoot straight up for hundreds of feet on both sides.

Click here now for my expert e-book to hiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim!

A hiker on the North Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the lower North Kaibab Trail.

It’s also one of the hardest dayhikes in the country—quite likely the hardest many people will ever attempt. Don’t underestimate its grueling difficulty. By the shortest route, combining the South and North Kaibab trails, a rim-to-rim hike, or r2r, entails about 21 trail miles and a cumulative nearly 11,000 feet of elevation gain and loss. The heat can wilt even the fittest people.

I have seen numerous hikers struggling on r2r attempts, including one young couple whose one headlamp had died late at night two hours before we found them sitting beside the South Kaibab Trail, where they might have spent the night if we didn’t show up with lights and accompany them up. On a separate hike, I encountered a woman who was collapsing to the ground repeatedly and had to be rescued by helicopter.

Cold temps and wind are not unknown in early morning and evening, and although unusual, rain or snow can soak your ambitious plans. In fact, hard rain fell the day before the four of us hiked it south to north on a Saturday, and snow fell the Monday morning after David and I made the return hike north to south on Sunday (while Penny and Kathleen—perhaps wisely—took the shuttle from the North Rim back to the South Rim).

See my stories “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “April Fools: Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.”

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A hiker on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book to hiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

The following are some of my tips for hiking or running the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim or rim-to-rim-to-rim. (Most of these tips are available only if you have a paid subscription to The Big Outside.) You will find many more tips and planning details in my e-book“The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim” (which can be purchased without a subscription).

I can also help you plan this hike or any other trip you read about at my blog; see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

Use trekking poles, they’re critical on a hike this long with this much cumulative elevation gain and loss. I recommend an ultralight model like the Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ poles, the Gossamer Gear LT5, or the Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z. See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles” and my stories  “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”

The park requires that any organized, non-commercial group of 12-30 participants, or not-for-profit group conducting rim-to-rim, rim-to-rim-to-rim, rim-to-river-to-rim, and/or extended dayhikes in the inner canyon must obtain a Special Use Permit (SUP). The inner canyon is defined as the area below the Tonto Platform from the South Rim and below Manzanita Resthouse from the North Rim. Groups may not break into smaller groups on different permits to accommodate group size. Commercial operations are not authorized under this SUP. For more information visit nps.gov/grca/parkmgmt/sup.htm.

A rim-to-rim Grand Canyon hike delivers numerous moments of pure magic. Even on a popular trail like the Bright Angel, you can get gifted with a rare, thrilling surprise.

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

As I hiked wearily up the Bright Angel, in the final mile of the return leg of our two-day, nearly 45-mile, rim-to-rim-to-rim hike, I heard a noise to my left. Two bighorn sheep burst from the sparse vegetation on the trail’s downhill side, dashed across it no more than 10 feet in front of me, and disappeared within seconds, clambering up the steep slope on the trail’s uphill side. At that moment, there happened to be no other hikers within sight. I was the only one to see them.

Minutes later, still electrified by that chance encounter, I watched the same two bighorns jump onto the trail again, this time maybe 100 feet uphill from me. They sprinted down the trail, passing so closely to me that for an instant I thought they might crash right into me.

Check out my picks for “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks” and my “8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters When Hiking,” my five-level difficulty rating system in “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” and my “10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier.” And see all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.”

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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.


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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.”

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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.”

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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.”

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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.

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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.”


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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.

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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

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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.

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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).

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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).

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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.”

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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5 Expert Tips For Buying the Right Backpacking Pack https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-finding-the-right-backpack/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-finding-the-right-backpack/#comments Tue, 13 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11824 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

If you’re super fit and strong, hike with a pack of any weight 50 or more days a year, and have never known any sort of injury or ache in your body, then don’t bother reading this article. But for everyone else, knowing how to find the right pack for backpacking and other outdoor activities—and for your body—will make a world of difference in your enjoyment when carrying that pack for hours a day on a trail or up and down a mountain. This article will lead you through five steps to accomplish exactly that—helping to ensure that you spend your gear money smartly.

These tips reflect what I’ve learned from field testing all kinds of packs for backpacking, dayhiking, climbing, trail running, and backcountry skiing over more than a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear—formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for about 10 years and for even longer running this blog.

Follow these tips in chronological order and you will find the pack that’s right for you.

Please share any tips of your own or your questions 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 backpacker hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton backpacking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

#1 Decide What It’s For

It’s tempting, especially when you’re on a budget, to want to buy one pack that will serve every possible need for which you can imagine using a pack. While that approach is understandable, unfortunately, setting such broad expectations takes you in exactly the wrong direction in this important first step toward finding the right pack.

Don’t sweat the fact that your diversity of interests demands a larger quiver of packs than you can afford; in time, when you can, you will get another pack. (We all do.) Your goal here is to focus down and narrow choices.

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

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.

The profusion of pack choices is largely the result of specificity in pack design—companies pursuing customers by making packs intended to be perfect for one purpose or another. Decide the one primary activity for which you’re buying this pack. Backpacking? Dayhiking? Climbing? Backcountry snow sports?

Sure, you can find packs that are more generalist and all-purpose—for example, tough enough for climbing, but with adequate organization and capacity for backpacking, or big enough for weekend backpacking and not too big or heavy for dayhiking, and that may serve you just fine. But if you want a pack that’s ideal for, say, backpacking, then look for a pack primarily designed for backpacking.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight backpacks.

#2 Decide on Capacity and Weight

Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips in Glacier and other parks.

Are you a lightweight or ultralight backpacker, or carrying most of the gear and food for your young kids, or somewhere into between? Are you a weekend backpacker, or planning to take weeklong trips as well, or planning a long thru-hike? Do you dayhike or backpack only in dry, mild climates in summer, or go out in colder and wetter climates, in shoulder seasons (spring and fall), or even in winter, too?

Capacity and maximum weight you’ll carry are two distinct but overlapping considerations. A mid-size pack, for instance, may still be lightweight and intended to carry only a maximum load of 30 or 35 pounds.

Tips:

•    Consider the total weight and the bulk of the gear and food you’ll typically carry, so that your pack has enough space for your needs, can comfortably handle the weight, and isn’t more pack than you really need.
•    Don’t buy the lightest pack if you intend to carry more weight than it’s designed for.
•    If you’re unsure between two backpack capacities—say, 50L or 60L—ask yourself whether you’re ready to size down some bulky gear (like a sleeping bag or tent), or go with the larger pack.

I usually roll my eyes when I see a reviewer suggest that a lightweight or even mid-size pack can carry 50 or 60 pounds. First of all, many people—probably most backpackers—simply cannot carry that much weight with any pack (and don’t want or need to). Don’t trust any suggestion that a minimal frame and suspension system can carry a large weight, or you’ll set yourself up for some painful disappointment.

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A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to read all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

How I use packs based on volume and approximate pack weight (there’s overlap between these categories):

•    Packs 65L/3,965 c.i. or larger, weighing four to five pounds or more (empty)—family or gear-intensive backpacking or climbing trips carrying loads of 40-50 pounds or more.
•    Packs 50-65L/3,356-3,967 c.i., weighing three to four pounds—longer trips carrying 30-45 pounds, including several days’ food, when I’m carrying some weight for a partner, or extra clothing and a larger sleeping bag for colder temperatures.
•    Packs approximately 50L/3,051 c.i. or smaller, weighing under three pounds—weekend to multi-day, lightweight/ultralight backpacking with 30-35 pounds or less and lightweight or ultralight, compact gear.
•    Packs 30-45L/1,831-2,441 c.i., weighing 2.5 to four pounds—ultralight weekend trips and gear-intensive activities like climbing and backcountry skiing day trips or hut/yurt trips carrying 30 or more pounds.
•    Packs 20-30L/1,220-1,831 c.i. weighing 1.5 to 2.5 pounds—dayhikes carrying 15 to 25 pounds.
•    Packs under 20L/1,220 c.i. weighing under 1.5 pounds—longer trail runs and dayhikes carrying under 15 pounds.

Want to hike the Teton Crest Trail, John Muir Trail, or another trip?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

#3 Get the Fit Right

Backpackers in Paria Canyon, Utah-Arizona.
My daughter, Alex, and friend Sofi Serio, ackpacking in Paria Canyon, Utah-Arizona. Click photo to see “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

For starters, measure your torso correctly in order to know your pack size. While many hydration packs and daypacks come in only one size, most mid-size and large backpacks come in two or three sizes, each fitting a specific range of torso lengths, or they’re adjustable. Some pack makers offer customization of fit such as different sizes in hipbelts.

How to measure torso length:

Stand straight and have someone use a soft tape measure (or a string which that person can hold against a stiff measuring tape afterward) to measure your spine. Find your iliac crest, which is the shelf-like top of your hipbones on your sides; place your hands there and your thumbs will point to the spot on your spine where your helper should place the end of the tape measure. Have that person run the tape measure along your spine to your C7 vertebrae, which is the knobby bone at the base of your neck when you tilt your head forward. That’s your torso length.

I’ve often found that if a pack model’s sizing is such that my torso length falls on the line between sizes, then either size could be a little small or a little big for me. If I really want that pack, the smaller size often fits me better. But you’ll probably find a more comfortable fit when your torso length falls closer to the middle of a pack’s fit range.

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

A hiker near Skeleton Point, South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail during a rim-to-rim dayhike. Click photo to read about hiking or backpacking across the Grand Canyon.

See my reviews of “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs,” “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks,” and the best ultralight backpacks, and my “Video: How to Load a Backpack” 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.”

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.


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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.

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How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-dress-in-layers-for-winter-in-the-backcountry/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-dress-in-layers-for-winter-in-the-backcountry/#comments Wed, 10 Dec 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25979 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

If hiking, backpacking, and climbing from spring through fall teaches us the fundamentals of layering our clothing for comfort in variable weather, the backcountry in winter confers a graduate degree in layering. In mild temperatures, getting wet with perspiration or precipitation merely risks discomfort. In freezing temps, it can quickly lead to hypothermia and actually become life-threatening.

This article offers expert advice on how to choose a specific, personalized layering system for different exertion levels and body types in backcountry in winter. Drawn from my four decades of experience backpacking, Nordic and backcountry skiing, snowshoeing, climbing, camping, and trail running in winter—including 10 years as the Northwest Editor and lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—these tips go beyond the usual layering advice to help you stay comfortable and safe by customizing clothing systems according to activity and body type.


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 layering system is simply the clothing layers you wear outdoors, and we all understand that dressing in layers allows us to make adjustments—adding and removing layers—as needed for changing conditions. But temperatures near and below freezing compound the challenge of dressing comfortably during exertion, when our bodies sweat, because damp clothing conducts heat from your body, and cold air rapidly accelerates that cooling effect—potentially to a dangerous degree.

See “12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter.”

A backcountry skier in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
Chip Roser backcountry skiing in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

Choosing a Layering System

Three variables dictate the layers you need:

• The ambient conditions you expect to encounter—temperature range, wind, and precipitation—as well as how terrain and vegetation cover affect your exposure to the weather: You’re more protected from wind and weather in the forest than above treeline. But a shaded valley bottom with no direct sunlight, where the coldest air pools on a calm day, can feel colder than the warm sunshine and calm air higher up.

• Your level of exertion, whether moderate (downhill or backcountry skiing or riding, ski touring, or snowshoeing) or highly aerobic (fast Nordic skiing, trail running).

• Your body type and metabolism, or more simply, how easily you get cold.

Think of those variables on a sliding scale. As we all understand, you need warmer layers as temperatures and exertion level drop. But your choice of specific garments will also depend on your body and activity, and some apparel can cross over between the two types of layering systems (explained below).

See “The Best Gloves For Winter—and All Seasons” and “The Best Mittens For Winter
for both high-exertion and moderate-exertion activities.

Backcountry skiing in Idaho's Smoky Mountains above the Wood River Valley.
Keith York ski touring in Idaho’s Smoky Mountains, above the Wood River Valley.

Base Layers for Winter

Whatever your exertion level, you want next-to-skin tops and bottoms that do two things:

1. Wick moisture off your skin quickly.

2. Provide at least the minimum amount of warmth you need for the conditions and your body.

In winter, those two traits become especially important. A top that’s too light reduces your layering system’s versatility by forcing you to rely only on your insulation layer for warmth—and insulation that’s warm enough for the coldest temps you face, as it should be, may be too much at other times.

Start your layering system smartly with
the best base layers for being active outdoors.

On the other hand, you also don’t want your base layer top to make you overheat, which can happen in the warmest circumstances you might encounter—such as skiing or snowshoeing uphill in sunshine, calm air, and temps around or above freezing. It’s also possible to overheat when moving uphill in temps just below freezing and snow falling hard enough that it requires you to wear a shell jacket. In that situation, an insulation layer may be too warm, so you need a base layer under that shell that provides adequate warmth.

You can also combine two base layers, a lightweight one and a midweight, giving you another possible layering adjustment to deal with fluctuating temps. (Or you can moderate your pace, which is another of my “12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter.”) But peeling off and putting on base layers is less convenient in winter than in summer—especially in falling snow or when you’re wearing an avalanche beacon. Better to have one base layer (or two) that does the job.

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Backcountry avalanche instructor Chago Rodriguez skiing in the shadow of Mount Heyburn in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Expert backcountry avalanche instructor Chago Rodriguez skiing in the shadow of Mount Heyburn in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to learn about his courses.

Pants for the Backcountry in Winter

We swap out top layers in winter, but not our bottoms. Depending, of course, on the activity and conditions, we generally wear one or two bottom layers and do not change them while outside. Consequently, our pants or bottoms must be chosen specifically for the activity and conditions.

Here’s what to look for:

• For trail running in moderately cold temps (around freezing to 40s F), I often wear running shorts over compression shorts or three-quarter-length tights (which reach to the top of the calves and cover the knees) with compression calf sleeves or socks; or lightweight, highly breathable, fast-wicking tights.

• When Nordic skiing, I favor lightweight soft-shell pants that breathe well, block some wind (for skiing downhill), shed snow, and offer a bit more warmth than tights. This type of pant crosses over well to three-season hiking and climbing in the mountains, too.

• For backcountry skiing or snowshoeing, I want more substantial pants that still breathe well—typically soft-shell—but are designed to keep snow out of ski boots (with an internal gaiter) and deliver a bit more warmth and weather protection.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets” and
How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.”

A backcountry skier in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
A backcountry skier in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

Two Types of Layering Systems for Winter

When it comes to a shell and insulation, most people will employ one of two different types of layering systems in temperatures from just above to well below freezing:

1. Layering for moderate-exertion activities of anywhere from an hour to all day, or even multiple days if you’re staying in a backcountry cabin or yurt or winter camping. That demands a versatile system, with three or more layers, that allows adjustments dictated by changing conditions.

2. Layering for high-exertion activities, which are usually of shorter duration—a few hours or less—and often may not involve making adjustments, such as when Nordic skiing or trail running.

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David Gordon finding powder in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
David Gordon finding powder in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

The Best Moderate-Exertion Layering System

If your primary winter activities are backcountry skiing or ski touring, snowshoeing, or hiking, you need a layering system with great versatility, which usually means three types of layers: base, middle or insulating layer, and shell.

This could consist of just three pieces, and at times, you might only wear one layer over your base top: insulation for warmth when it’s not precipitating, or a shell to fend off falling snow when you’re working hard enough to stay warm without insulation. You might, of course, wear two base layers (one lightweight, one warmer) or even a combined vest and insulating jacket as “middle” layers, with or without a shell.

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Insulation The classic middle layer is critical because it provides most of your layering system’s warmth. It should also breathe well, because your outer/shell layer will already be the least-breathable piece of the system; more than one layer with limited breathability can quickly start feeling clammy. The good news is that there’s an ever-expanding array of options in insulating layers that breathe well, some of which also cut some wind. Your middle layer will many times pull double duty as an outer layer when you don’t need a shell.

Shell In winter temps from above freezing down into single digits or below zero Fahrenheit, I want a shell jacket with superior breathability, because I can overheat skiing uphill in the backcountry (or even skiing downhill in deep powder), but also built to repel hours of falling snow and block most wind, with an adjustable, brimmed hood that keeps wind and precipitation off my face. While not many years ago, these fully technical shell jackets fell on either side of a fine line between soft shell (highly breathable but not fully waterproof) and hard shell (fully waterproof but not quite as breathable), today you’ll find shells that blur that distinction, with the supple feel and breathability of a traditional soft shell while delivering fully waterproof performance.

Lastly, for multi-hour or multi-day adventures deep in the backcountry in winter, far from the nearest road, prudence dictates having a warm puffy jacket both to prevent you from rapidly cooling off during short rests, and in case of an emergency. The best are stuffed with enough insulation to keep you warm when stationary in temps well below freezing; have a hood that closes snugly around your noggin (and in some cases, over a helmet); and have properties that help them repel moisture and falling snow, like a DWR (durable water-resistant treatment) on the shell, and synthetic or hydrophobic (water-resistant) down insulation.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Penny Beach skate-skiing in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
Penny Beach skate-skiing in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

The Best High-Exertion Layering System

If your winter sport of choice involves sweating and breathing hard, like running and Nordic skiing or even power hiking, fabric breathability becomes the top priority in your outer layer—you need to dump as much of the moisture your body is producing as possible, to avoid getting too wet. Your jacket should also have enough water resistance to not soak through in light rain or snow, but a fully waterproof-breathable jacket is typically overkill, because it’s not nearly as breathable as a water-resistant shell and usually heavier. Besides, in temps below freezing, you don’t need a waterproof jacket; a water-resistant shell can shed falling snow.

This layering system usually consists simply of an adequately warm, often midweight base layer and a lightweight, very breathable jacket. Occasionally, I’ll wear a lightweight base layer under a midweight, when I need a little extra warmth, because for these activities, I’m not wearing an avalanche beacon or likely to make layering adjustments.

Backcountry skiing in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Scott White making cold smoke in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

A Tip About Hoods

Most of the time, I like having any kind of hood on a jacket—and I definitely want an adjustable, helmet-compatible, full-coverage hood on a shell for multi-hour activities like skiing or snowshoeing. But understand the pros and cons to having a hooded middle layer.

Hoods come in basically two styles:

1. Very close-fitting, non-adjustable, usually elasticized hoods intended to just provide some added warmth and good breathability, but minimal wind and weather protection. They are usually found on insulating layers or lightweight jackets and designed to fit under a ski or climbing helmet.

2. Adjustable, “fully technical” hoods on a shell that deliver complete weather protection and fit over a helmet or any hat.

While there are advantages to having an insulating layer with a close-fitting hood for warmth (type 1 above) as well as a fully technical hood on your shell (type 2), if your system has more than one hood, make sure they fit well together when on and off your head. For the most part, insulated jackets have either a close-fitting hood or none; but some insulated hoods are bulky and don’t fit compatibly with all shell hoods. Two high-volume hoods are too many. Test them together.

Be sure to read my “12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter” and see all reviews of outdoor apparel at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-pro-tips-for-staying-warm-outdoors-in-winter/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-pro-tips-for-staying-warm-outdoors-in-winter/#comments Sun, 30 Nov 2025 10:00:08 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7579 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Staying warm while skiing or riding at resorts or in the backcountry, Nordic skiing, snowshoeing, hiking, or running in winter is a constant challenge: We sweat, our clothes get damp, and then we have periods of reduced exertion like riding a ski lift or walking or running downhill, when we cool down. But as humans have known for thousands of years, it’s a matter of smartly managing and insulating our body’s furnace (and today we have much better technical clothing than animal skins).

As a longtime skier (downhill, Nordic, and backcountry), hiker, and trail runner who runs hot when moving, cools off quickly, and gets cold fingers and toes easily—just like many people—I’ve learned many tricks over four decades of getting outdoors in frigid temperatures and working for many years as a past field editor for Backpacker magazine and 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 backcountry skier in the Galena Summit area, Idaho.
My son, Nate, backcountry skiing in the Galena Summit area, Idaho. Click photo to see “The Best Gloves for Winter—and All Seasons.”

In fact, my coldest winter experience was camping on a couple of nights that dropped to -30° F/-34° C in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. (I don’t recommend it.) Most people, of course, don’t face extreme conditions in winter. But even in the temperatures most of us encounter in whatever form of recreation we enjoy in the coldest season, we’ve all known moments of wishing we felt warmer—and sometimes those moments last longer than we’d prefer. Follow these tips and you will be vastly more comfortable when enjoying the outdoors in winter.

Please tell me what you think of my tips, ask any questions, or share your own tricks in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Thanks.

A Nordic skier in Idaho's Boise Mountains.
My wife, Penny, Nordic skiing in Idaho’s Boise Mountains.

1. Move

Clothing does not produce heat, it only helps trap the heat that your body produces and protects you from wind and precipitation. Anytime you get cold, the single best strategy for rewarming is to start moving or increase your pace. Watch others in your group for signs that they’re cold, especially children, who have less body fat and mass and cool off more quickly than adults. When you take a break, make it short, to avoid cooling off. If someone has visibly cooled off faster than others during a break, have that person start moving ahead of the group; you will regroup before long.

What touches your skin matters. See my picks for the best base layers for any season.

A backcountry skier at Baldy Knoll in Wyoming's Teton Range.
A backcountry skier at Baldy Knoll in Wyoming’s Teton Range.

2. Pace Yourself

Minimizing how much you perspire in cold temperatures is critical to keeping warm, because wet clothing conducts heat away from your body. Try to set a pace that keeps you warm without causing you to overheat and perspire heavily. I try to strike a balance between producing enough heat to keep my toes and fingers warm without sweating copiously in my core; the optimum pace usually accelerates my heart and respiration rates to comfortable levels without me struggling for breaths.

If sweating is unavoidable because of your activity level, there may still be moments when that level drops—such as a transition from moving uphill to moving downhill. Try to smooth out that transition by slowing to a pace at which you stop or reduce your sweating but still generate enough body heat to at least begin drying your base layers. Drier base layers will help prevent a sudden chill when your activity level declines. (When camping in winter, I do that about 20 minutes before stopping to camp.)

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Backcountry skiers skinning uphill on a mild winter day in the Smoky Mountains above Idaho's Wood River Valley.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, skinning uphill on a mild winter day in the Smoky Mountains above Idaho’s Wood River Valley.

3. Adjust Layers

Sometimes, whether climbing uphill on backcountry skis or snowshoes or in high-exertion activities like running or Nordic skiing, it’s impossible to avoid sweating, so adjust your clothing layers. For example, if there’s no wind and you’re exerting hard, you may only need a breathable insulation layer (like fleece) over a fast-drying, wicking base layer. If it’s windy, you may want a waterproof-breathable hard shell over a midweight insulation layer, like a fleece or a vest, to prevent you from cooling down.

For a high-exertion, high-speed activity like Nordic skiing, where your motion creates wind against your body, or a moderate-level activity like snowshoeing, wear a somewhat windproof and more breathable soft shell or a jacket with breathable insulation, to prevent excessive sweating and move moisture off your base layer more quickly.

Find the right outer layer for your purposes and you may only have to adjust layers infrequently.

Keep your fingers warm and happy.
See “The Best Gloves For Winter—and All Seasons” and “The Best Mittens for Winter.”

A child cross-country skiing along the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park.
My son, Nate, cross-country skiing along the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River in Yellowstone National Park.

4. Eat More

Your body needs more fuel in freezing temperatures to keep your internal furnace burning when you’re out for more than about two hours. Eat high-fat snacks like chocolate, cheese, and nuts, because fat is a slow-burning fuel that keeps your body going for the long haul, which becomes even more important in the cold. Keep snacks handy so you can refuel frequently; feeling a chill or fatigue is often an indicator that your body needs food. If you eat energy bars for convenience (especially when wearing gloves), choose ones that pack plenty of protein and calories.

Be smart about winter. See “How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry.”

5. Drink Up

In cold, dry conditions typical of winter, you become dehydrated more quickly than you realize, even if you’re not sweating much. Drink frequently. Carry a thermos with a hot drink. Add sugar to it (for quick energy) or a little dollop of butter for flavor and fat.

Read all of this story, including my best tips on staying warm outdoors in winter,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book! Join now!

A backcountry skier in Oregon's Wallowa Mountains.
A backcountry skier in Oregon’s Wallowa Mountains.

6. Don’t Freeze Your Water

I use a hydration bladder in temps down into the mid-20s Fahrenheit without the hose or mouthpiece freezing—if I keep the pack on my body (which helps warm the hose, especially when it’s running through a tunnel in a shoulder strap of my pack, a design feature of many packs made for winter activities). I also make a point of blowing back into the hose after each time I drink, to clear water from the mouthpiece and hose, which are more likely to freeze than the water reservoir inside the pack, which is close to your back and warmed by your body heat.

But in colder temps, the hose will likely freeze, so use wide-mouth water bottles or double-wall bottles like Hydroflasks instead. Store uninsulated bottles in an insulated sleeve inside your pack, upside-down, so that when you hold them upright to drink from them, any ice that has formed will be at the bottom of the bottle. When camping in freezing temps, don’t leave a water bottle out or it might freeze solid (and take hours to thaw if it does at all). Either empty your bottles, or preferably, fill them with hot water and put them inside your sleeping bag as heaters.

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

 

A backcountry skier touring in Idaho's Galena Summit area, overlooking the Boulder Mountains and Wood River Valley.
My son, Nate, backcountry touring in Idaho’s Galena Summit area, overlooking the Boulder Mountains and Wood River Valley.

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The 12 Best Down Jackets of 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/review-the-10-best-down-jackets-of-2017/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/review-the-10-best-down-jackets-of-2017/#comments Tue, 25 Nov 2025 10:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26062 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Whatever you need an insulated jacket for, there’s a down or synthetic puffy for your needs, within your budget. And whether you want a puffy jacket for outdoor activities like backpacking, camping, skiing, climbing, and hut treks, or just to keep you warm around town or at outdoor sporting events, this review will help you figure out how to choose the right jacket for your purposes, and it spotlights the best down and synthetic insulated jackets available today.

I selected the jackets covered in this review after extensive testing on backpacking, camping, backcountry ski touring, climbing and other backcountry trips. I’ve field-tested dozens of insulated jackets over three decades of testing and reviewing gear, formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog.

Technology has blurred the traditional lines between down and synthetics, with water-resistant down that traps heat even when wet—all but eliminating the weakness that had long been the Achilles heel of down—and synthetic insulation materials that approach the warmth-to-weight ratio and compressibility of down.

If you’d prefer, scroll past my buying tips to dive immediately into the jacket reviews.

If you have a question for me or a comment on this review, please leave it in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.


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The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket.
The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket in the White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.

How to Choose a Synthetic or Down Jacket

Insulated jackets today differ not only in type and amount of insulation, but also in water resistance, breathability, and as always, design features like the hood and pockets. When choosing between down and synthetic models, consider the usual conditions and temperatures in which you’ll use it—in other words, how wet and cold you expect to get, and your body type (how easily you get cold)—as well as the seasonal and activity versatility you require. Some questions to consider:

• Do you want one jacket for four seasons?
• Do you want it primarily for one or two activities like backpacking, camping, climbing, or skiing?
• Does it need to be breathable because you’ll wear it while on the move at times, or will you only wear it while relatively inactive in camp, when breathability doesn’t really matter?

And perhaps the most-important question: How warm an insulated jacket do you need for how, where, and when you will use it?

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The Featured Friends Eos Down Jacket.
The Featured Friends Eos Down Jacket on the John Muir Trail.

Some performance aspects of puffy jackets you should understand include:

Standard down feathers lose their ability to trap heat once wet, rendering down less practical in wet environments.

• The primary advantage of synthetic-insulation jackets is the ability to still trap warmth when wet—although the wetter the jacket, the less warm it will feel, especially once that dampness reaches your skin.

• However, some jackets are now made with water-resistant, or hydrophobic down feathers that greatly improve their ability to repel water, continue to trap heat when damp, and dry faster. And even those jackets that contain standard down often have a water-resistant shell fabric that repels light precipitation but isn’t designed to withstand a steady rain. (Read more on this below, under Which is Better, Down or Synthetic?)

• The down fill-power rating is a measure of the volume, in cubic inches, that one ounce of that down fills; in other words, an ounce of 800-fill power down will occupy 800 cubic inches of volume. Down feathers are separated during processing according to this measure.

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The Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie.
The Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie in Fish Canyon, Utah.

Higher fill-power ratings translate to more warmth per ounce of down, so if two jackets contain identical amounts of down by weight, the jacket with the higher fill-power rating will probably be warmer and more compressible (and more expensive). That said, of course, an ultralight 800-fill power jacket may not be as warm as a 700-fill power jacket that contains more down. The price of down jackets usually correlates with the quality of the down.

• Similarly, while synthetic insulation traditionally was not as lightweight and compressible as down, the best modern synthetics—including those reviewed below—have a warmth-to-weight ratio and compressibility that compares with mid-grade (700-fill) or better down.

• Some modern synthetic insulations are also constructed in a way that makes them more durable, although, for the most part, down retains the edge there.

Insulated jackets are usually sewn in one of two ways:

• So-called “sewn through” construction stitches the outer, shell fabric to the inner, liner fabric, creating pockets of down, but also potential cold spots at seams where there’s effectively no insulation. This method reduces a jacket’s weight and often its cost, and is practical in ultralight jackets for moderate temperatures (think summer in the mountains).

• The more-expensive method of creating so-called box baffles eliminates cold spots and makes a jacket look puffier, but adds weight and usually cost.

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The Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody.
The Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody in the Grand Canyon.

How Warm a Jacket Do You Need?

As I write in my blog post “How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is,” an insulated jacket’s total weight offers a rough idea of how warm it is. But that’s certainly not precise. Warmth (and weight) will vary with factors like type, quality, and amount of insulation, the jacket’s construction, and whether it has a hood.

Still, with down and synthetic jackets, I look at the garment’s total weight as a general guideline to its warmth. Although I encounter exceptions to the following weight categories, they provide a starting point. These guidelines and temperature ranges also apply to my body’s metabolism (my tolerance for cold is probably a little higher than average), and they presume I’m wearing one or two base layers underneath the puffy that are appropriate to the season and temperatures.

Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody
Testing the Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody in Hells Canyon.

• When I’m going ultralight on summer backcountry trips, and I expect temps no lower than around 40° F, I bring a down or puffy jacket weighing seven to 11 ounces. If the temp drops lower, I supplement with my other layers or get in my sleeping bag when necessary.

• For trips when the temp could dip below freezing, I want a jacket that’s 12 to 16 ounces.

• For colder trips and in winter in the backcountry, my insulated jacket weighs roughly 16 to 22 ounces.

Having a hood certainly keeps you warmer and is worth the additional weight and cost. You should consider whether other layers in your clothing system already have a hood, and make sure that any two hoods you’re wearing together pair up well.

I usually consider a hood mandatory in temperatures near and below freezing, but less important on milder trips, when I’ll pack a hoodless, ultralight puffy jacket to reduce pack weight and because I’m bringing a hat, anyway. However, I also consider the activities for which I’ll use the jacket; for high-speed activities in cold temps, I usually wear a lighter, hoodless insulated jacket.

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Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket.
The Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket in the Wind River Range.

Which is Better, Down or Synthetic?

In my experience, if you compare a down and synthetic insulated jacket of the same weight and basic design—for example, assuming both have a hood—I still find that down feathers have the edge in pure warmth. I think that assessment bears out in the products listed below.

To simplify your choice between down and synthetic insulation, think of it this way:

• If you want a puffy jacket primarily for warmth when you’re inactive (say, in camp), and expect mostly dry conditions or to wear a rain shell over the puffy when needed, get a down jacket.
• Get water-resistant or hydrophobic down if it may occasionally have to endure a light shower. But many accounts and lab testing, hydrophobic down provides some water repellency and protection until it gets soaked—and most users will not encounter conditions where they would notice any difference in performance between hydrophobic down (whether in a jacket or a sleeping bag) and standard down. (See much more detail on this topic in a comment I posted at the bottom of this story, dated Sept. 13, 2022, responding to a reader’s question about hydrophobic down.)
• If you expect to often wear it in wet conditions, get a synthetic puffy.
• If you will wear it while active in wet conditions, get a synthetic puffy with breathable insulation.

I’ve ranked the following down and synthetic puffy jackets roughly in order from lightest to warmest in each of these two categories. Please share what you think of my review or any of the jackets covered here in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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The Best Down Jackets

Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody.
Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody.

Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer Down Hoody
$420, 8.8 oz./250g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL
rei.com

When my goal is minimizing pack weight on summer trips with cool but not freezing nights, I bring this wispy jacket. The 800-fill goose down delivers beaucoup warmth for a puffy jacket that’s barely over a half-pound, and the hood boosts its versatility for nights dipping into the 30s Fahrenheit (for some people). It has been my go-to insulation for summer backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail, the 96-mile Wind River High Route, and other trips.

When stuffed into one of the two roomy, zippered hand pockets, the jacket packs down to slightly larger than a liter bottle—and lofts up almost instantly. Even better, the 10-denier shell fabric consists of 100 percent recycled nylon ripstop, and the feathers are RDS-certified down—so this newest iteration of the Ghost Whisperer series is as light on the Earth as it is in your pack.

Read my full review of the Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer/2 Down Hoody.

Mountain Hardwear’s Ghost Whisperer UL Hoody ($450, 6.7 oz./190g), whacks about two ounces/57 grams off its older sibling’s weight while excelling for many of the same reasons—and still has the hood and two zippered hand pockets. Read my review.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer/2 Down Hoody at rei.com; a men’s Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer UL Hoody at backcountry.com; a women’s Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer UL Hoody at backcountry.com; or other versions of the Ghost Whisperer down insulation at backcountry.com or rei.com.

Get warmth that stands up to winter temps, water-resistant insulation, and a fit aided by stretch materials in the Mountain Hardwear StretchDown Jacket ($290, 1 lb. 2 oz.). Hardwear’s 750-fill Q.Shield down repels moisture and retains loft when wet, and the unique, stretch-welded channel construction moves with you and traps heat more efficiently than jackets with standard stitching. You can support my blog, at no cost to you, but clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Mountain Hardwear StretchDown Jacket or Hooded Jacket at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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The Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody.
The Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody.

Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody
$429, 10 oz./284g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s S-XL, women’s XS-XL
backcountry.com

Wearing BD’s Approach Down Hoody on cool, very windy evenings and mornings down to the 40s Fahrenheit backpacking in the Grand Canyon and similar temps backpacking in the Wind River Range, I stayed both perfectly warm and happy that I’d packed a very light puffy that didn’t compromise on warmth or features.

Barely more than an ounce heavier than Hardwear’s Ghost Whisperer/2, the Approach bests it with features found in heavier down jackets, like a chest pocket and a hood that adjusts with a one-hand drawcord and stays in place when turning your head side to side. Stuffed with 800-fill power, water-resistant goose down, it has high warmth for its weight and won’t lose loft when damp—expanding its usefulness from three-season backpacking to active insulation in cold temps. Plus, it boasts green cred with fluorocarbon-free, RDS-certified down and a PFC-free and water-free DWR on the 10-denier by 7-denier nylon woven shell fabric that’s more durable than traditional DWRs.

Read my full review of the Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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

The Featured Friends Eos Down Jacket.
The Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket.

Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket
$409, 11 oz./312g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s XS-XXL, women’s XS-XL
featheredfriends.com

If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it. In updating its Eos Down Jacket, Feathered Friends made just two minor improvements. Testing the Eos on a windy and chilly June trip in Idaho’s City of Rocks and on cool, windy evenings and mornings in August on the John Muir Trail, I found it just as warm and comfortable as I found the previous version in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, Glacier National Park, and countless other wild places.

Stuffed with 900+-fill goose down and weighing just 11 ounces, the Eos has a warmth-to-weight ratio matched by few competitors. The 12-denier by 20-denier Pertex Quantum shell sheds light precipitation. The updated Eos placed the zippered chest pocket behind a flap and made the warm hood adjustable using drawstrings; it still features two zippered hand pockets, elasticized cuffs, and a drawcord hem. A great fit, superior warmth and packability make it an excellent choice for three-season trips.

Read my full review of the 2022 Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket at featheredfriends.com, or a women’s Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket at featheredfriends.com.

Looking for a more affordable down jacket?
Check out the REI 650 Down Jacket. Read my review.

The Rab Mythic Alpine Down Jacket.
The Rab Mythic Alpine Down Jacket.

Rab Mythic Alpine Down Jacket
$390, 11 oz./313g (men’s mediumSizes: men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL
backcountry.com

A weeklong backpacking trip in Glacier National Park in mid-September presented a quandary: Trimming all superfluous weight from my pack (which began the hike with 14 pounds of food weight) and staying warm in temperatures dropping to near freezing. Rab’s Mythic Alpine Down Jacket achieved both goals—while weighing less than most comparably warm puffy jackets.

Stuffed with hydrophobic, 900-fill goose down, it has one of the highest warmth-to-weight ratios you’ll find in any down jacket—especially for a water-resistant model—as well as being highly packable. With an adjustable hood that really boosts warmth, and stitch-through baffle construction, it’s one of the lightest down jackets that can handle most three-season trips. The 10-denier ripstop, 100 percent recycled Pertex Quantum shell is the lightest shell fabric used in insulated jackets, but it’ll last, as long as you exercise reasonable care with it.

Read my full review of the Rab Mythic Alpine Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Rab Mythic Alpine Down Jacket at backcountry.com or a men’s or women’s Rab Mythic Alpine Light Down Jacket at backcountry.com.

Stay dry, happy, and safe.
See my review of “The Best Rain Jackets for Hiking and Backpacking.”

The Arc’teryx Cerium Hoody.
The Arc’teryx Cerium Hoody.

Arc’teryx Cerium Hoody
$400, 12 oz. (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s XS-XXXL, women’s XXS-XXL
rei.com

From unseasonably cold and windy mornings near freezing in southern Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon in mid-April to September campsites in Wyoming’s Wind River Range and mornings in the mid-20s in the first week of March in The Maze District of Canyonlands National Park, the Cerium Hoody has immediately warmed me in circumstances that push three-season conditions. While slightly edged out only by the Feathered Friends Eos and Helios in warmth-to-weight ratio, the Cerium adds another dimension of performance: It marries the high warmth-per-ounce and packability of 850-fill power down in the hood, sleeves, and torso, with lightweight, breathable, and compressible Coreloft synthetic insulation in areas like the shoulders and armpits, to keep it trapping heat even when wet.

A close-fitting, under-the-helmet, adjustable hood amps up the warmth. It has two zippered hand pockets, stuffs into a zippered inside pocket, and the shell fabric fends off light precipitation. With a comfortable, athletic fit that allows layering a couple of warm base layers underneath, the Cerium Hoody is a good choice for any three-season adventures or as a middle layer on winter adventures.

Read my full review of the Arc’teryx Cerium Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Arc’teryx Cerium Hoody at rei.com or arcteryx.com.

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The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket.
The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket in the White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.

Himali Accelerator Down Jacket
$345, 12.5 oz./354g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s S-XXL, women’s XS-XL
himali.com

On cool mornings and windy evenings in the low 40s Fahrenheit (4-6° C) in campsites while backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park and the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the White Goat Wilderness in the Canadian Rockies in August, my Himali Accelerator Down Jacket kept me perfectly warm over just one or two base layers. By many measures, this midweight puffy hits the target for three-season mountain adventures in its balance of weight, packability, warmth, materials and features—all at a competitive price for a high-quality down jacket.

Stuffed with four ounces of RDS-certified, 850-fill, water-resistant HyperDry down, the Accelerator delivers a very high warmth-to-weight ratio that competes with the few very best down jackets at this or any weight. Mapped synthetic insulation in the armpits along with the water-resistant down and DWR-coated, 20-denier Pertex Quantum ripstop nylon shell fabric help the Accelerator continue trapping body heat in wet weather. An adjustable hood, three zippered pockets (one inside), and a great fit arguably make it the ideal puffy for many backpackers, climbers, and four-season adventurers.

Read my full review of the Himali Accelerator Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s hooded Himali Accelerator Down Jacket at himali.com, a women’s hooded Himali Accelerator Down Jacket at himali.com, a men’s non-hooded Himali Accelerator Down Jacket at himali.com, or a women’s non-hooded Himali Accelerator Down Jacket at himali.com.

Readers of The Big Outside get an exclusive 10 percent off any Himali purchase by using the discount code THEBIGOUTSIDE.

Need a super versatile fleece hoodie? See my reviews of the ultralight Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie and the warmer, remarkably breathable Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie. Those jackets, like all Himali products, qualify for the exclusive 10 percent off any Himali purchase for readers of this blog, using the discount code THEBIGOUTSIDE.

Buy smartly. Read my “10 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear” and
Why and When to Spend More on Hiking and Backpacking Gear.”

Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket.
Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket.

Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket
$295, 15 oz./425g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s XXS-XXL, women’s XS-XXL
backcountry.com

When rain and chilly wind whipped through our campsites on evenings and mornings around 40° F in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, as well as on a late-September backpacking trip in Yosemite, the Microlight Alpine Down Jacket passed the test, thanks to features designed to fend off wet and raw conditions.

The hydrophobic, 700-fill goose down traps heat even when damp and dries faster than standard down, while the micro and nano stitch-through baffle construction helps reduce the jacket’s weight and cost. With a stiffened brim and close fit around your head, the adjustable hood boosts warmth substantially. The 30-denier Pertex Quantum ripstop nylon shell sheds light precipitation; paired with the hydrophobic down, it makes this a better (read: warmer) choice for wet weather than many down jackets. Green creds: The Microlight Alpine Jacket has a fully recycled shell, insulation, and lining. At this price, it’s a great value.

Read my full review of the Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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The Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie.
The Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie.

Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie
$299, 15.4 oz./437g
Sizes: men’s S-3XL, women’s XS-XL, plus sizes 1X-4X
backcountry.com

On windy mornings and evenings in the deep shade of our camps in Owl and Fish canyons in southern Utah in early May, my Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie kept me quite warm in below-freezing wind chills—even when wearing only a lightweight wool T-shirt under it. This jacket’s 800+-fill down gives it a high warmth-to-weight ratio: At under a pound, it packs enough warmth to push the edges of peak seasons in the mountains and desert—or to keep people who get cold easily warm in typical morning and evening temperatures in the mountains in summer.

The wind-resistant Pertex Quantum nylon shell fabric gets a durability boost from Diamond Fuse technology. It also sets itself apart from many down jackets for the waterproof ripstop fabric at the hood, shoulders, and upper sleeves. The adjustable hood fits nicely and traps heat efficiently and three zippered external pockets plus two spacious internal stash pockets complete a rich feature set. All this at a price that’s hard to beat for this level of quality.

Read my full review of the Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Outdoor Research Helium Down Hoodie at backcountry.comoutdoorresearch.com, or rei.com.

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The Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.
The Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.

Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Jacket
$489, 1 lb. 1 oz./482g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s XS-XXL
featheredfriends.com

On winter nights in the single digits outside a yurt in Idaho’s Boise Mountains, and raw, wet spring mornings camped in Idaho’s City of Rocks, this fat down jacket felt crazy warm—especially for its weight and surprising packability, spotlighting its versatility as an outstanding down jacket that’s light and packable enough for sub-freezing temps or people who just get cold more easily on three-season trips.

The Helios is stuffed generously with nearly eight ounces (men’s medium) of 900+-fill down, the highest-quality down you can find, which explains its stratospheric warmth-to-weight ratio. The comfortable, adjustable hood seals nicely around the face to trap heat and fits over a climbing helmet. The water-resistant, 20-denier Pertex Endurance LT shell fabric repels light rain, and the jacket has two hand pockets with overlapping stretch flaps in lieu of a zipper, plus one small, zippered inside pocket.

Read my full review of the Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket at featheredfriends.com or other Helios apparel at featheredfriends.com.


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The Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody.
The Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody.

Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody
$399, 1 lb. 1 oz./482g (men’s medium)
Sizes: men’s XS-3XL, women’s 2XS-2XL
backcountry.com

From backpacking trips in the Canadian Rockies and Oregon, hut treks in New Zealand, and spring and summer camping and climbing trips to countless days of resort skiing at Oregon’s Mount Bachelor and in Utah’s Wasatch Mountains, plus days of backcountry ski touring, my college-student daughter has stayed warm in Patagonia’s Fitz Roy Down Hoody in temperatures down to around freezing—while demonstrating this hooded jacket’s versatility.

The 800-fill-power down delivers good packability and warmth for the jacket’s weight; it’s warm enough for everything from sitting around camp on chilly nights while backpacking in the mountains in summer to using it as a layering piece for winter hikes or ski tours. The adjustable, helmet-compatible hood has a one-hand drawcord. The fitleaves room for a couple of warm base layers and/or light insulation. The jacket stuffs into one of the two zippered hand pockets and also has two zippered chest pockets and an internal drop pocket.

Read my full review of the Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody at patagonia.com or rei.com, or a women’s Patagonia Fitz Roy Down Hoody at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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The Best Synthetic Jackets

The Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody.
The Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody.

Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody
$329, 10 oz./283.5g
Sizes: men’s XS-3XL, women’s XXS-XL
patagonia.com

In cool, strong wind from Idaho’s City of Rocks to multiple trips backpacking in the Wind River Range, the Grand Canyon, and elsewhere, the Micro Puff Hoody delivered more warmth than expected, given that it weighs slightly more than a half-pound. Patagonia’s water-resistant PlumaFill insulation matches the warmth-to-weight ratio of high-quality (800-fill power) down, while trapping heat when wet. That’s because it’s constructed as a continuous strand, which, combined with the jacket’s quilted construction, creates internal spaces that trap heat—imitating how down delivers so much warmth per ounce of insulation.

The water-resistant, windproof, 10-denier Pertex Quantum shell with a DWR shrugged off a couple of hours of very light rain in one camp. The comfortable, well-designed, non-adjustable, elasticized hood clings snugly around your face and fits under a helmet. Appealing to ultralighters and anyone seeking one of the lightest, most packable puffy jackets, the Micro Puff excels for three-season backpacking and camping in moderate temps.

Read my full review of the Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Patagonia Micro Puff Hoody or other Micro Puff models at backcountry.com or patagonia.com.

Want a synthetic puffy that’s warmer than the Micro Puff Hoody? Made with 55 percent recycled polyester, the Patagonia Nano Puff Hoody ($289, 13 oz.) features water-resistant PrimaLoft Gold Insulation Eco, which has a warmth-per-ounce ratio similar to mid-grade down, and the jacket zips into its inside chest pocket.

And check out my go-to fleece, the Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Fleece Hoody ($189, 12.5 oz./354g).

What touches your skin matters, too. See my picks for the best base layers for any season.

The Black Diamond First Light Stretch Hoody.
The Black Diamond First Light Stretch Hoody.

Black Diamond First Light Stretch Hoody
$299, 14 oz./397g
Sizes: men’s S-XL, women’s XS-XL
blackdiamondequipment.com

Temperatures around 40° F in campsites in Montana’s Beartooth Mountains proved the warmth of BD’s First Light Stretch Hoody. But this jacket’s synthetic stretch insulation makes it potentially the only insulated jacket you need for a variety of activities year-round, from summer backpacking trips in the mountains to backcountry touring, climbing, snowshoeing, resort skiing, and hiking in winter.

The packable, migration-resistant Primaloft Gold Active insulation offers some breathability during activity and traps heat even when wet from precipitation or perspiration—which becomes particularly beneficial when moving in temps well below freezing. The adjustable hood fits over a helmet, the stretch liner and shell and gusseted underarms provide excellent range of motion, with space for a couple of base layers and a lighter insulated piece, and the jacket stuffs inside one zippered pocket. Consider this a quiver-of-one puffy jacket for bridging three-season backpacking and winter days in the mountains.

The Black Diamond First Light Hybrid Hoody ($299, 12.7 oz./361g) replaces the Primaloft insulation throughout the jacket’s body with Merino wool in the sides and back, for more breathability.

Read my full review of the Black Diamond First Light Stretch Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Black Diamond First Light Stretch Hoody or First Light Hybrid Hoody at blackdiamondequipment.combackcountry.com, or rei.com.

See all reviews of insulated jackets and outdoor apparel at The Big Outside. And don’t miss “The Best Backpacking Gear” of the year.

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-guide 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.”

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The Best Trekking Poles of 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-trekking-poles-of-2020/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-trekking-poles-of-2020/#comments Fri, 14 Nov 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38673 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

One of the most immutable truisms about hiking is this: Backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, mountain runners, and others who start using trekking poles almost never hit the trail without them again. No matter how much weight you’re carrying—from an ultralight daypack or running vest to a godawful heavy monster backpack—using poles will lessen your chances of an accidental fall and your leg muscles and joints, feet, back, and body will all feel better, thanks to the reduced strain, fatigue, and impact on them.

Consider this: I do not know a single experienced dayhiker or backpacker who does not use poles.

This review covers the best trekking poles available today. My picks are based on testing all of them (and many other poles) extensively on backpacking trips, dayhikes, mountain climbs and scrambles, backcountry skiing, and/or ultra-trail runs—including backpacking in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, Idaho’s Sawtooths, Utah’s High Uintas, Montana’s Beartooths, Colorado’s San Juans, southern Utah’s Owl and Fish canyons, and on the Grand Canyon’s Gems Route, plus dayhikes from Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, and Zion national parks to the Tetons and Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, to name some places I’ve hiked just in recent months—as well as my experience ambulating thousands of trail miles over more than a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear, formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years 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 in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

In the reviews below:

Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana.
Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana. Click photo to see my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.
  • The poles are listed in order from lightest to heaviest because weight best distinguishes them in terms of intended uses, making it effectively the key factor influencing your choice.
  • I’ve given every pole an overall score—but keep in mind that, with poles, you should first figure out whether you need ultralight, lightweight, or heavier and sturdier poles, and folding versus collapsible/telescoping poles, and then compare the scores and details of the models in your chosen category (which is why I list the poles in order of weight, not score). You will see that some pole models reviewed below have a similar or identical overall score but are very different from one another.
  • Traditional collapsible (or telescoping) poles, usually consisting of three sections, typically have a greater length-adjustability range than folding poles and are often (though not always) heavier and sturdier, but do not compress nearly as much as folding poles. Their effective adjustability range is essentially their collapsed length to their maximum length because they still function and can be used by small kids when fully collapsed. They are best for backpacking and dayhiking, and some models cross over to backcountry touring in winter.
  • Folding poles, which typically have three but may have up to five sections, typically have limited or no length-adjustability range and are often (though not always) lighter than collapsible poles. They often come in multiple sizes. Most of all, their folding design makes them far more packable—shorter when folded—than collapsible poles. They are good for backpacking, dayhiking, and ultra-running when the goal is traveling very light and being able to store the poles on a small pack without them being obtrusive. They are rarely long and sturdy enough to use to pitch ultralight tents, and few models cross over to backcountry touring in winter.
  • For reasons of comparison and intended uses, I categorize poles under 12 ounces (per pair) as ultralight, poles 12-15.9 ounces as lightweight, and poles one pound or more as the sturdiest, for hard use.
  • Key point for backpackers who use an ultralight or lightweight tent: If you use a tent that pitches with trekking poles, many require poles that are adjustable and extend to at least 125 centimeters and sometimes 130 to 135 centimeters. (Check the specs and instructions for your tent.) Not all poles meet those specs.
  • The capsule reviews below each include a link to my full reviews of the poles.

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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.”

I regularly update this review with new poles that belong on this list. I’m confident you will find at least one model of trekking poles ideal for your type of hiking on or off-trail—and you’ll usually find the best prices at the links to online gear retailers below. Those are affiliate links that support this blog at no cost to you when you make purchases through them, so thanks for doing that.

See also my stories “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles” and these reviews of other top gear picks:

The Best Backpacking Gear of the Year
The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Packs
The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
The 12 Best Down Jackets
25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks

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 expert help planning your next great backpacking trip.

Please share your questions, opinions, and experiences with any of these poles or your own favorite model in the comments section at the bottom of the review. I try to respond to all comments.

The chart below compares key metrics and features of each pole covered below, including an overall score. But keep in mind that some models have similar or identical scores even though they are very different; look closely at the scoring categories and specific reviews—and use my expert tips for choosing trekking poles—to determine which poles are best for your purposes. That’s why I list them in order of weight, because that metric most clearly distinguishes the types and best uses of poles.

The Best Trekking Poles

Trekking PoleScorePriceWeight/PairSizes/AdjustabilityCollapsible/FoldingPacked Length
Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z4.3$20010 oz./
283.5g
Five sizes, non-adjustable: 110cm/43.3 ins., 115cm/45.3 ins., 120cm/47.2 ins., 125cm/49 ins., and 130cm/51 ins.Folding33cm/13 inches (110cm poles)
Gossamer Gear LT54.3$19510 oz./
283.5g
One size, adjustable: 105-130cm/41 to 53 ins.Collapsible60cm/23.5 inches
Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ4.4$22011-13 oz./
311.8g-368.5g
Five sizes, adjustable: men’s and women’s 95-110cm/37-43.3 ins. and 110-125cm/43.3-49 ins., men’s 125-140cm/49-55.1 ins.Folding34-40cm/13.4-15.7 inches
Montem Ultralight 100% Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles4.1$9014 oz./
396.9g
One size, adjustable: 105-135cm/41 to 53 ins.Collapsible61 cm/24 inches
MSR DynaLock Ascent4.5$1901 lb. 1 oz./
481.9g
Two sizes, adjustable: S 100-120cm/39-47.2 ins., L 120-140cm/47.2-55.1 ins.Folding36.2cm/14.3 inches (100-120cm poles)
Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork4.1$2301 lb. 1.5 oz./
496.1g
Two sizes, adjustable: men’s 100-130cm/39.4-51 ins., women’s 95-125cm/37-49 ins.Collapsible61cm/24 inches
Leki Makalu FX Carbon4.2$2301 lb. 1.9 oz./One size, adjustable: 110-130cm/43.3 to 51.2ins.Folding40cm/15.7 inches
Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles4.1$160508gOne size, adjustable: 100-135 cm/39.4-53 ins.Collapsible67cm/26.4 inches
Montem Ultra Strong4.1$751 lb. 3 oz./
538.6g
One size, adjustable: 105-135 cm/41.3-53 ins.Collapsible61cm/24 inches

Ultralight Poles

Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z trekking and running poles.
Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z trekking and running poles.

Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z
Score: 4.3
Best for: ultra-runners and -hikers and lightweight and ultralight backpackers.
$200, 10 oz./264g (per pair 110cm, with trekking baskets)
Five sizes, non-adjustable: 110cm/43.3 ins., 115cm/45.3 ins., 120cm/47.2 ins., 125cm/49 ins., and 130cm/51 ins.
blackdiamondequipment.com

Lighter gear can entail tradeoffs, but these ultralight, non-adjustable folding poles are strong enough for many users in most situations. BD’s Distance Carbon Z endured a mostly off-trail, two-day backpacking trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, and a mostly off-trail, roughly 14-mile and 5,000-foot dayhike of 10,470-foot Horstman Peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, among many other hikes and long trail runs.

Quickly deployed to their fixed length (in five sizes), thanks to an internal Kevlar cord, these 100 percent carbon fiber poles have extended EVA foam grips and partly mesh nylon wrist straps. They fold to a tiny 33 centimeters/13 inches (for the 110-centimeter size). Yes, they are non-adjustable, but the broad size range covers most users and adjustability is a modest compromise for weight this loss and packability is more important to this category of users. One caveat: Under rare stresses, carbon will sheer or snap.

See my full review of the Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z Poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to buy the Black Diamond Distance Carbon Z poles at blackdiamondequipment.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

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

Gossamer Gear LT5 trekking poles.
Gossamer Gear LT5 trekking poles.

Gossamer Gear LT5
Score: 4.3
Best for: lightweight and ultralight backpackers and hikers.
$195, 10 oz./283.5g (per pair, without baskets)
One size, adjustable 105-130cm/41 to 53 ins.
gossamergear.com

Weighing (per pair) about as much as a lightweight down jacket—and less than five ounces of water—the minimalist, collapsible LT5 poles stand up to more abuse than they’d receive on many well-maintained trails, as I discovered on a 74-mile backpacking trip through the Grand Canyon, including a 15-mile day traversing most of the rugged Escalante Route; on a seven-day, 96-mile traverse of the extremely rugged Wind River High Route, two-thirds of which is off-trail; on a four-day, 45-mile hike through Yosemite; and trekking hut-to-hut on New Zealand’s Routeburn and Milford tracks in late spring.

The carbon shafts extend from 105 to 130 centimeters/41.3 to 51 inches, long enough for all but the tallest hikers; and while their collapsed length of 60 centimeters/23.5 inches isn’t very packable compared to folding poles, it’s a little better than most collapsible poles. Although the twist-lock mechanism doesn’t lock as securely as a lever, they have rarely failed me. The LT5 poles offer the performance needed by many hikers, backpackers—especially lightweight and ultralight—climbers, and others.

See my full review of the Gossamer Gear LT5 trekking poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase the Gossamer Gear LT5 trekking poles at gossamergear.com.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Lightweight Poles

Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ poles.
Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ poles.

Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ
Score: 4.4
Best for: ultra-runners and -hikers and lightweight and ultralight backpackers.
$220, 12.7 oz./pair (105-125cm, with trekking baskets)
Five adjustable sizes: men’s and women’s 95-110cm/37-43.3 ins. and 110-125cm/43.3-49 ins., men’s 125-140cm/49-55.1 ins.
blackdiamondequipment.com

BD’s folding, carbon fiber Distance Carbon FLZ hit a sweet spot between the most packable, ultralight poles and models only marginally heavier and less packable and offer greater versatility through their adjustability. On dayhikes and trail runs of up to 15 miles in Idaho’s Boulder and Pioneer Mountains and Boise Foothills and a 10-mile, 3,600-vertical-foot dayhike on a trail strewn with wet, slippery rocks and mud in New Hampshire’s White Mountains—as well as backpacking trips on the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier and in the Wind River Range and The Maze District of Canyonlands National Park—I found they perform very much like the Distance Carbon Z and are tough enough for backpacking.

Quickly deployed and adjusted using BD’s FlickLock levers, they have extended EVA foam grips and partly mesh nylon wrist straps. The five adjustable sizes will accommodate virtually any user. If you’re looking for the lightest and most packable adjustable poles, look no further.

See my full review of the Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ trekking and running poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to buy the Black Diamond Distance Carbon FLZ poles at blackdiamondequipment.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

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

 

Montem Ultra Light 100% Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles.
Montem Ultra Light 100% Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles.

Montem Ultra Light 100% Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles
Score: 4.1
Best for: many backpackers, hikers, and climbers.
$90, 14 oz./396.9g (per pair, with trekking baskets)
One size, adjustable 105-135 cm/41 to 53 ins.
montemlife.com

The biggest question with inexpensive gear is always: Will it work? And best way to answer that question is to field test it in places that are hard on gear. From six days on the Grand Canyon’s 60-mile Gems Route to backpacking Utah’s rugged Owl and Fish canyons loop, plus dayhiking in Capitol Reef and Bryce Canyon national parks and on two of the steepest, meanest trails in my local Foothills in Idaho, Montem’s Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles stood up to really hard hiking with only the loss of trekking baskets as a demerit.

Like Montem’s even less-expensive Ultra Strong Poles (below), the adjustability range—105 to 135 centimeters/41.3 to 53 inches—beats poles costing much more plus these have flick-lock levers, extended EVA foam grips, and adjustable straps; and the collapsed length of 61 centimeters/24 inches compares to the most packable telescoping poles. But these poles add the low weight and strength of carbon fiber.

See my full review of the Montem Ultra Light Trekking Poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase the Montem Ultra Light 100% Carbon Fiber Trekking Poles at montemlife.com.

Get 15 percent off any purchase at montemlife.com using the exclusive discount code BIGOUT15MOG.

Get the right pack for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

Sturdiest Poles

MSR DynaLock Ascent trekking poles.

MSR DynaLock Ascent
Score: 4.5
Best for: many backpackers, hikers, and climbers.
$190, 1 lb. 1 oz./481.9g (per pair, 100-120cm, with trekking baskets)
Two sizes, adjustable: S 100-120cm/39-47.2 ins., L 120-140cm/47.2-55.1 ins.
backcountry.com

These three-section, folding poles find a unique balance of three qualities: durability, exceptional packability, and adjustability in folding poles. In the backcountry, they stand out for being tough and stable, proving their value on outings from backpacking in the Wind River Range and a 20-mile, mostly off-trail peaks traverse in Idaho’s Sawtooths to a rim-to-rim dayhike across the Grand Canyon, a six-day hut trek on Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails, and some of the hardest miles on the Appalachian Trail.

The toughness owes to their bombproof, Kevlar-reinforced, all-carbon construction; I’ve never seen a hint of durability shortcomings. The adjustability range of 20cm in each of two sizes serves virtually all users. The packed length of a mere 36.2 centimeters/14.3 inches (for the small size) ranks among the most packable trekking poles. The sections lock rigidly with a simple pin and the Dynalock levers never slipped. There’s much to like and nothing to complain about with MSR’s Dynalock Ascent poles.

See my full review of the MSR Dynalock Ascent trekking poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the MSR Dynalock Ascent Trekking Poles at backcountry.com.

Want a pair of sturdy, four-season poles for just $90? Check out the MSR Dynalock Trail Backcountry Poles (1 lb. 5 oz./590g) at backcountry.com.

Get the right synthetic or down puffy to keep you warm. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

 

Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork trekking poles.
Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork trekking poles.

Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork
Score: 4.1
Best for: many backpackers, hikers, climbers, and snow sports users.
$230, 1 lb. 1.5 oz./496.1g (per pair, with trekking baskets)
Two sizes, adjustable: men’s 100-130cm/39-51 ins., women’s 95-125cm/37-49 ins.
blackdiamondequipment.com

From a 94-mile traverse of Glacier National Park and a rugged, 74-mile hike in the Grand Canyon, among other backpacking trips, to backcountry skiing and scrambling off-trail up mountains, BD’s collapsible Alpine Carbon Cork poles have proved tough enough for any activity year-round.

The 100 percent carbon shafts have extended grips and provide good durability while keeping the weight modest. Adjustable from 100 to 130 centimeters/39 to 51 inches, they can effectively be used at any length basically down to their packed length of 61 centimeters/24 inches—a range comparable to many poles, serving all but very tall hikers (though not competing with poles offering the widest adjustability ranges). The FlickLock Pro levers are basically flawless. Two complaints: They’re not very packable and adjusting the lever tension requires a tiny Allen wrench, rather than a screwdriver head that would be found on many multi-tools or knives.

See my full review of the Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork trekking poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the Black Diamond Alpine Carbon Cork trekking poles at backcountry.com, blackdiamondequipment.com, or rei.com.

Get the right tent for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and “5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent.”

Leki Makalu FX Carbon trekking poles.
Leki Makalu FX Carbon trekking poles.

Leki Makalu FX Carbon
Score: 4.2
Best for: many backpackers, hikers, climbers, and other users.
$230, 1 lb. 1.9 oz./508g (per pair, with trekking baskets)
One size, adjustable 110-130cm/43.3-51.2 ins.
backcountry.com

With their good adjustability, packability, durability, comfort, reliability, and especially versatility, I increasingly found myself reaching for the Leki Makalu FX Carbon folding poles for backpacking in places as rugged as the Wind River Range, High Sierra, Canadian Rockies, and High Uintas Wilderness.

These folding poles extend to a length range that will accommodate most users: 110 to 130 centimeters/43.3 to 51.2 inches, while also packing away to just 40 centimeters/15.7 inches, nearly as compact as the most packable folding poles. While the Makalu FX Carbon weigh 17.9 ounces/508 grams per pair, placing them in a category with the heaviest hiking poles, the comfortable, extended Aergon Air foam grips help the poles seem to feel lighter. Lastly, precious few folding poles—all sharing the advantage of being very packable—possess the adjustability to serve the needs of a wide range of user sizes and can be used with trekking-pole tents. That’s a rare degree of versatility.

See my full review of the Leki Makalu FX Carbon folding trekking poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the Leki Makalu FX Carbon trekking poles at backcountry.com, lekiusa.com, or rei.com.

The Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles.
The Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles.

Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles
Score: 4.1
Best for: many backpackers, hikers, climbers, and snow sports users.
$160, 1 lb. 1.9 oz./508g (per pair, with trekking baskets)
One size, adjustable 100-135cm/39.4-53 ins.
backcountry.com

The price of these hiking sticks might catch your eye first—but their versatility is also alluring. And they performed solidly on steep hikes like Idaho’s high point, 12,662-foot Borah Peak, with 5,262 feet of vertical in 4.1 miles, as well as on dayhikes in places like Capitol Reef National Park and a backpacking trip in Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon, where I started out with about 40 pounds, including eight liters (17 pounds) of water.

The adjustability range of 100 to 135 centimeters/39.4 to 53 inches in these telescoping poles is as versatile as you will find, accommodating virtually every user and making them suitable for tents that pitch with trekking poles. The adjustment levers are reliable and extended cork and foam grips and easily adjustable straps are nice features. Bummers: The collapsed length of 67 centimeters/26.4 inches makes them among the least packable hiking poles; and aluminum shafts make them heavier than most poles—but also sturdier.

See my full review of the Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the Leki Makalu Cork Lite Trekking Poles at backcountry.comlekiusa.com, or rei.com.

The Montem Ultra Strong Trekking Poles.
The Montem Ultra Strong Trekking Poles.

Montem Ultra Strong
Score: 4.1
Best for: many backpackers and hikers on a budget.
$75, 1 lb. 3 oz./538.6g (per pair, with trekking baskets)
One size, adjustable 105-135cm/41.3-53 ins.
montemlife.com

If cost is a barrier, these collapsible sticks are your answer. From the rugged, 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop in the Grand Canyon to a four-day hike in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains and other backpacking trips, Montem’s 7075 aluminum shafts suffered no damage—although the piece attaching the upper lever mechanism to the shaft broke on one pole after a few years (there’s a lifetime warranty).

The very good adjustability range—105 to 135 centimeters/41.3 to 53 inches—beats poles costing much more. Like pricier models, these have flick-lock levers, extended EVA foam grips, and adjustable straps. While the collapsed length of 61 centimeters/24 inches compares to the most packable telescoping poles, they are not, of course, nearly as packable as folding poles. Tradeoffs: The levers occasionally slipped—in rugged terrain, not on moderate trails—and the poles are heavy. But ask yourself: Do you want to pay a lot more to avoid such minor tradeoffs?

See my full review of the Montem Ultra Strong trekking poles.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase the Montem Ultra Strong trekking poles at montemlife.com.

Get 15 percent off any purchase at montemlife.com using the exclusive discount code BIGOUT15MOG.

See all reviews of trekking poles, “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.” and all reviews of backpacking gear and hiking gear at The Big Outside.

And don’t miss my popular reviews of “25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories” and “The Best Backpacking Gear” of the year.

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of all gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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The Best Headlamps of 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/gear-review-the-5-best-headlamps/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/gear-review-the-5-best-headlamps/#comments Tue, 11 Nov 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15691 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A headlamp is unquestionably essential gear for hiking, backpacking, climbing, trail running, ultra-running and ultra-hiking, ski touring, and other backcountry activities that sometimes push into darkness (whether intentionally or not). But with so many to pick from, how do you choose which one to buy? Price? Brightness? Weight? Design and range of lighting modes? Go with a brand you know and trust? This review cuts through the information overload to help you pick the right headlamp for your adventures.

I selected the headlamps covered in this review based on extensive testing on backpacking, camping, long dayhikes, climbing, backcountry skiing, and other backcountry trips, and I’ve field-tested dozens of headlamps over more than a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear, formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog.

The freshly updated picks below represent the best models for backcountry users.


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 dayhiking, backpacking, and similar pursuits, I favor models that meet five simple criteria:

•    Lightweight—no dayhiker, backpacker, runner, or climber needs a bulky light that weighs more than three to four ounces.
•    Versatile and bright enough for everything from reading in the tent and managing camp chores to hiking rugged trail in complete darkness—and if needed, for route-finding off-trail.
•    Intuitive and easy to use, so I don’t have to consult instructions more than once, take off my gloves to operate it, or use a tool to change batteries.
•    Projects a beam that’s focused and even, not blotchy and uneven.
•    Preferably rechargeable so I’m not repeatedly buying and throwing away batteries.

I apply those standards when choosing which headlamps I’ll review at The Big Outside, with the exception of being rechargeable, because some rechargeable headlamps cost more up front (although not over time), and this review covers a variety of headlamps at a range of price points.

The headlamps below are listed in order of weight. Please share your experiences with any of these models, or another you like, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

The Best Headlamps

ModelPriceWeightMax PowerRechargeable
BioLite Headlamp 325$601.8 oz./51g325 lumensYes
Knog Bandicoot 250$502.1 oz./59.5g250 lumensYes
Black Diamond Spot 400$552.5 oz./70.9g400 lumensNo
Black Diamond Spot 400-R$702.6 oz./73.7g400 lumensYes
Petzl IKO Core$1052.8 oz./79.4g500 lumensYes
Petzl Actik Core$853 oz./85g350 lumensYes
BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro$1205.3 oz./150g800 lumensYes
Black Diamond Distance 1500$2207.5 oz./213g1,500 lumensYes
The Biolite Headlamp 325.
The Biolite Headlamp 325.

BioLite Headlamp 325
$50, 1.8 oz./51g
backcountry.com

Look for an ultralight headlamp under two ounces and $40 or less and you’ll find very few choices—with the BioLite Headlamp 325, which I’ve used backpacking in the Wind River Range and elsewhere, arguably the best. It sports four all-you-need lighting modes—white spot and red flood LEDs, both with dimming capability, plus white and red strobe—and cranks out enough brightness (325 lumens) and lasts long enough on a full charge (three hours on high, 40 hours on low) for backpackers, dayhikers, trail runners, and others.

With its nearly weightless front housing integrated into the slender, easily adjustable, no-bounce head strap, the 325 goes almost unnoticed on your head—making it certainly among the most comfortable ultralight headlamps. Intuitive, single-button operation, lockout mode, four-position housing tilt, and an IPX4 waterproof rating complete a high-value package at a very good price.

Read my complete review of the BioLite Headlamp 325.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a BioLite Headlamp 325 at backcountry.com.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

 

Knog Bandicoot 250 ultralight headlamp.
Knog Bandicoot 250 ultralight headlamp.

Knog Bandicoot 250
$50, 2.1 oz./59.5g
knog.com

I thought this headlamp’s predecessor, the Bandicoot, had the potential to upend this entire category. After using the more powerful and comfortable Knog Bandicoot 250 on a nine-day hike of nearly 130 miles through the High Sierra, mostly on the John Muir Trail, I still think this technology is a game changer.

The Bandicoot 250 is powerful, rechargeable, lighter than most competitors, and cheaper than many. Its unique, very light and durable silicone housing seamlessly merges the strap, body, and LEDs and adjusts to fit a huge circumference range of 30-70cm; you may forget you’re wearing it. Four LEDs—high beam, elliptical beams for broad ambient light, a red light for preserving your night vision, and downward-angled lights for reading—cover the needs of many users, including trail running and biking streets at night. It also has a lockout mode.

Read my complete review of the Knog Bandicoot 250.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a Knog Bandicoot 250 at knog.com.

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Black Diamond Spot 400
Black Diamond Spot 400

Black Diamond Spot 400
$55, 2.5 oz./70.9g
blackdiamondequipment.com

In any direct comparison, the Spot 400 offers an impressive feature set, power, and versatility at a competitive price. That includes the three modes a backcountry headlamp should have—white beam, white peripheral, and red—and the latest update of the Spot jacks the max brightness up to a powerful 400 lumens. It’ll project a beam 100 meters and has dimming capability in all modes.

It features BD’s neat PowerTap technology that allows you to tap the right side of the casing to cycle between max brightness and the dimmed level you’ve already set—which is not only convenient, but so easy that you’ll power down more often, thus prolonging battery life. The lockout mode prevents accidental turning on in a pack. Plus, it’s waterproof up to a little over a meter underwater for 30 minutes.

Read my complete review of the Black Diamond Spot 400.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Black Diamond Spot 400 at backcountry.com, rei.com, or blackdiamondequipment.com.

Want a reliable, basic, easy-to-operate headlamp at a good price? See my review of the Black Diamond Astro 300 and rechargeable Astro 300-R.

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

Black Diamond Spot 400-R headlamp.
Black Diamond Spot 400-R.

Black Diamond Spot 400-R
$70, 2.6 oz./73.7g
blackdiamondequipment.com

Virtually identical to BD’s Spot 400, the Spot 400-R adds a feature that keeps on delivering value: it’s rechargeable. Powered by a 1500 mAh Li-ion battery with micro-USB charging port, the Spot 400-R throws a beam 100 meters at its maximum brightness of 400 lumens; that’s bright enough to hike off-trail, search for your route in the dark, or identify the large animal going for your cached food. And a full charge lasts for four hours at max power.

Plus, it sports all the versatility of the Spot 400: three white and red modes with dimming capability, intuitive two-button operation, PowerTap technology, lockout mode, and it’s waterproof up to a little over a meter underwater for 30 minutes. But most impressively, at just 15 bucks more than the Spot 400, the rechargeable Spot 400-R soon pays for itself through the money saved not buying (and throwing away) batteries.

Read my complete review of the Black Diamond Spot 400-R.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a rechargeable Black Diamond Spot 400-R at backcountry.com, rei.com or blackdiamondequipment.com.

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

The Petzl IKO Core rechargeable headlamp.
The Petzl IKO Core rechargeable headlamp.

Petzl IKO Core
$105, 2.8 oz./79.4g
backcountry.com

When you compare max brightness, weight, and other features, few ultralight headlamps match the rechargeable IKO Core’s appeal to backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, trail runners, and backcountry skiers. From ski touring to a backcountry yurt on a dark, snowy winter night to backpacking in the Wind River Range and the Grand Canyon, its max brightness of 500 lumens—exceptional for a headlamp weighing under three ounces—illuminated objects 100 meters distant.

The IPX-4 rating means the headlamp is resistant to splashed water but not waterproof—not as good as the water resistance of other ultralight headlamps. But three brightness levels, a combined spot beam and proximity light in two of them, simple operation, the versatility to substitute AAA batteries in a pinch, a lockout mode, and the bendable, adjustable, hydrophobic headband’s comfortable and secure fit—all in a light weighing under three ounces—make the IKO Core one of today’s most unique headlamps.

Read my complete review of the Petzl IKO Core.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a Petzl IKO Core at backcountry.com.

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Petzl Actik Core headlamp.
The Petzl Actik Core

Petzl Actik Core
$88, 3 oz./85g
backcountry.com

If you’re willing to spend more up front for a rechargeable headlamp—which eventually pays for itself—the Actik Core ranks among the very best. Equipped with white and red modes and spot and proximity beams, it stands out among rechargeables for two attributes: putting out an impressive maximum brightness of 350 lumens even when using the rechargeable battery and maintaining constant brightness over the duration of a charge—both of which you’ll appreciate on a long slog after dark.

On a September night in the Wind River Range, at max brightness, the Actik Core illuminated trees 300 feet away across a meadow. It’s easy and intuitive to use with one power button to click between modes and the dimming function. It also runs on three standard alkaline, lithium, or Ni-MH AAA batteries and the battery compartment is accessed by lifting a tab—no tool needed. A charge lasts up to 160 hours, long enough for most multi-day hikes.

Read my complete review of the Petzl Actik Core.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a Petzl Actik Core at backcountry.com or rei.com.

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

The BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro.
The BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro.

BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro
$120, 5.3 oz./150g
backcountry.com

From an 18-mile, 13-hour, four-summit hike in Utah’s Wasatch Range to many evenings biking city streets after dark, I’ve found that BioLite’s rechargeable Headlamp 800 Pro stands out for a rare combination of ultra-bright power, a wide range of modes, and a modest weight for a backcountry headlamp that packs this much power and versatility.

For starters, its multiple lighting modes include dimmable white spot and white flood plus the two combined; white strobe; dimmable red flood, and on the battery pack, rear-facing red solid and red strobe visibility beams, for biking streets after dark (plus a lockout function). The max brightness of 800 lumens in 30-second burst mode exceeds that of virtually any ultralight headlamp—very useful for hikers, climbers, backcountry skiers, and others moving off-trail. For its complexity, operation is very intuitive.

Perhaps most uniquely, it offers a constant mode, an option for setting the headlamp to maintain its brightness level rather than dimming as the charge or batteries drain, which is called regulated power and common in most headlamps for the backcountry.

Read my complete review of the BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a BioLite Headlamp 800 Pro at backcountry.com, rei.com or bioliteenergy.com.


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The Black Diamond Distance 1500.
The Black Diamond Distance 1500.

Black Diamond Distance 1500
$220, 7.5 oz./213g
blackdiamondequipment.com

Comparing any hiking-oriented headlamps to the rechargeable Black Diamond Distance 1500 headlamp feels rather like comparing a Honda Civic to a Bradley armored fighting vehicle. At 7.5 ounces/213 grams and putting out a supernova-like 1,500 lumens at max power, the Distance 1500 is at least twice the price, weight, and brightness of most of today’s best backcountry headlamps. Testing this beast hiking, climbing, mountain and road biking, and backcountry skiing demonstrated that, while it’s certainly overkill for many activities, it’s invaluable for both route-finding and high-speed sports after dark.

The headlamp achieves 1,500 lumens only for bursts of 15 seconds using BD’s Power Tap Technology, activated by double-tapping the side of the headlamp. Its maximum sustained power is 800 lumens—still very bright and useful in certain backcountry scenarios (in other words, when you really need a bright light). The Comfort Cradle, with the light on the forehead and a battery pack in the rear, is quite comfortable and works great with any headlamp-compatible helmet. Caveat: Expect to invest some time into learning its many modes and functions.

Read my complete review of the Black Diamond Distance 1500.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Black Diamond Distance 1500 Headlamp at blackdiamondequipment.com or backcountry.com, or the Black Diamond Distance Headlamp Battery at blackdiamondequipment.com or backcountry.com.

See all reviews of headlamps, hiking gear, backpacking gear, and ultralight backpacking gear at The Big Outside. And don’t miss my popular reviews of “25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories” and “The Best Backpacking Gear” of the year.

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!

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 Backpacking Trip,” 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 purchase 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.”

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 my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside for categorized menus of all of my reviews and my expert buying tips.

—Michael Lanza

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.
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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!

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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

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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.

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See all stories about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.
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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.”

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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.

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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

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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.

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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!

 

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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

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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).

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.
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The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-12-best-dayhikes-along-north-carolinas-blue-ridge-parkway/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-12-best-dayhikes-along-north-carolinas-blue-ridge-parkway/#comments Sat, 13 Sep 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24555 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I’m a hiking snob—I admit it. I want all of the hiking trips I take to feature five-star scenery. And for years, I’ve done most of my dayhiking and backpacking in the American West, with its vast wildernesses and infinite vistas, so I’m a little spoiled. But a weeklong trip to the mountains of western North Carolina upended my snobbery. Exploring the highest peaks east of the Mississippi, I discovered one of America’s richest stashes of stunning waterfalls and most biologically diverse forests, enough ruggedness to inspire a sense of climbing “real” mountains—and some pretty darn big vistas, too.

After considerable field research, I present to you this list of a dozen hikes along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway, ranging in length from very short and easy to a multi-summit ramble to the crown of the East’s highest summit (which I rank among America’s best hard dayhikes).

A meandering country road snaking for 469 miles along the crest of Blue Ridge Mountains from Great Smoky Mountains National Park in North Carolina to Shenandoah National Park in Virginia, the Blue Ridge Parkway provides access to more than 100 trailheads and over 300 miles of trails. It passes through a range of habitats that support more plant species than any other park in the country: over 4,000 species of plants, 2,000 kinds of fungi, 500 types of mosses and lichens, and the most varieties of salamanders in the world.

The hikes on the list below begin from trailheads on or a short distance off the parkway.

My advice to fellow hiking snobs: Start now planning your trip to western North Carolina, timing it for the peak of fall foliage color in October. If you somehow forget to pack your sense of awe, I promise you will recover it 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.


Crabtree Falls, in the Pisgah National Forest.
Crabtree Falls, in the Pisgah National Forest.

Crabtree Falls

You won’t likely have Crabtree Falls (lead photo at top of story) to yourself—even on a rainy day, as I found. But this one is worth sharing with strangers (or new friends).

Reached via a rocky, roughly three-mile loop to one of the most picturesque and famous waterfalls along the Blue Ridge, Crabtree plunges in braids over a 70-foot cliff into a hollow thick with trees, ferns, and wildflowers.

Getting There The trail begins at the entrance to Crabtree Meadows Campground, at mile 339.5 on the Blue Ridge Parkway, about 45 miles north of Asheville.

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Linville Gorge above Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Linville Gorge below Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Linville Gorge below Linville Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Linville Falls

Two short trails lead to views of Linville Falls, a powerful, 90-foot waterfall plunging vertically through a notch in a cliff into a gorge flanked by rock walls and a virgin hemlock forest with birch, oak, white pine, and hickory trees.

The Erwins View Trail, a round-trip hike of 1.6 miles, passes by four overlooks, the first of them just a half-mile from the visitor center, at the upper falls. The last one, Erwins View Overlook, offers a commanding view of the Linville Gorge and the upper and lower falls. The Linville Gorge Trail offers two forks, one leading to an overlook of the lower falls and the Chimneys (1.4 miles round-trip), and the other descending through cliffs to Plunge Basin below the lower falls (one mile round-trip). Combine both trails on a four-mile hike.

Getting There The trails begin at the visitor center, at mile 316.4 on the Blue Ridge Parkway, about 66 miles north of Asheville.

See my “Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains.”

Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.
Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Roaring Fork Falls

Unlike the most popular waterfalls and trails along the BRP, Roaring Fork offers the possibility of solitude.

This 100-foot-long cascade on Roaring Fork Creek drops about 50 vertical feet over its course into a calm pool.

Reach it on an easy, half-mile hike up an old forest road.

Catch it during or right after a rainfall; the water level diminishes during dry spells.

Getting There From the BRP, turn onto NC 80 (the Mount Mitchell Scenic Byway) and drive 2.2 miles north. Turn left onto South Toe River Road at a sign for Black Mountain Campground, cross the bridge, and take a left toward Busick Work Center. Park on the left at the gated entrance to the center; a sign marks the trailhead.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life.
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A hiker on the Black Mountain Crest Trail up North Carolina's Mount Mitchell.
Hiking the Black Mountain Crest Trail up North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.

Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell

The longest and by far the hardest dayhike on this list—and a footpath that backpackers often take a weekend to hike—the Black Mountain Crest Trail climbs a cumulative 5,000 vertical feet over 11.3 miles from its bottom end to the highest summit east of the Mississippi, 6,684-foot Mount Mitchell. Along the way, it passes over several 6,000-foot summits, following a ridge that mimics an earthen rollercoaster. While mostly in forest, the trail has several overlooks at grassy meadows and ledges of lichen-speckled granite.

For info on hiking it, see my story “Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.”

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A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.
A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Looking Glass Rock

This granite cliff rises hundreds of feet, dominating the landscape for miles around and visible from various summits and points along the BRP. While the wooded, 3,970-foot summit has no views, just beyond it you reach the top of the cliffs, with a sweeping view of the rolling, lushly green mountainsides of western North Carolina, including Black Balsam Knob in the distance. The 6.5-mile round-trip hike, steep in places, ascends and descends 1,700 feet through numerous switchbacks and rhododendron and mountain laurel tunnels. Hike it in early morning for cool shade and a view from the top of sunlight bathing the forest below in golden light.

Getting There From the junction of US 276 and 64 in the town of Brevard (a good base for local hikes), about 45 minutes from Asheville, take US 276 north into the Pisgah National Forest. Follow it 5.3 miles, then turn left at a sign for Pisgah Center for Wildlife Education and the State Fish Hatchery. Another 0.4 mile down the road, park on the right at the Looking Glass Rock trailhead.

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

See “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” “In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in North Carolina at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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12 Expert Tips for Staying Warm and Dry Hiking in Rain https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-staying-warm-and-dry-on-the-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-staying-warm-and-dry-on-the-trail/#comments Sun, 31 Aug 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8826 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

There are only three guarantees in life: death, taxes, and at some point, getting rained on when dayhiking or backpacking. As we all know, wet clothing conducts heat away from your body, making you colder. Staying as dry as possible while on the trail or in camp is key to staying warm in the backcountry when the weather turns wet—especially in temperatures below around 60° F and in wind, which swiftly chills your body. This article will help you enjoy a much more comfortable and pleasant backcountry adventure—even when the weather doesn’t cooperate.

Many hikers mistakenly assume that all one needs to do when caught hiking in the rain is don a rain jacket—and sometimes, that is all you have to do. But in mild temperatures, even a high-quality waterproof-breathable shell can cause you to overheat and sweat a lot—especially when walking uphill and carrying a pack—making you wet from the inside rather than the outside. 

The key to staying as warm and dry as possible while hiking is learning the strategies for balancing your body’s heat production with the ambient weather conditions and your clothing layers.


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 above St. Mary Lake on a rainy day in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking above St. Mary Lake on a rainy day in Glacier National Park.

I’ve walked through countless downpours and long days of rain over three decades of dayhiking, backpacking, and climbing from the rainforests of the North Cascades and Olympic National Park to the Wind River Range (lead photo at top of story), High SierraWhite Mountains, the Tour du Mont Blanc, Norway, Iceland, New Zealand and many other places—formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and much longer running this blog.

After that many trail miles in miserably wet weather, you either learn some tricks for staying dry or you give this stuff up, and I couldn’t give it up.

The 12 simple tips below will help you stay dry and warm through the wettest adventures. 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 to this blog.

Click on any photo in this story to read about that trip. Please share any tips of your own or your questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story; I try to respond to all comments.

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and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

My daughter, Alex, hiking the Alta Via 2 in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.
My daughter, Alex, in Parco Naturale Paneveggio Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

1. Carry an Umbrella

Seems obvious, doesn’t it? So why don’t more hikers and backpackers carry one when they expect rain (as my daughter is in this photo from Italy’s Dolomite Mountains)?

A lightweight, backcountry umbrella can be very effective at keeping rain off you, as long as it’s not so windy that the umbrella keeps getting inverted or the wind snaps its arms. I recommend the Six Moon Designs Silver Shadow Carbon Trekking Umbrella ($45, 6.8 oz.) or another Six Moon Designs umbrellaSea to Summit Ultra-Sil Trekking Umbrella ($50, 8.5 oz.), and the Gossamer Gear Lightrek Hiking (Chrome) Umbrella ($43, 6.6 oz.). The Six Moon Designs Hands Free Umbrella Kit ($10, 0.35 oz.), allows you to attach an umbrella to a pack’s shoulder strap, keeping both hands free.

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Backpackers on the Wonderland Trail south of Indian Bar, Mount Rainier National Park.
Backpackers hiking through fog and rain showers on the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

2. Eat and Drink

People hiking in rain commonly just put their head down and keep plodding forward without thinking about hydration and nutrition needs. It’s easy to do: You may not feel hot or thirsty—until a dry mouth and other sensations of thirst hit you, typically long past you becoming dehydrated—and you just want to get where you’re headed. You don’t want to stop in the rain to get food out or treat and refill your water.

But hydration and food provide the fuel critical to the body’s ability to generate energy and heat and for all cells to function normally. Just as when hiking under a hot sun, drink frequently—every 15 minutes or so—and eat something every hour. Keep snacks that are easy to eat on the move in pockets within reach so you don’t have to stop. When hiking in a place with frequent water sources, carry a water filter bottle, like the Katadyn BeFree, that you can simply dip and drink from without having to stop, drop your pack, and pull out a filter to fill a bladder or bottle; see the water filters I recommend in this review.

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A trekker hiking through rain showers on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.
My daughter, Alex, hiking through rain showers on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Click photo for my e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

3. Ventilate Your Jacket

Waterproof-breathable rain jackets have a membrane or coating that enables some moisture on the inside to pass through to the outside, while preventing rain from penetrating inside. But most are better at keeping rain out than releasing moisture and heat from your body that builds up inside. That’s why, when hiking in rain and warm temperatures, we can overheat and get very wet from perspiration.

Some rain jackets made for hiking have zippers under the arms that allow ventilating; open them when needed and unzip the front of the jacket partly to release heat and moisture. Dropping your hood at times, even briefly during pauses or light moments in the rain, will help you cool off.

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Backpacking in rain in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking in rain in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

4. Don’t Wear Pants

Rain pants, that is. I rarely carry rain pants backpacking, especially when the forecast calls for mild temps and little or no chance of rain. In moderate rain and warm temps, just wear quick-drying soft-shell or nylon shorts with either high or low gaiters to help keep your feet dry. (Low gaiters I like: the Kahtoola Renagaiter Mid and Low.) In cooler temps and steady rain, wear soft-shell pants (I like the Outdoor Research Ferrosi Convertible Pants)—which will eventually get wet in a hard rain, but trap heat reasonably well, keep you warm enough in mild temps, and dry quickly on your body once the rain abates.

5. … Unless You Need Pants

By the afternoon of our second straight day of steady rain and cool wind on a September backpacking trip in the rugged Bailey Range in the Olympic Mountains, my soft-shell pants had become steadily soaked and the wind was blowing hard. I realized I had slowly become hypothermic—it can come on that slowly. Only by continuing to hike at a rigorous pace did I finally warm back up again over the next hour.

In cool temps, steady wind, and persistent rain, hiking in shorts or soft-shell pants will not keep you adequately warm and dry— you need shell layers top and bottom. Have waterproof-breathable rain pants, like to can pull on over whatever bottoms you’re wearing, like the Outdoor Research Helium Rain Pant or Black Diamond Fineline Stretch Full Zip Pants.

When wearing rain pants with gaiters, layer the pant cuffs over the gaiters, rather than tucking pant legs inside the gaiters, so water drains over rather than inside the gaiters.

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A hiker on day one trekking Iceland's Laugavegur Trail from Landmannalaugar to Hrafntinnusker.
My wife, Penny, on our soggy first day trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail from Landmannalaugar to Hrafntinnusker.

6. Slow Down or Speed Up

Use your pace, or exertion level, to stay warm without overheating. If you’re sweating under a rain jacket on a long uphill climb, but the rain is too heavy to take off your jacket, slow down until your body’s producing enough heat to remain comfortable but reduce how much you’re perspiring; you may even actually dry out the jacket on the inside, which feels more comfortable than when it’s clammy.

Similarly, 20 or 30 minutes before reaching camp, slow your pace to where you’re warm but not perspiring. This can dry out your base layer and the inside of your jacket—and you’ll be more much comfortable and happy putting on your hiking layers the next morning if they’re dry.

Are these tips helpful? See also “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
and “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking.”

12. Wet Bag, Way Bad

When you expect rain on a backpacking trip, keep your sleeping bag dry by either lining its stuff sack with a plastic trash bag or using a waterproof, dry bag-style stuff sack with a roll-top closure; the one I used most is the Sea to Summit Evac Compression Dry Bag UL. On an August 2023 backpacking trip in the Wind River Range, an afternoon thunderstorm with torrential rain soaked through my backpack. That dry bag sat in water pooled at the bottom of my pack for an hour before I unloaded the pack in camp—and my sleeping bag was perfectly dry.

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.”

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How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-prevent-hypothermia-while-hiking-and-backpacking/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-prevent-hypothermia-while-hiking-and-backpacking/#comments Sat, 30 Aug 2025 09:00:49 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=29263 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Rain and wind battered two friends and I as we hiked across exposed meadows high in the Olympic Mountains—our second straight day of heavy rain. Dripping, knee-high vegetation ladled cups of water onto our pants and boots. My rain jacket kept my upper body dry, but my soft-shell pants eventually soaked through. That, and the wind, slowly made me steadily colder—more than I realized.

After a strenuous ascent of a steep mountainside, carrying a heavy pack with my jacket hood up—which should have made me quite warm—it occurred to me: I’m still cold.

I was hypothermic.

What’s more, we had all—ironically, given the rain—run out of water more than an hour earlier. We undoubtedly hadn’t eaten enough to replace the calories burned through a full day of hard hiking in cold wind and rain. Now, as the rain continued pounding us, night approached and we were nowhere near a water source or flat ground for camping.


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Backpackers hiking in rain in the Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm (behind) and me hiking in rain in the Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.

We understood that our situation was serious. We calmly discussed our priorities. First and foremost, we needed a spot to pitch our tents—under the circumstances, shelter was more important than water, because we knew we could survive a night without water and that we’d find some in the morning, and we had plenty of food. But a night without shelter in those conditions posed far greater risks.

We backtracked to a flat area we had recalled passing about an hour earlier. The rain stopped before we set up camp, and we spent the night dry and warm in our tents. Clear skies greeted us the next morning. Two hours after leaving that camp, we reached a creek and drank copiously. We had gone about 20 hours without water, but hadn’t felt any serious effects from dehydration. Prioritizing shelter and warmth had been the right call. And I was amazed at how juicy dried mangoes taste when you have a raging thirst.

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Hikers on Besseggen Ridge in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jasmine and Jeff Wilhelm hiking Besseggen Ridge in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.

If you’ve spent much time outside in wet, cool, or cold weather—as I have over four decades (and counting) and thousands of miles of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—you’ve probably been at least mildly hypothermic. Most likely, it wasn’t serious and you easily remedied the situation with clothing, food, or shelter, by descending out of the wind, or some combination of those typical strategies.

But hypothermia isn’t like an ankle sprain, occurring suddenly and broadcasting its symptoms clearly. And it isn’t like hunger, always remedied with a quick fix.

It can happen quickly, or it can sneak up on you slowly. It may happen even when you believe you’re dressed well, because you didn’t initially feel cold. While it’s an obvious threat in the dead of frigid winter, it happens perhaps more often on cool, windy days in spring and fall, and certainly can happen in the mountains in summer.

Hypothermia can present a minor obstacle if recognized and addressed soon, or escalate into an emergency and even prove fatal.

Plus, as those two friends and I discovered that day in the Olympics, hypothermia can happen to anyone—even very experienced backpackers (and two of us were experienced climbers) who’ve endured severe weather numerous times.

In this article, I’ll explain what hypothermia is and how it happens, and offer expert tips and skills on how to avoid hypothermia and treat it when it happens to you or a companion, drawn from my decades of wandering through the backcountry in all kinds of weather, all over the U.S. and the world (and shivering more times than I could estimate).

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.

Trust me when I say this: Someday, you will use these tips.

Please share your own tips, questions, or thoughts 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.

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A backpacker at 12,240-foot Knapsack Col, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton at 12,240-foot Knapsack Col, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

What’s Hypothermia?

Hypothermia is defined as a core body temperature of 95° F/35° C or lower, which is about three degrees Fahrenheit below the average normal body temp of 98.2° F/36.8° C (although “normal” can vary from 97° to 99° F between individuals). Hypothermia occurs when someone is losing body heat faster than they can produce it, causing the body’s core temperature to drop.

While it’s hard to find statistics on how many hikers die from hypothermia, according to the Centers for Disease Control, an average of 1,300 Americans die from hypothermia every year. While most of those victims are undoubtedly nowhere near the backcountry, according to the National Park Service (reported in this Washington Post story), “cold exposure” accounted for about 25 deaths in all national parks between 2003 and 2007. That’s actually far fewer than deaths from falls (about 175), vehicle accidents (over 250), and drownings (over 350).

Still, hypothermia poses a significant risk to backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, and others in the backcountry. Preventing it begins with knowing how to recognize it.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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No Chickening Out: Hiking Idaho’s Borah Peak https://thebigoutsideblog.com/no-chickening-out-hiking-idahos-borah-peak/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/no-chickening-out-hiking-idahos-borah-peak/#comments Tue, 05 Aug 2025 09:12:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47147 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The zigzagging trail up the Southwest Ridge of Borah Peak, Idaho’s high point at 12,662 feet, rose above us on the almost barren mountainside and appeared to end abruptly where the ridge narrowed to a crest of jagged rock—the route’s crux, known as Chickenout Ridge. We reached the base of this stone fin, looked at each other, put our hands and feet onto a steep rock ramp and started up it.

On a pleasant weekend in August, my wife, Penny, and I set out to dayhike Borah—an accomplishment that confers at least a small degree of bragging rights in certain circles in Idaho, where we live. More than that, though, it’s a tough but beautiful climb and a really good way to spend a day.


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A hiker heading toward Chickenout Ridge on Idaho's 12,662-foot Borah Peak.
My wife, Penny, hiking toward Chickenout Ridge on Idaho’s 12,662-foot Borah Peak.

Also known locally as Mount Borah, the peak ranks 11th on the list of state high points and is one of just 12 that rise over 12,000 feet. It’s also the highest among the Gem State’s nine mountains that top 12,000 feet—seven of them neighbors of Borah in central Idaho’s remote Lost River Range, and one each in the Lemhi Range and Pioneer Mountains.

Named for longtime Idaho Senator William Borah, who unsuccessfully sought the Republican Party’s nomination for president in 1934, Borah has 6,002 feet of prominence, which represents the summit’s height relative to the lowest contour line encircling it and containing no higher summit.

The standard Southwest Ridge hiking route up Borah Peak begins at Birch Springs, on the mountain’s west side in the rural Lost River Valley, and ascends 5,262 feet in 4.1 miles from trailhead to summit (8.2 miles up and down)—that’s almost 1,300 feet per mile, a relentless, very steep hike which gets rated “very hard,” the fourth tier on the five-level scale described in my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” It follows a good trail until you reach the route’s crux, Chickenout Ridge, at 11,200 feet.

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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.

In early summer, that standard route can demand mountaineering skills because you’ll have to traverse a narrow, snow-covered, knife-edge crest at the upper end of Chickenout Ridge. Usually by August, though, with most of the snow melted away, the route becomes accessible to most fit hikers who are comfortable with some third-class scrambling and moderate exposure for about 300 vertical feet on Chickenout Ridge, where there are a few route options on the crest and left or right of it. They don’t vary greatly in difficulty and you’re hiking as much as using your hands at times.

One telling measure of its difficulty is that, on a nice weekend summer day—like the day Penny and I hiked it—you will see dozens of people making their way up and down the mountain, and only a low percentage of them turn back upon reaching the start of Chickenout Ridge. Having hiked, scrambled, and rock climbed countless peaks for 30 years, I think Borah offers a fun level of challenge and exceptional scenery, which, on top of the significant strenuousness, gives hikers a real sense of climbing a big mountain.

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The upper end of Chickenout Ridge has a fixed rope to help you descend a nearly vertical pitch that’s about 15 to 20 feet high but has abundant foot ledges and handholds. Above Chickenout Ridge, hikers follow a rough trail that gets steep and loose in places. The summit rewards your considerable effort with one of the best 360-degree views in Idaho, spanning the Lost River Range, the Pioneer Mountains to the west, and the Lemhi Range to the east.

Although summer weekends can be very busy on Borah’s Southwest Ridge, hike it on a weekday and you may encounter few other people. I first climbed Borah on a Monday in late July and saw just a few other hikers.

While the fastest-known ascent and descent of Borah was just over two hours and 21 minutes, accomplished by Luke Nelson on Oct. 22, 2010, according to summitpost.org, most hikers take anywhere from eight to 12 hours round-trip. We finished in under nine hours, a respectable time for a couple of middle-aged working people—and drove down to Arco for a well-earned dinner.

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Gear Tips 

Trekking poles are strongly advised for this route’s steep 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.”

Carry a daypack with capacity for a full day’s supply of water, food, and extra layers; the ability to attach poles to the exterior will be handy on Chickenout Ridge. See my picks for “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks” and “5 Tips For Buying the Right Backpack” (which includes daypacks) and all reviews of hiking gear at The Big Outside.

In dry, hot conditions, 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.” Carry a reliable headlamp with fresh batteries or a full charge in case you’re starting in the dark or get down later than expected; see my review of the best headlamps.

Learn the tricks for gauging a hike’s difficulty before you leave home—including a five-level difficulty rating system—in my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.” You can read part of that story without a paid subscription to The Big Outside, or click here now to download the e-book version it.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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15 Simple Landscape Photography Tips For Better Outdoor Photos https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-simple-tips-for-taking-better-outdoor-photos/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/12-simple-tips-for-taking-better-outdoor-photos/#comments Wed, 23 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8867 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Do you wonder how some people come back from national parks and other outdoor trips with fantastic photos? Would you like to take the kind of pictures that make people ooh and aah? Improving your photos may not be as complicated as you think. The following tips on outdoor and landscape photography, which I’ve learned as a trained professional and refined over more than three decades of shooting the finest scenery in America and the world, will help you take home better photos whether you’re a beginner or an experienced photographer.

Sure, equipment like a high-end camera with interchangeable lenses helps a lot, and the more time you spend shooting and learning how to hone your skills, the better your photos will be. Shooting raw files—which record more data for each photo than jpegs and can be edited more extensively—and learning how to use a high-end editing program like Adobe Lightroom also greatly improves photo quality.


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Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. You can purchase enlarged, professional prints, suitable for framing, of this photo and others at The Big Outside. Click on this photo to learn more at my Outdoor Photography page.

But the best camera gear and editing software cannot create a great photograph. That still requires skill—beginning with understanding some fundamental rules of composing images.

I’ve assembled here what I consider the 15 simplest, easy-to-follow, actionable, and most effective tips for taking better pictures, especially landscape photos, and improving your outdoor photography. Follow them and your family and friends will start asking to see your trip pictures.

Sunset sky over Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, along the John Muir Trail in the High Sierra.
Sunset sky over Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, along the John Muir Trail in the High Sierra.

Click on most photos in this story to read about that trip. Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this one is free for anyone to read but reading the entire story and all of my landscape photography tips requires a paid subscription. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for supporting my blog.

If you have comments or questions on my tips or your own to share, please do so in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Grand Prismatic Geyser, Yellowstone. Grand Prismatic Geyser, Yellowstone. Grand Prismatic Geyser, Yellowstone. Grand Prismatic Geyser, Yellowstone. Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone Grand Prismatic Spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park. Grand Prismatic Geyser, Yellowstone.

1. Look for Dramatic Light

We were on a family vacation in Yellowstone National Park, and after doing the sit-and-wait with the kids—and several hundred other tourists—for Old Faithful to erupt, I wanted to stop at Midway Geyser Basin. I had done the walk through Midway before, and thought that then—in late afternoon, with dappled, low-angle light coming through scudding clouds—would be a perfect time to shoot Yellowstone’s largest hot spring, the wildly multi-colored and aptly named Grand Prismatic Spring.

The timing could not have been more perfect. The light accentuated the contrast between the dark hills in the background; the steam rising from the water, brightened by low-angle sunlight slashing through it; the deeply blue sky; and the incredibly rich, kaleidoscopic colors of Grand Prismatic, whose waters also reflected their surroundings perfectly in that light. In about 30 minutes of shooting, I came away with even more than the 14 keeper images in the gallery above—which for a serious photographer is a major haul.

The lesson: Dramatic light is what makes a landscape photo pop. Know your location and think about the best time of day and even the best season to shoot it to capture it in strong light.

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Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to see this and other images available for purchase as professional-quality prints at my Outdoor Photography page.

2. Think About Your Foreground

Photos are two-dimensional, and if you just shoot a row of distant mountains, the photo will look flat. Shooting in dappled sunlight (described in tip no. 1) helps make a photo look more three-dimensional.

But you can convey a sense of depth—of the three-dimensional appearance of the landscape—by shooting with a wide-angle lens and composing your photo with a person or object in the foreground, as I did in the above shot from the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park and in the lead photo at the top of this story of a small tarn above Helen Lake, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park, and the second photo in this story of Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Position the camera close to, say, a big rock, a lakeshore, or a wildflower and frame the image so that there’s scenery in the middle distance (maybe a lake or forest) and far away (the mountains). Observe closely and you will notice many photos at The Big Outside and elsewhere that employ this basic technique.

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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.
Geraniums in Jotunheimen National Park, Norway.
Geraniums, Jotunheimen National Park, Norway.

3. Think About Your Background

The background may not be your primary subject, but it can either make your subject more prominent or swallow it.

For instance, if the subject is a person or people in the middle distance who look small against a scenic backdrop (see tip no. 5)—as with the photo above from a peak named Bláhnúkur in Iceland—position the camera (yourself) relative to your subject so that there’s a bright backdrop behind the person, like the sky or lake waters or light-colored rock or ground.

A person who’s small in the image would get lost against a dark backdrop like forest—unless that person is wearing brightly colored clothing (another trick for making the subject stand out against the background).

Conversely, if your subject is very bright—like a wildflower spotlighted in a shaft of sunlight, such as these geraniums (at right) in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park—position yourself to shoot so that there’s dark shadow behind the flower, to make it stand out better; and use a low aperture setting to blur the background (tip no. 10, below).

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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.

4. Follow the Rule of Thirds

Beginner photographers commonly place the subject smack in the middle of the photo (and, too often, they cut off a person’s feet—a no-no). Compose photos following the rule of thirds: Mentally divide your image into thirds along the longer edge, i.e., when shooting a horizontal picture, the imaginary lines dividing the photo into thirds run vertically. Place your subject—person, bunch of wildflowers, animal, whatever—in the right or left third of the frame, as in the photo above of a backpacker on the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier. Have the person facing toward or away from the camera or facing into/across rather than out of the picture.

For the same reason, do not compose a photo with the land-sky horizon cutting straight through the middle of it; give the sky one-third of the picture or place the horizon in the lower third of the photo and let a dramatic sky dominate the image.

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A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

5. Put a Person in There for Scale

You’ve seen many examples of this and probably done it yourself: Place a person or people far enough from the camera to make them appear small in order to convey a sense of the landscape’s vastness, as I did in the photo above from the Teton Crest Trail. Magazines use photos like this frequently because they know that readers identify with the person in the photo—the “I want to be there” effect.

The trick to doing this effectively is to make sure the tiny person remains large enough and visible against the background (tip no. 3) so as not to disappear, and to remember the Rule of Thirds (tip no. 4). Having just one person in the picture also introduces a powerful feeling of solitude that amplifies the sense of vastness.

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and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

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.

6. Look to the Sky

The sky is typically at least two f-stops brighter than the earth and sometimes much more than that—especially in early morning or evening, as in the photo above from Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park. An f-stop is a full step in aperture settings as they used to appear on cameras in the pre-digital era, i.e., the different between f5.6 and f8, or f8 and f11, which represents a halving of the amount of light entering the camera as you move up the f-stop number scale, just as going from a shutter speed of 1/125 to 1/250 halves the amount of light entering the camera. Modern digital cameras increase aperture versatility by allowing adjustments of one-third of a full f-stop, for example, inserting two more partial f-stops (6.3 and 7.1) between f5.6 and f8.

Overexposing the sky so that it washes out—loses all or most detail—makes the photo look dull. In pre-digital days, photographers used graduated filters to darken the sky when shooting while keeping the earth brighter. Today, we can edit digital photos for the same effect produced by those old graduated filters, but it’s more difficult to restore details in an overexposed sky when editing than it is to brighten underexposed earth. So I often expose for the sky and brighten the shadowed land when editing.

Very simply: Point the camera toward the sky and depress your shutter-release button halfway to set the exposure. Then depress and hold the camera’s auto-exposure lock (typically marked AE-L and AF-L if it doubles as the auto-focus lock, and within reach of your right thumb) as you move the camera to compose the picture you want, and then shoot it.

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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

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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.

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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?
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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.

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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.

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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.

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The Hardest Dayhike in the East: The 32-Mile Pemi Loop https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-hardest-dayhike-in-the-east-the-32-mile-pemi-loop/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-hardest-dayhike-in-the-east-the-32-mile-pemi-loop/#comments Mon, 14 Jul 2025 09:00:03 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28654 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Our long day of hiking began at 6 a.m., shortly after first light, under a gray overcast that would rain intermittent light showers on us over the next several hours and, at times, envelop us in pea-soup fog. When our day ended 15 hours and 59 minutes later—we could officially call it “sub-16 hours”—two friends and I had proven to ourselves (and no one else would care) that, in our 50s, we could still tick off the 32-mile, 10,000-vertical-foot, nine-summit Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s White Mountains in one long, grueling day.

Pointless feats of endurance aside, though, we also enjoyed one of the prettiest hikes east of the Rockies—and by that afternoon, the clouds lifted to grant us breathtaking views as we traversed one of the most remote and spectacular ridges in the Northeast, Bondcliff (lead photo, above).


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A hiker on the Appalachian Trail on Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton hiking Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H.

Among the hardest and most glorious one-day hikes I’ve ever done, few compare with the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s rugged Whites.

Starting from Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway (NH 112), the 32-mile loop follows a series of ridgelines around the Pemigewasset Wilderness in the very heart of the Whites, tagging nine summits en route (with the possibility of more via side trips). The route traverses the popular Franconia Ridge, its highest point, 5,260-foot Mount Lafayette, and more remote peaks like Garfield, South Twin, Bond, and Bondcliff.

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It’s as beautiful as it is punishing to complete in a day. As Ralph Waldo Emerson once opined: “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.”

The photo gallery below offers a window into the scenery along the Pemi Loop. Scroll below it for a link to my full feature story about that hike (which requires a paid subscription to read in full).

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I’d dayhiked it before and backpacked it—and you can, of course, take a more moderate (and sane) approach and backpack the Pemi Loop over two to four days, spending nights in designated backcountry campsites or carrying just a daypack and staying at Appalachian Mountain Club huts along the route.

See my feature story about dayhiking the Pemi Loop, “Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains,” which has more photos and my detailed tips on how to knock off this hike in a day or backpack it over as many days as you like.

And see all stories about hiking in the White Mountains at The Big Outside, including “The Best Hikes in the White Mountains,” my stories about 20-mile dayhikes of the Presidential Range and Wildcat Mountain and Carter-Moriah Rangea 17-mile dayhike in the Presidential Range with three teenage boys (my son among them), and “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains.

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10 Great, Big Dayhikes in the Tetons https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-8-great-big-dayhikes-in-the-tetons/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-8-great-big-dayhikes-in-the-tetons/#comments Sat, 12 Jul 2025 09:00:22 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8549 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The Tetons stand out for many reasons, most of all that iconic skyline of jagged peaks and spires that invites comparisons to cathedrals—although these cathedrals reach over 12,000 and 13,000 feet high. But while backpackers flock to the Teton Range for multi-day hikes and these peaks offer numerous five-star dayhikes of “normal” length, they also harbor some of the best long dayhikes in the country.

Thanks to a unique combination of the trail network and trailhead access, hikers capable of knocking off 15 to 20 or more miles and 3,000 to over 4,000 vertical feet in a day can explore virtually the entire range on one-day outings—holding enormous appeal for hikers and trail runners seeking that level of challenge or fit backpackers who fail to obtain a highly coveted Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit for a multi-day hike.

This list of the 10 best big dayhikes in the Teton Range includes popular spots like Garnet Canyon, Lake Solitude, and the Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop, as well as some trails and peaks you may not have heard of—some of which see little traffic.


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A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail n Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

These picks draw from my numerous trips dayhiking, backpacking, and climbing all over the Tetons over more than three decades, including 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 the Teton Range that’s accessible on one very big day of hiking.

Several hikes described below are free for anyone to read, but reading the entire story—like most stories about trips at The Big Outside—requires a paid subscription.

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

Learn “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon hiking the Teton Crest Trail toward Paintbrush Divide in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help plan your next trip.

Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon Loop

The 19.7-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from String Lake Trailhead, with nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, ranks as probably the park’s most popular backpacking trip and possibly the second-most popular long dayhike. (See my e-book to backpacking this loop.) It crosses one of the highest points reached via trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama that takes in a huge swath of the Tetons, and passes Lake Solitude on the descent through the stunning North Fork and main stem of Cascade Canyon.

Offering the convenience of a loop from one trailhead, with no shuttle needed, this loop attracts a significant number of fit dayhikers and trail runners. I’ve dayhiked and backpacked it; both are worthy and different experiences. Do it counterclockwise because the descent of Cascade inflicts less pounding than going down Paintbrush. Start early for cool temps on the ascent of Paintbrush Canyon, where the lower section can get hot.

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A hiker in Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Dave Simpson hiking up Garnet Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

Amphitheater Lake and Garnet Canyon

Combining the hikes to Amphitheater Lake and Garnet Canyon, forming a “Y” from Lupine Meadows Trailhead, marries two moderate dayhikes into a roughly 13-mile day that follows mostly good trails and isn’t as hard as others on this list.

Dave Simpson on a late spring hike in Garnet Canyon.
Dave Simpson on a late spring hike in Garnet Canyon.

Hiking only out-and-back to Garnet Canyon (not including Amphitheater Lake) is one of the park’s premier dayhikes, about 8.2 miles round-trip from Lupine Meadows with about 2,430 feet of uphill and downhill. The out-and-back hike to Amphitheater Lake alone is just over 10 miles with 3,000 feet of up and down.

To combine them, from Amphitheater, backtrack about two miles and 2,300 feet downhill to where the trail to Amphitheater Lake splits from the trail to Garnet Canyon. From there, it’s an easy walk of a bit more than a mile to where the maintained trail ends with a breathtaking perspective on Garnet Canyon.

A use trail continues a bit farther, involving some rugged scrambling through large boulders, to the area known as The Meadows in Garnet Canyon, where there’s a creek, grass, and wildflowers in a cirque of towering cliffs and peaks, with the 12,804-foot Middle Teton rising high above the head of the canyon.

To lengthen this hike, follow the well-used climbers’ trail from The Meadows up to the northwest (right) to the Lower Saddle on the Grand Teton, the highest base camp for climbing the Grand. The Lower Saddle is 6,000 vertical feet and about 11 miles round-trip from Lupine Meadows (not including the hike to Amphitheater Lake), so combining all of these trails makes for a burly day. Reaching the Lower Saddle also involves finding the unmaintained route across talus (watch for sporadic cairns) and using a fixed rope for safety to walk up a steep headwall just below the Lower Saddle. (You can turn back before that.)

See my story “Great Hike: Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.”

Plan your next great backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, Wonderland Trail,
in Yosemite or other parks using my expert e-books.

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

Granted, Lake Solitude does not always deliver on the promise in its name: On a nice summer day, you will see many dozens of hikers and backpackers on this trail. But there are good reasons so many people take the short boat shuttle across Jenny Lake and make their way to this high mountain lake: ringed by tall cliffs, this blue gemstone caps a beautiful hike in the beating heart of the Tetons. The views down the North Fork of Cascade Canyon (lead photo at top of story) are among the best in the entire range. A bracing swim provides a welcome therapeutic effect on fatigued muscles and hot feet.

Plus, this beautiful walk happens to be at a distance and difficulty within the abilities of many hikers—just over 15 miles and 2,300 feet out-and-back from the boat landing on the west side of Jenny Lake. Tip: Catch the first boat across Jenny Lake to get a jump on the crowds and possibly enjoy a window of solitude at the lake; you’ll also improve your chances of seeing wildlife like moose along the trail. Plus, you want to get back in time to catch a boat back across Jenny Lake or you’ll hike two extra miles around it. See jennylakeboating.com/boat-trips/shuttle-service.

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

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

The out-and-back hike up 11,303-foot Static Peak is a Tetons testpiece for strong hikers: about 17 miles round-trip with close to 6,000 feet of vertical gain and loss from the Death Canyon Trailhead, at 6,800 feet. Following the Valley Trail and Death Canyon Trail to the mouth of Death Canyon, turn right onto the Alaska Basin Trail, which climbs through several switchbacks to cross Static Peak Divide at about 10,700 feet, an elevation equivalent to Paintbrush Divide on the Teton Crest Trail.

From that pass, walk the unmarked but fairly obvious use path leading another 600 feet uphill in about a half-mile to the summit of Static Peak, where the views span most of the southern Tetons.

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Backpackers in Death Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Backpackers hiking up Death Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

Granite Canyon to Death Canyon

The 20.5-mile, point-to-point hike up Granite Canyon, along a section of the Teton Crest Trail, and down Death Canyon does not attract nearly as many hikers as the Paintbrush-Cascade loop or the dayhike to Lake Solitude, but it otherwise shares many similarities. It gets you into the Teton high country on a scenic piece of the Teton Crest Trail and a high point at 9,570-foot Fox Creek Pass, and it explores two big, deep canyons known for dramatic cliffs and moose and other wildlife.

From the Granite Canyon Trailhead at nearly 6,400 feet, you’ll gradually ascend a total of about 3,200 feet—modest by this list’s standards—and descend some 3,000 feet to the Death Canyon Trailhead, entirely on good trails. This hike passes two pretty lakes, Marion and Phelps, and remains at elevations that won’t greatly affect many hikers. It requires a short shuttle of several miles between the two trailheads; or you can add about three miles and make it a complete loop from the Granite Canyon Trailhead by following the Valley Trail south from the north end of Phelps Lake.

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

See all stories about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside, including, “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 “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” as well as my expert e-books to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.

See also my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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8 Pro Tips For Preventing Blisters When Hiking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/7-pro-tips-for-avoiding-blisters/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/7-pro-tips-for-avoiding-blisters/#comments Tue, 08 Jul 2025 09:00:23 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6492 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I deserve to be plagued by blisters. I field test several models of hiking, backpacking, and trail-running shoes and boots every year. I’m constantly wearing new footwear right out of the box, often hiking 15 to 20 miles or more miles a day—usually without doing anything more than trying them on, virtually never allowing for any break-in time. And I almost never get a blister. Best of all, the tricks I use to avoid them are simple and easy for anyone to follow.

This article shares the methods I’ve learned over more than three decades (and counting) of dayhiking and backpacking, 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.


First of all, remember that blisters require three conditions to occur: heat, moisture, and friction. Eliminate any one of those factors and you prevent blisters.

Simple, right? Well, not always. But blisters are a problem you can control. I’ve listed below the strategies I follow to dramatically reduce the occurrence of blisters. Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading all the tips in this story requires a paid subscription. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for supporting my blog.

Be sure to read the comments at the bottom of this story, where readers have offered their own excellent suggestions. Please share your suggestions or questions. I try to respond to all comments.

A backpacker's heel blister in the Canadian Rockies.
A backpacker’s heel blister in the Canadian Rockies. Click photo to read about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies.

1. Buy Boots That Fit

Friction happens when your shoes or boots don’t fit your feet well. Eliminate friction through perfect fit, and you eliminate blisters. Buy footwear in a store where the staff knows how to measure your foot size. Try on a variety of brands because they all fit slightly differently; find the brand that fits your feet best. Until you’ve tried on several models, it’s difficult to even recognize the subtle differences between a pretty good fit and an ideal fit.

If the best boots you find still don’t fit perfectly, try after-market insoles to customize the fit. But in reality, almost anyone should be able to find shoes or boots that fit well; you just have to look hard enough. If your feet are unusually large or wide or narrow or have a high or low arch, find the brands that offer a size range and fit that matches your feet. Don’t settle for less than very good fit.

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and other flagship parks using my expert e-books.

A backpacker on the John Muir Trail hiking toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness.
Mark Fenton backpacking the John Muir Trail toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your JMT hike or any trip you read about at tihis blog.

2. Keep Your Feet Dry

This may be the easiest and most effective strategy I employ: Whenever I stop for a break of 10 minutes or more, I take off my boots and socks and let them and my feet dry out—eliminating or at least minimizing heat and moisture. As simple as that. Bonus benefit: It feels good, especially if I have an opportunity to cool my feet in a stream or lake (and then thoroughly dry them before putting my socks and shoes back on).

Another strategy for keeping feet cooler and drier is employing what pros in the footwear industry call the “chimney effect:” Roll the tops of your socks down over the collar of your boots, which channels air down into your boot and helps release heat and moisture from your feet.

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A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail on a 50-mile dayhike across Zion National Park.

3. Carry Extra Socks

If your feet get chronically sweaty, change into clean, dry socks midway through a day of hiking. Wear wool or wool-blend socks that wick moisture and dry quickly. (Cottons socks hold moisture and virtually guarantee you blisters.) Try to wash any dirt and sweat from your feet in a creek and dry them completely before putting on the clean socks.

Tuck the damp socks under a pack strap or inside a mesh exterior pocket on your pack to dry them out (not balled up, or they won’t dry), in case you need to swap to them again.

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

A hiker's shoes in North Cascades National Park.
Click on photo to read “Expert Tips for Buying the Right Hiking Boots.”

4. Wear Lightweight, Non-Waterproof Footwear

Any footwear with a waterproof-breathable membrane is not as breathable as shoes or boots with mesh uppers and no membrane—which also dry much faster if they do get wet. If you’re generally dayhiking in dry weather, why do you need waterproof boots? It may seem counterintuitive, but non-waterproof shoes or boots may keep your feet drier by not causing them to sweat as much.

That’s especially important when dayhiking or backpacking longer days: Double or triple the distance and you also double or triple the number of steps you take and the amount of friction on your feet, and greatly increase the number of hours your feet are potentially getting hot and sweaty inside footwear. Keeping them dry becomes critical on big days—and may be your last line of defense against blisters.

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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 e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and other classic hikes.

5. Adjust Laces on the Trail

Shoe and boot laces often loosen up while hiking. Your feet and ankles move differently and endure different pressure points depending on the terrain, steepness, and whether you’re walking uphill or downhill. Feet can also swell slightly during a hike. Lacing footwear properly at the outset of a hike and retying during the day can alleviate the slippage and pressure points that cause friction.

First of all, shoes or boots should always be laced up snugly enough for comfort and to prevent slippage: For example, your ankle and toes should not rub, and your foot should not slip forward or backward (potentially jamming your toes). If you feel any rubbing or hot spot, adjust the lacing to achieve a closer fit.

Before starting a long descent, lace up snugly to prevent your toes banging against the front of the boots. With mid-cut or high boots, it can sometimes increase comfort (and help cool your feet) to loosen upper laces for a long uphill climb; but if you do that, make sure the laces are snug below your ankle, to avoid rubbing and slippage.

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Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park
Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park is one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites. Click photo to see them all.

NOTE: As I mentioned at the top of this story, be sure to read the comments below, where readers have offered their own excellent suggestions. Offer your own comment on this story, or your best tip, and thanks to everyone who’s contributed to my tips on preventing blisters.

See also my “Pro Tips For Buying the Right Hiking Boots,” all reviews of hiking shoes and backpacking boots 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.”

See all stories with expert tips on backcountry skills at The Big Outside.

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10 Tips for Recovering from a Hard Hike or Mountain Climb https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-recovering-from-a-hard-hike-or-mountain-climb/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-recovering-from-a-hard-hike-or-mountain-climb/#comments Wed, 02 Jul 2025 09:30:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47495 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

You just finished a big dayhike, backpacking trip, mountain climb, or trail run convinced it was one of the best experiences of your life—and now your body seems to have mounted a loud protest of pain against it. And you wonder: Is this suffering necessary? The simple answer is no. Follow the tips in this article—or even just some of them—to greatly lessen the physical aches and pains that sometimes follow an outdoors adventure.

This article shares the methods I’ve learned over four decades of dayhiking, backpacking, climbing mountains, ultra-hiking, trail running, cycling, and backcountry and Nordic skiing, including three decades writing about such adventures as a past field editor for Backpacker magazine and running this blog.

Short of suffering an injury, much of the aches and pains that sometimes follow any taxing physical activity result from entirely normal processes taking place within our bodies as muscle cells go through their usual healing and strengthening processes. But there are many ways to counter and minimize that pain with little to no effort or cost.

Please share your tips or questions 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 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.

1. Use the Right Gear

Poorly fitted boots or a pack will virtually guarantee to magnify your post-hike soreness in large muscles, your back and shoulders and possibly result in blistered or injured feet. Get a daypack or backpack and footwear that fit your body and are suited to your style of hiking and the conditions you’ll encounter.

A backpacker above Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My wife, Penny, above Liberty Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Avoid carrying more weight in your pack than feels comfortable to you: If it feels too heavy when you first put the pack on, it will probably only feel worse at the end of the hike.

See all reviews of lightweight hiking shoes and backpacking boots at The Big Outside, my picks for the best daypacks and backpacking packs and my “Expert Tips for Buying the Right Hiking Boots” and “5 Expert Tips For Buying the Right Backpacking Pack.”

Another gear tip: Use trekking poles. Backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, mountain runners, and others have figured out that, no matter how much weight you’re carrying, using poles reduces the strain, fatigue, and impact on your leg muscles and joints, feet, back—and lessens your chances of an accidental fall.

See “The Best Trekking Poles,” “How to Choose Trekking Poles,” and “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles,” and The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Canyon,
and other parks using my expert e-books.

Runners on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Marla Covey and Pam Solon running down the South Kaibab Trail on a 42-mile, rim-to-rim-to-rim run across the Grand Canyon and back.

2. Wear Compression Clothing

Compression socks, calf sleeves, shorts, and tights changed how I dress for dayhikes and trail runs, especially longer outings. I noticed the boost in my endurance and dramatic decrease in stiffness and soreness both during and after my first run wearing compression clothing. Now, I virtually never take a long run or hike today without wearing compression socks and shorts.

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.

I’ll also often wear the socks and shorts for a few hours or more post-hike or run—or change into clean, dry compressions socks and shorts after a shower—for the noticeable, long-term recovery benefits that wearing them post-workout provides and how much better I feel the next day.

Compression clothing fits more tightly than standard socks or shorts, squeezing the legs (or arms) to improve blood and oxygen circulation—beneficial during and after exercise. In fact, compression socks and other clothing are so effective they are used to treat a variety of medical ailments related to blood circulation.

See “The Best Base Layers, Shorts, and Socks for Hiking and Running” and “The Best Sun Shirts.”

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 Shadow Lake Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking the Shadow Lake Trail on “the best backpacking trip in the Wind River Range.”

3. Take Care of Your Feet

Think about this: The average person takes over 2,000 steps per mile when walking. A 10-mile hike entails over 20,000 steps, a 20-mile hike, over 40,000. In rugged terrain, where your steps may be shorter, that number will be even higher. I still recall our amazement when two friends and I thru-hiked the John Muir Trail in seven days—averaging about 31 miles per day—in seeing the pedometer that one friend wore recording over 70,000 steps on some days.

It should come as no surprise that hiking rugged terrain, with significant elevation gain and loss, takes a toll on your feet. Besides the repeated impact of all those steps, particularly on rocky ground, there always exists the risk of injuries ranging from routine blisters to more serious problems. But even on a good day, feet can feel achy by the end of a hike.

Take care of your feet before, during, and after a hike. If you tend to blister, pre-emptively tape sensitive spots like heels or toes. Keep your feet dry during a hike with habits as easy as pulling your shoes and socks off during a break. Afterward, give your feet some TLC, including flexing and stretching them and massaging the balls, arches, heels, and Achilles, all of which improves blood flow and just feels really good—especially on tired feet.

See my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

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

4. Cool Down

Many of us have had the unpleasant experience of ending a hike, run or mountain climb, immediately getting into a car for a long drive home—and emerging from the vehicle feeling like your body has skipped death and gone straight to rigor mortis. That results from small muscle tears, a normal physiological process that leads to the muscles healing and making themselves stronger.

While that phenomenon, known as Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness (DOMS), typically follows exercising at a greater intensity or duration than your muscles are accustomed to and can persist for 24 to 48 hours or longer, you can mitigate its severity with a practice that requires no additional effort or time.

Stopping abruptly at the end of a long hike, trail run, or mountain climb does not give muscles a chance to gradually adjust from an active to a resting state, causing them to stiffen up. Instead of walking or running at a hard pace all the way back to the trailhead, slow your pace to one where you’re breathing very easily for the last 20 minutes or more of your hike, giving muscles time to gradually cool down before you stop.

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A trekker at the Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc.
Inken Poszner at the windy Col de la Seigne on the Tour du Mont Blanc.

5. Rehydrate and Fuel Up

We all know that our bodies require water and food to get through a physical activity as sustained and taxing as hiking. Still, it’s remarkably easy to underestimate our needs. Even when deliberately drinking fluids and eating throughout a moderate day of hiking, we often finish at least slightly dehydrated and certainly hungry; a strenuous hike only compounds that deficit. And our muscles require water and nutrients to repair themselves.

Besides drinking and eating plenty during a hike—gulping water every 15 to 20 minutes and snacking every hour is a good guideline—recovery begins with quickly feeding your body what it craves: fluids, electrolytes, fat, protein, salt, and to some extent even carbohydrates to help restore levels of glycogen, which provides your body with a reserve of long-term energy.

I like to have a big bottle of an electrolyte drink and salty/fatty snacks immediately after a hike to start the process of giving my body the nourishment it demands.

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

Climbers approaching the East Face of Mount Whitney in the John Muir Wilderness, California.
Climbers approaching the East Face of Mount Whitney in the John Muir Wilderness, California.

See also “Training for a Big Hike or Mountain Climb,” “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and all stories offering expert hiking and backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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How to Safely Cross a Stream When Hiking or Backpacking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-safely-cross-a-stream-when-hiking-or-backpacking/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-safely-cross-a-stream-when-hiking-or-backpacking/#respond Tue, 01 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59470 Read on

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In the ink-black darkness long before dawn on a morning in May, seven of us panned our headlamp beams over La Verkin Creek, deep in the Kolob Canyons of Utah’s Zion National Park, contemplating where—and whether—to cross it. Bloated and bellowing with spring snowmelt and brown with the silt of dirt torn violently from its banks, the creek charged past us with a force and noise level that could make any reasonable person question the wisdom of stepping into its path.

I had crossed La Verkin once before, backpacking this route with my young family when this was an easy rock-hop in early October. Now, during the high runoff of spring, it posed a much bigger challenge—and we needed to reach the other side to continue with our ambitious plan to hike 50 miles across Zion in one day. We stood there, all very experienced hikers, keenly aware of the danger of a fast-moving creek.


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 fording La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park in the dark.
Shelley Johnson and David Ports fording La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park in the dark.

We scouted along the creek bank and within minutes found a wider, shallower spot just upstream, where everyone walked across La Verkin with the water never reaching above anyone’s knees. With patience and the knowledge of how to manage that potentially serious hazard, we reduced it to an easy obstacle.

Most backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, and other backcountry travelers will encounter unbridged creek or river crossings. These obstacles can vary greatly from easy rock-hops to fast, challenging, often-frigid fords or impassable whitewater. Deciding how to reach the other side safely—and if you should attempt it—will determine whether that episode passes without incident or turns into a situation where someone gets wet and perhaps dangerously cold, or devolves into a horrible disaster.

This story explains in detail how to plan for possible creek and river crossings before a trip, assess the relative hazard of any crossing for your group, and execute it safely. The strategies spelled out below draw from my experience of fording countless streams over more than three decades of backpacking, dayhiking, and climbing, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

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.

Here’s my main takeaway about creek crossings: Respect the power of moving water because it will almost always push you harder and feel less secure than you expect. Plus, it’s a generally good rule of life to never underestimate any force that can carry your body beyond your control and immerse you in a medium where you cannot breathe.

Like many stories at this blog, part of this one is free for anyone to read but reading the entire story requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you for supporting my blog.

Please share your thoughts on my tips, 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.

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

 

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.

Look at Streams When Planning Your Hike

When planning any backcountry trip, research well in advance about any unbridged water crossings and their typical seasonal levels and relative hazard and plan your trip accordingly. Many that are perfectly safe in summer and fall flow high, fast, and too dangerous to cross in spring and often into early summer, when widespread, deep snow melting rapidly raises water levels.

While stream levels are typically seasonal, the snowpack, rainfall, and temperatures over the preceding weeks and months will determine when any stream becomes safe to cross: They don’t just “open” on the same date every year.

Planning a trip for a time when creek levels may be dangerously high also runs the related risk of encountering significant snow cover on trails at higher elevations, rendering them hard to follow, miserable to hike when post-holing constantly in wet snow, or virtually impassable. In many mountain ranges in the U.S. West, trails above roughly 9,000 to 10,000 feet in elevation may not be largely snow-free until mid- or late July.

Right before your trip, check on the current creek and river levels with the management agency, backcountry ranger office, a local river guide service or gear shop, or an online river gauge if available.

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and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

 

A backpacker rock-hopping Evolution Creek on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
David Ports rock-hopping Evolution Creek in low-water conditions on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

Prepare in Advance

River and stream crossings can be challenging and very cold: In early summer, the water temperature may sit not much above freezing, having been snow just hours earlier. Bring the following gear for fording any creek or water that’s potentially more than ankle deep.

A backpacker making the Bechler Ford in Yellowstone's Bechler River.
Jeff Wilhelm making the Bechler Ford in Yellowstone’s Bechler River.
  • Have footwear (sandals with closed toes, water shoes, or old sneakers, and perhaps neoprene socks for warmth) to change into for those crossings, to protect your feet and keep your boots dry. Fording barefoot risks slipping or injuring your feet on the rocky riverbed; it’s also harder to maintain your balance walking barefoot on slick rocks.
  • Trekking poles will help maintain balance in any ford, but particularly when there’s a current or rocky bottom or both. Four potential points of contact are quite literally twice as stable as just your two feet. See my review of “The Best Trekking Poles” and my stories “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “The 10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”
  • For potentially deep or fast crossings, consider bringing at least two river throw bags for a rescue (one will be of no use if the person carrying it goes down in the river).
  • Bring top layers that are warm enough to insulate your core for a cold crossing and extra dry layers to change into if your clothes get wet.
  • Dry bags or waterproof stuff sacks will keep critical items like your sleeping bag and extra dry clothing layers dry inside your pack, just in case it ends up in the water (which usually means you ended up in the water with your pack). See my review of best backpacking gear accessories.
  • Have an adequately warm sleeping bag protected in an appropriate dry bag or waterproof stuff sack inside your pack for rewarming someone who becomes severely hypothermic on a cold crossing.
  • Carry some type of fire starter, in case someone gets fully immersed in cold water and needs a fire to warm up again. Only in hot sunshine and calm air can someone emerge soaked from a stream and quickly warm up once changing from wet to dry clothes; in any combination of weather and temperatures cooler than that, people can rapidly get hypothermic and may not rewarm quickly just by changing clothes. If someone is shivering and having trouble with simple tasks like changing clothes, they are hypothermic.
  • A stove, fuel, and pot are often standard backpacking gear and mandatory on trips with cold water crossings for firing up a hot beverage or food to help a hypothermic person warm up.

Dry bags usually have roll-top closures and durable, thicker, waterproof fabric to completely seal out water even if completely immersed for several minutes or more. They also trap air inside, creating some buoyancy in water. Some waterproof stuff sacks will keep contents dry if splashed or rained on but not through more than a brief immersion; those are fine for most backpackers and for easy (read: slow and shallow) water crossings with no greater risk than a slip and fall where a pack gets briefly dunked, but not adequate for challenging crossings.

Only attempt a water crossing barefoot if it’s slow, shallow, and mostly sandy rather than rocky. Wearing only socks may be a better option than attempting it barefoot, but your feet can slip inside socks, affecting your balance; wear socks without other footwear only in shallow, easy currents with a pebbly but not terribly rocky bottom.

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Backpackers crossing a creek in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton crossing a creek in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Decide Whether It’s Safe

First and foremost, assess objectively whether the river or creek you want to ford is safe enough for your entire party to make it—bearing in mind that it comes down to whether the weakest party member will be safe. Plus, everyone should be comfortable with attempting it: Don’t make that decision for someone else or let someone make it for you.

If you feel uncertain about the safety of any crossing, abort your plans, whether that means choosing a different route or abandoning your trip entirely. A scary or bad accident leaves far greater regrets than canceling your plans.

The levels of rivers and streams fed by glaciers or ongoing snowmelt typically rise during the warmer daytime hours, when snowmelt upstream accelerates, and fall overnight when temperatures drop. Time those critical crossings for morning.

Gauge the current’s speed and depth. With a clear stream, you can see the bottom but understand that it may not look quite as deep as it is. With silted or murky water, the depth will not be visible.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
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A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

Throw a stick into the current to visualize its speed—a current moving faster than you can walk is likely unsafe. Toss a rock into the main current and listen for a low “ka-thump” indicating deep water. Seeing that rock carried downstream before sinking to the bottom, or hearing an audible rumbling of rocks rolling downstream, clearly indicates a current deep and powerful enough to sweep a person away.

Crossing any current that’s moving fast and more than knee-deep will be unsafe for most people. Attempt a crossing above the knees only in a very slow current or calm pool.

Sometimes, boulders or a log may offer a dry crossing, stepping rock to rock, across an otherwise, fast, dangerous creek. When deciding whether to attempt that, consider whether everyone possesses the balance and ability to navigate each of those steps, on rocks or a log that are possibly sloping and wet, and the consequences of someone falling in. Again, poles are invaluable aids when trying to walk a log or rocks across a creek.

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A hiker crossing a creek in Shoshone Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park.
Jeff crossing a creek in Shoshone Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park.

Check how cold the water feels. Spring and early-summer runoff from snow melting at higher elevations drops stream temperatures to just above freezing at the same time that it raises currents to levels that may range from challenging to dangerous—and frigid water not only feels really uncomfortable, it can quickly induce hypothermia and compromise your strength and balance when you desperately need it.

See “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking.”

Assess the riverbed: Is it rocky, sandy, so mucky that your feet may sink in and slip around, compromising your balance, or some combination of these conditions? Consider these factors when deciding whether it’s safe and what to wear on your feet.

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.”

 

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon, in southern Utah and northern Arizona.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

See “The 10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles” and all stories with expert backpacking skills 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 (as well as all of this story); 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.”

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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

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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.

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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.

 

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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See all of my stories about backpacking, family adventures, and national park adventures at The Big Outside.
 

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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

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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.

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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.
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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.

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Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

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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

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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.

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#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.

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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.

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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

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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..

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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.
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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.”

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The Best Guide to Backpacking the Zion Narrows https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-zions-narrows/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-zions-narrows/#comments Sat, 07 Jun 2025 09:00:48 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19528 By Michael Lanza

The sound of rushing water increased in volume and the canyon walls pressed in close and reached toward the sliver of sky overhead as we walked downstream in the calf-deep North Fork of the Virgin River in The Narrows of Zion National Park. Turning a bend in the canyon, we came upon one of the most incongruous sights in the desert: a waterfall pouring from cracks in the canyon’s sandstone wall. Known as Big Spring, this oasis of cascading water and a hanging garden clinging to a redrock cliff is just one of the many wonders awaiting backpackers in Zion’s Narrows.

One of the most uniquely magnificent and coveted hikes in the National Park System, the Zion Narrows squeeze down to about 20 feet across in places, with sandstone walls that rise as much as a thousand feet tall.


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.


Day one in the upper Narrows, Zion National Park.
Day one in the upper Narrows, Zion National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

There are many great canyon hikes in the Southwest, but The Narrows is the archetypal great canyon hike—and certainly one of the very best backpacking trips in the Southwest and a top 10 trip in America.

I base that judgment on having done many of the most beautiful multi-day hikes in the country over more than three decades of carrying a backpack, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

I think the photo gallery below will convince you to take this trip.

The Narrows is generally backpacked as a two-day hike from top to bottom, descending 1,500 vertical feet over the course of 16 miles, from the starting trailhead at Chamberlain Ranch to the Temple of Sinawava Trailhead at the end of the road in Zion Canyon.

Early summer and fall are the prime seasons for hiking 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.

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. It is the most thorough guide you will find to backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

Click here now to Join The Big Outside and get my backpacking Zion’s Narrows e-book free!

Not surprisingly, our campsite in The Narrows graces my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites. I also suggest it as one of “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

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 requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

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10 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-spending-less-on-backpacking-and-hiking-gear/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-tips-for-spending-less-on-backpacking-and-hiking-gear/#comments Tue, 03 Jun 2025 09:01:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11506 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

My first tent cost about 75 bucks. It was a bit heavy and bulky for backpacking. I called it the Wind Sock because it snapped loudly in the slightest breeze, and its poles bowed disturbingly in moderate gusts. (I learned to choose protected campsites.) But at a time when I could not afford good gear and was developing a passion for hiking, backpacking, and climbing, it sheltered me for about 150 nights in the backcountry and in campgrounds. It ultimately cost me about 50 cents a night.

When I started dayhiking and backpacking, I needed gear and clothing that was cheap. And you usually get what you pay for. But I’ve learned the strategies for getting decent or even very good gear cheaply over four decades of backpacking and hiking—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor and lead gear reviewer 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 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. Click photo to read about thru-hiking the JMT.

If you’re much shorter on cash than on eagerness to get outdoors—or you just prefer paying less for your gear so you can afford more of it or better stuff—these tips will help you get out there without emptying your checking account. Like many stories at The Big Outside, this one is partially free for anyone to read, but reading all of the tips below is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

You can begin finding excellent bargains—and help support my work on this blog—by making gear purchases through the affiliate links in this story and any other stories and gear reviews at The Big Outside. Thanks for your support.

If you have comments or questions for me, or tips of your own to suggest, please share them in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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 all stories about backpacking in the High Uintas at The Big Outside.

No. 1 Shop Discount Online Sites

Anyone shopping for new gear or apparel would be wise to begin by visiting sites like backcountry.comcotopaxi.com, the REI outlet store, and campsaver.com. This is the best way to score higher-quality gear and apparel from top brands for bargain prices. These sites offer deep discounts on product that has perhaps been discontinued—replaced in a company’s line by something similar, newer, and improved, or simply in a color that sells better. This discounted stuff went on sale new at higher prices just months earlier—it’s current technology, not ancient crap.

If you’re looking for a specific product, you may not find it; and sizes available are sometimes limited. But if you’re on a more general quest for a rain jacket, a backpack, or something else, you may well find something of high quality at a price you can afford.

NOTE: In most blog posts and pages at The Big Outside, including the Gear Reviews page, I share links to some of the best gear bargains on the Web, where you can find deep discounts on good-quality gear.

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

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

No. 2 Wait For Sales

Consumers spend top dollar when they buy impetuously or wait until the last second, when they absolutely need something. Most of the time, product prices are set at full retail.

But several times during the year—usually spring, late summer, and the holidays, plus clearance sales in fall and late winter—websites and brick-and-mortar stores offer major sales with product as much as half off the usual price.

Wait for seasonal sales at sites like backcountry.com and rei.com. Follow these sites through the social media you use.

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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 in Yosemite. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a trip in Yosemite or elsewhere.

No. 3 Join Email Lists of Your Favorite Brands

Visit the websites of brands you like and you may see an offer of a discount code worth something on the order of 10 to 20 percent off full price simply for joining their email list. Go right now to ospreypacks.com, patagonia.com, blackdiamondequipment.com, outdoorresearch.com, featheredfriends.com, hyperlitemountaingear.com, msrgear.com, seatosummitusa.com, beyondclothing.com, mysteryranch.comhimali.com, and hellyhansen.com and join their email lists. These offers may pop up only at certain times of year, or maybe after you’ve clicked at least one internal link, or only once you move your cursor toward the URL bar.

Sign up for their email list. You get something that you wanted at a lower price, and you will be among the first to hear about new products and future sales from a brand you already like. What’s not to like?

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Morning Eagle Falls and backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

No. 4 Buy Used Gear

When my teenage son said he wanted to upgrade from the old whitewater kayak that he had received on semi-permanent loan from a friend of ours, I told him we could split the cost and he should start aggressively shopping around for a good used boat. He found a nearly new Jackson kayak for half its usual retail price on Craig’s List. He put in numerous days on rivers over a few years, grew out of that boat, and then sold it for nearly what he originally paid for it—and used that money to cover most of the cost of the newer (but still used) next boat he bought.

Cruise Facebook MarketplaceeBay and Craig’s List for used gear. Look into whether there’s a used-gear exchange near where you live. Some local outdoor-gear stores may 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. Check the websites of some favorite brands for whether they have anything similar to Patagonia’s Worn Well program, where you can buy—and trade in—used Patagonia gear.

It can take time and you should jump on any good deal as soon as you see it, or someone else will beat you to it. But many people buy gear they think they’ll use, and end up selling it months later after hardly using it. Plus, you even get to inspect it before buying if the seller is local.

There are actually few better ways to get good gear cheap—if you’re willing to put time and effort into the search.

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A hiker near Skeleton Point, South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail during a rim-to-rim dayhike. Click photo to read about hiking rim-to-rim.

See all hiking gear reviews and backpacking gear reviews at The Big Outside. And don’t miss my popular reviews of “25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories” and “The Best Backpacking Gear” of the year or all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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 reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
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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

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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.

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/extreme-hiking-americas-best-hard-dayhikes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/extreme-hiking-americas-best-hard-dayhikes/#comments Sun, 11 May 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24360 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Imagine this: You’re heading out on a long, beautiful hike deep in the backcountry, but instead of a full backpack, you carry a light daypack. You’ve avoided hassles with getting a backcountry permit and there’s no camp to set up and pack up. I love backpacking—and I do it a lot. But sometimes, I prefer to knock off a weekend-length—or longer—hike in one big day.

A completely different way to experience a hike, walking 15 to 20 or more miles in a day feels liberating in how lightly you travel and how much ground you can cover. The following list of 15 hikes represents the very best long—and huge—dayhikes I’ve taken over more than three decades of hiking all over the country, as a longtime field editor for Backpacker magazine and running this blog.

I’ve taken huge dayhikes many times simply because I had just one day free and wanted to see as much as possible. But there are some long stretches of trail that, to me, just cry out to be hiked in a day—for aesthetic reasons and because the length and access are just right and the scenery top shelf. The hikes on this list possess those qualities.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading about all of the hikes in this story requires a paid subscription to this blog.

If you have a favorite long dayhike that you think belongs on this list, tell me in the comments section at the bottom of this story, and I’ll try to get to it. Or just tell me what you think of my list. 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 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 Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim

Arguably the granddaddy of ultra-dayhikes, traversing the Grand Canyon from the South Rim to the North Rim and back again constitutes not only the most demanding stroll on this list, but a mind-blowing, top-to-bottom tour of one of Earth’s most magnificent and unfathomable natural features—twice in one day. By its shortest route (depending on which trails you use), the r2r2r, as it’s known, is 42 miles round-trip with a cumulative elevation gain and loss of over 21,000 feet.

A hiker on the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail.

Backpacking the route requires obtaining one of the most hard-to-get backcountry permits in the National Park System, so if you possess the fitness and skills to knock it off in a day, that may offer your best chance of actually doing it. Of course, the shorter (and perhaps saner) alternative is to hike across the canyon in just one direction, halving the distance, using available shuttle services to travel between the rims before or after your hike (depending on your lodging arrangements).

I hope it goes without saying that this is an extremely arduous undertaking in an extreme environment and should only be attempted by very fit, experienced desert hikers: Every time I’ve done it, I’ve seen a surprising number of people attempting to hike it in just one direction (rim to rim) who were already suffering mightily long before they would finish it. This is no place to experiment with how far you can hike in a day: Be certain you are prepared for this massive undertaking.

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,” and “A Grand Ambition, Or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Click here now for my expert e-book to hiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim!

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

Logan Pass to Many Glacier, Glacier National Park

Take one of the prettiest moderate-length dayhikes in the National Park System—Glacier’s Highline Trail—and tack on waterfalls, a view from above a glacier, and a walk down a valley flanked by peaks, and you have the 16.4-mile, point-to-point traverse from 6,646-foot Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road to Many Glacier, via Swiftcurrent Pass. This hike delivers uninterrupted views of the park’s jagged peaks and cliffs, and there’s a good chance you’ll see bighorn sheep and mountain goats. The distance includes the optional but very worthwhile side hike—1.2 miles and a steep 1,000 feet—to the Grinnell Glacier Overlook, a notch in the long cliff known as the Garden Wall.

See my stories “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park” and “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” and all of my stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

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Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite.

Tenaya Lake to Yosemite Valley, Yosemite National Park

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

From the post-card view of the granite domes and cliffs flanking Tenaya Lake, to two of Yosemite’s finest summts and two of its most spectacular waterfalls, this 21-mile traverse hits many of the park’s best and most famous landmarks.

After admiring the view from Tenaya Lake’s southwestern shore, hike up 9,926-foot Clouds Rest, culminating with its gripping, 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—a thousand feet taller than the face of El Capitan.

Then comes Half Dome’s thrilling cable route (lead photo at top of story) and a view of Yosemite Valley that would otherwise require you to have rock climbing skills or wings—for which you need a permit—followed by a descent of the Mist Trail past 594-foot Nevada Fall and 317-foot Vernal Fall, before finishing at the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley.

See more photos and information in my stories “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” “Hiking Half Dome: How to Do It Right and Get a Permit,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls,” and all stories about Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

Gear up right for huge hikes like this. See the best hiking shoes and the best hiking daypacks.

A hiker on the West Rim Trail above Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.
David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail on a 50-mile dayhike across Zion National Park.
Along the Hop Valley Trail in Zion National Park.
Along the Hop Valley Trail in Zion.

Traversing Zion National Park

Few “dayhikes” on any list of ultra-hikes stretch as long as this—or get as scenic—but the north to south traverse across Zion National Park has earned something of a cult following among uber-fit hikers and ultra-runners.

From Lee Pass Trailhead to East Entrance Trailhead—with a short shuttle-bus ride in Zion Canyon from The Grotto to Weeping Rock—you’ll navigate a 47-mile grand tour of some of the most amazing scenery in the Southwest: deep chasms with burnt-red and white walls, soaring cliffs and beehive rock formations, and edge-of-the-rim walks high above labyrinths of slot canyons.

Throw in a few stunning, short side hikes along the way—Northgate Peaks, Angels Landing, and Hidden Canyon—and you log more than 50 miles on one of the most incredible days of hiking in the entire National Park System.

For a shorter but still full day of hiking that’s a reasonable length for many more fit hikers and trail runners, hike the West Rim Trail, 16.6 miles from the upper trailhead near Lava Point to the Grotto trailhead (shuttle bus stop no. 6) in Zion Canyon, a mostly downhill hike with about 800 vertical feet uphill and 3,600 feet downhill.

But the most scenic stretch of the West Rim Trail lies between its lower switchbacks, starting below Walter’s Wiggles and the spur trail to Angels Landing, and the upper junction with the Telephone Canyon Trail—and 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.

See my stories “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” which provides details about an ongoing trail closure that has prevented completing this full traverse, although it’s still possible to hike about 40 miles from Lee Pass to Zion Canyon, and “Mid-Life Crisis—Hiking 50 Miles Across Zion In a Day,” and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

If you like this list, check out “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

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.

Paintbrush-Cascade Canyons Loop, Grand Teton National Park

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.

Probably the most popular backpacking trip in the park, the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from String Lake Trailhead, with a bit over 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, sees hikers and runners regularly notching it in a day.

The scenery is classic Tetons: serrated peaks and deep canyons with rock walls soaring thousands of feet overhead, and waterfalls tumbling off those walls in Cascade Canyon. Plus, the loop crosses one of the highest points reached on any trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama takes in a huge chunk of the Tetons. It also passes cliff-ringed Lake Solitude in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, where you’re looking straight down the glacier-carved valley at the towering north walls of the Grand Teton and Mount Owen.

See “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 backpacking the beginner-friendly loop described above.

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.

Presidential Range ‘Death March’

This archetypal huge dayhike—the first known traverse dates back to 1882—the 20-mile, 8,500-foot “Death March” of New Hampshire’s Presidential Range remains above treeline for 15 miles, with vistas spanning the White Mountains. And the distance and difficulty hit a sweet spot—within reach for fit hikers, yet hard enough to fire aspirations, especially given the notoriously rocky and steep character of trails in the Whites.

A teenage boy dayhiking in the Presidential Range, N.H.
My son, Nate, at age 14, on a 17-mile, four-summit dayhike in the Presidential Range, N.H.

Starting at one of the trailheads below 5,367-foot Mount Madison (the Air Line and Osgood Trail are personal favorites) and hiking south to Crawford Notch (to tick off the harder, northern summits first), purists tag all nine summits along the way, including the Northeast’s highest, 6,288-foot Mt. Washington—where winds exceed hurricane force an average of 110 days a year, and the average year-round temperature is below freezing, at 27.2° F. Pack some layers.

See my stories “Step Onto Rock. Step Down. Repeat 50,000 Times: A Presidential Range ‘Death March’,” “Big Hearts, Big Day: A 17-Mile Hike With Teens in the Presidential Range,” and all stories about the White Mountains at The Big Outside.

Get ready for your next big hike. See my stories “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Sol Duc Falls, Olympic National Park.

High Divide-Sol Duc Loop, Olympic National Park

Like the above hike, this 18-mile loop with over 3,000 feet of elevation gain is popular with backpackers, but a doable objective for many fit dayhikers—and a great day in a mountain range that’s largely beyond reach to all but backpackers and climbers on strenuous, multi-day outings.

Hiking counterclockwise, you’ll pass lovely Sol Duc Falls, with its triple columns, and climb through old-growth rainforest to higher meadows carpeted with lupine and other wildflowers. On a clear day, the High Divide Trail’s long alpine traverse delivers views across the deep, lushly green trench of the Hoh River Valley to ice- and snow-blanketed Mount Olympus. After passing beautiful Heart Lake, set in another sprawling meadow, the loop makes a gentle descent below ancient, giant trees along the Sol Duc River. You’re likely to see elk and mountain goats at higher elevations and black bear almost anywhere.

See all of my stories about Olympic National Park at The Big Outside.

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A hiker on the Lizard Head Plateau, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Shelley Johnson hiking across the Lizard Head Plateau, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Crossing the Wind River Range

A backpacker overlooking the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.
Justin Glass overlooking the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.

Huge vistas for much of the way, in one of the highest ranges of the Rocky Mountains, are the payoff on this 27-mile, east-west crossing of the southern Winds, from the Bears Ears Trailhead in Dickinson Park to the Big Sandy Opening Trailhead.

With a cumulative elevation gain of about 4,500 feet, this traverse stays above 11,000 feet for many miles, with views of peaks rising above 12,000 feet on the Continental Divide. Don’t pass up the 20-minute, off-trail side trip up 12,250-foot Mount Chauvenet, overlooking a row of peaks that includes Buffalo Peak, Camel’s Hump, and Mounts Washakie and Hooker. But the hike’s highlight is the Cirque of the Towers, a mind-boggling horseshoe of sheer-walled granite peaks standing shoulder to shoulder.

See my story “A Walk in the Winds: Hiking a One-Day, 27-Mile Traverse of Wyoming’s Wind River Range,” and all stories about the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-can-you-tell-how-warm-a-down-jacket-is/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-can-you-tell-how-warm-a-down-jacket-is/#comments Thu, 24 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10710 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

While sleeping bags have temperature ratings, with down jackets and other insulated jackets, there exists no easy way to determine how warm any specific garment will be without wearing it outside. But despite the absence of a precise metric for gauging the warmth of down and synthetic puffy jackets, there are ways to assess a specific jacket’s relative warmth before you even see it, using simple metrics. This article will explain how to do that.

Even though down and synthetic-insulation jackets don’t have ratings like sleeping bags (which, by the way, were not uniform for many years, though there is now a uniform bag-rating system; learn more in my “Pro Tips For Buying Sleeping Bags“), you can judge warmth using numbers easily available online. Over more than 25 years of testing and reviewing dozens of insulated jackets (and other gear and apparel), including the 10 years I spent as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I have found those indicators very reliable in helping me anticipate how warm at down jacket will be before I ever wear it.


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The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket.
The Himali Accelerator Down Jacket in the White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.

The down fill weight is one way to tell, though it’s not strictly a measure of a jacket’s warmth—it’s only a measure of the total weight (in ounces or grams) of the down in the jacket. How much insulation is in the garment is obviously an important factor in warmth, but not the only one, because down comes in a range of quality ratings. And of course, various types of synthetic insulation have different weights and warmth-per-weight ratios.

The down fill rating (not to be confused with the down fill weight) is basically a quality metric, not an indicator of warmth. The fill rating refers to the volume, in cubic inches, that one ounce of that down fills; in other words, an ounce of 800-fill down will occupy 800 cubic inches of volume. Down feathers and other insulation keep you warm through trapping heat from your body in tiny air pockets within the insulation, so higher fill ratings mean more trapped air, which translates to more warmth per ounce of down.

Get the right synthetic or down jacket to keep you warm.
See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody.
The Mountain Hardwear Ghost Whisperer 2 Down Hoody in Hells Canyon.

Thus, if two jackets contain identical amounts of down feathers by weight, the jacket with the higher fill rating will very likely be warmer. But there are ultralight 800-fill jackets that obviously aren’t as warm as 700-fill jackets that have more ounces of down in them. You will usually pay more for higher fill ratings.

Consider the weather conditions in which you’ll use your puffy jacket. Standard down feathers lose their ability to trap heat once wet, making down insulation less practical in wet environments. Today, there are water-resistant (hydrophobic) treatments for down feathers that greatly improve the ability of those feathers to repel water, dry faster, and continue to trap heat when damp.

Nonetheless, a wet synthetic jacket is still probably going to keep you warmer than a wet puffy stuffed with hydrophobic down feathers.

In the real world, most of us rarely put ourselves in circumstances where our puffy jacket gets soaked; but consider that attribute of down and synthetic puffy jackets if you think there’s a possibility of facing that circumstance—or even a possibility of your puffy jacket getting damp and not having much opportunity to dry out. On a multi-day trip with rain or wet conditions every day, moisture from the air and your body can slowly accumulate in insulation, enough to cause down feathers to lose some loft and compromise the jacket’s warmth.

Similarly, while synthetic insulation traditionally was not as lightweight, compactible, and durable as down, some modern synthetic insulation materials, like one of the better ones, PrimaLoft, have a warmth-to-weight ratio that competes with down, and are more packable and lightweight.

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Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket.
Testing the Feathered Friends Eos Down Jacket in Glacier National Park.

They’re also constructed in a way that’s likely to make them more durable than older synthetics, although down mostly retains the edge there: I owned one down sleeping bag (from Western Mountaineering) for about 25 years, using it on innumerable trips, and it did not noticeably lose any loft before I eventually sold it through a consignment shop (simply because I had replaced it with newer bags). I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s still using that bag.

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The Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody.
Testing the Black Diamond Approach Down Hoody in the Grand Canyon.

Having a hood certainly keeps you warmer and is worth the nominal additional weight and cost. I consider a hood mandatory in cold temperatures (near and below freezing), but less important on milder trips, when I may pack a hoodless, ultralight puffy jacket to reduce pack weight and because I’m almost always bringing a light hat, anyway.

The way in which a jacket is sewn matters. In short, so-called “sewn through” construction stitches the outer, shell fabric to the inner, liner fabric, creating pockets of down, but also creating cold spots at seams where there’s effectively no insulation. This method reduces a jacket’s weight and often its cost, and is practical in ultralight jackets made for cool but not cold temps (think: summer in the mountains).

The more-expensive method of creating so-called box baffles eliminates those cold spots and makes a jacket look puffier, but adds weight and usually cost. Look for that type of construction in puffy jackets designed for temps near and below freezing.

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Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket.
Testing the Rab Microlight Alpine Down Jacket in the Wind River Range.

With down jackets, I generally simplify it to the following standard, which applies to my body (I don’t get cold easily) and will apply differently to other people, depending on how easily they get cold:

•    For summer trips, when I’m trying to backpack ultralight and I expect temps no lower than the upper 30s or higher, I bring a down/puffy jacket weighing 8 to 10 or 11 oz. (total weight), and I supplement with my other layers or get in my bag when necessary.

•    For trips when the temp could dip below freezing, I want a jacket that’s 12 to about 16 oz.

•    For colder trips/winter, my jacket weighs 16 to around 20 or 22 oz.

I find occasional exceptions to those general weight guidelines, when a jacket is remarkably warm for its weight, usually because of the use of lighter materials, such as shell fabric, and construction methods that reduce weight.

See my review of “The 10 Best Down Jackets” and all of my reviews of puffy jackets at The Big Outside. And don’t miss my picks for “The Best Backpacking Gear” of the year.

You might also be interested in my review of “The Best Gloves for Winter,” which includes three-season gloves, and my12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter,” which offer products and tips that are also applicable to three-season backcountry trips.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.”

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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.


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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.”

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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

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.)

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‘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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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How to Choose Trekking Poles https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-choose-trekking-poles/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-choose-trekking-poles/#respond Wed, 02 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=38716 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

You want trekking poles for backpacking, dayhiking, running mountain trails, ski touring, or other backcountry activities, but the abundance of models and designs out there can seem overwhelming. Collapsible or folding, ultralight or heavier and sturdier, adjustable or not—which style is best for you? Save yourself a lot of time and the expense of making the wrong choice. This article will explain the key differences between models of trekking poles and how to choose the right poles for your needs.

My tips come from thousands of trail and off-trail miles using every type of pole out there on backpacking trips, dayhikes, mountain climbs and scrambles, ultra-trail runs and dayhikes, and backcountry skiing over more than a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear, including 10 years as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine and even longer for this blog.

See my review of “The Best Trekking Poles” and my “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading all of it—including tips you may not find from other sources—is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Click on any photo below to read about that trip. Share your own tips or questions 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 backpacker on the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all my e-books to backpacking in Glacier and other classic parks.

What to Look for in Trekking Poles

Look closely at trekking poles and you will see they are not nearly all the same. In fact, poles differ in many significant ways besides price and weight, including:

• Adjustable or fixed length (not adjustable)
• Adjustability range
• Collapsible or folding
• Collapsed or folded (packed) length
• Features like the length-adjusting mechanism, straps, and grips
• Materials used in the shafts, grips, and straps
• Durability
• Recommended uses

The poles you buy should match the type and style of activities for which you will use them.. Consider these factors when shopping:

Price

• From around $60 to well over $200, trekking poles come in a huge range of prices.
• Price is often driven by materials—you’ll pay extra for lightweight, strong carbon fiber shafts and soft cork grips.

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A hiker at Goat Lake below Thompson Peak, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My wife, Penny, hiking past Goat Lake, below Thompson Peak, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.

Weight

• While the weight of poles may not seem to differ much at first glance, it becomes noticeable the more miles you hike with poles in your hands.
• Their weight—as well as packed length—also matter when the poles are attached to your pack at times while hiking.
• Among the models reviewed here, the heaviest are about twice the weight of the lightest.
• Benefits of lighter poles include decreased arm fatigue and often better packability.
• Tradeoffs sometimes, but not always, include a higher price and less durability or strength for hard use and for pitching an ultralight tent using trekking poles.

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Materials

• Hiking poles are generally built with either aluminum or carbon fiber or a combination of both.
• Aluminum is heavier, less expensive, and more prone to bending under heavy pressure but not breaking—so they typically last longer.
• Carbon fiber is lighter and easier to carry, especially on longer days in the backcountry; but also more expensive, and in some ways stronger, but can also snap, although that occurs only in unusual circumstances.
• Heavier poles are generally more durable, especially for hard use; but I’ve had some ultralight poles for years of trail hiking without breaking them.

A backpacker hiking the Tapeats Creek Trail on the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Chip Roser backpacking the Tapeats Creek Trail on the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Collapsible

• Collapsible poles have two or three sections that telescope or collapse together for transport and storage and extend to a range of lengths for use.
• These typically employ a twist- or lever-locking mechanism or retractable, spring-loaded pin to lock the sections in place.
• Note the packed length of these poles: It can vary significantly, which matters when you’re attaching them to the outside of a pack—especially a small pack—or putting them in luggage.

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A backpacker hiking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
David Gordon backpacking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana (also shown in lead photo at top of story).

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A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

Matching Trekking Poles and Users

Type of Trekking PoleRecommended Use
Ultralight, folding polesBest for users who prioritize minimal weight and packability, including lightweight/ultralight backpackers, thru-hikers, dayhikers, and ultra-hikers and runners.
Ultralight, adjustable, collapsible polesBest for backpackers, dayhikers, climbers, and others seeking a balance between reasonable strength, durability, and low weight, and lightweight/ultralight backpackers using tents that pitch with trekking poles.
Lightweight, collapsible polesBest for many backpackers, dayhikers, and climbers who want one versatile pair of poles that balance strength and moderate weight.
Sturdier and heavier, collapsible or folding polesBest for users who prioritize durability and crossover to multiple activities over low weight, including backpackers carrying moderate to heavy loads, dayhikers, backcountry skiers and split-boarders, snowshoers, and anyone climbing mountains and hiking off-trail.

See “The 10 Best Trekking Poles” and “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles,” plus all reviews of backpacking gear, ultralight backpacking gear, and hiking gear 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.”

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 gear reviews and expert buying tips at The Big Outside.

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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

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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.

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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.

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Expert Tips For Buying the Right Hiking Boots https://thebigoutsideblog.com/pro-tips-for-buying-the-right-boots/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/pro-tips-for-buying-the-right-boots/#comments Mon, 24 Mar 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11654 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Boots are the most important piece of hiking or backpacking gear you will buy. You can live with a mediocre pack or a cheap tent (as many of us have), but poorly fitting boots are often a trip killer. Trouble is, boots are also the most difficult piece of gear to get right. (First tip: Don’t settle for a mediocre fit—if they don’t feel good, they aren’t good. That said, feeling good doesn’t necessarily mean they are good.) This article will go beyond the usual boots-buying tips you’ll find at countless sources to help you figure out how to find the right hiking footwear for you.

Thousands of miles of dayhiking, backpacking, trail running, and ultra-hiking, plus field-testing dozens of shoe and boot models of all kinds over a quarter-century of reviewing gear—formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog—have refined my sense of how hiking footwear differs subtly in critical characteristics like design, weight, materials, performance, and fit. (I can now usually tell the first time I put on new shoes or boots whether they fit me perfectly and are appropriate for my feet and the kind of hiking or backpacking I’m planning.)


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 make every kind of bad choice on footwear, from buying too much boot (which can result in blisters and chronic foot or lower-leg injuries) to getting shoes that are not adequately supportive for them (which can also result in—you guessed it—blisters and chronic foot or lower-leg injuries).

Gaining a better understanding of those differences will help ensure you buy the right footwear for your needs—and spend your money smartly.

Please share your questions or thoughts on my advice—or your own boots-buying secrets—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. And like many stories at this blog, part of this one is free for anyone to read, but reading all of my tips in this story is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

Gear up right for your hikes.
See my reviews of the best hiking shoes and boots and the 10 best hiking daypacks.

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.”

Types of Hiking Footwear

For the purposes of this article, I’ll divide hiking shoes and boots into three categories by approximate weight (per pair of men’s US size 9/Euro 42), noting that there’s overlap between these categories:

•    Lightweight—Low-cut (below the ankle) shoes or mid-cut (ankle-high) boots weighing roughly two pounds or less per pair;
•    Midweight—Mid-cut or higher boots weighing approximately two to 2.5 pounds per pair;
•    Heavy-duty—Mid-cut or higher boots weighing 2.5 to three pounds or more per pair.

(Purely for simplicity, my reviews divide footwear into two categories: hiking shoes and boots ideal for dayhiking and lightweight backpacking—overlapping the first and second categories above—and backpacking boots—overlapping the second and third categories above.)

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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 the photo to read about this trip.

For many people, midweight boots are a good choice because they serve the needs of a broad cross-section of hikers and backpackers, offering a balance between being fairly light and yet moderately supportive; many are also relatively affordable.

There has also been an evolution in the category of hiking-approach shoes toward designs that make them more breathable and comfortable for hiking many miles—in other words, making them more of a hiking shoe with great traction and support, and thus more versatile for all kinds of hikers. They generally fall into the category of lightweight shoes and boots, and are often the type of low-cut shoe I prefer for dayhiking, especially models that are highly breathable.

Still, choosing the right boots for you comes down to understanding the type of hiker you are and considering the type of hiking you will do most often.

I’ve listed below criteria to help you figure out which type of footwear best suits your needs.

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

Backpackers in upper Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton in upper Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming. Click the photo to see the best ultralight backpacks.

Lightweight Shoes and Boots

Get lightweight shoes or boots if you fit any of these descriptions:
•    You are a dayhiker typically carrying a light pack (15 to 20 pounds or less);
•    You’re a fit, avid hiker, climber, ultralight or lightweight backpacker or trail runner and accustomed to hiking in light footwear, especially for hiking long distances daily at a strong pace;
•    You don’t tend to roll or sprain your ankles;
•    Or you’re hiking trails that are well maintained and not too rocky.

If you’re new to dayhiking or backpacking, I’d caution against getting very lightweight boots because your feet may not yet have the strength and resilience that slowly develops when you hike a lot, and inadequately supportive boots can be a fast way to a chronic overuse injury. Start out with a midweight, mid-cut boot with good support and protection for your feet. As you get more experience, you will know better how light a boot your feet can handle—right around the time you wear out your first pair and need new ones.

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 on the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Solon backpacking the Tonto Trail on the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about the best backpacking trips in the Grand Canyon.

Midweight Boots

Get midweight boots if you fit any of these descriptions:

•    You’re new to hiking and want a functional, all-around model for dayhiking and/or light backpacking;
•    You’re carrying a light or moderately heavy pack (35 pounds max) on trail;
•    You hike high-mileage days, generally on trails, with a light or moderately heavy pack, and want footwear that’s fairly lightweight and won’t make your feet overheat too badly (which can lead to blisters), yet with more protection and support than lightweight shoes;
•    Or you’re an experienced and fit hiker and backpacker and want footwear that finds a balance between moderate support and weight.

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A backpacker in the rain on the Dusky Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking in the rain on the Dusky Track in New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park. Click photo to read about “New Zealand’s hardest hut trek.”

Heavy-duty Boots

Get heavy-duty boots if you fit any of these descriptions:

•    You’re carrying a heavy pack (generally 40 pounds or more) on trails, or a pack weighing 30 to 40 pounds on rugged trails or off-trail, and find that midweight boots don’t offer the support you need;
•    You typically go hiking or backpacking in an environment that’s rugged, very wet, and cool or cold, and may involve some challenging, off-trail hiking;
•    Or if your feet simply need more support and protection than is provided by midweight boots.

Keep your feet happy with my “8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters.”

See all of my reviews of hiking shoes and backpacking boots and my “8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters.”

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See also my stories:

5 Expert Tips For Buying the Right Backpacking Pack
5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent
Pro Tips for Buying a Backpacking Sleeping Bag

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.”

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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5 Expert Tips For Buying a Rain Jacket For Hiking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-pro-tips-for-buying-the-right-rain-jacket-for-the-backcountry/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-pro-tips-for-buying-the-right-rain-jacket-for-the-backcountry/#comments Wed, 19 Mar 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=22704 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Choosing a waterproof-breathable rain shell for hiking, backpacking, climbing, or other outdoor activities can seem daunting. Prices range from under $100 to over $500, and weights from less than half a pound to over a pound. Some are loaded with features, others so minimalist they may seem like just a step above a trash bag with arm holes. You’ll also find the full gamut of opinions on them from reviewers and consumers.

Here’s what I’ve learned from testing dozens of rain shells while hiking and backpacking through soaking rains all over the world over a quarter-century of testing and reviewing gear, formerly as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog: The right backcountry rain shell for you depends more on you than on any jacket—and our needs as backcountry users vary as much as our budgets.


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.


Many hikers, backpackers, climbers, and others buy a rain jacket based on price, brand, the recommendation of a trusted reviewer, experienced advisor, or friend, or the consensus of several consumer reviews. That’s not a bad strategy, and it’s sometimes successful. But it’s really an incomplete strategy. As with almost any consumer product, buying a rain shell you will be satisfied with comes down to considering how and where you will use it and understanding the subtle differences between them.

Follow these tips and I think you will find the perfect rain jacket for your adventures. Please share your own tips or questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Ready to buy? See “The Best Rain Jackets For Hiking and Backpacking
and “The Best Ultralight Hiking and Running Jackets.”

Jeff WIlhelm (behind) and me in the Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.

No. 1 Decide What It’s For

This is the logical first step when buying any consumer product, but one nonetheless often overlooked with backcountry apparel. Ask yourself: How much of a rain jacket do I really need?

If you generally head out in warm, dry weather—common in many Western mountain ranges in summer—you may only need a less-expensive shell, or you might be better off with an ultralight rain jacket (which vary in price). On the other hand, if you routinely find yourself in sustained rain and widely ranging temperatures, especially on multi-day trips, you’ll be happier—not to mention more comfortable and safer—with a shell that delivers reliable protection from rain and wind as well as good or exceptional breathability (more on that below).

In short: Choosing the right jacket is, first and foremost, a question of how much time you expect to spend wearing it versus carrying it in your pack just in case of rain, as well as consideration of how extreme the weather could get.

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A hiker trekking New Zealand's Routeburn Track.
My wife, Penny, trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn Track on a rainy day. The lead photo at the top of this story is from New Zealand’s Dusky Track.

No. 2 What Does the Rain Jacket Weigh?

Weight matters, especially if you’re into ultra-hiking or ultralight backpacking, but for everyone else, too. Today, there’s no reason a three-season shell should weigh more than a pound, period. Jackets heavier than that are usually too bulky, taking up excessive space in your pack, and too warm when wearing them while on the move, causing you to overheat—resulting in you either getting soaked inside the jacket (negating its purpose) or shedding it completely. In fact, even most fully technical rain shells designed for use in any season now weigh under a pound. Jackets heavier than that are designed for winter or casual wear.

Still, don’t assume that the lightest shell is the best choice for your needs. Weight is just one important factor.

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A backpacker hiking below a rainbow in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Mark Fenton backpacking through a rainstorm in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

No. 3 Speak the Language

To make an informed choice in rainwear, it helps to know some common terminology:

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-big-days-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-big-days-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Sun, 16 Mar 2025 09:00:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=2656 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The morning sun wouldn’t make the climb over Mount Grinnell and find its way into the valley of Swiftcurrent Creek for a couple of hours yet, so we hiked quickly without breaking a sweat in the chilly air. No one else was on the popular Swiftcurrent Pass Trail when we set out shortly after dawn, and this trail was new to us; so it felt like we were the first people to walk into this small but spectacular little crease in the mountains of Glacier National Park.

There was a good reason for our early start: We had a big day ahead of us, one of the finest long days of hiking one can do in this flagship national park—a judgment I make based on numerous visits dayhiking and backpacking much of Glacier for over three decades, including 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 hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.

At the head of the valley, we zigzagged up through switchbacks beneath ribbon-like waterfalls free-falling hundreds of feet down cliffs, looking back down the valley at lakes flanked by the upright meat cleavers of Mts. Wilbur and Grinnell. Beyond Swiftcurrent Pass, we descended across alpine slopes strewn with wildflowers, with a sweeping view of mountains rolling to distant horizons.

But with more than seven miles in our legs that morning, our day was just half complete. We headed south on the Highline Trail, across alpine meadows, with the miles-long Garden Wall’s cliffs rising above us like a giant blade sprung from the earth. In places, the trail was blasted out of cliff, with a sheer drop-off to one side. In every direction, peaks appeared to erupt from the ground in vertical walls of heavily stratified rock. We finished that dayhike at 6,646-foot Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road—a bit over 15 miles from Many Glacier, where we’d started out early that morning.

Looking for more moderate hikes?
See “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park.”

That outing left me with a few strong impressions: First, that it must be one of the most drop-dead gorgeous dayhikes in the National Park System. Second, that given the distance and amount of climbing and descending, it wasn’t that hard.

And finally, that Glacier, long recognized as a premier park for backpackers, is a great place for long dayhikes or trail runs from one or more base camps. You can see a lot of this park’s amazing scenery on day trips—especially if you have the legs for 15 miles or more per day—carrying only a light pack, and enjoy real food (and perhaps a bed) every night.

Mountain goats along the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Mountain goats along the Gunsight Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

The dayhikes described below range from under 12 miles to 20 miles, and each has a longer option. All offer amazing scenery; they vary mostly in the degree of logistical complications and popularity. Tick them all off and you’ll bite off a big chunk of Glacier in an unforgettable week, assuming an extra day or two for bad weather—or maybe a much-deserved rest. Start early for any of these hikes—but avoid hiking in the dark in grizzly country (another reason to make sure your entire party has the strong pace and stamina required for long, strenuous dayhikes).

While you should not underestimate the strenuousness of long tromps through the mountains, Glacier’s well-built and moderately graded trails—mostly pitched at a not-too-steep “horse grade,” for pack animals—are ideal for long-distance hiking and running. Elevations are moderate—you’re rarely above 7,500 feet, and the highest points on the routes described here barely top 8,000 feet.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first five hike descriptions below are free for anyone to read, but seeing the other three hikes and my expert tips on planning this trip is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

The park’s free and frequent shuttle operating on the Going-to-the-Sun Road and private shuttle and taxi services greatly ease trailhead transportation logistics. See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/shuttles.htm. And there are spots like Many Glacier with quick and easy access to high country from a grand hotel, an affordable motel, or a campground.

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A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

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 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. Click on any photo to learn more about that hike.

Please share your thoughts or questions or suggest your favorite hikes in Glacier in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.

Logan Pass to Many Glacier

This is the usual direction of travel for the hike described above because it’s primarily downhill. (I’ve done it in both directions—going in the uphill direction is certainly harder, but the scenery keeps getting better.) The Highline Trail’s 7.6 miles from Logan Pass to Granite Park is one of the park’s most popular walks, so to avoid the hordes, start shortly after sunrise, which is also the best time for seeing wildlife. I’ve seen mountain goats and bighorn sheep on this stretch of trail—and once missed by minutes an encounter with a grizzly that sprinted right past other hikers on a section so narrow they barely had space to lean out of the bear’s path.

If you have the gas for it, do not pass up the side trip up the Garden Wall Trail to Grinnell Glacier Overlook, which diverges from the Highline Trail about 6.7 miles north of Logan Pass; it’s a relentlessly steep ascent of 900 vertical feet in 0.9 mile, but the footpath ends at a notch in the Garden Wall high above the Grinnell Glacier and a chain of lakes spilling down a lush valley framed by spectacular mountains and rock walls. That will fire you up for the hike from Siyeh Bend to Many Glacier (below).

The Swiftcurrent Pass Trail from Granite Park to Many Glacier, also 7.6 miles, is also fairly popular but much quieter than this hike’s first half. Watch for wild goats and sheep at the pass. The descent east off the pass into the glacial cirque forming the headwall of the Swiftcurrent valley is breathtaking. The trail ends in the parking lot adjacent to the Swiftcurrent Motel and its restaurant, a pretty good pizza and pasta joint; minutes after finishing, you can order a celebratory beer.

By the Numbers 15.2 miles, with nearly 1,000 feet of climbing and more than 2,000 of downhill. Adding the 1.8 miles round-trip and 900 feet up to Grinnell Glacier Overlook makes the hike 17 miles with nearly 2,000 feet of uphill and 3,000 feet of downhill.

Getting There The hike begins at Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road and finishes at the end of Many Glacier Road, which is off US 89 about 11 miles north of St. Mary, on the park’s east side.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop” for more photos of the Highline Trail.

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The view from Ahern Pass in Glacier National Park.
The view from Ahern Pass in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read about “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park.”

The Loop to Ahern Pass

This hike offers a scenic payoff similar to the Logan Pass to Many Glacier route, but with fewer people—partly because you’ll climb 2,200 feet in the first four miles. It also provides the most direct route to Granite Park, where you’ll head north on a section of the Highline Trail that receives much less traffic than the stretch between Granite Park and Logan Pass, but also has constant views of the mountains and a chance of seeing mountain goats and bighorn sheep. The hike gets much easier after Granite Park, mostly contouring with little ups and downs.

The Highline Trail traverses a spectacular cliff face above Ahern Creek right before reaching the last 20 minutes of uphill to Ahern Pass, at 7,100 feet. From the pass, you’ll look down 2,000 feet to Helen Lake, which nestles in the cirque at the head of the Belly River Valley, beneath the soaring walls of Ahern Peak and the Ptarmigan Wall. It’s one of the park’s great backcountry views, and far enough out there that you’ll rarely see more than a handful of other hikers, if any. From Ahern Pass, if you walk just minutes uphill to the north, you’ll gain the crest of Ahern Peak’s southeast ridge for a look at the mountain’s massive east face. If you’re up for a much more strenuous side trip from the pass, look for the faint use trail leading east along the Ptarmigan Wall; it climbs a steep 2,200 feet to Iceberg Notch, which offers a dizzying perspective from high above Iceberg Lake.

By the Numbers 17 miles, with about 3,000 feet of up and down. Alternatively, begin at Logan Pass, go out to Ahern Pass, and then finish at The Loop, which bumps the distance up to 20.6 miles but reduces the amount of uphill by about 2,000 feet.

Getting There The out-and-back hike begins on the Granite Park Trail at The Loop, the next shuttle stop west of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

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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.

Dawson Pass-Pitamakan Pass Loop

While other trails on this list run for miles high above the treetops, perhaps none equal the sensation this one inspires of soaring like an eagle through the mountains. This roughly 17.5-mile loop from the Two Medicine North Shore Trailhead over Dawson and Pitamakan passes—both of which reach nearly 7,600 feet—stays high above the forest for several miles, and delivers panoramas of remote, icy peaks in the wilderness heart of Glacier, green valleys carved into classic U shapes by ancient glaciers, and shockingly blue alpine lakes. Good chance you’ll see bighorn sheep and mountain goats, too.

Shorten the loop by about 4.5 miles (although without losing much of the 2,500 vertical feet of elevation gain and loss) by catching an early boat shuttle across Two Medicine Lake (see glacierparkboats.com/tours-rentals/two-medicine, or click on Tours at glacierparkboats.com).; take the boat and hike to Dawson Pass first in order to get off the alpine traverse, which is exposed to severe weather, earlier in the day. Shortest option: Dayhike 9.5 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 unique, the stroll to Dawson Pass is certainly a five-star outing on its own.

By the Numbers 17.5 or 13 miles (with the boat shuttle), with about 2,500 feet of up and down.

Getting There Start at the Two Medicine North Shore Trailhead, in the park’s southeast corner.

See 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 connecting Dawson and Pitamakan passes.

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

Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park.”

Siyeh Bend to Many Glacier

Piegan Pass, at just under 7,600 feet, is one of my favorite spots in the park. The panorama takes in the soaring Garden Wall right above you, Piegan Mountain’s cliffs and glacier, the lakes of the Grinnell Valley and amazing peaks jutting above it—and several miles to the south, sighting straight down the classic U-shaped glacial trough of Siyeh Creek Valley, the Blackfoot Glacier, one of the park’s biggest. This hike also takes in gorgeous waterfalls, emerald lakes, and a worthwhile side trip to the fast-disappearing Grinnell Glacier. That detour adds almost five miles to the 13-mile direct route from Siyeh Bend to Many Glacier.

To avoid needing a shuttle, combine this route with the Logan Pass to Many Glacier trip in reverse, spending a night in Many Glacier. Really ambitious hikers and runners could link them up in one huge day, keeping the distance to 28.2 miles by skipping the side trip to Grinnell Glacier. Or you could break up the hike into three days—still only carrying a light pack because you don’t need camping gear—with a second night spent at Granite Park Chalet (graniteparkchalet.com).

By the Numbers 17.9 miles, with about 3,200 feet up and 4,200 of down, including the side trip to Grinnell Glacier; or just 13 miles hiking directly from Siyeh Bend to Many Glacier.

Getting There Start at Siyeh Bend, about three miles east of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, and finish at Many Glacier. You can take the park’s free shuttle bus between Siyeh Bend and St. Mary, and the private (fee-based) hiker shuttle operated by Xanterra between St. Mary and Many Glacier.

See my stories “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop” for more photos of the hike from Siyeh Bend to Many Glacier.

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

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.

Logan Pass to The Loop

Coming in at under 12 miles, mostly downhill, between two shuttle bus stops on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, this point-to-point traverse is the shortest and easiest hike, both physically and logistically, described in this story. As with the Logan Pass to Many Glacier hike (above), this route begins with the Highline Trail’s justifiably popular 7.6 miles from Logan Pass to Granite Park; start as early as possible (but in daylight, for bear safety) for fewer people and more potential for seeing wildlife like mountain goats and bighorn sheep.

Highly recommended: the side trip up the Garden Wall Trail to Grinnell Glacier Overlook, which diverges from the Highline Trail about 6.7 miles north of Logan Pass adding a steep 0.9 mile and 900 vertical feet up and down to this hike’s stats to reach a notch in the Garden Wall high above the Grinnell Glacier and a lake-filled valley. From Granite Park, turn southwest to descend 2,200 feet in 4.2 miles to The Loop trailhead on the Sun Road.

By the Numbers 11.8 miles, with nearly 1,000 feet of climbing and more than 3,000 of downhill. Adding the 1.8 miles round-trip and 900 feet up to Grinnell Glacier Overlook makes the hike 13.6 miles with nearly 2,000 feet of uphill and 3,000 feet of downhill.

Getting There The hike begins at Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road and finishes at The Loop, the next shuttle stop west of Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road.

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

 

See my stories “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, Mountain Lakes, and Wild Goats: A 3-Day Hike on Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail,” and all stories about Glacier at The Big Outside.

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Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb https://thebigoutsideblog.com/training-for-a-big-hike-or-mountain-climb/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/training-for-a-big-hike-or-mountain-climb/#comments Sat, 15 Mar 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18016 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

When three friends and I decided to attempt to thru-hike the John Muir Trail—221 miles through California’s High Sierra, with numerous mountain passes ranging from 11,000 to over 13,000 feet in elevation—in just one week (backpackers traditionally take two to three weeks), the plan seemed like a wild dream. Hike 31 miles a day for seven straight days through some of the biggest mountains in the Lower 48? It was an agenda for lunatics. So we started training. Seriously training.

Although it would prove to be one of the physically hardest things any of us had ever done—and one of the most rewarding—three of us made it, and the fourth member of our team was fit enough to finish, but had to bail out because of severe blisters. (Read my story about that crazy adventure.)

Since then, with a small group of very fit and experienced friends, I’ve hiked very long days from Glacier National Park and the Grand Canyon (including a couple of one-day, 42-mile and 22,000-foot, rim-to-rim-to-rim hikes) to the White Mountains, the Tetons and Wind River Range, and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion National Park. And I’ve climbed numerous peaks via technical and non-technical routes, including the Mountaineers Route on 14,505-foot Mount Whitney in California’s Sequoia National Park with my 15-year-old son, who was also motivated to train hard for that.


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 John Muir Trail hiking toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness.
Mark Fenton backpacking the John Muir Trail toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness.

If you’re planning to climb a big mountain or take a challenging backpacking trip or long dayhike, you may be wondering how to train properly for it—especially if, like many people, you don’t live in a place with easy access to the mountains and don’t have the freedom to spend endless hours training on trails.

I’ve developed the training regimen described in this article over nearly four decades of avid dayhiking, trail running, ultra-hiking and -running, backpacking, climbing, all forms of skiing, and other activities—including many years doing it professionally as a past Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and more than 10 years running this blog.

So for regular people with normal lives who aspire to occasionally elevate life, here’s an everyman’s (and woman’s) guide to getting yourself physically ready for the hikes, runs, and mountains of your dreams. Please share your comments, questions, or tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A hiker on the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail on a rim-to-rim dayhike. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Start Early

Start training at least three months before your climb or hike, ideally from a good base of fitness developed through maintaining some level of regular exercise program year-round, which helps you get where you want to be more quickly and enjoyably and avoid injury. If you haven’t been exercising regularly, start training four to six months before your big climb or hike and gradually increase your workout durations and intensity—don’t start from zero going too hard or you’ll risk injury or just discouraging yourself.

Google any of the exercises mentioned in this article and you’ll find instructional videos.

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A hiker on Bondcliff, on the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire's White Mountains.
Mark Fenton on Bondcliff, on a 32-mile, 10,000-foot dayhike of the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

Core and Balance Exercises

Core fitness in your abdominal and back muscles creates a foundation of strength, endurance, balance, and stability—all critical to accomplishing a big climb or hike, as well as to any outdoor or athletic activity. A strong core helps your body carry a pack over a long distance—even a light hydration or daypack—conserving energy in the large muscles of your legs. And you can train your core in small blocks of time right in your home.

A hiker on "The Visor" of Half Dome, above Yosemite Valley.
Todd Arndt on “The Visor” of Half Dome, above Yosemite Valley. Click photo to get my custom trip planning for Yosemite or any trip you read about at this blog.

Five to seven days a week, do five to 15 minutes of abdominal and back exercises. I mix up the following, doing as many reps as I can:

•    Slow bicycle crunches—In the crunch position, hold each elbow to the opposite knee for a second.
•    Planks—Try to build up to three minutes.
•    Body roll-ups—Lie on your back, arms extended overhead, roll up into a ball, touching your feet, extend again, repeat.
•    Supermans—Stomach-down on the floor or on an ABS ball or other stability ball.

Twice a week, incorporate balance exercises to train your body for uneven terrain. Some suggestions:

•    Standing on one leg on a BOSU or similar balance trainer for 30 seconds; try to extend your raised leg straight out in front of you, and then bend your torso forward and extend your leg out behind you. Repeat on the other leg.
•    Standing on one leg on a BOSU, with its flat side up, holding light dumbbells in your hands, pump your arms forward and backward as if running. Do 50 or more reps (25 on each arm) if you can. Repeat on the other leg.
•    Stand on a bongo board and slide side to side or drop into a squat and rise back up.

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A climber below the East Face of Mount Whitney, High Sierra, California.
My son, Nate, at 15, below the East Face of Mount Whitney, High Sierra, California.

Resistance Exercises

Resistance exercise—lifting weights or doing body-weight exercises like squats, pushups, dips, and pull-ups—strengthens muscles by overworking them and makes bones stronger. It gives you endurance, power, and strength for climbing and descending hills with a pack on.

Do resistance exercises two or three times a week for an hour, developing a routine that targets all of the major muscles. Try to do at least half of your exercises in a way that engages the core muscles. For example:

Instead of doing standard one-arm rows with a dumbbell while bent over leaning on a bench, to engage your core, balance on one foot with a dumbbell in each hand. Then tilt your torso nearly 90 degrees forward and extend your raised leg straight out behind you, so your torso and legs form a T, with your arms extended downward holding the dumbbells. Keep the knee of the “post” leg slightly bent to avoid injury. Alternate rowing with each arm, using dumbbell weight that allows you to do 20 to 30 reps (10 to 15 with each arm); after a minute’s rest, perform a second set balancing on the other leg. Start with lighter dumbbells than you’re inclined to use—balancing on one leg while rowing with your arms greatly increases the difficulty.

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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 e-books to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and other classic trips.

Make It Fun

Lastly, remember: This is supposed to be fun. Experiment and find exercises, routines, a schedule, and outdoor activities that you actually enjoy and look forward to—which is the real key to sticking with any fitness program. It shouldn’t be a chore; it should reinvigorate you. Set goals that are consistent with whatever achievement is truly important to you, but also with your lifestyle and how you want to spend your time.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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The Best Clothing Layers for Winter in the Backcountry https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-clothing-layers-for-winter-in-the-backcountry/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-clothing-layers-for-winter-in-the-backcountry/#comments Sun, 01 Dec 2024 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25995 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

There’s one thing we can confidently say about the clothing layers we use in winter: We get our money’s worth out of them. While a rain shell or puffy jacket may rarely come out of our pack on a summer hike or climb, we almost invariably wear every article of clothing we carry when Nordic, downhill, or backcountry skiing, snowshoeing, snowboarding, trail running, or climbing in winter. That’s money spent wisely to make us more comfortable and safer.

Every winter, I test out new clothing layers doing many of those activities frequently—something I’ve been doing for three decades, previously as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. This review spotlights the best shell and insulated jackets, base layers, and pants I’ve found for high-exertion and moderate-exertion activities in winter.


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 backcountry skier in the Galena Summit area, Idaho.
My son, Nate, backcountry skiing in the Galena Summit area, Idaho.

In my story “How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry,” I offer advice—based on four decades of backcountry experience—on how to choose a specific, personalized layering system for different exertion levels and body types in temperatures near or below freezing. Use the tips in that story, along with this review, to make the best choices in winter outdoor apparel for your activities, your climate, and your body.

Please share your experiences with any of these products in the comments section at the bottom of this review. I try to respond to all comments. And if you make a purchase through any of the affiliate links to online retailers in this story or other reviews at The Big Outside, you support my work on this blog at no cost to you. Thanks for doing that.

Don’t go out in the cold without my “12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter.”

Backcountry avalanche instructor Chago Rodriguez skiing in the shadow of Mount Heyburn in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Expert backcountry avalanche instructor Chago Rodriguez skiing in the shadow of Mount Heyburn in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to learn about his courses.

The Best Base Layers for Winter

Whatever your exertion level, you want next-to-skin tops and bottoms that perform two functions that become especially important in winter:

1. Wick moisture off your skin quickly.
2. Provide at least the minimum amount of warmth you need for the conditions and your body.

Here are the best base-layer tops I’ve found for various activities in winter as well as cooler three-season conditions.

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Patagonia Capilene Midweight Zip-Neck.
Patagonia Capilene Midweight Zip-Neck.

Patagonia Capilene Midweight Zip-Neck

$99, 7.5 oz./213g
backcountry.com

I routinely wear the Patagonia Capilene Midweight Zip-Neck while backcountry, resort, and Nordic skiing and on cool- to cold-weather trail runs. The 100 percent recycled polyester fabric delivers a lot of warmth for its low weight, breathes very well, and wicks moisture efficiently. A deep front zipper opens down to the pecs for good venting, while the collar reaches high enough to keep my neck covered when zipped up.

Comfort is excellent thanks to flatlock seams and shoulder construction that allows full mobility without causing the top to hike up. The fabric’s smooth face slips easily into fleece jacket sleeves. Thumb loops hold the sleeves over your hands. The Polygiene odor control has prevented it from getting stinky through many sweaty outings and launderings. All in all, you get a four-season, midweight top with Patagonia quality.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, when you click either of these affiliate links to purchase the men’s, women’s, or kid’s Patagonia Capilene Midweight Zip-Neck at backcountry.com, patagonia.com, or rei.com.

Check out “The Best Gloves for Winter” and “The Best Mittens for Winter.”

Outdoor Research Vigor Quarter Zip
Outdoor Research Vigor Quarter Zip.

Outdoor Research Vigor Quarter Zip

$99, 11 oz./312g
backcountry.com

On many days skiing the backcountry, resorts, and hilly Nordic trails from Idaho’s Boise Mountains to Utah’s Wasatch Range and elsewhere, in temperatures from single digits through the 20s Fahrenheit, sometimes in dumping snow with a below-zero wind chill, OR’s Vigor Quarter Zip (usually with a wool-poly T-shirt underneath) had my back, striking a critical balance between providing enough warmth for the chilly moments without causing me to get too wet on long ascents. When I sweated hard, the Vigor moved moisture so well that it never became more than damp and would dry within minutes of my exertion level dropping.

Similar to other warm tops, the Vigor is made with a light, grid-back polyester fleece that feels soft against skin and moves moisture exceptionally well, its mechanical performance enhanced by ActiveTemp thermo-regulating treatment. You can wear it as a base layer—the flat-seam construction aids comfort—or (as I frequently do) over a lighter, short-sleeve or long-sleeve base layer, with or without a jacket.

The 10-inch front zipper reaches to your sternum for good venting and zips up to your chin. The stretch fabric and thumbholes in the cuffs allow you to slip the sleeves up inside gloves or push sleeves up to the elbows. The zippered chest pocket fits a phone and breathes well enough to quickly dry something damp stuffed in there (like a light hat for skinning uphill when ski touring). The UPF 30 sun-protection rating protects skin year-round—just as useful in March as August in the mountains. Plus, the length extends to cover your entire butt, providing more warmth when tucked into ski pants.

The Vigor Quarter Zip doesn’t have the hood or mapped warmer and lighter fabrics of the Patagonia R1—possibly appealing to users who prefer not having a hood on a pullover or already have an insulation layer with a hood in addition to a hooded winter shell. It offers four-season versatility for any snow sport, hiking, climbing, and running—at a good price.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Outdoor Research Vigor Quarter Zip at rei.com, backcountry.com, or outdoorresearch.com, or other models in OR’s Vigor series, including the full-zip hoodie, at rei.com, backcountry.com, or outdoorresearch.com.

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Patagonia Men’s R1 Pullover Hoody
Patagonia Men’s R1 Pullover Hoody.

Patagonia R1 Pullover Hoody

$169, 10 oz./284g
backcountry.com

For a huge range of activities and exertion levels in temps from just above to well below freezing, few base or insulation layers offer the versatility of the men’s Patagonia R1 Pullover Hoody (in a range of sizes that will fit many women) and women’s R1 Fleece Pullover ($139). Patagonia touts these pullovers for climbing and skiing—for which they certainly excel—but I have worn the R1 Pullover Hoody year-round while backcountry skiing, climbing, hiking, backpacking, and in my sleeping bag on cool to very cold nights; and as my only insulation piece for six days of backpacking in the Grand Canyon in May.

The versatility lies in the stretchy, recycled polyester and spandex Polartec Power Grid fabric, exclusive to Patagonia, which has outstanding breathability and warmth for its weight, making this top versatile as a layering or stand-alone piece in temps ranging from the 50s Fahrenheit to as far below freezing as you can bear. A midweight fabric is used on the front, back, and sleeves, while a slightly lighter, more breathable grid fabric comprises the hood, sides, armpits, and girding the waist. The close fit has space for layering a lightweight T-shirt or long-sleeve underneath—which gives the best performance—and the extended length stays tucked inside a pack belt or climbing harness.

The low-bulk, close-fitting balaclava-style hood gives a noticeable boost in warmth, fits under any helmet, doesn’t interfere with other hoods in a layering system—and it’s easy to tuck the hood under the collar, out of the way. The front zipper plunges nearly to the belly button for superior venting and zips up to let the collar front cover your nose. The elasticized cuffs with thumbholes have good stretch to both seal out cold air and slide the sleeves up to the elbows. The zippered chest pocket fits a wool hat or light gloves and is mesh-lined, so you can put something damp in there to quickly dry from body heat. Polygiene treatment controls odors.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Patagonia men’s R1 Pullover Hoody at backcountry.com, patagonia.com, or rei.com, or a women’s or men’s R1 Long-Sleeved Crew, R1 Fleece Pullover, or other R1 apparel at backcountry.com, patagonia.com, or rei.com.

See more of the best base layers for being active outdoors.

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Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket with hood up.
The Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket.

The Best Insulated Jackets for Being Active

As I write in my story “How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry,” for backcountry skiing or ski touring, snowshoeing, or hiking, you need a layering system with great versatility—and the critical piece is the middle, or insulating layer. It provides most of your layering system’s warmth, and it must breathe well, because your outer/shell layer provides the full weather protection. In moderate-exertion activities, the more breathable your insulating layer, the less frequently you have to make layering changes—a challenge that modern synthetic insulation has risen to meet effectively.

If your winter sport of choice involves sweating and breathing hard, like running and Nordic skiing or even power hiking, you may need only a lightweight jacket with some warmth, superior breathability to dump the copious moisture your body is producing, and enough water resistance to not soak through in light rain or snow—or in dry weather, perhaps just a very breathable insulated layer to function as your outerwear.

Here are the best middle/insulation layers I’ve found for moderate- and high-exertion activities in winter.

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Ibex Wool Aire Vest
Ibex Wool Aire Vest

Ibex Wool Aire Vest

$235, 7.5 oz./213g
ibex.com

The widely varying conditions I’ve worn the Ibex Wool Aire Vest in speak to its versatility. It was my only outer layer over the same two base layers on days of vigorous Nordic skiing ranging from sunny, calm, and mid-30s Fahrenheit to cloudy and below freezing with strong winds. And I’ve worn it as my sole middle layer under a winter shell in temps from around freezing to the mid-teens with a frigid wind on days of snowshoeing and backcountry skiing downhill and as my outer layer when skinning uphill.

The formula is warm Merino wool insulation, a shell with good wind resistance, and a comfortably athletic fit that helps trap heat in your core while enabling you to vent heat from your arms.

Read my full review of the Ibex Wool Aire Vest.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase the men’s or women’s Ibex Wool Aire Vest or Ibex Wool Aire Hoodie at ibex.com.

Avoid getting too cold—or too hot—on your winter adventures.
Learn “How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry.”

The Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie.
The Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie.

Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie

$160, 9.2 oz./261g
himali.com

The evolution of fleece has traced an arc toward versatility that’s reaching its apex in lightweight fleece hoodies like Himali’s Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie. The breadth of activities, conditions, and environments where I’ve worn it (so far) speak to my point, from a 13-hour, four-summit, chilly October dayhike in Utah’s Wasatch Range to a short hike in southern New Hampshire, backpacking in southern Utah’s Escalante region, camping and climbing in Idaho, and a local trail run in the chilly, fading daylight of a November afternoon.

Warm for its low weight and fast-drying thanks to the 100 percent recycled Polartec PowerGrid fabric, with an athletic fit that has space for a base layer underneath, ample stretch in the fabric, a close-fitting, elasticized hood, one zippered chest pocket, and thumbholes in the cuffs, the Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie is basically a warm, midweight jersey with a full front zipper and a hood. It falls into a small category of the lightest, most breathable and packable hooded jackets you will find.

Consider this: It can serve as a warmer but not heavier replacement for a long-sleeve, midweight crew neck or zip-neck base layer, allowing you to bring a lighter down or synthetic insulated jacket—thus reducing your pack weight. A great outer or middle layer for dayhiking and backpacking, climbing, running, Nordic and backcountry skiing, walking—you name it. A caveat: Consider it best for cool but not very cold temps and keep in mind that it offers no wind protection.

Read my full review of the Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Himali Limitless Grid Fleece Hoodie at himali.com or a women’s Mindset ¼ Zip Fleece Pullover at himali.com.

Readers of The Big Outside get an exclusive 10 percent off any Himali purchase by using the discount code THEBIGOUTSIDE.

Patagonia Nano-Air Vest
Patagonia Nano-Air Vest.

Patagonia Nano-Air Light Vest

$199, 8 oz./227g
backcountry.com

The Patagonia Nano-Air Light Vest’s breathable synthetic insulation makes this lightweight garment functional on outings year-round. I’ve regularly grabbed it instead of other vests in my closet for Nordic skate-skiing in “milder” temps above freezing and warm sunshine.

On an early-October backpacking trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, it stayed on me not only through cool evenings and mornings in camp, but also while hiking with a full backpack uphill, off-trail, in temps in the 40s and 50s Fahrenheit, with intermittent wind. 

Both the nylon ripstop shell and the insulation have four-way stretch.

Read my full review of the Patagonia Nano-Air Vest.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or women’s Nano-Air Vest at backcountry.com or the vest or other products in the Nano-Air line at patagonia.com.

The Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket.
The Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket.
Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket.
Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket.

Patagonia Nano-Air Light Hybrid Jacket

$249, 10 oz./284g
backcountry.com

I’ve worn the Patagonia Nano-Air Light Hybrid Jacket for activities ranging from four straight days of backcountry skiing in the Sierra in winds gusting to 40 to 50 mph and heavily falling snow (with a shell over it when needed) to Nordic skate-skiing and snowshoeing in Idaho’s Boise Mountains on days both overcast and windy and in warm sunshine.

Its highly versatile hybrid design puts FullRange synthetic insulation, which stretches and breathes, in the front of the jacket, upper shoulders, and top sides of the sleeves, and a much more breathable, wicking, stretch, R1 Air waffle knit on the back of the sleeves, in the sides, and covering the entire back. The result is a jacket that offloads body heat about as fast as you produce it—while keeping you warm at varying levels of exertion.

There’s also a hooded version, the Nano-Air Light Hybrid Hoody ($299, 11.8 oz./338g).

Read my full review of the Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s or a women’s Patagonia Nano-Air Jacket or Nano-Air Hoody at backcountry.com or rei.com or other products in the Nano-Air line at patagonia.com.

Which puffy should you buy? See “The 12 Best Down Jackets” and
How You Can Tell How Warm a Down Jacket Is.

The Beyond Clothing Alpha Aura Jacket.
The Beyond Clothing Alpha Aura Jacket.

Beyond Clothing Alpha Aura Jacket

$180, 12 oz./340g
beyondclothing.com

On days of resort and backcountry skiing ranging from just below freezing to 10° F, Beyond Clothing’s hooded Alpha Aura Jacket demonstrated its versatility as a middle and outer layer for cool- to cold-weather activities year-round, with unique design features that improve its weather protection and durability.

The Alpha Aura distinguishes itself from similar jackets by using soft Polartec Alpha Direct loft-knit fleece, a very open, high-loft fabricthat lends the jacket good warmth for its weight while breathing supremely well—making it a good piece for hiking, walking, climbing, skiing, and similar activities year-round. It also features somewhat unique 20-denier micro ripstop nylon panels on the entire hood exterior (it’s lined with soft fleece) and the shoulders, front and back.

Without reducing the jacket’s breathability, those panels provide a significant warmth boost—especially in the hood—and durability in the shoulders for wearing a heavy pack. The full-length front zipper enables venting and zips up over your chin, while the close-fitting, non-adjustable hood stays put, turning with your head even with the jacket open. The two zippered hand pockets have a mesh lining to maintain breathability there, and they create two large, internal drop pockets—each of them spacious enough for a pair of three-season gloves or one warm, winter glove.

Read my full review of the Beyond Clothing Alpha Aura Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a men’s or women’s Beyond Clothing Alpha Aura Jacket at beyondclothing.com.

The Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody.
The Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody.

Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody

$179, 12.5 oz./354g
backcountry.com

Virtually no piece of outdoor apparel offers more versatility than a highly breathable, midweight insulation layer. Besides filling that bucket, Patagonia’s R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody feels soft and fits like it was custom made for your torso, as I found wearing it on summer backpacking trips of a week in Glacier National Park and two three-day hikes in the Canadian Rockies. On all three trips, it kept me warm without overheating, rarely even breaking a sweat, while hiking with a full pack, uphill and downhill, on cool mornings and in chilly, very strong wind—which speaks to how well it translates to winter activities.

The 100 percent recycled polyester jacquard fleece with hollow-core yarns and a unique zigzag pattern wicks moisture, dries lightning-fast, and is about as breathable as any middle or outer layer you’ll find. The two zippered hand pockets provide a little extra warmth and each has space for a pair of three-season gloves or one warm winter glove. The zippered chest pocket holds small items.

At 12.5 ounces/354 grams, this midweight fleece is designed for wearing as an outer or middle layer in a huge range of cool to cold temperatures, including all forms of skiing as well as snowshoeing, hiking, running, climbing, walking, and other activities.

Read my full review of the Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s, women’s, or kids’ Patagonia R1 Air Full-Zip Hoody at backcountry.com, patagonia.com, or rei.com, or any other piece in the Patagonia R1 Air line at backcountry.com, patagonia.com, or rei.com.

The Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket.
The Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket.

Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket

$190, 14 oz./397g
beyondclothing.com

Over several cold days of ski touring from Utah’s Wasatch Range to Idaho’s Boise Mountains, with temps in the single digits and teens Fahrenheit, snow falling, and a cold wind chill at times, the Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket rarely left my body, whether serving as a middle layer skiing downhill or an outer layer skiing uphill—a testament to its breathability and versatility.

The Dasche’s hybrid vest-jacket design combines water-resistant, 80g PrimaLoft Gold Luxe synthetic insulation in the core (front and back) and shoulders and very breathable, stretchy soft-shell fabric in the sides, underarms, and lower arms—creating a jacket that traps heat effectively where your body needs that but also releases heat and moisture, where many jackets with a similar hybrid design do either one thing or the other better. My base layer always dried within minutes after my exertion level dropped. The uninsulated, stretchy, close-fitting, adjustable and stowable hood moves with your head, fits under any helmet, provides excellent coverage, and cuts some wind while breathing quite well—an ideal middle-layer hood.

For backcountry skiing or riding, climbing, snowshoeing, or hiking, I find it best for temps well below freezing—for me, it only became too warm in sunshine, calm air, and temps around freezing. Maybe best of all, it comes in under a pound and under 200 bucks.

Read my full review of the Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a Beyond Clothing Dasche L3 Jacket at beyondclothing.com.

The Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie.
The Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie.

Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie

$160, 9.2 oz./261g
himali.com

From trekking hut-to-hut in late spring through cool days of sometimes very strong wind and heavy rain on New Zealand’s Milford and Routeburn tracks and Tongariro Alpine Crossing, to January days of backcountry skiing in Idaho, both skinning uphill and skiing downhill while moving between cold shade and warm sunshine in temps ranging from single digits to the high 20s Fahrenheit, I wore this hooded, full-zip fleece jacket for hours a day, sometimes as an outer layer and much more often under a shell. I never took it off—despite sharp shifts in exertion level—and remained comfortable the entire time.

It’s one of the most versatile fleece hoodies I’ve ever used, mainly because the weight of the four-way stretch fabric gives it a balance of warmth and breathability that enables you to keep it on during periods of higher exertion without overheating, and not need to pull on another layer once your exertion level drops.

Plus, the Endeavor’s warmth and breathability helped quickly dry out my sweaty base layers—critical to staying warm and comfortable—and the athletic fit makes it a good choice for a wide range of activities like dayhiking, backpacking, running, climbing, Nordic and backcountry skiing, and walking.

Read my full review of the Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a Himali Men’s Endeavor Fleece Hoodie at himali.com.

Readers of The Big Outside get an exclusive 10 percent off any Himali purchase by using the discount code THEBIGOUTSIDE.

A Great Insulated Jacket for Extra Warmth

The Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.
The Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.

Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket

$489, 1 lb. 1 oz./482g
featheredfriends.com

For really cold days of backcountry skiing, ski touring, snowshoeing, hiking and backpacking, and resort skiing, many of us need an insulation layer with extra warmth—to wear constantly in severe cold at low exertion levels; to pull on during brief rest breaks, at a belay, or while in camp or outside a yurt; or to have as an emergency piece in your pack. While it’s not made for breathability while being active, for incomparable warmth in a lightweight, packable puffy, I haven’t found anything that beats the Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.

On winter nights in the single digits outside a yurt in Idaho’s Boise Mountains, and raw, wet spring mornings camped in Idaho’s City of Rocks, this fat down jacket felt crazy warm—especially for its weight and packability, spotlighting its versatility as an outstanding down jacket for winter and a puffy that’s light and packable enough for chilly, three-season trips.

The Helios is generously stuffed with 900+-fill down, just about the highest-quality down produced, including in the comfortable, adjustable hood. The water-resistant, 20-denier Pertex Endurance LT shell fabric repels light precipitation, and the jacket has two hand pockets with overlapping stretch flaps in lieu of a zipper, plus one small, zippered inside pocket.

Read my full review of the Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase a men’s Feathered Friends Helios Hooded Down Jacket at featheredfriends.com.

The Best Winter Backcountry Shell Jackets and Pants

For activities like hard-charging resort skiing in falling snow, backcountry ski touring and riding, snowshoeing, climbing, and hiking, when I’m working hard for hours in wide-ranging winter temps and weather, I want a shell jacket and pants with superior breathability—so that I don’t get soaked with sweat while exerting—that also repel hours of falling snow and block most wind. The jacket must have an adjustable, helmet-compatible, brimmed hood that keeps wind and precipitation off my face and must fit comfortably over base and middle layers, allowing full range of motion. The pants should have adequate pockets and ventilate well for moving uphill. Neither should be too heavy.

The Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Jacket.
The Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Jacket.

Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Jacket and Bibs

Jacket: $429, 1 lb. 5.5 oz./610g
Bibs: $429, 1 lb. 9 oz./709g
backcountry.com

The Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Bibs.
The Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Bibs.

The waves of December snowstorms rolled through for days, dumping cold, dry, light powder in the mountains. In the backcountry, the skiing was epic—as were the weather conditions. That’s when high-quality shells demonstrate their value. On numerous days of ski touring through hours of heavily falling snow, temps ranging from the single digits to the teens and 20s Fahrenheit, and frequent wind, OR’s Skytour AscentShell Jacket and Bibs passed every qualifying exam to rank among the very best outerwear for winter.

The newest iteration of OR’s proprietary, three-layer, stretch AscentShell waterproof-breathable membrane performs like a hard shell but feels and moves like a soft shell. AscentShell’s impressive breathability enabled base layers to dry out completely after getting sweaty on long climbs—keeping testers comfortable in all conditions. I rarely even feel the need to open the deep pit zips, although those are a nice feature on warmer days of touring.

The jacket has four waterproof, zippered external pockets and two inside pockets, a helmet-compatible hood, and a fit that accommodates warm layers. The bibs have deep, ventilating front and side zippers, plus five zippered pockets, including two cargo and hand pockets and a smartly designed beacon pocket on the chest, as well as reinforced cuffs with a stretch-mesh internal gaiter.

Read my full review of the Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Jacket and Bibs.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the men’s or women’s Outdoor Research Skytour AscentShell Jacket and/or Skytour AscentShell Bibs at backcountry.com, rei.com, or outdoorresearch.com.

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Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Hybrid Shell and Pants

Jacket: $365, 1 lb. 2 oz./510g
blackdiamondequipment.com
Pants: $325, 1 lb. 3.5 oz./553g
blackdiamondequipment.com

BD’s Dawn Patrol Hybrid Shell and Pants have kept me dry and comfortable on countless days of backcountry skiing, in temperatures ranging from single digits with a below-zero wind chill through the high 30s, in falling snow, light rain mixed with wet snow, wind, and just plain calm, sub-freezing air. The hybrid design of both blends the brand’s proprietary BD.dry waterproof-breathable fabric with a PFC- and water-free DWR (durable, water-resistant treatment) in areas most exposed to weather—chest, hood, and shoulders in the jacket and the lower legs and seat in the pants—with highly breathable soft-shell fabric in places where our bodies dump heat and moisture, like the underarms and sides of the jacket and thighs and front of the pants.

Abundant stretch in both pieces let you move unencumbered both uphill and downhill. The jacket’s center front dual zipper features a built-in mesh panel for venting on the climb and a perforated panel on the collar for breathing through while still protecting your face. Features include two harness-compatible chest pockets that fit skins, an internal media pocket, pit zips, an adjustable, helmet-compatible hood, and hook-and-loop cuffs with a lightweight wrist gaiter.

The pants feature side zips for venting; two zippered thigh pockets, one with an internal sleeve for a beacon, and a smaller, zippered hip pocket; instep patches to guard against ski edges and crampon points; a stretch gaiter and cuffs with dual snap closures for different types of ski boots; an integrated belt for waist adjustment with internal loops for suspender compatibility; and an integrated RECCO reflector.

Read my full reviews of the Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Hybrid Shell and the Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Hybrid Pants.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase the men’s or women’s Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Hybrid Shell at blackdiamondequipment.com or backcountry.com, and the Black Diamond Dawn Patrol Hybrid Pants at blackdiamondequipment.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

Check out my stories “How to Dress in Layers for Winter in the Backcountry” and “12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter,” and see all reviews of outdoor apparel at The Big Outside.

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of all gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks of 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/gear-review-6-favorite-daypacks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/gear-review-6-favorite-daypacks/#comments Fri, 24 May 2024 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=16077 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Choosing a daypack for hiking can seem overwhelming when you see the dozens of choices available today, which range all over the map in terms of volume, weight, carrying capacity, features, and cost—as well as fit and comfort. Look no further. This freshly updated review spotlights the best daypacks for hiking and offers expert buying tips that explain the subtle differences between packs to help you find the right one for your own adventures.

This article covers a wide range of daypacks, from 15 to 36 liters and 20 ounces to almost three-and-a-half pounds, each one a standout for different reasons and uses. My picks and buying tips are based on personally testing new daypacks constantly through thousands of miles of hiking and three decades of testing and reviewing gear—formerly for 10 years as the lead gear reviewer for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

I think this review will help you find a pack that’s perfect for you—plus you’ll usually find the best prices at affiliate links in this review (which support this blog when you make a purchase through them, at not cost to you, and thanks for doing that).

Please share your own experiences with any of these packs, suggest other daypacks, or ask questions 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.


The Gregory Zulu 24 LT daypack
The Gregory Zulu 24 LT daypack.

Buying Tips

Before buying, consider what you need a daypack for. How much stuff will you carry? That partly depends on where, when, and how far you hike. What kind of pack design suits your dayhiking style: low- or high-capacity? Lightweight and minimalist, or with an assortment of pockets and features? Built to carry plenty of gear, clothing, food, and water, or a light load? Armored for hard abuse, or needed mostly for cruising good trails?

Here are some details to consider when choosing a daypack:

  • Volume/Capacity For most three-season dayhikes where you’re carrying the usual stuff (clothing, food, water, some incidentals like a camera), a daypack between 16 and 24 liters has enough space, with the lower end of that range best for hikers who prioritize a streamlined, lightweight design, and the upper end of that range for hikers who sometimes need extra capacity. For outings that are unusually gear-intensive—or carrying stuff for another person—look to a pack that’s 28 liters or more. For carrying bare essentials in good weather, a 12-liter daypack may be fine; but for trekking hut to hut for several days, you may need a pack in the 36-40L range.
  • Suspension We all have our own idea of how much weight is comfortable in a daypack, but how much weight a pack can comfortably carry largely depends on its frame (if there is one) and suspension (the shoulder straps and waist belt). Very light daypacks—under roughly 1.5 pounds—offer minimal support and putting more than 10 to 12 pounds inside may compromise their comfort, which simply means that your body will feel the weight more. Daypacks designed to carry 15 to 20 pounds or more typically have padded shoulder straps and waist belt and a metal wire frame and/or a plastic framesheet to maintain the pack’s shape and direct most of the weight onto your hips.
The Mystery Ranch Coulee 30.
The Mystery Ranch Coulee 30.
  • Fit As with backpacks, fit is critical to carrying comfort, especially the more weight you’re putting inside the daypack. Low-capacity daypacks designed to carry no more than about 10 pounds often come in one size, while larger-capacity daypacks will come in two or three sizes and men’s and women’s models, to help you find a better fit. See my story “Top 5 Tips for Buying the Right Backpacking Pack” for instructions on how to measure your torso to fit a backpack or daypack.
  • Organization Quick access to the main compartment—usually in the form of a clamshell-style zipper, or a vertical side zipper if the pack has a lid that buckles down—and multiple pockets on the outside offer great convenience. So do little details like attachments for trekking poles and an ice axe. Those features also add cost and some weight and bulk. Consider how important compartmentalization is to you and how much stuff you want to have within reach while wearing the pack.
  • Materials Many daypacks for hiking are made with similar materials, from a reasonably durable body fabric and tougher fabric on the bottom to stretch-mesh external pockets that are more vulnerable to tearing and perforated, breathable foam in the back panel, shoulder straps, and waist belt. But some daypacks are built with tougher materials that will withstand hard use—sometimes (but not always) adding weight and cost. Again, this comes down to how you plan to use the pack.

The comparison chart lists the packs from lightest to heaviest and offers a quick look at features that distinguish these packs from one another; the overall ratings are based on criteria that tend to favor heavier daypacks, so they’re most helpful when comparing packs of similar weights. Each of the short reviews below the chart includes a link to my complete review of the pack.

Deuter Trail Pro 36 daypack.
The Deuter Trail Pro 36.

The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks

DaypackRatingVolumePriceWeightCarrying CapacityFeatures
Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak4.117L/1,040 c.i.$2291 lb. 4 oz./
566.9g
12 lbs./
5.44kg
* Waterproof
* Highly durable
* 3 unisex sizes
* 4 pockets
Black Diamond Pursuit 154.115L/915 c.i.$1701 lb. 7 oz./
652g
15 lbs./
6.8kg
* 3 men's and women's sizes
* Good comfort
* Very lightweight
* Running vest-style harness
* Unique compression
* 5 pockets
Patagonia Terravia 28L4.228L/1,770 c.i.$1691 lb. 10 oz./
737.1g
15 lbs./
6.8kg
* 3 unisex sizes
* Breathable back panel, shoulder straps, hipbelt
* 6 pockets
Osprey Talon 22 and Tempest 204.222L/1,343 c.i.$1701 lb. 11 oz./
765.4g (men's S/M)
15 lbs./
6.8kg
* Men's and women's models
* Ventilating back panel
* Multiple features
* 6 pockets
Deuter AC Lite 16 and AC Lite 14 SL416L/976 c.i.$1001 lb. 14.7 oz./
870g
15 lbs./
6.8kg
* Excellent ventilating harness and comfort
* Men's and women's models
* 3 pockets
Arc'teryx Aerios 304.330L/1,831 c.i.$1902 lbs./
907.2g
20 lbs./
9.07kg
* Unique vest-like suspension
* Men's and women's models
* Breathable back panel
* 7 pockets
Gregory Miko 20 and Maya 204.320L/1,220 c.i.$1502 lbs. 1 oz./
935.5g
15 lbs./
6.8kg
* Men's and women's models
* Adjustable fit
* Ventilating harness, hipbelt, back panel
* 6 pockets
Gregory Zulu 24 LT and Jade 24 LT4.524L/1,465 c.i.$1702 lbs. 5 oz./
1.05kg
20 lbs./
9.07kg
* Excellent ventilating back panel and comfortable hipbelt
* Men's and women's models
* 6 pockets
Mystery Ranch Coulee 304.829L/1,770 c.i.$1892 lbs. 9 oz./
1.2kg
25+ lbs./
11.3kg
* 2 men's and women's adjustable sizes
* Unique 3-zipper access to main compartment
* Balances weight, comfort, durability
* 7 pockets
Deuter Trail Pro 36 and Trail Pro 34 SL4.336L/2,197 c.i.$1853 lbs. 7 oz./
1.56kg
25-35 lbs./
11.34kg-15.88kg
* Men's and women's models
* Large carrying capacity, multiple features
* Very durable
* 6 pockets
* rain cover
Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak
Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak

Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak

$229, 17L/1,040 c.i., 1 lb. 4 oz./566.9g
hyperlitemountaingear.com

Lightweight and tough don’t always go together when describing gear, but they both apply to the Daybreak, which I’ve used dayhiking and on multi-pitch rock climbs. The ultralight, waterproof Dyneema fabric (the zipper’s also waterproof) has suffered years of abuse on numerous outings and still looks almost new.

With a thin, flexible back pad and no frame to direct weight onto your hips, the Daybreak carries 12 pounds comfortably and some hikers will easily load it up with more than that. Although very lightly padded, the wide mesh belt distributes weight around the hips, and the mesh shoulder straps have some padding. This minimalist bag has four pockets—including a large, front, bellows pocket—and comes in three sizes. The frameless design also means you can roll the Daybreak up and strap it to the outside of a backpack.

Read my complete review of the Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a Hyperlite Mountain Gear Daybreak at hyperlitemountaingear.com.

Want a really ultralight, minimalist daypack?
See my review of the Black Diamond Trail Blitz 12 and REI Flash 18.

The Black Diamond Pursuit 15 daypack.
The Black Diamond Pursuit 15 daypack.

Black Diamond Pursuit 15

$170, 15L/915 c.i., 1 lb. 7 oz./652g
blackdiamondequipment.com

From dayhikes up to 16 miles with spurts of running in my local foothills to the steep, 13-mile, 3,500-foot Burgess Pass Loop in Yoho National Park and other trails in the Canadian Rockies, plus an 11-mile, 4,200-foot loop to Mounts Lafayette and Lincoln above Franconia Notch in the White Mountains, the Pursuit 15 struck an unusual but effective balance between traditional hiking daypacks and trail-running vests that may appeal to avid dayhikers and mountain scramblers who like to move fast and light.

Its non-adjustable harness consists of wide, unpadded shoulder straps with running-vest-style pockets and dual sternum straps to provide better stability and comfort when running, hiking fast, or scrambling. But it adds the kind of wide, lightly padded hipbelt typical of ultralight daypacks that imposes slight inhibition of movement as the price for more weight-carrying capacity than a running vest. It also has a compression system that’s much more efficient and versatile than you’ll find on many daypacks or vests. Three men’s and women’s sizes ensure a good fit.

Read my complete review of the Black Diamond Pursuit 15.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Black Diamond Pursuit 15 at blackdiamondequipment.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

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

The Patagonia Terravia 28L.
The Patagonia Terravia 28L.

Patagonia Terravia 28L

$169, 28L/1,770 c.i., 1 lb. 10 oz./737.1g
backcountry.com

On dayhikes from Capitol Reef National Park to a more than eight-mile, nearly 5,300-vertical-foot hike of Idaho’s highest peak, 12,662-foot Borah Peak, the Terravia 28L stood out for having the capacity for big days along with good access and durability that’s rare in a daypack weighing just over 1.5 pounds.

The 28-liter/1,770-cubic-inch Terravia has the capacity for all-day outings where you need extra layers, water, food, and gear. With just a foam back pad and no frame, the Terravia 28L will comfortably carry about 15 pounds/6.8 kilos, or more for strong hikers. Breathable shoulder straps and hipbelt and a mesh back panel keeps you cool when working up a sweat. A unique cinch closure quickly accesses the main compartment and pulls the lid down over its mouth, with a small, metal hook locking the lid in place. Hipbelt and mesh side pockets keep everything you want within reach while moving. As usual, kudos to Patagonia for the recycled and PFC-free materials.

See my complete review of the Patagonia Terravia 28L.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Patagonia Terravia 28L at backcountry.com or patagonia.com, or other Terravia versions at backcountry.compatagonia.com, or rei.com.

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Osprey Talon 22
Osprey Talon 22

Osprey Talon 22/Tempest 20

$170, 20L/1,220 c.i., 1 lb., 11 oz./765.4g
ospreypacks.com

From a 14-mile, nearly 3,000-foot round-trip dayhike up 11,049-foot Telescope Peak, the highest in Death Valley National Park, to the rugged hike up Cerro Chato in Costa Rica and many other trails, the Talon 22 carried up to 15 pounds comfortably, thanks to a suspension featuring a flexible, plastic framesheet, and an adjustable harness with a seamless, foam hipbelt that forms one continuous piece with the nicely ventilated mesh back panel.

Unusually feature-rich for daypacks that weigh in well under two pounds, the men’s Talon and women’s Tempest sport easy access to the main compartment via a big clamshell zipper, and multiple pockets on the hipbelt, sides, top, and front, as well as handy attachments for trekking poles, a bike helmet, and a light. They’re among the most versatile multi-sport daypacks on the market.

Read my complete review of the Osprey Talon 22 and Tempest 20.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Osprey Talon 22 or another size at ospreypacks.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com, or a women’s Osprey Tempest 20 or another size at ospreypacks.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

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!

Deuter AC Lite 16 and AC Lite 14 SL

The Deuter AC Lite 16 daypack.
The Deuter AC Lite 16 daypack.

$100, 16L/976 c.i., 1 lb. 14.7 oz./870g
summithut.com

From the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park to a peak in my local foothills with 2,000 feet of vertical in just over two miles, I found Deuter’s AC Lite 16 quite comfortable with the type of loads that many dayhikers do not exceed. Plus, this daypack has a design and basic feature set that will please many hikers, and Deuter’s Aircomfort harness creates as much ventilation as you’ll find in a daypack.

At under two pounds, the AC Lite 16 delivers the support for carrying up to about 15 pounds/6.8 kilos comfortably, thanks to its spring steel perimeter frame. A top-loader with a main compartment accessed via a one-buckle lid and drawcord, the AC Lite has an attachment for poles and a rain cover, but just three exterior pockets (no front stuff pocket or hipbelt pockets). The 210-denier polyamidepack body and 600-denier polyester bottom rank the AC Lite daypacks among the most durable out there.

Read my complete review of the Deuter AC Lite 16.

You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Deuter AC Lite 23, AC Lite 21 SL, or another AC Lite model at summithut.com, backcountry.com, or rei.com.

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

Arc'teryx Aerios 30 front bungee.
The Arc’teryx Aerios 30.

Arc’teryx Aerios 30

$190, 30L/1,831 c.i., 2 lbs./907.2g
rei.com

Marrying elements of traditional daypacks and running vests, the Aerios 30 has bountiful capacity, an inspired design, and superior durability—all at a modest weight. With a light but impressively supportive framesheet, fixed (non-adjustable), wide, padded shoulder straps and hipbelt, and a highly breathable, mesh-covered Aeroform back panel with a slightly concave shape that allows good air flow, it has the support and comfort for carrying 20 pounds.

The voluminous main compartment, accessed by a deep, clamshell zipper, and seven external pockets deliver excellent organization. Despite one flaw, the Aerios 30 ranks as one of today’s most versatile daypacks.

Read my complete review of the Arc’teryx Aerios 30.

BUY IT NOW  You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking this affiliate link to purchase the men’s or women’s Arc’teryx Aerios 30 at rei.com.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
or other parks using my expert e-books.

Gregory Miko 20/Maya 20

The Gregory Miko 20 front.
The Gregory Miko 20.

$150, 20L/1,220 c.i., 2 lbs. 1 oz./935.5g
Miko 20: backcountry.com
Maya 20: backcountry.com

Gregory’s Miko and Maya, the latest updates of the classic, lightweight men’s and women’s Miwok and Maya daypacks, retain all that made their predecessors outstanding. That begins with the comfortable, close-fitting, very breathable, adjustable BioSync suspension, featuring an elasticized shoulder harness and hipbelt that provide a very comfortable, body-hugging fit and a dynamic carry that flexes with your moving body. These packs offer quick access to the main compartment, six external pockets, and a zippered bladder sleeve outside the main compartment.

Carrying the Miko 20 on all-day, rugged hikes—including nearly 10 miles and 4,700 feet up and down 5,774-foot Mount Adams in New Hampshire’s rugged northern Presidential Range, and a mostly off-trail dayhike-scramble of 11,330-foot Twin Peaks in Utah’s Wasatch Range that spanned eight hours with 5,200 feet of up and down—I found this versatile bag remains a favorite for three-season, done-in-a-day, lightweight adventures.

Read my complete review of the Miko 20 and Maya 20.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Gregory men’s Miko 20 or any Miko model at backcountry.com, gregory.com, or rei.com, or a women’s Maya 20 or any Maya model at backcountry.com, gregory.com, or rei.com.

Want to hike the Teton Crest Trail, John Muir Trail, or another trip?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

The Gregory Zulu 24 LT.
The Gregory Zulu 24 LT.

Gregory Zulu 24 LT and Jade 24 LT

$170, 24L/1,465 c.i., 2 lbs. 5 oz./1.05kg
gregory.com

This first thing I noticed carrying Gregory’s Zulu 24 LT on dayhikes of up to 10 miles in southern Utah parks was its exceptional comfort with 20 pounds. Credit the alloy steel wire perimeter frame and the seamless wrap of the hipbelt, which integrates with the Vaporspan back panel to feel like it was custom-built for you. The back panel’s open mesh and wide space between it and the pack bag creates nice air flow.

But the more I used it—pulling stuff out, stuffing stuff back in, using its various pockets and smart features, including dayhiking New Zealand’s 12.6-mile/20.2-kilometer Tongariro Alpine Crossing, with more than 2,100 feet of uphill and 3,600 feet down—the more I liked its design. Access to the Zulu and Jade 24 LT packs is easy, fast, and convenient, with a U-shaped zipper into the main compartment and six external pockets that include a large, zippered front pocket. They’re also more durable than many packs, with 400-denier polyester ripstop body fabric and 420-denier nylon in the bottom.

Read my complete review of the Gregory Zulu 24 LT and Jade 24 LT.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a Gregory men’s Zulu 24 LT at backcountry.com, gregory.com, or rei.com, or a women’s Jade 24 LT at gregory.com or rei.com, or other versions of the Zulu LT at backcountry.com, gregory.com, or rei.com or the Jade LT at gregory.com or rei.com.


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to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


Mystery Ranch Coulee 30 front.
Mystery Ranch Coulee 30.

Mystery Ranch Coulee 30

$189, 29L/1,770 c.i., 2 lbs. 9 oz./1.2kg (men’s S/M)
backcountry.com

Sure, every ounce of gear weight should be justified. But that doesn’t mean heavier is bad. As I discovered carrying the Mystery Ranch Coulee 30 on hikes from Idaho to the steep Cory Pass-Edith Pass loop in Canada’s Banff National Park, its modest weight is more than validated by a design, comfort, capacity, and durability that make it one of today’s best daypacks.

Most uniquely, instead of a traditional, separate lid, a Y-shaped, three-zipper system provides quick and complete access to the main compartment. The well-padded, adjustable harness and HDPE framesheet enable the Coulee 30 to carry 25 pounds or more comfortably. In fact, I had no complaints carrying about 30 pounds of rock-climbing gear—including hardware, harness, shoes, and helmet, all of which fit inside the pack—several bars and over two liters of water at Idaho’s City of Rocks National Reserve. And seven external pockets—one on top and two each on the sides, front, and hipbelt—provide excellent organization.

Read my complete review of the Mystery Ranch Coulee 30.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking any of these affiliate links to purchase a men’s Mystery Ranch Coulee 30 at backcountry.com or mysteryranch.com, a women’s Mystery Ranch Coulee 30 at backcountry.com or mysteryranch.com, or any other pack in the Coulee series at backcountry.com or mysteryranch.com.

Time for a better backpack?
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and the best ultralight backpacks.

Deuter Trail Pro 36 front.
Deuter Trail Pro 36.

Deuter Trail Pro 36 and Trail Pro 34 SL

$185, 36L/2,197 c.i., 3 lbs. 7 oz./1.56kg
Trail Pro 36: backcountry.com
Women’s Trail Pro 34 SL: backcountry.com

Our second day on a five-day hut trek through Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains was steep and hard from the get-go. As snow fell, later changing to rain, we hiked for miles over snow-covered talus and scree, finishing with a descent of almost 3,000 feet through innumerable switchbacks. On that day and throughout that trek, the Trail Pro 36 demonstrated the worth of a high-quality, versatile, large daypack.

Deuter’s Trail Pro 36 and women’s Trail Pro 34 SL are high-volume, feature-rich packs—making them uniquely suited to carrying heavier loads and more versatile than most of today’s daypacks. A spring-steel suspension and plastic framesheet give the Trail Pro a weight-carrying capacity comparable to many lightweight, 50-liter backpacks, and the suspension’s design enhances comfort. This top-loader has a U-shaped zipper to access the main compartment and abundant pockets, a rain cover, utilitarian features like ice axe and trekking poles attachments and a carabiner/gear loop. And it’s bomber.

Read my complete review of the Deuter Trail Pro 36 and Trail Pro 34 SL.

BUY IT NOW You can support my work on this blog, at no cost to you, by clicking either of these affiliate links to purchase a Deuter Trail Pro 36 at backcountry.com, or a women’s Trail Pro 34 SL at backcountry.com.

See all of my reviews of daypacks I like and all of my reviews of hiking gear.

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 The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

—Michael Lanza

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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).

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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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!”

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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Hiking New Zealand’s Hardest Hut Trek, the Dusky Track https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-hardest-hut-trek-the-dusky-track/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-hardest-hut-trek-the-dusky-track/#comments Sun, 24 Oct 2021 08:59:48 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=29622 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We step out of the Lake Roe Hut into a persistent drizzle, deep in what may be the most dishonestly named mountains in the world—the Pleasant Range in New Zealand’s chronically soggy Fiordland National Park. Belligerent gusts hurl cups of water into our faces. By the time my friend, Jeff, and I have taken our first 50 steps on the Dusky Track, we have both sunk knee-deep a dozen or more times into some of the heaviest, gloppiest, boot-suckingest mud that I have ever mired a leg in.

Garbed head to toe in rain shells, gaiters, gloves, and waterproof, leather boots, we hike across an almost treeless landscape, the “trail,” such as it is, intermittently fading into a sea of knee-high grass. Boggy tussock masquerades as earth, but the ground seems more liquid than solid: Excavate and wring out a cubic meter of it, and I’d bet my wide-brim, Gore-Tex hat you could fill a bathtub. Our mode of travel falls somewhere between walking on water and wading through land.

We claw up a crazily steep hillside of rain-slicked grass and stop in our ankle-deep-in-mud tracks. The view makes me briefly forget the brackish mix of raindrops and sweat dripping from my nose.

A trekker hiking the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range in Fiordland National Park.

Before us sprawls a mystical, heaving plateau dappled with scores of tiny tarns and a few bigger lakes. Emerald fingers of land snake between the watery pearls. The plateau’s sawed-off edges fall away abruptly into abyssal, glacier-carved valleys and fjords that stretch for miles to the South Pacific. In all directions, dark mountains loom in and out of the fog, their flanks at once so vertiginous and lush with rainforest that they appear to have gotten a waiver from gravity. It’s absolutely quiet, except for the haunting moans of the wind and the explosive farting sound our boots make each time we pry them from another calf-deep quagmire.

A shaft of sunlight pierces the bruised heavens, throwing a golden beam onto the valley below us. Then the cloud cover slams the celestial window shut so abruptly I’m left wondering whether I hallucinated it. In Fiordland, sunshine is like a mirage: Believing in it can drive a person mad.

Before we descend the other side of the hill, I turn around for a last look back toward the Lake Roe Hut—and see that in the strenuous and sloppy first 45 minutes of our trek, we have covered about a quarter-mile.


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A trekker hiking the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff hiking the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range in Fiordland.

I’ve come with my friend Jeff Wilhelm to backpack a four-day, 23-mile (37k) section of Fiordland’s 52.2-mile (84k) Dusky Track, from Lake Roe Hut to the track’s northern terminus at the West Arm of Lake Manapouri. I chose the Dusky, and Jeff eagerly signed on, for a reason that can seem, at first blush, masochistic (or just plain dumb): We’re intrigued by its reputation as the hardest hut trek in New Zealand.

To us, though, this isn’t about something as shallow as bragging rights. Jeff and I are both past 50; our pride has gone the way of our ability to sleep through the night without getting up to pee. I have enough tales of ridiculously hard and pointlessly stupid things I’ve done to fuel stories for several lifetimes. (And that’s just what I’ve done outdoors.) We have nothing to prove.

We know we can handle the suffering. What captivated us was the Dusky’s more subtle promise: the chance to see the New Zealand wilderness the way it must have looked a generation or more ago, before the hordes of international trail-trophy seekers invaded. Thanks to its reputation, the Dusky can feel all but deserted compared to other Fiordland trails, like the Milford and Kepler tracks.

Now, though, as my outer layers turn the shit-brown hue of Fiordland mud, a profound and introspective question enters my mind: Can we suffer through all that the Dusky Track dishes up and still enjoy it?

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A hiker on the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. View from the helicopter while flying to Lake Roe Hut on the Dusky Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. The Lake Roe Hut on the Dusky Track in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Above Lake Roe Hut on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A hiker above Lake Horizon on the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Here Be Dragons: Dusky Track Warnings

On the spectrum of multi-day hikes, the Dusky Track achieves an unusual level of misery and hazard.

Traversing some of the planet’s most biped-unfriendly terrain, we will experience innumerable WTF moments. We will get to know mud more intimately than perhaps ever before. We will scale and descend hundreds of vertical feet of absurdly steep and slick “root ladders.” (Yes, they are pretty much exactly what the name implies.)

We will tiptoe across “walkwires,” sketchy wire bridges that would pucker the sphincters of the Flying Wallendas. There are 21 walkwires on the Dusky (six on the 23-mile section we’re hiking) that offer the only safe crossing of rivers and creeks at times of high water. Before our trip, I scrolled through jaw-clenching photos online of these three-wire spans dangling above brown rivers; calling them “bridges” is like describing a thong as all-weather outerwear. I thought they looked manageable, and in a twisted way, fun. But as Jeff and I will learn, nothing prepares you for your first steps onto a wobbly, inch-wide cable suspended high above a rock-strewn chasm.

Early morning at Loch Maree on the Dusky Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Early morning at Loch Maree on the Dusky Track.

On top of all that, we face a very real prospect of flooding rivers stranding us for days in a hut—or as a Fiordland ranger actually warned me, “you could find yourself up a tree for a day or two waiting for the water (level) to come down.” And flooding is not rare: Fiordland receives up to 10 meters of precipitation a year—that’s nearly 400 inches, about 10 times as much rain as Seattle. It’s a climate that only amphibians, mushrooms, and a tiny minority of mildew-tolerant humans could love.

The Department of Conservation (or DOC, New Zealand’s equivalent of the National Park Service) recommends Dusky hikers carry a personal locator beacon, a mountain radio—both available for rent locally—and emergency bivy sacks. We’ve brought all three.

In fact, on the day we arrived in the small town of Te Anau, gateway to Fiordland, the forecast called for what locals refer to cheerfully, as if discussing an amiable, eccentric uncle, as a “weethah bum.” In New Zealand, a “weather bomb” (English translation) bears a strong resemblance to a category 2 hurricane, with tree-lashing wind and “heevy rine.”

Everyone we spoke with—from DOC rangers to the receptionist at our hotel, a cheery young woman who had run the entire, 37-mile (60k) Kepler Track in a day—advised us to postpone starting the Dusky until the forecast improved. Instead, they said, trek the nearby Kepler, which, unlike the Dusky, doesn’t flood. With the right clothing and a positive attitude about bone-rattling wind, cold rain, and wet snow—in late summer—we’d love the Kepler. Jeff and I decided to respect their local wisdom.

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A trekker hiking the Dusky Track in the Seaforth River Valley in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff hiking the Dusky Track in the Seaforth River Valley in Fiordland.

Still, I came here tingling with anticipation at the prospect of seeing the unpolished side of one of the planet’s most pristine wildernesses, with its wildly tangled rainforest and boundless mountain views. Sprawling over 4,633 square miles—only six U.S. national parks are larger, all in Alaska—Fiordland is New Zealand’s biggest and baddest wilderness. There are plants in Fiordland that grow nowhere else in the world. There are animals that Dr. Seuss would have thought looked weird.

There are corners of this vast and largely impenetrable wild land that have never felt a human footfall—probably most of Fiordland—and other parts that few people see.

Like the Dusky Track.

Now, as we walk—and wade—through our first day on the Dusky, I remind myself that we actually waited four days for weather this good. In Fiordland, a wind-driven, steady drizzle qualifies as a break in the weather.

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Along the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Along the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A hiker's muddy boots on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Loch Maree on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A hiker on the Dusky Track in the Pleasant Range, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Loch Maree Hut on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

The Roots of All Evil

After close to four hours of muddy up and down crossing the Pleasant Range on our first afternoon, we’ve hiked a whopping two-and-a-half miles. But that was a tropical-beach honeymoon compared to what lies ahead. The persistent drizzle escalates to steady rain as Jeff and I start the descent to Loch Maree, a stretch of our route that plummets almost 3,000 vertical feet within less than a mile-and-a-half. And while it is marked, calling it a trail would be very generous. It will recalibrate our notions of steep and strenuous.

Following the muddy footpath down a grass slope that’s more cliff than hill, I hear a sound behind me like a charging pachyderm and spin around to see Jeff just as he comes to a stop, sitting upright, after cartwheeling downhill. His eyes bulge widely, like a man who has briefly beheld the face of God, but he’s okay. It occurs to me that the Dusky may be the only trail in the world where you could fall to your death on grass.

A trekker descending a steep section of the Dusky Track toward Loch Maree in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Descending a steep section of the Dusky Track toward Loch Maree.

Then we enter the bush—what Kiwis call forest—and the real work begins. For more than two hours, we downclimb endless, nearly vertical “ladders” of slick tree roots and rocks, grabbing fixed ropes and chains at times, and kicking steps into mud that has an angle of repose of about 60 degrees. If one applied the rock-climbing rating scale to rainforest, this would probably be 5.4, with the difficulty compounded by us frequently using one hand to wave off tenacious squadrons of mosquitoes and sandflies. (Locals had warned us before we set out that “the mossies and sandies are swarming.”)

I dub this section of the Dusky: “The Roots of All Evil.”

Staggering into the empty Loch Maree Hut late that first afternoon, I glance at my watch: It took six hours to hike 3.7 miles (6k) from Lake Roe Hut. I feel like I just put in a 20-mile day in the Tetons or the Grand Canyon. Moments after I set down my pack and peel off mud-encrusted boots and gaiters, the skies erupt in a torrential rainstorm drumming loudly on the hut’s metal roof.

Minutes later, Jeff steps through the door and bellows, “That was epic. Calling this a track is a bit of a stretch. I think we need a new category: ‘bush thrash.’”

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Inside the Loch Maree Hut on the Dusky Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Inside the Loch Maree Hut on the Dusky Track in Fiordland.

By early evening, three guys arrive together and join us in this basic, one-room cabin, which like other huts on the Dusky sleeps up to 12 people on upper and lower platforms, and has wooden tables and chairs and a wood-burning stove for heat. This will be our most “crowded” hut on the Dusky. Besides them, Jeff and I will encounter just two other people in four days. (We flew by helicopter to Lake Roe Hut, where we met two trekkers, a German and a Russian.) On other New Zealand hut treks, like the Kepler, I’ve typically seen dozens of hikers every day.

The hikers—a Belgian in his 30s named Max, and two Frenchmen in their 20s, John and Simon—are trekking the Dusky in the opposite direction. This is their first visit to New Zealand. When I ask why they chose such an unlikely first track, Simon grins and says, “Because it is the hardest!”

Jeff and I smile but offer no response. We’ve been their age; we know they have to learn on their own the pointlessness of suffering for its own sake.

After a night of coma-like, powerfully restful sleep—the gift of rain drumming on a metal roof in an otherwise hypnotically silent rainforest—we step outside early to find the rain has stopped. Mist dangles like a translucent curtain over Loch Maree, a small lake embraced by mountainsides of thick forest, created when a landslide dammed the Seaforth River during an earthquake in 1826, eventually drowning the beech trees it inundated. Swords of sunlight slash through the mist, silhouetting hundreds of stumps that rise two or three feet above the lake’s glassy surface against a reflection of the green and golden mountainside and blue sky.

It’s an image I think I’ll remember forever. Along with yesterday’s mud-boarding.

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A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Ducks on Gair Loch, Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A walkwire on the Dusky Track, Seaforth River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A hiker ascending a steep section of the Dusky Track in the Seaforth River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Gair Loch, on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A walkwire above Kintail Hut on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Not Like a Bird on a Wire

Standing on a tree root ball not much bigger than my boots and inches above water, I peer into the mind-boggling tangle of the Fiordland rainforest. By all appearances, nothing lies ahead but a muddy stream sliding lazily into a brown pond with trees growing in it—an environment better suited to bottom-feeding fish than humans. But in fact, orange markers indicate that the stream and pond are the trail.

We left Kintail Hut minutes ago in the crepuscular light of another gray morning in the bush. It’s our third day, and we’ve long since given up all hope of the Dusky Track getting easier.

I can imagine plunging into this organic stew and my bones and flesh spending the next million years transforming into a quart of West Texas light sweet crude. So I stretch and lunge and make all manner of acrobatic contortions from one partly submerged root ball to the next. On the Dusky Track, “hiking” covers many forms of ambulation.

A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track,.

Despite the unappealing prospect of accidentally tumbling into this mire, I feel a smile crease my face. Hopping from root ball to root ball is kind of… fun, in a kid-climbing-a-tree sort of way.

Somewhere behind me, Jeff erupts in a series of F-bombs. In a tone suggesting he may not be having quite as much fun as me—something closer to genuine panic—he yells: “I’m stuck!” Reluctant to risk spending eternity as a fossil fuel by trying to save him, I wait on a relatively secure root island, calculating that his chances of successful self-rescue are probably at least 50-50. When Jeff finally sloshes toward me, his pants plastered brown—it would be distasteful to describe the image this conjures—he tells me through labored panting, “I was stuck hip-deep in mud! I didn’t think I was gonna get out! I thought I was gonna die there!”

I nod sympathetically. This does not strike me as an implausible scenario.

I’m reminded of the DOC warning about the Dusky’s “knee-deep mud” and “some rough terrain.” That’s absolutely priceless understatement. In a pub somewhere, I’m sure DOC copywriters howl with laughter. If the native Maori people didn’t have at least two dozen names for mud, they must have had that many curse words for it.

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A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Along the Dusky Track near Centre Pass, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker climbing to Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker fording a river below a walkwire on the Dusky Track, Seaforth River Valley, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

An hour uphill from Kintail Hut, we reach a torn-off edge of earth where a wall of forest drops off into a boulder-strewn stream gorge some 50 feet across. A walkwire spans the gorge, suspended at least 20 feet in the air—high enough that if a fall wasn’t fatal, you might lie there wishing it had been.

Clutching the two, chest-high, handrail wires, I step gingerly onto the foot wire. Each time I slowly place one foot in front of the other, the wire vibrates like a plucked guitar string; before I’m halfway across, it’s visibly bouncing. I look down past my toes at the rocks two stories below and my reaction surprises me: This is thrilling.

Once across, I look back at Jeff. The rushing stream drowns out our shouts. He plants one foot on the walkwire, scowls, shakes his head, and backs off it. He scrambles down to the creek and walks downstream a short distance to a rock-hop crossing that’s easy enough at this water level. Then he’s crashing through the jungle more than a hundred feet downhill from me, bushwhacking up a steep, muddy slope so thickly vegetated that I can’t see him, I can only hear his panting and cursing and see ferns and other leafy plants shaking seizure-like as he yards on them. Twenty strenuous minutes after he backed off the walkwire, he reaches me looking like a puppy rescued from a cyclone.

Jeff has gleefully hiked through days of cold rain in Norway with me; we’ve been blown off our feet together by gusts of Patagonian wind. But watching him now, I get the sense that he may be questioning what the hell we’re doing here.

A trekker at Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker descending from Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. A trekker descending from Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Trees below Centre Pass on the Dusky Track, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Centre Pass

Beyond the walkwire, we commence another brutally, unbelievably dirty and arduous ascent of more than 2,000 vertical feet in just over a mile—climbing innumerable root ladders, slogging through swamps, shimmying and slithering over and under some of the most tortuous piles of blown-down trees I’ve ever seen. Only the reliably steady line of orange ribbons offer any evidence that we are on a trail.

After more than two hours of jungle thrashing, we emerge from the bush to green, rocky meadows that remind me of the Scottish Highlands, only—and it stuns me to think this—wetter. A meandering footpath leads us over 3,448-foot (1051m) Centre Pass, where a chilly wind blows through the cliff-flanked gap. But the clouds have broken up, granting us a temporary reprieve from the rain, and we get a view made more special by knowing how few people endure the suffering required to reach this spot.

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.

Gear Tips Bring clothing layers for moderate to cold temperatures in spring, summer, and fall, including high-quality, reliably waterproof-breathable boots and shells (jacket and pants) and a rain jacket with an adjustable hood that provides full coverage. Even on days of no rain, you will be wet from the muddy track and vegetation that’s almost constantly wet hanging over the trail. Waterproof-breathable, knee-high gaiters are almost mandatory for keeping feet and pant legs dry. A backpack with capacity of 50 to 65 liters is adequate for the food and gear needed on the Dusky Track.

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 Backpacks

Review: Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories

The 5 Best Rain Jackets for Hiking and Backpacking

The 10 Best Down Jackets

All of my reviews of backpacking boots and hiking shoes.

Other articles at The Big Outside that may be useful in preparing for a Dusky Track trek include:

5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry on the Trail

7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking

Food, Lodging, Supplies There is a range of numerous, excellent lodging options and restaurants in Te Anau, the gateway town for the Dusky Track and other tracks in Fiordland National Park, where you can also buy food, stove fuel, gear, and other supplies. See teanau.net.nz.

For lodging, I recommend Te Anau Top 10 (teanautop10.co.nz) and. For restaurants, we had excellent meals at Redcliff Café (theredcliff.co.nz), The Ranch Bar & Grill (theranchbar.co.nz), and La Toscana (latoscana.co.nz).

Resources 

New Zealand Department of Conservation, doc.govt.nz.

Dusky Track description, doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/fiordland/places/fiordland-national-park/things-to-do/tracks/dusky-track.

Dusky Track brochure: doc.govt.nz/globalassets/documents/parks-and-recreation/tracks-and-walks/southland/dusky-track-brochure.pdf.

DOC/Fiordland National Park Visitor Centre in Te Anau, fiordlandvc@doc.govt.nz.

Destination Fiordland, fiordland.org.nz.

DOC Know Before You Go resources, doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/know-before-you-go.

New Zealand Mountain Safety Council, mountainsafety.org.nz.

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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

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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. 

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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.

 

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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One Extraordinary Day: A 25-Mile Dayhike in the Grand Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-extraordinary-day-a-25-mile-dayhike-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-extraordinary-day-a-25-mile-dayhike-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Sun, 19 Sep 2021 09:00:34 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=14502 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

There’s not another hiker in sight as my friend David Ports and I start down the Hermit Trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, even though it’s nearly 8 a.m., hardly an early hour to hit the trail. And that’s just the first conspicuously unusual circumstance at the outset of our hike. The second obvious oddity this morning is that it’s overcast—a welcome sight here—and actually chilly enough that we’re wearing the light jackets we brought.

But most unusual aspect of this hike is that we’re only carrying light daypacks—and cruising along almost effortlessly—for a walk of nearly 25 miles, with some 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss. That’s because we’ll do it all today.

David and I have set out to dayhike the 24.8 miles from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead on the Grand Canyon’s South Rim. Descending the Hermit Trail, traversing the Tonto Trail for 13 miles across five major tributary canyons of the Colorado River, and then ascending the Bright Angel Trail, we’ll enjoy a grand, 11-hour tour that delivers a magnificent sampler of Grand Canyon hiking (which is why this is the most popular backpacking route in the canyon, after the corridor trails: Bright Angel, South Kaibab, and North Kaibab).


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Looking down the Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon. Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon. Hermit Trail, Grand Canyon. Hiking up Monument Creek Canyon. Hermit Trail. Hermit Trail. Hermit Trail. Hermit Trail. A hiker on the Grand Canyon's Hermit Trail. Hermit Trail. Hiking up Monument Creek Canyon. Monument Creek Canyon. Hiking up Monument Creek Canyon.

Hermit Trail

A number of years ago, I backpacked this route over four days with my wife, my mom (then in her 60s), and some friends. On that trip, also in May, we had more typical weather for this time of year: sunny days that grew oppressively hot by mid-morning. The exhaustion we felt from the heat was only exacerbated by our heavy backpacks. We’d rise before first light in order to hike in the cooler, morning hours, and finish each day’s mileage by midday, so we could relax (in shade whenever possible) through the stifling afternoons.

Ironically, today’s hike feels much less strenuous to me than that backpacking trip years ago because we’re traveling so much lighter.

A light rain shower begins to fall as David and I stop for a short lunch break at the bottom of the Hermit Trail. But the temperature has risen into the 60s and will reach the 70s today—a light rain actually feels great as we continue hiking east on the Tonto Trail.

I’m struck by how much more spectacular the hike is than I remember, especially sections like the lower Hermit Trail, which slices through the rugged Supai and Redwall layers, and the shattered inner gorge and soaring, burgundy cliffs of the canyon of Monument Creek, one of the hike’s many highlights (lead photo at top of story).

But there are stretches of this hike that conjure fond flashbacks. As we walk up the side canyon carved by Horn Creek, in a jaw-dropping amphitheater of red and white cliffs and castle-like towers, I vividly remember hunkering down in the shade of small trees there and sleeping under the stars on that mild, last night of our first backpacking trip here.

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Above Monument Creek Canyon. The Inferno, Salt Creek, Tonto Trail. Along the Tonto Trail. Along the Tonto Trail. Along the Tonto Trail. Just off the Tonto Trail. Tonto Trail between Salt Creek and Horn Creek. Tonto Trail at Horn Creek. Tonto Trail at Horn Creek. Tonto Trail at Horn Creek. Bright Angel Trail. Bright Angel Trail.

Bright Angel Trail

Evening falls as David and I hike up the relentless switchbacks of the Bright Angel Trail. Our legs are feeling the miles—not surprising especially considering that we’re out here a day after finishing a very tough, three-day, 34.5-mile backpacking trip on the canyon’s remote Royal Arch Loop.

By the time we reach the South Rim again, I’m quite ready to call it a day—an extraordinary day.

The Grand Canyon is not a place to embark on an overambitious hike—the severe climate and topography are unforgiving. But if you’re prepared for it, I can hardly think of a better place for a big dayhike than the Big Ditch.

Do your Grand Canyon hike right with these expert e-guides:
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.”

 

See “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon,” “5 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all of my stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon, “Cranking Out Big Days: How to Ramp Up Your Hikes and Trail Runs,” and all of my stories about ultra-hiking at The Big Outside.

Take This Trip

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR experienced hikers in excellent physical condition (as a one-day hike), with intermediate to expert desert-backcountry experience and navigation skills, or backpackers in moderately good physical condition with some backpacking experience. This is a good choice for a first Grand Canyon backpacking trip. Any hike descending into the Grand Canyon is strenuous, but the unmaintained Hermit Trail is considerably more difficult than any of the three corridor trails (Bright Angel, South Kaibab, and North Kaibab). The entire route is well marked and obvious, so it doesn’t present any navigational challenges to anyone capable of reading a map.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.”


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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
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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.

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A Walk in the Winds—Dayhiking 27 Miles Across the Wind River Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-walk-in-the-winds-hiking-a-one-day-27-mile-traverse-of-wyomings-wind-river-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-walk-in-the-winds-hiking-a-one-day-27-mile-traverse-of-wyomings-wind-river-range/#respond Wed, 02 Jun 2021 09:51:51 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6656 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

At 6:20 a.m., more than an hour into our hike, the sun surfaces through the thick layer of wildfire smoke in the valley below us. A blood-red sliver with clouds above it burning orange and yellow, it slowly blossoms into a partial disk, then a full, sharply defined orb glowing like a hot ember. It looks both beautiful and darkly sinister.

I’m trying to figure out whether this sunrise is a metaphor for our plans to hike 27 miles across Wyoming’s Wind River Range today. But I’m working on three hours of sleep and my brain’s functioning at about 20 percent of capacity. So I’m not sure whether this sunrise through wildfire smoke foretells us burning up the trail or, conversely, crashing and burning. As tired as I feel, I’m not sure that I want to know.

Six of us have embarked on a one-day, 27-mile crossing of the southern Winds, from the Bears Ears Trailhead in Dickinson Park on the east side to the Big Sandy Opening Trailhead on the west side. With a cumulative elevation gain of about 4,500 feet, this alpine traverse will have us above 11,000 feet for many hours today, drinking up expansive vistas of soaring granite cliffs and peaks rising above 12,000 feet on the Continental Divide. In fact, the excitement began building on our nearly two-hour drive in the dark from Lander to the Bears Ears Trailhead: We saw a bull moose, several pronghorn, and a bull elk along the road. It was a reminder of the wildness of this mountain range that extends for about 100 miles and has more than 40 summits rising above 13,000 feet.

A hiker on Mount Chauvenet in the Wind River Range.
Shelli Johnson hiking up Mount Chauvenet in the Wind River Range.

Unfortunately, we’re all badly sleep-deprived. We got about three hours of slumber after meeting up last night in Lander, then rose before 2 a.m. to leave town at 3 a.m.

But just before sunrise, around four miles into our hike, we hit the plateau above treeline, at 10,500 feet. Stepping into a breeze from the west that is keeping the smoke to the east of us—so far—we gaze up at the kind of azure sky you only see high up in the mountains. The panorama of stone monoliths and spires and boulder-strewn ground seems to revive all of us; we start cruising across this rolling plateau toward the twin pinnacles called the Bears Ears. Shelli Johnson jokes, “Wish I was sleeping in now!”

I’m confident everyone in this group will complete this hike; we’ve all done much longer and harder ones. But our journey’s ultimate objective, I think, is less about distance than about time—time together with friends, that is, sharing a big adventure in a beautiful place.


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 Annual Big Hike

I’ve developed an annual tradition of an ultra-hike with a group of friends. Every year, we rendezvous in a different, spectacular location, sometimes for one huge day, sometimes for a multi-day trip. Our party’s makeup changes slightly every year, depending on people’s schedules: Some regulars are occasionally unable to make it, and often we add one or two new faces.

Todd Arndt, a friend from Idaho, has been doing these trips with me for a decade or more, including a 44-mile, 11,000-vertical-foot, rim-to-rim-to-rim dayhike across the Grand Canyon and back; a seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail, averaging 31 miles per day; and just a year before this Winds outing, an epic, one-day, 50-mile traverse of Zion National Park. Jon Dorn, who lives in Boulder, Colorado, and I have shared many adventures, but he first joined this posse for our Zion traverse and brought Shelli Johnson, introducing her to our group—and I already feel like she’s been a close friend for years. This year, Shelli, who lives in Lander, enticed us into taking this ultra-dayhike in her back yard, the Wind River Range.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

A hiker on the Lizard Head Plateau, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Shelley Johnson hiking across the Lizard Head Plateau, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Hannah North, another longtime friend and rock-climbing partner of mine from Idaho, is one of this year’s newcomers; she retired earlier this year and has hiked 30 days already this summer, including just finishing a 10-day backpacking trip the length of the Winds. Our other newbie is Jon’s friend Josh Berlin, from outside Boston. He’s been training on New England trails for today, but has hiked more than 20 miles in a day just once before, and is coming from sea level. Before this day’s over, he will generously provide us with its biggest moment of suspense.

The regular shuffling of the deck of participants in this annual hike explains a large part of the magic of these adventures. Regulars look forward to it; newcomers jump right in and become instant bosom pals. That’s what happens when you team up for a huge physical challenge amid incomparable scenery.

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Lizard Head Plateau

Todd below Lizard Head Peak.
Todd below Lizard Head Peak.

After nearly four hours and nine miles at a somewhat leisurely pace, we drop our packs beside the trail on the west side of Mt. Chauvenet to make the 20-minute, off-trail side hike to its 12,250-foot summit, a few hundred vertical feet and one-third of a mile away. A bit of boulder scrambling lands us on top, where we gaze west at a long escarpment that includes Buffalo Peak, Camel’s Hump, and Mounts Washakie and Hooker.

Dappled sunlight pokes through streaks of high cirrus clouds and the temperature sits comfortably in the fifties as we pick up our packs again and resume walking across the Lizard Head Plateau. There’s hardly a patch of vegetation taller than an alpine aster out here. This is the payoff of this hike: Huge vistas most of the way, in one of the biggest, most rugged ranges of the Rocky Mountains. We pass below Lizard Head Peak and its glacier, and then descend switchbacks into the forested valley of the North Fork Popo Agie River.

On the way down, I roll my right ankle for the fourth time today. The first two twists were sharp and painful, but the third and fourth actually not so bad. I pause and flex the ankle around; the pain dissipates within minutes, and I resume walking without any real discomfort. Innumerable sprains from hiking and trail running over the years have made my ankles like some old toy held together with rubber bands. Oh, well, what can you do?

As we’re snacking and treating water from the North Fork Popo Agie, a rain shower abruptly rolls through. Within minutes, though, it passes. Then we’re off again, hiking through more sunshine toward the scenic pièce de résistance of this little jaunt.

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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.

Cirque of the Towers

Why do we set out on these huge days of hiking? Why not backpack this 27-mile traverse as an overnight or three-day trip instead? I suppose the answer is kind of like some personal relationships: complicated.

I think part of the motivation is simply that we all have busy lives and many obligations, yet we want to explore as much stunning wilderness as we can. If we can’t carve out three days for this hike, but we can complete it in a day, why wouldn’t we? Planning a hike like this some months in advance, as we always do, also gives us a goal to get in shape for. (Then again, sometimes we don’t all have the time to train adequately, but make the hike, anyway.) So maybe the short answer is: We do it because we can. Finishing it is, in and of itself, a powerful reward.

Want more? See “The 20 Best National Park Dayhikes” and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Hiker below Pingora, Cirque of the Towers
Josh below Pingora, Cirque of the Towers.

The biggest motivator, though, may be a simpler explanation: One of us proposes a fantastic trip (often me, this time Shelli) and invites others, and it sounds too good to turn down.

Around 2:30 p.m., we reach Lonesome Lake in the Cirque of the Towers, a mind-boggling horseshoe of sheer-walled, granite peaks standing shoulder to shoulder, scratching at the clouds. I look up at the familiar toothy skyline, recalling details of alpine rock climbs I’ve done here in past years. I remember vividly the feeling I had the first time I hiked over Jackass Pass on the approach from the other side, when I got my first look into the Cirque. Jaw dropping is overused hyperbole, but at that moment, I thought my teeth were going to fall out of my head. I doubt this view could ever really lose its power to awe me.

We hike up through the Cirque to Jackass Pass, where mighty gusts of wind knock us around and drown out our shouts to one another. From Jackass, it’s a steep descent on a trail of loose, gravelly rock, to North Lake and on down to Big Sandy Lake. Afternoon begins its creep into evening; leg muscles grow weary and feet are starting to feel a bit pounded. Still, it’s been such a pleasant day in terms of cool temps and a nice breeze that I’ve honestly hardly broken a sweat.

At Big Sandy Lake just after 5 p.m., we face a flat, mostly wooded, six-mile hike out to the Big Sandy Opening trailhead, where Shelli’s husband Jerry is waiting to drive us about two hours back to Lander. Our group strings out, walking at individual paces, everyone fine with hoofing the last, easy leg of this trek solo.

 

When hiking alone, I let myself fall into a comfortable rhythm, soaking up the quiet of the forest, sorting through various things on my mind. I think now about how my kids are nearing the age where they’ll be ready for big dayhikes like this. I sense that knowing I do these hikes inspires them—my son already talks about joining me on longer hikes. Taking these hikes also hews to my tip number 10 for raising outdoors-loving kids.

Somewhere in the last few miles, I feel my internal gas tank’s idiot light click on, and make a mental note: All things considered, three hours of sleep seems woefully inadequate rest before a 27-mile dayhike. Shoot for at least five hours next time.

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A hiker atop Mount Chauvenet, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Hannah North atop Mount Chauvenet, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Big Sandy

One at a time, we straggle into the parking lot, where Jerry greets us with enough food and beverages that it feels like Thanksgiving after this calorie-intensive day. As we laugh and rub sore feet, daytime fades to dusk. Thinking back on some of the most scenic single days of hiking I’ve ever enjoyed, I believe this traverse of the southern Winds will join that list.

Jon announces he’ll walk back up the trail with a beer to greet Josh, the last straggler. A little while later, Jon returns at a hurried pace, saying he went a mile up the trail and saw no trace of Josh. He grabs a headlamp to head back out; a few of us do the same.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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!”

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

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NOTE: See my previous story about dayhiking, slot canyoneering, and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Guide Steve Howe, Redrock Adventure Guides, Torrey, UT, (435) 425-3339, redrockadventureguides.com.

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11,000 Feet Over Death Valley: Hiking Telescope Peak https://thebigoutsideblog.com/11000-feet-over-death-valley-hiking-telescope-peak/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/11000-feet-over-death-valley-hiking-telescope-peak/#respond Sun, 18 Oct 2020 09:00:08 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21841 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We set out at a brisk pace from the Telescope Peak Trailhead, at just over 8,100 feet in Death Valley National Park, for a good reason: It’s 29° F at just after 7 a.m. on this Saturday in the third week of May. That’s exactly 80 degrees colder than the big digital thermometer at the park’s Furnace Creek visitor center read when we arrived here four days ago. But the fifth-largest U.S. national park—and the biggest one outside Alaska—is nothing if not a place of extremes, both of temperature and physical relief. Today, besides notching the coldest temp we’ll see over four days of hiking in Death Valley, we intend to tag another of its extremes: the highest summit in Death Valley National Park, 11,049-foot Telescope Peak.

Within minutes, we’ve warmed up and emerged from the sparse forest to 50-mile views that will accompany us the rest of the way. The sun shines warmly—the virtually constant meteorological reality in one of the driest deserts on Earth—balancing out the chilly temps. We’re hardly breaking a sweat.


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On the Telescope Peak Trail.
On the Telescope Peak Trail.

The Telescope Peak Trail is a beautiful hike, wandering a circuitous route up into the Panamint Range, delivering views of the valleys on both sides of Telescope Peak, Death Valley to the east and Panamint Valley to the west—both more than two vertical miles below the summit of Telescope. Barren, rocky ridges cut sharp angles in their long plunge to the valley floors. In early spring, we’d see wildflowers blooming across these slopes. Higher up, we hike past gnarled, ancient bristlecone pines.

It’s so scenic and enjoyable that I consider it one of “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes” and “The 12 Best Uncrowded National Park Dayhikes,” lists that I’ve put together from my experience of four decades of hiking all over the country, including 10 years as a (past) Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and longer than that running this blog.

I’ve come to Death Valley National Park with three companions, and we’ve already spent three days backpacking up Surprise Canyon in the Panamint Range to a mining ghost town called Panamint City. This is our last day here, and it seemed fitting to spend it tagging the park’s high point, a 14-mile, nearly 3,000-foot round-trip hike.

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Hiking Telescope Peak, Death Valley. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Hiking Telescope Peak. Along Telescope Peak Trail. Tree along Telescope Peak Trail. Near summit of Telescope Peak. Near summit of Telescope Peak. Near summit of Telescope Peak. View from summit of Telescope Peak. Summit of Telescope Peak. Summit of Telescope Peak. Hiking off summit of Telescope Peak.

Death Valley National Park

Death Valley National Park is best known for two things: the lowest point in North America, Badwater Basin, at 282 feet (86m) below sea level; and the hottest temperature every recorded in America, 134° F (56.7° C) on July 10, 1913, at Furnace Creek.

But there’s much more to this park. Besides being America’s fifth largest at well over 3.3 million acres (1.5 times the size of Yellowstone), it contains America’s largest federally designated wilderness in the Lower 48, at over three million acres. Only five wilderness areas in Alaska are bigger.

Few places in the country have the relief of the Panamint Range: Over 11,000 vertical feet separate the crown of Telescope Peak and Badwater Basin. That’s as much relief as there is between the summit of the highest peak in the Lower 48, 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, and the tiny Eastern Sierra towns lying at its foot, and between the summit of Mount Everest and its primary base camp.

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Rosie Mansfield on the summit of Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.
Rosie Mansfield on Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.

Telescope Peak

As we reach 10,000 feet on the Telescope Peak Trail, the air thins enough to slow our pace and force us to deliberately breathe more deeply. The final mile to the summit grinds through numerous, long switchbacks. But after the last of them, we follow the summit ridge as if walking the crest of a steep-sided roof, with views in all directions, up to the broad patch of rock and dirt at the roof of Death Valley.

We reach the summit in under three hours, at just after 10 a.m., and spend almost an hour up there, in warm sunshine, drinking up some big panoramas.

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Standing here, the enormity of Death Valley becomes more visual. To the west, 85 miles from the lowest point in North America, stands the highest peak in the contiguous United States, 14,505-foot Mount Whitney (which I stood on top of with my son a month earlier). The flat pan of salt-bottomed and sandy desert thousands of feet below us strikes a sharp contrast with the dark rock of the mountains across the valley, the snow-capped High Sierra off to the west, and an electrically blue sky.

Telescope Peak may not be on the radar of many hikers—or Death Valley National Park, for that matter. But put it on yours. A well-constructed trail, scenic almost every step of the way, with a grand finish along the crest of the summit ridge—as a hike or trail run, it’s a lesser-known gem of the National Park System.

See all of my stories about Death Valley National Park, including “A Mind-Boggling Chunk of Lonely: Backpacking in Death Valley National Park,” and all of my stories about adventures in California national parks at The Big Outside.

Hiking off the summit of Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.
Hiking off the summit of Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.

Take This Hike

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR reasonably fit hikers. Challenges include reaching an elevation over 11,000 feet, where many people will feel mild effects of altitude like shortness of breath (hydrate well to avoid a headache) and hot alpine sun. The trail is quite obvious and easy to follow.

Season The prime seasons for hiking Telescope Peak are April to May and September often into November. Even at high elevations in the Panamint Range of Death Valley National Park, summers can be unbearably hot. Winter hiking is possible, but sometimes requires gear for hiking on snow and ice. The trail usually becomes snow-free by sometime in May.

The Itinerary From Mahogany Flat campground at 8,133 feet, follow the Telescope Peak Trail seven miles (one-way) to the summit. It ascends at a very moderate (runnable) angle much of the way, getting steeper in the last mile to the summit.

Getting There Drive CA 190 to Emigrant, 9.3 miles west of Stovepipe Wells Village in Death Valley National Park. Turn south onto Emigrant Canyon Road and follow signs about 22 miles to the Telescope Peak Trailhead at Mahogany Flats campground. Depending on road conditions, low-clearance vehicles (most cars) may have to park at Charcoal Kilns, adding 1.5 miles of road walking each way to the hike.

Map Trails Illustrated Death Valley National Park no. 221, natgeomaps.com.

 

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Guidebook/Website Hiking Western Death Valley National Park, by Michel Digonnet, $19.95, available for purchase at the park’s Furnace Creek visitor center. I also recommend the website panamintcity.com, which describes and has photos of dozens of hikes and backpacking trips in Death Valley National Park.

Concerns
•    There are no water sources on the Telescope Peak Trail. Bring all the water you’ll need for the entire hike.
•    Temperatures get dangerously hot from late spring until fall, although that varies greatly with elevation.

Contact Death Valley National Park, nps.gov/deva.

 

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Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell https://thebigoutsideblog.com/roof-of-the-east-hiking-north-carolinas-mount-mitchell/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/roof-of-the-east-hiking-north-carolinas-mount-mitchell/#comments Sun, 13 Sep 2020 09:00:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24202 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

At 6,327-foot Celo Knob, on North Carolina’s Black Mountain Crest Trail, I stand in bright sunshine and a chilly October wind gusting to 40 mph or more, staring at the long ridge stretching for miles ahead of me. It’s both stunning and daunting. Several more summits that top 6,000 feet, and others nearly that high, form a forested, earthen rollercoaster, culminating at 6,684-foot Mount Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi. There are a few ways one can climb to the roof of the East. I’ve chosen the longest, hardest, and most scenic.

For many reasons—not always easy to enunciate—I find hikes that are challenging are usually also the most satisfying. So it’s with a powerful sense of excitement that, after enjoying the view from Celo Knob of the spine of the Black Mountains and the rumpled-blanket contours of western North Carolina, I continue my solo dayhike south toward Mount Mitchell.

From the trailhead where I began this hike, at 3,000 feet just outside Burnsville, N.C., the Black Mountain Crest Trail racks up about 5,000 vertical feet of cumulative elevation gain over 11.3 miles to the crown of Mount Mitchell. But those numbers only begin to communicate the physically taxing nature of this trail.


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Mount Mitchell from the Black Mountain Crest Trail. Along the Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. Black Mountain Crest Trail. View from Celo Knob of the Black Mountain Crest Trail.

The hike offers up something of a gauntlet of character-building trail conditions lurking in these rough, old Appalachian Mountains.

Appropriately, hiking the hardest footpath to the top of the East’s highest peak begins with a relentlessly steep ascent of more than 3,000 feet up an old two-track road that gradually narrows to a trail, walking over wet, slick, fallen leaves and through the occasional small pond of mud. From an open meadow on Celo Knob, one can see how the ridge rises and falls in abrupt steps between the multiple summits; and as I’ll discover over the next several hours, the path frequently varies from slick trees roots and mud to granite bedrock.

I’m hiking the long way up Mount Mitchell on the second day of a week of dayhiking in the western North Carolina mountains, hitting several summits and visiting some of the hundreds of waterfalls scattered throughout these densely forested hills, and backpacking in the Great Smoky Mountains.

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A hiker on the Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina.
A hiker on the Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina.

The Black Mountain Crest Trail largely clings to the crest of a ridge narrow enough that, even though you’re usually in the woods, the blue sky visible through the trees conveys how quickly the earth drops off to either side. The trail pokes out of the forest occasionally to give me long views from the brink of sharp drop-offs or small patches of wind-pounded, grassy meadow occupied by boulders and ledges of lichen-speckled granite.

But for most of the trail’s miles, I walk a meandering path through the quietly peaceful lushness of the Southern Appalachian forest. Moss and ferns carpet ground that often appears to be more rock than soil. At times, the trail seems to terminate inexplicably in a wall of earth, granite slab, and exposed tree roots, until I see that it actually continues straight over these obstacles. Today’s relentlessly fierce wind slashes through the pickets of trees, but for the most part, I’m protected from it. I pass at least two dozen backpackers and dayhikers on this sunny Sunday, mostly on the southern half of the trail; I see very few people north of Deep Gap, a 500-foot-deep cleft chopped out of the ridge.

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Several hours after I set out from the Bowlens Creek Trailhead, I step off the dirt trail onto the pavement of the parking lot minutes below the summit of Mount Mitchell. The sudden transition from quiet woods to a place noisy with people and cars is a shock. Still, I figure I’ve come all this way, it seems like I should officially finish this hike.

I join the steady stream of people on the short, paved walkway to the top of Mitchell. Standing on the highest point of land in the eastern United States, looking back at the string of summits along the ridge I just hiked, the view is nice—but the journey getting here was much nicer.

 

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Ask Me: Should I Hike or Backpack Solo in Bear Country? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-should-i-hike-or-backpack-solo-in-bear-country/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-should-i-hike-or-backpack-solo-in-bear-country/#comments Sat, 15 Aug 2020 09:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26900 Read on

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Michael,

Here’s a question I’ve struggled with. Because of the timing of my trips, I often end up hiking and backpacking solo. I enjoy that (and enjoy groups). However, as a result, I’ve had a number of bear and moose encounters that have left me a little uncomfortable, and with a feeling of powerlessness in those situations. I’ve read about bear encounters and technically know what to do (making noise, etc.), but I’ve sometimes exhausted all those tricks and found myself still staring at a bear in my path. What do you recommend I do—especially about hiking solo?

It’s made me more conservative recently—in particular, I had made plans to hike the Teton Crest Trail in September, had the permit, etc., but ended up dayhiking instead (Cascade Canyon, Paintbrush Canyon). Those dayhikes were awesome and it was probably the smarter decision, as there ended up being storms up on the crest. But, truth be told, I really made that decision to dayhike instead of backpack largely because I feel like I can do everything I’m technically supposed to with regard to bear encounters and still feel powerless when I’ve exhausted all my tools and tricks.

I hate that feeling (and I’ve had it a few times) where I’ve done everything I’m “supposed” to do and it comes down the bear’s choice. He’s still staring at me and eventually—fortunately for me—each time, the bear has made the choice to amble off in another direction.

Thoughts?

Dave
Ann Arbor, MI

A grizzly bear in the backcountry of Glacier National Park.
A grizzly bear in the backcountry of Glacier National Park.

Hi Dave,

Many people can appreciate those sentiments, including me. I’ve taken many solo trips, and had many bear encounters solo and with companions, some of them up close. A friend and I had one encounter in Glacier National Park with a grizzly sow with two cubs at a distance of about 30 feet, and it’s very unnerving. (The sow and cubs barely even looked in our direction; they weren’t interested.)

More recently, on a 94-mile backpacking trip through Glacier in September 2018, another friend and I had to wait out a griz that was grazing very close to the trail ahead of us—too close to the trail to consider hiking past the bear. We blew air horns but that had no impact on this bruin. We watched it from about 200 yards away across a meadow for nearly an hour before we finally decided to bushwhack a wide arc around that section of trail, making noise all the way, which worked—but we lost at least an hour of hiking time.


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A grizzly bear above Poia Lake in Glacier National Park.
A grizzly bear above Poia Lake in Glacier National Park.

The chances of a violent encounter are extremely low, but the consequences are high, of course, and you never know.

I’ve had numerous encounters with black bears where I threw rocks to chase them off (they were always going for my food, not me). That would be a dangerous response to grizzly bears. Moose can be dangerous, especially during the fall rutting season, but every encounter I’ve had with one has been non-confrontational, even though maybe one or two were fairly close range.

You can find other sources for tips on how to hike safely in bear country, and the definitive text on that is the book Bear Attacks: Their Causes and Avoidance, by Stephen Herrero.

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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 for my expert e-guide to the Teton Crest Trail.

Your question is about deciding whether or when to backpack solo in bear country, so I’ll tell you how I approach that question.

I think specifically about the place and the likelihood of a bear or moose encounter while hiking solo. For instance, I’ve seen moose in the Tetons at least three times, always at an adequate distance to not antagonize them, and I have encountered a black bear there on a couple of occasions, never threatening, over the course of probably more than 20 trips in the Tetons backcountry (including some remote, off-trail areas). I suspect bear encounters in the Tetons are rare because of the park’s management of backpackers and food in camping zones, and the regular hiker and backpacker traffic keeping bears away from many trails. But grizzly bears have taken up residence in the Teton Range, increasing the hazard of being alone.

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Given all that, and the regular human traffic in the Tetons in summer (it does taper off in September), and the fact that much of the terrain—especially along the Teton Crest Trail—is in meadows or above treeline, with long sight lines, I consider the Tetons a relatively safe park for someone with the right skills to backpack solo.

However, I wouldn’t recommend solo backpacking, for example, in Glacier, where there’s a high concentration of black and grizzly bears and moose, or in many parks in Alaska. Maybe not in the Olympic Mountains, either, because of a high concentration of black bears and dense forest increasing the likelihood of a surprise, close encounter. (I shot the lead photo of a black bear at the top of this story in the Olympic Mountains; it was just off the trail we were backpacking down, and showed no aggression toward us, but we moved along quickly.)

A brown bear in Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska.
A brown bear in Glacier Bay National Park, Alaska.

As for specific, solo-hiking strategies, here are mine.

Planning months ahead certainly helps you avoid having to hike solo. While I’ve done it many times, I rarely backpack solo these days, mostly because I plan my trips months in advance and that helps in finding friends and family who can join me. (I prefer having companions, and I tend to miss my family more when I’m out solo, which makes it less enjoyable for me.)

• When in grizzly country, I always carry this pepper spray. (Tip: Practice pulling the plastic locking clip off it, because it’ll be very hard to think straight when you see a bear charging. Also, before removing the clip, look at it closely, or even take a photo of it in place, so that you know how to put it back in place; I’ve seen a friend replace it upside-down, which can allow it to accidentally deploy the spray when bumped.)

• I carry an air horn. (Small bells are useless—their noise doesn’t travel very far.) I have a couple of Falcon Personal Safety Horns (so I can give one to a companion, too). They’re small, weigh just a few ounces, easy to clip to a shoulder strap or belt, and very loud. (Don’t point one at someone and blast it, or fire it off near your face, it’s painfully loud.)

While pepper spray is only effective when a bear is within about 15 to 20 feet, an air horn can frighten off a bear at a distance, or just let it know you’re there. I’ll occasionally give my air horn a blast when walking through dense forest or brush in bear country, when I can’t see far. While my anecdote (above) from a griz encounter in Glacier illustrates that horns are not always effective at hazing a bear to leave an area, I’ve read about them working well, and it’s such a loud and unnatural noise that I believe it would work sometimes—including possibly with other large animals, like moose.

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A black bear in the northern Bailey Range, Olympic Mountains.
A black bear in the northern Bailey Range, Olympic Mountains.

Hiking in daylight, and not too early in the morning or after sunset, makes you safer because most animals are more active between dusk and dawn. Safe food storage in camp also makes you safer, and I might feel more inclined to carry a bear canister, even if it’s not required, when I’m solo. (See my favorite canister in my review of essential backpacking accessories.)

Be aware of whether you’re hiking into the wind or downwind—when moving downwind, animals will detect your scent from a greater distance, whereas upwind, they are less likely to smell or hear you at a distance. Also, be conscious of ambient noise levels: A loud river nearby could drown out your noise, while quiet surroundings enable animals to hear you from a greater distance—and occasionally, for you to hear them.

• Whether solo or with companions, give your itinerary to someone reliable, along with the phone number of the park ranger station or local authorities, and tell them to report you missing if they haven’t heard from you within a day after you expected to finish your trip.

• You could carry a GPS/communication device, like a Garmin inReach, that would allow you to signal for a rescue and send a nightly message to someone back home to let that person know you’re fine. With any type of emergency beacon, you significantly reduce the rescue-response time if you do have an emergency.

Perhaps most importantly, whether solo or with companions, ask park rangers about the location and details of any recent bear activity, because that can tell you a lot about where it’s relatively safe and unsafe to hike at any particular time. Bears are always on the move, and at any given time, certain locations in a park are more dangerous than other areas.

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That’s about all you can do short of carrying a large gun—which isn’t permitted in some places, and it’s heavy. Plus, a handgun is not going to stop a bear or moose; the rifles used to kill them are high caliber and one bullet often isn’t enough. And imagine trying to aim and fire a rifle at a bear at close range, charging at 30 mph.

Pepper spray would likely be much more effective at close range: The spray disperses widely and virtually always turns a bear away, whereas you may shoot and miss with a gun, or just enrage the bear more if you hit it without really injuring it. From a distance, a gunshot may dissuade a bear, but I’ll choose the pepper spray and air horn over a gun.

To my last bullet point above, my brother-in-law, Tom Beach, who worked as a backcountry ranger in Yellowstone for about 10 years, offered these thoughts on this question, and I think his general advice applies to many places with grizzly or brown bears:

“I would backpack solo in most of Yellowstone (and was almost always solo when I was a backcountry ranger on foot), but there is about 10 to 15 percent of the park where I would never go solo due to the grizzly bear concentration (and these areas change from month to month depending on the bears’ main food sources). The challenge is that the Park Service will give you a permit to hike solo just about anywhere, and so you have to have a lot of experience/local knowledge to know better. People should be sure to ask questions about recent bear activity or sightings in the area where they are planning to go, when they pick up their permit.”

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My suggestions do not completely eliminate risk of a hostile animal encounter, of course. But statistically, you are far more likely to be injured in a fall when hiking, whether solo or with companions, than to have an animal encounter. When solo, I think much more about being careful to avoid that kind of accident.

In general, though, most animals—including another you didn’t mention, mountain lions—detect people long before we are aware of them, and we probably usually fail to ever know how many animals are nearby.

I remember, several years ago, after dayhiking with my family when my kids were quite young to Grinnell Glacier in Glacier National Park—a busy trail with a constant stream of dayhikers—I ran into someone at the campground at Many Glacier who said he was in a boat on the lake below the trail around the same time we were hiking it. He said he could see something like a dozen bears grazing peacefully very near the trail, but hidden by vegetation from the hikers passing close by, and the bears just seemed oblivious to the people.

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Good luck, keep in touch.

Best,
Michael

—Michael Lanza

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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Michael Lanza of The Big Outside on the summit of Clouds Rest, Yosemite National Park.
Me on the summit of Clouds Rest in Yosemite.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tricks-for-making-hiking-and-backpacking-easier/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tricks-for-making-hiking-and-backpacking-easier/#comments Wed, 08 Jul 2020 09:00:21 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12475 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

When I started hiking, I was like a young baseball pitcher with an overpowering fastball: I hurled myself at every hike with all of my energy. I didn’t think about how far I was hiking, the terrain’s ruggedness, or my pack’s weight. I was young and fit, so my haphazard strategy worked fine.

Now, many years and miles later—including 10 years as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and many years running this blog—I’m more like a veteran hurler who’s honed a repertoire of off-speed pitches. I’ve learned various tricks to soften the blow of hard miles, helping me to hike 20, 30, even 40 miles in a day—even in my forties and fifties.

No matter how far you plan to hike, these tips will make your hikes easier.

It’s natural to think that walking is walking and there are no secrets to doing it better—after all, most of us have been walking since we were about a year old. But as with many endurance sports, there are ways to hike a trail more efficiently, conserving energy and reducing the physical impacts that bring on fatigue. The 10 expert tips below will help you do exactly that.

Tell me what you think of my tips and share your own tricks and tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Reading this complete story requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you don’t want to purchase a subscription, click here now to buy this story separately as a downloadable e-guide.


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.


 

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click on the photo to see my e-guide “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

No. 1 Be Fit

Sure, this seems obvious, but we all know it’s easy to fall off track and find yourself struggling on a dayhike or backpacking trip because you’re in less-than-optimal physical condition.

Maintain a regular exercise program so that you hit the trail with a good base of fitness. If you’ve fallen off a training program, get back on it two to three months prior to a trip. The better your physical condition, the more you’ll enjoy whatever distance you hike—and the less likely you are to get hurt.

See my story “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.”

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A backpacker above Thousand Island Lake on the John Muir Trail.
Todd Arndt above Thousand Island Lake on the John Muir Trail.

No. 2 Go Light

This tip goes hand-in-hand with no. 1 (above): Keep your pack as light as possible. These first two tips are simply the two biggest and best steps you can take to make your backpacking trips more enjoyable. I’ve hiked all over the U.S. and the world for years, carrying heavy packs and light ones, and that has convinced me that carrying a heavy pack is harder physically than carrying a light pack even twice as far.

There’s a simple reason for that: Most people simply don’t train their bodies for the added pounding and wear-and-tear caused by hauling an extra 25, 35, or 45 pounds or more above your normal body weight in rugged terrain. It naturally takes a toll on our bodies—and that toll only grows with age.

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.

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Backpackers on the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Backpackers on the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

No. 3 Don’t Kill Yourself

Hiking is an endurance sport, not a sprint: Dial in a pace that you can maintain for hours rather than a pace at your upper limits, which will fatigue you much faster. Hike at a pace—especially uphill—where you’re not pushing your heart or respiratory rates into the red zone; you should be able to maintain a conversation without gasping. On hard ascents, stop for a 30-second breather when you need to; even brief rests can provide a surprising degree of physical recovery.

Similarly, keep most (not necessarily all) of your rest stops—sitting to eat, treating water, bathroom break, or cooling feet (see my tips for avoiding blisters)—to 15 to 20 minutes or less. That allows enough rest time without letting your muscles cool down completely, so you’re still ready to hit the trail at a steady pace.

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Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click on the photo to see my e-guide “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park.”

No. 4 Get Out Early

Hike as much as possible of each day’s mileage in the cool hours of morning (or evening), because summer afternoons are typically hotter in many mid-latitude mountain ranges and desert canyons—especially at middle to higher elevations in the U.S. West, but also in eastern mountain ranges—and heat greatly amplifies your fatigue and accelerates dehydration, which prevents muscles and cells from functioning optimally. (On a related note, I always wear a sun hat, and a wide-brim hat protects you better than a ball cap.)

Not everyone likes to wake up early, and your trip doesn’t have to feel like work. Just find a balance between getting adequate sleep and minimizing your exposure to afternoon heat.

Get organized in camp to facilitate a quicker morning departure—eating breakfast and packing up doesn’t have to take two hours. See my “5 Tips for Getting Out of Camp Faster When Backpacking.”

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Reading this complete story requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you don’t want to purchase a subscription, click here now to buy this story separately as a downloadable e-guide.

A hiker on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.
A hiker on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy. Click on the photo to see my e-guide “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

No. 5 Step Lightly

Walking straight down a slope’s fall line magnifies the strain on your feet, knees, leg muscles, and soft tissue in joints. To lessen that impact, especially on steep trails, make your own little, zigzagging switchbacks within the trail when going downhill, so that you’re landing with each foot at a diagonal angle to the fall line rather than stepping straight down it.

It can be a little tricky in narrow, rocky paths, but work on it. You’ll notice the difference once you get the knack of it. After years of doing it, it has become a mindless practice for me, and I can feel the difference in fatigue certainly over the course of a hike, but also, often, with each step.

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

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April Fools: Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-grand-ambition-or-april-fools-dayhiking-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-to-rim/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-grand-ambition-or-april-fools-dayhiking-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-to-rim/#comments Sun, 12 Apr 2020 09:00:08 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=890 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

At 5:30 in the morning in early April, the bone-chilling wind cascading off the Grand Canyon’s South Rim at 7,200 feet slices through my few thin layers of clothing. Four of us are following our headlamp beams in the dark down the South Kaibab Trail. We’re just minutes into a day that will also end by headlamp light late tonight—but only after we’ve hiked farther than any of us has ever ambulated in a single day.

That’s assuming we make it. We feel sufficiently uncertain of that outcome that we’re all carrying paper-thin, four-ounce bivy sacks, just in case we have to lie down on the ground somewhere to pass out for a few hours.

My friends Todd Arndt, Mark Fenton, and Carl Schueler and I have embarked on a trek that the National Park Service would definitely not approve of. Rangers and officials at Grand Canyon National Park caution people against attempting to hike from the South Rim to the Colorado River and back up again in a day. We’re setting out to cover more than twice that hike’s cumulative elevation and more than three times its distance.

We plan to walk from the South Rim to the river, across the canyon to the North Rim, and back again: 42 miles with about 22,000 cumulative feet of up and down. All before the hour hand makes one complete revolution.


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.


 

I’m not sure how auspicious it is that, at the outset of this epic day, I’m shivering so violently that my teeth are clacking together like the tracks beneath a passing train. And I’m wearing every stitch of clothing I brought—which is obviously not enough.

But when you are compressing one of America’s most sought-after, five- to six-day backpacking trips down to the length of a double work shift, the crazed calculus goes something like this: superfluous ounces multiplied by mileage times elevation equals added suffering. So it is deemed better to shiver for a little while than to carry clothing you won’t need for the rest of the day.

And sure enough, about 30 minutes after setting out, we’ve warmed up. As we breeze down the narrow crest of the South Kaibab Trail, the first light of day floats down like a light snowfall onto the Grand Canyon. Below us sprawls one of the planet’s most magnificent and unfathomable landscapes, a chasm a mile deep and 277 miles long, with an infinite complex of twisting side canyons, walls stacked in multi-colored layers, and an army of stone towers each standing thousands of feet tall inside this big hole. We walk swiftly but in silence, gaping.

Across the canyon, dark, gray clouds embrace the North Rim. It looks very, very far away.

I glance at my GPS: mile two. Only 40 miles to go.

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Descending the South Kaibab Trail, early morning, Grand Canyon.

‘The Height of Absurdity’

In one sense, this hike embodies the height of absurdity. To place the distance and vertical gain and loss in some perspective, compare it to climbing the Lower 48’s highest peak, California’s Mt. Whitney. That 21.6-mile, 6,000-foot slog is usually done over a weekend—partly to acclimatize to the high elevation, but also because spreading it over a couple of days is a more realistic objective for most hikers.

We are basically attempting the equivalent of climbing Whitney twice in one day.

For an ultra-hike or run like this one, get a breathable, ultralight jacket. See my reviews of the best.

And yet, for hikers and trail runners who have really planned, prepared, and trained for it (see the Make It Happen section below and my tips on training for mega-dayhikes elsewhere at this blog), it constitutes arguably the most amazing single huge day of hiking you can do in the country. We will see the Big Ditch from top to bottom and north to south—and we’ll see it twice, walking across and back, at very different times of day. As anyone who’s hiked or rafted the canyon understands, the play of light across this landscape of such depth and vastness ranges widely over the course of the day. Every corner of it, every view morphs from hour to hour.

Seeing all of this in a crazy-long day adds a major physical challenge. For persons of a certain mindset, that element of uncertainty enhances the experience, giving it another dimension that makes it irresistible.

Rather than the height of absurdity, I like to think of our plan as an ultimate expression of optimism.

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

The South Kaibab Trail.

There’s no way to even estimate how many people attempt or complete a one-day, rim-to-rim-to-rim hike or run. Such an extreme undertaking would obviously not even pop up on the mental radar of most hikers or trail runners.

But start searching the Web for trip reports and asking around and you discover the tiny yet passionate sub-culture of avid ultra-distance runners and hikers who have done what many refer to as the “r2r2r.” It feels like stumbling upon a little pub in a back alley of London or Edinburgh where everyone’s a diehard fan of the same soccer team.

I have friends who’ve made it an almost annual tradition for several years, finishing the r2r2r in a very impressive 12 hours. Through forwarded e-mails, I connected with an Arizonan trail runner who’s done it seven times. He wrote back with reams of helpful advice. His e-mail suggested that there are more zealots out there pulling this off than one would expect.

If you feel compelled to try to hike or run more than 40 miles through wilderness in a day, few footpaths are as amenable to it as the South Kaibab and North Kaibab trails that we’re linking up today. (Other r2r2r hikers and runners use the Bright Angel Trail; see the Make It Happen section below for more details.) Managed by the park as “corridor” trails, the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel are all very well constructed. While there are steep stretches, the footing is mostly good enough to run—though most runners will walk sections of it.

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South Kaibab Trailhead. South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. South Kaibab Trail. Bright Angel Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Bright Angel Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. North Kaibab Trail. North Kaibab Trail. North Kaibab Trail. North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. North Kaibab Trail. Roaring Springs Canyon, North Kaibab Trail. Bright Angel Canyon, Grand Canyon

Definitely Not Recommended

At 7:55 a.m., Mark and I pause in warm sunshine on the suspension bridge spanning the Colorado River, at 2,480 feet. Carl waits on the other side; Todd’s just a couple of minutes behind us. Two hours and 20 minutes after we started out in a numbing wind chill, the temperature has leapt into the 50s. Because it is early spring and we’ll pass through the canyon bottom in early morning and late afternoon, we won’t experience temperatures warmer than around a very pleasant 60° F—avoiding the big nemesis of Grand Canyon hikers, the brutal heat. Swapping that for a couple miles of walking in packed snow on the North Rim seems like a smart trade-off.

“I can already tell what the hardest part of this hike is going to be,” I say to Mark. He nods and laughs because we are thinking the same thing. After the pounding, 5,000-foot descent off the South Rim, we are both dreading coming down off the North Rim—a thousand feet higher and double the distance of what we just did. And we’ll start that descent 21 miles into this day.

As if on cue, Todd walks up to us at that moment and says, “Well, I can feel what’s going to hurt the most.”

Mile seven. 35 to go.

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

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.


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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.

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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.

 

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New Zealand’s Best, Uncomplicated Hut Trek: The Kepler Track https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-zealands-best-uncomplicated-hut-trek-the-kepler-track/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/new-zealands-best-uncomplicated-hut-trek-the-kepler-track/#comments Sun, 03 Nov 2019 10:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25182 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The forecast for New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park looks particularly grim, even for this chronically wet region that receives more than 30 feet of rainfall annually—or about 10 times as much rain as Seattle. A “Southwesterly,” a fierce and not uncommon type of storm that blows in from the Southern Ocean off Antarctica and can offload several inches of rain, will slam into Fiordland’s mountains and fjords over the next couple of days. With that kind of forecast, locals just hunker down indoors and wait it out what they refer to as a “weetha bum” (Kiwi for “weather bomb”). My friend, Jeff, and I, however, are going hiking.

But it’s okay, the local experts assure us, because we’re heading out on the Kepler Track. One of New Zealand’s Great Walks, the Kepler ranks among the most scenic and varied hut treks in a country blessed with a crazy wealth of gorgeous trails. More than that, though, the Kepler presents a relatively mud-, flood-, and hassle-free, hut-to-hut hiking experience. Its hiker-friendly construction, and the relative ease of securing hut reservations compared with world-famous tracks like the Milford and Routeburn, make it one of the most accessible hut treks in a land where everything from weather to logistics can mess with your adventure plans.

Opened in 1988—making it much newer than many tracks that were historically rougher routes created by native Maori people and Western settlers—the Kepler was laid out to lead hikers on a grand tour of Fiordland’s diverse landscapes, from moss-blanketed beech forest to the tussock-carpeted high country. But in many ways, it’s simply more civilized than other hut-to-hut treks.


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Beginning just minutes from the lovely little town of Te Anau (warning: You may decide to uproot your life and move here), and two hours from Queenstown’s airport (or here), the three- to four-day, approximately 37-mile (60k) loop hike delivers sweeping vistas of Fiordland’s vast mountains that rival any other track, and lush forest that looks like it sprang from the imagination of Dr. Seuss.

A gravel or packed-dirt path for much of its length, the Kepler features bridges over most streams, boardwalks spanning boggy areas, and wooden stairways on the steepest sections (although long stretches of stairway can possess their own kind of arduousness).

New Zealand is a wet place. Get one of “The Best Rain Jackets For the Backcountry.”

Plus, the huts offer comfortable, spacious shelter and a classic, social hut experience—we met Kiwis, of course, but also Australians, Israelis, Brits, Germans, a woman from Holland, and a couple from Alaska. Not all were highly fit, avid hikers, but all of the people we met finished the Kepler despite some stormy weather and fairly strenuous days.

The path is so well-signed and easy to follow, in fact, that even the employees in the Te Anau office of the Department of Conservation—which manages the Great Walks and other tracks—will tell you that a map isn’t necessary; DOC’s simple brochure-guide will suffice.

Hearing all that, Jeff and I set off into the oncoming “weetha bum” without a care.

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Mount Luxmore

With partly cloudy skies and glorious, long views on our first afternoon, Jeff and I decide after reaching Luxmore Hut, where we’ll spend the night, that we should take advantage of the good weather to hike Mount Luxmore immediately. Luxmore’s summit is usually tagged on the second day of the Kepler—when hikers make the trail’s high, exposed alpine traverse. But with a forecast for rain and low visibility tomorrow, we’re not taking any chances on missing the view from the top of Luxmore.

Less than 90 minutes later, layered and zipped up against strong gusts, we’re standing on Luxmore’s 4,829-foot (1472m) summit, highest point on the Kepler Track. But the classic Fiordland panorama before us makes it easy to ignore the cold wind: row upon row of jagged mountains sprawl out before us, with Lake Te Anau shimmering in the sunshine far below.

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That evening, the hut ranger, Pat, gathers the roughly 50 “trampers” staying at Luxmore Hut in the dining room to warn us that tomorrow’s forecast calls for 80 kph (50mph) winds and heavy rain. As he’s talking, there’s a sudden commotion, and then everyone is standing and clamoring to watch two keas, large alpine parrots native to New Zealand’s South Island, that have landed on a picnic table on the deck just outside the common room windows.

Sure enough, when Jeff and I depart the Luxmore Hut just after 8 a.m. on our second day, outfitted in rain jackets and pants, gaiters, hats and gloves, we step into a bone-rattling wind and pounding rain that soon changes to wet snow.

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.

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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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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and the best ultralight packs.

Tell me what you think.

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A Path Too Far: Hiking Maine’s Mahoosuc Range in a Day https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-path-too-far-hiking-maines-mahoosuc-range-in-a-day/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-path-too-far-hiking-maines-mahoosuc-range-in-a-day/#comments Mon, 07 Oct 2019 09:00:51 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=35570 Read on

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David and I pause to catch our breath in quiet forest of wind-stunted conifers at the junction of the Old Speck Trail and Mahoosuc/Appalachian Trail, near the northern end of Maine’s Mahoosuc Range. Since we started hiking shortly after 6 a.m. from the Old Speck Trailhead on ME 26 in Grafton Notch, we’ve climbed 3.5 miles and nearly 3,000 vertical feet up this relentlessly steep trail in under two hours. Given our seemingly absurd objective today—to complete a 30-mile, north-south traverse of the notoriously rugged Mahoosucs before we sleep tonight—our strong pace on the day’s biggest uphill buoys our hopes.

I tell David, “I’m not worried about us being able to finish this in the amount of time we expect,” which we’ve estimated at 16 hours.

Those words emerge from my mouth—despite my deep experience with the uncertainty and brutal difficulty of long, really hard hikes—because in that small but confident moment, feeling as good as we do and seeing tangible numbers that seem to validate our confident analysis, it’s remarkably easy to forget how bitter a taste hubris has when you’re forced to eat it.

But before this day—this very, very long day—is over, I will eat those words. And they will prove about as easy to swallow as would the innumerable, massive rocks we will high-step and scramble over today.

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A hiker on the Appalachian Trail in Maine's Mahoosuc Range.
David Ports hiking south off Old Speck Mountain on the Appalachian Trail in Maine’s Mahoosuc Range.

My good friend and longtime partner in adventure, David Ports, with whom I’ve spent uncountable days hiking, backpacking, climbing, and backcountry skiing over the past 20-plus years, and I are here to attempt an ultra-dayhike we’ve been plotting for a few years—one that seems, even for hikers like us who’ve logged many dayhikes over 20 and 30 miles, to fall in the gray and nebulous border zone between barely feasible and shake-your-head wacko.

Our planned, 30.2-mile traverse of the Mahoosucs involves over 10,000 vertical feet of uphill and over 11,000 feet of downhill—most of it on the Mahoosuc/Appalachian Trail, which rarely resembles a well-graded, biped-friendly path, and frequently demands true third-class scrambling. (The venerable White Mountain Guide, published by the Appalachian Mountain Club, estimates the total hiking time at over 21 hours, but with an implied presumption that people are backpacking it, generally over three to four days.)

David and I will demonstrate, to our unfortunate dismay, that a couple of old dogs can occasionally learn a new lesson. In that sense, the story of our one-day Mahoosuc Range traverse holds valuable lessons not only for other ultra-hikers and runners, but for anyone experimenting with any personal limits on a trail or a mountain, including children and adults of any age.


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.


 

A hiker on the Appalachian Trail in Maine's Mahoosuc Range.
David Ports on the Appalachian Trail in Maine’s Mahoosuc Range.

‘The Hardest Mile on the Appalachian Trail’

Buoyant at our strong uphill pace on the first three-and-a-half miles of the day, we start hiking south from Old Speck on the AT, descending toward Speck Pond. With only stubby trees flanking us and an unobstructed view straight ahead, the Mahoosuc Range rolls out before us, a thickly forested, curving spine of tightly packed peaks with occasional rocky crowns—with a conspicuous abyss, Mahoosuc Notch, looming not far ahead. It looks like the jaws of a beast that feeds on backpackers—not to mention hapless hikers who actually believe they can traverse this range in one day.

Under the bluest skies we’ll see today—clouds are slowly moving in, threatening rain—we can see the Carter-Moriah Range and Presidential Range of the White Mountains in the distance. While the Mahoosucs do not stand as tall as those ranges—there’s just one 4,000-footer here, 4,170-foot Old Speck Mountain—or harbor as much alpine area, those stats mask the cumulative, extreme difficulty, step for step, of hiking the length of this range.

Here, the AT follows steep granite slabs, forcing us to weave side to side, tracing the lowest-angle sections of rock and seeking small footholds and ledges to find traction on this “trail.”

It occurs to me that, in the Mahoosucs, we might actually hike some downhill stretches slower than we hike some uphill sections.

Read about my family’s endurance challenge, “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Pushing Limits on Mount St. Helens.”

Speck Pond, along the Appalachian Trail in Maine's Mahoosuc Range.
Speck Pond, along the Appalachian Trail in Maine’s Mahoosuc Range.

The Mahoosucs are best known for harboring “the hardest mile on the Appalachian Trail” in Mahoosuc Notch. But the rest of AT through the range constitutes something of a granite obstacle course masquerading as a hiking trail. I’ve dayhiked or backpacked large portions of the AT, including most of it through New England, where you’ll find most of the trail’s toughest miles. I think it’s fair to say that the full Mahoosuc Range constitutes the hardest section of the entire Appalachian Trail.

We don’t undertake this challenge as novices. We’ve done crazy-huge hikes enough times—including the 32-mile, 10,000-vertical-foot Pemi Loop in the White Mountains, as well as the comparably “tame” 20-mile, 8,500-vertical-foot Presidential Range “Death March”—to know what we’re getting into and, importantly, our limits. We know that we’re both capable of pushing ourselves deep into the red zone of exhaustion and getting through it. Plus, critically, we have a bailout plan if we can’t complete this full traverse.

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The greatest risk facing David and I out here is an abject lesson in humility—well, okay, that and widespread and considerable physical soreness—but not any significant danger of a disaster.

We are confident of this much: Barring an accident, we will make it to our car awaiting us at the southern end of the Mahoosuc Range. The open questions are when, by what route, and how absolutely pasted we’ll be when we get there.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog.

Find menus of gear reviews, expert buying tips, and reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page.

Lodging There are numerous options in the area. I stayed at and recommend the Town & Country Inn in Shelburne, N.H., which has comfortable rooms and good food a short drive from the southern end of the AT in the Mahoosuc Range, http://townandcountryinn.com/.

For more travel information, see Visit NH at https://www.visitnh.gov/ and https://www.visitnh.gov/the-regions-of-new-hampshire/white-mountains.

Contact Appalachian Mountain Club, outdoors.org. Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, White Mountains, (603) 466-2721.

See my expert tips in “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking” and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

 

Tell me what you think.

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Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day https://thebigoutsideblog.com/fit-to-be-tired-hiking-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-in-a-day/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/fit-to-be-tired-hiking-the-grand-canyon-rim-to-rim-in-a-day/#comments Mon, 04 Feb 2019 17:28:17 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30735 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Minutes after we start hiking down the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail, we descend steeply through a series of short, tight switchbacks where the trail appears to cling tenuously to the face of a cliff. The earth drops away abruptly beyond the trail’s edge—we’re gazing down nearly a vertical mile into the basement of The Big Ditch. Patches of early-morning sunlight waltz with cloud shadows across the infinite complexity of the tortured landscape sprawling before us, the high-contrast light magnifying the perception of endlessness. Not much farther, we pause at a clifftop overlook of possibly the most famous canyon on Earth.

The view is breathtaking. But less than a mile into our hike, it also lays bare the audacity, or maybe the folly, of our plans: to walk from South Rim to North Rim across this awesome chasm—21 miles and almost 11,000 cumulative vertical feet—today. From here, tonight’s destination looks very, very far away.

I’ve come to the Grand Canyon in mid-October—one of the two brief windows annually that offer, if not ideal conditions, the best possible range of temperatures for this adventure—with my wife, Penny Beach, and our friends David and Kathleen Ports, to attempt what has become perhaps the most coveted grail for avid and very fit hikers and trail runners. A rim-to-rim hike traverses one of the most inspiring, rugged, vast, vertiginous, arid, and certainly unforgiving landscapes in America. And that’s just a short list of the applicable adjectives.

We’ve arrived as prepared as possible for an endeavor the park’s management warns people against attempting. We all feel pretty good about our chances.

A hiker at Ooh-Ah Point on the upper South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports at Ooh-Ah Point on the upper South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.

I’ve hiked rim to rim to rim—across and back—in a day previously. (Read my story about that hike, “April Fools: Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim.”) David and I have shared single days of hiking over 20 and 30 miles and even 40 miles on trails all over the country. Although he’s only been to the Grand Canyon once previously—backpacking the adventurous and beautiful Royal Arch Loop with me—he and I feel confident we’ll make it. For Penny and Kathleen, this will be the biggest day either has hiked. But they’re both fit and experienced hikers and backpackers and they’ve been training hard for 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.


Still, there’s no getting around the fact that this is a huge day. Things can go wrong—and do go wrong for a small percentage of rim-to-rim hikers every year. Enough uncertainty exists to leave a question mark in our minds about whether all of us will make it across today—and even greater uncertainty over how late we’ll reach the other side.

This much is certain, though: At some point during the long slog up the North Kaibab Trail to the North Rim, this stunning and inspiring hike will turn into a physical struggle to finish it.

Hikers on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. A hiker on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. A hiker on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.

Why Dayhike Rim to Rim?

Crossing the Grand Canyon ranks unquestionably among the most beautiful hikes (and backpacking trips) in America. The canyon’s severe verticality and desert climate create a landscape where seemingly boundless vistas accompany you almost every step of the way. Even in the canyon’s bottom, or Inner Gorge, where you’re too low to get the panoramas of an infinite labyrinth of canyons stretching for miles (or, more precisely, you have descended into the labyrinth), you still walk between cliffs that shoot straight up for hundreds of feet. In the canyon’s bowels, rim-to-rim hikers and backpackers follow the North Kaibab Trail’s winding course through the more intimate environment of lower Bright Angel Canyon, following a lively creek at the foot of close, dark rock walls on both sides.

Click here now for my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim!

It’s also one of the hardest dayhikes in the country—hikers and runners who underestimate its difficulty usually pay for that hubris. A rim-to-rim, or r2r, is grueling. The shortest route, combining the South and North Kaibab trails (which we’re doing), entails 21 trail miles and a cumulative 10,541 feet of elevation gain and loss. The heat can wilt even the fittest people. Cold temps and wind are not unknown in early morning and evening, and although unusual, rain or snow can soak your ambitious plans. In fact, hard rain fell the day before the four of us hiked it south to north, and snow fell the morning after David and I made the return hike on day two.

So why not just backpack it?

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, hiking the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.

Few wilderness camping experiences rival the majesty of sleeping below the rim of the Grand Canyon (something I’ve done many times). On the other hand, the three designated camping areas along the North Kaibab and Bright Angel trails—the Bright Angel, Cottonwood, and Indian Garden backcountry campgrounds—are busy places that, in my opinion, do not quite replicate the sense of solitude and feeling really small that camping in other parts of the Grand Canyon inspire.

Then there’s the slim likelihood of getting a permit for one of the most popular backpacking trips in America: Some three-fourths of people applying for a backpacking permit on the corridor trails (South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel) are rejected every year simply because demand far outstrips availability during the peak seasons of spring and fall. Plus, any hike that’s hard carrying a daypack grows exponentially harder, step for step, carrying a backpack.

Get my e-guide to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim and learn the secret for avoiding crowds.

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

More than anything, though, hiking r2r in a day has an aesthetic that’s very different from backpacking it. When hiking or running across, you may be on the move from dawn or earlier until late afternoon or evening: You see the many faces the Grand Canyon displays through the course of each day, in a landscape whose scale and depth collaborate with the changing light as the sun crosses the sky to steadily alter its appearance. Hiking through the canyon is a constantly evolving visual experience, and early morning and late day into evening are its finest hours.

When backpacking, in order to see the Grand Canyon’s full range of personalities, you must consciously break the usual mold of hitting the trail around mid-morning, hiking until late afternoon, and then lazing around camp through the evening before turning in and rising after dawn. (I try to hit the trail early and hike late when backpacking, primarily to see more of a place in a greater range of light.) That’s not always easy to do—even when the Grand Canyon’s midday heat forces you into that schedule of hiking early and late and resting in shade during the day’s hottest hours.

Finally, the athletic and endurance achievement of a one-day rim-to-rim hike inspires a powerful sense of accomplishment. It’s a big deal. It’s a worthy goal for someone looking to challenge him- or herself—and goals give our lives meaning. That’s probably the biggest reason so many people attempt it—and while there’s no way to really know how many do, I’ve read reports that it’s thousands of people annually.

Completing a hike like this—one that’s both physically and mentally demanding—infuses you with confidence in your ability to take on objectives in other areas of life that may initially appear insurmountable. It can set a young person, or someone who has not yet found their passion for the outdoors, on a new, more gratifying, and healthier course in life.

 

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There you have it: Crazy as it may seem, hiking rim to rim across the Grand Canyon is good for you—but only if you’re truly ready for it.

And the hard truth is that, as this activity gains popularity (fueled partly by the number of people introduced to the idea through the rose-colored, hash-tagged lens of social media), growing numbers of r2r aspirants don’t really have the right stuff for it—and find themselves at best suffering miserably, and at worst getting into serious trouble and placing others, from their companions to rescuers, at risk.

A hiker on the lower South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. The South Kaibab Trail bridge over the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. Bright Angel Creek along the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail. A hiker on the lower South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon. A hiker in the tunnel on the lower South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. A hiker on the lower North Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. A hiker on the North Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Roaring Springs, along the North Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. A hiker on the North Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Feeling Awesome… Then Feeling Done

I’ve seen a phenomenon on ultra-hikes so many times that I’ve learned to anticipate it in myself and in companions. I’ve seen it both on huge dayhikes and when ultralight backpacking big-mileage days. (It was especially pronounced—at times humorously, at times brutally—when a few friends and I thru-hiked the John Muir Trail in seven days, averaging a literally blistering 31 miles a day.)

It happens when you’ve trained and prepared so well that you cover the day’s first significant leg faster and feeling stronger than you expected. And you tell yourself and each other: We’re crushing this thing! We got this in the bag!

I will share with you this truth and urge you to hold it close to your heart: That belief is a complete delusion pulled from thin air because your brain is stoned on adrenaline and the euphoria of the moment. It is a dangerous self-deception. Before the day is over, you will almost certainly know intimately the pain and exhaustion hiding on the flip side of that coin of euphoria.

 

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Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.

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A Perfect Week of Hiking in the North Carolina Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-perfect-week-of-hiking-in-the-north-carolina-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-perfect-week-of-hiking-in-the-north-carolina-mountains/#comments Mon, 17 Sep 2018 09:04:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=25114 Read on

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A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.
A hiker atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

By Michael Lanza

Warm rain drums lightly on the lush deciduous forest around me as I walk up a long-abandoned dirt road that has narrowed to a trail with the gradual encroachment of vegetation. The wind assaults the treetops, the outer edge of a hurricane hitting the Southeast coast right now; but here, far from the storm, it sounds like waves rhythmically lapping up onto a beach and retreating. It’s a gray, early evening in mid-October in the basement of a compact valley in the Appalachian Mountains of western North Carolina—a valley that, due to its tight contours, sees precious few hours of direct sunlight at this time of year—and the daylight has filtered down to a soft, dim, tranquil quality.

A bit more than a half-mile up this quiet footpath, I reach my destination—and unconsciously catch my breath at what must be one of the most lovely cascades in a corner of North Carolina spilling over with waterfalls.

Roaring Fork Falls tumbles through a series of a dozen or more steps, each several feet high, before coming to rest briefly in a placid, knee-deep pool at its bottom. Beyond the pool, the stream continues downhill at an angle only somewhat less severe than the cascade above. In sunshine or warmer temperatures, I’d be tempted to wade in and sit in that pool. Now, I just stare at it, all but hypnotized.

Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.
Roaring Fork Falls, Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

I’m on the last, short hike of a day filled with beautiful waterfalls along the Blue Ridge Parkway, in the heart of one of America’s hiking and backpacking meccas: western North Carolina. I’ve come to spend a week chasing waterfalls, fall foliage color, and classic Southern Appalachian views while dayhiking in the mountains surrounding Asheville and backpacking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Unlike soaring, jagged Western mountain ranges such as the Tetons, High Sierra, or North Cascades, the Appalachian Mountains are lower and mostly forested from bottom to top, their once-sharper angles of ancient epochs worn rounder and softer by erosion and time. (It happens to all of us.) From a high point like Looking Glass Rock, Black Balsam Knob, or any of numerous turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway, the mountains here resemble a roiling, green sea of trees.

The West has big vistas; the Appalachians have big vistas, too, but mostly small, more intimate scenery, the kind that you can literally reach out and touch. Here, you don’t just look at the scenery; you’re in it.

In a sense, I went to North Carolina to reconnect with my hiking roots. I became a hiker, backpacker, and climber in the northern reaches of the Appalachian chain—in New Hampshire’s White Mountains and on many other wooded, rocky, rugged, little mountain ranges that pepper the Northeast. I discovered as a young man that I really liked the arduous nature of hiking in the Northeast, the craggy, windblown summits, and the fullness and deep silence of the forest in all seasons.

In North Carolina’s mountains, I rediscovered the pleasure of walking a footpath with last year’s dead leaves crunching underfoot; passing shallow streams that speak in some unknown tongue as they chug over and around stones; standing on summits overlooking seemingly endless rows of green or blue ridges fading to far horizons.

But I also discovered the unique qualities of the Southern Appalachians. They are not as steep and rocky (or as hard on ankles and knees) as their northern cousins. They’re not as crowded as one might be led to believe. They harbor hundreds of waterfalls, possibly the richest stash of falling waters in the country.

And these woods are quite simply a very good place to help a person remember what’s most important in life.

 

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Black Mountain Crest Trail to Mount Mitchell, N.C. Crabtree Falls, Blue Ridge Parkway, N.C. Linville Gorge, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. View from Devils Courthouse, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Art Loeb Trail, Black Balsam Knob, Pisgah National Forest.

Looking Glass Rock

The dry, crisp air of early morning raises goosebumps on my bare legs and arms as I start chuffing uphill in the woods of the Pisgah National Forest, a short drive out of the pleasant, small town of Brevard, where I’m spending a couple of nights while exploring the area’s trails. One of western North Carolina’s most recognizable natural landmarks, Looking Glass Rock (lead photo at top of story), leads my list of hikes today, which explains why I’m on the Looking Glass Rock Trail shortly after 7 a.m.

Brevard happens to be the seat of Transylvania County, a place relevant to hikers because the county receives over 90 inches of rain annually—making it the wettest county in North Carolina—and has over 250 waterfalls. I’m visiting several of them on dayhikes this week along the BRP, in the Pisgah, and in Gorges State Park.

 

The Big Outside thanks musician Greg Bishop for the use of his music in the above video. Find more at https://store.cdbaby.com/artist/gregbishop and on iTunes.

 

The trail rises at a gentle angle at first; but as I climb higher, it grows steeper. In this quiet forest, with little variation in the scenery as I walk uphill, it’s easy to get lost in thoughts; and in a world where we’re almost constantly receiving texts and checking email, getting lost in your thoughts has become a rare joy.

After a few miles of steady uphill climbing, I step out of the forest onto a sloping, sprawling granite slab at the top of Looking Glass Rock—atop the cliffs that millions of tourists photograph from turnouts along the Blue Ridge Parkway every year. The morning sun hasn’t yet reached these slabs, but it throws a warm spotlight on gentle waves of hills rolling out a carpet of dappled green for miles in all directions before me.

If every person could start each day this way, I gotta think the world would be a more peaceful place.

 


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.


 

Atop Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah National Forest, N.C. Looking Glass Rock, Pisgah N.F., N.C. Rainbow Falls, Gorges State Park and Nantahala National Forest. Hikers on the Art Loeb Trail, Pisgah National Forest. Soco Falls, off US 19, N.C.

Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway isn’t a highway you take when you want to get somewhere quickly; it exists for just the opposite objective: to get nowhere slowly. A narrow, two-way road snaking along the Blue Ridge from Shenandoah National Park in Virginia to Great Smoky Mountains National Park in western North Carolina, this 469-mile-long corridor through Eastern deciduous forest is, in many respects, America’s country road.

Begun in 1935 and finished more than half a century later with the completion of an engineering marvel, the Linn Cove Viaduct—an S-shaped bridge that hugs the side of North Carolina’s iconic Grandfather Mountain—it ranges in elevation from 600 feet to about 6,000 feet above sea level. From numerous places along it, one overlooks deep valleys in more shades of green than we have names for, steep-walled mountainsides draped in dense forest, and one overlapping mountain ridge after another.

The BRP also spans a wide range of habitats and supports more plant species—over 4,000—than any other park in the country. If you’re into fungi and look really, really hard, you’ll find 2,000 kinds of them, as well as 500 species of mosses and lichens. There are more varieties of salamander than anywhere else in the world. Wet, warm, and fertile, the Southern Appalachians are like a big orgy of photosynthesis that almost shocks the optic nerves, lasting for several months a year. Most of us rarely see such a conspicuous eruption of greenery.

With more than 100 trailheads and over 300 miles of trails scattered along its length, the BRP forms the spine of one gem of a trail system. (See my story “The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.”) That’s why, with a week to play on the trails of western North Carolina, I essentially made the Blue Ridge Parkway my base of operations.

 

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Moore Cove in the Pisgah National Forest, N.C.
Moore Cove in the Pisgah National Forest, N.C.

Moore Cove

Millions of people live within driving distance of the parks and forests of the Appalachian Mountains. With over 15 million visits annually, the Blue Ridge Parkway ranks number one among all National Park Service sites for visitors, while Great Smoky Mountains National Park occupies the third spot on the list, with nearly 11 million visits a year. Not surprisingly, escaping the throngs in much of the Appalachian Mountains presents a formidable challenge—especially during fall foliage season.

But sometimes you just get lucky.

It’s early evening when I pull into the roadside parking area for Moore Cove, on Route 276 in the Pisgah National Forest. I’ve already hiked about 17 miles today, hitting several peaks and hills along the Blue Ridge Parkway. My original plan was to stop and photograph Looking Glass Falls, a famous roadside waterfall that gets viewed by hundreds of people on a typical day—and where there’s still, even now, a parking lot filled with cars. Seeing all those vehicles, I decide to take the 20-minute hike to Moore Cove instead.

As with the short trail to Roaring Fork Falls, the well-tended footpath to Moore Cove resides at the bottom of a deep Appalachian valley with close mountains on both sides, beneath a canopy of maple, oak, and tulip poplar trees; so even though the sun hasn’t yet set on another day, dusk settled in down here at least an hour ago. Rosebay rhododendron and ferns blanket the ground. For now, anyway, I’m the only person out here.

 

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Reaching Moore Cove, I stop, and a reflexive smile creeps across my face. Before me, a silvery, 50-foot waterfall plunges in a nearly silent, gossamer column over the lip of a rock alcove.

That’s one of the special aspects of hiking in the Southern Appalachians: These old mountains still conceal little mysteries. They’re not especially tall or grand; they don’t have attractions that will rival the majesty of Yosemite or Yellowstone. But their rumpled contours, incredibly vibrant ecology, and the ingredients for an abundance of waterfalls—steep terrain and buckets and buckets of rain—collaborate to create an almost infinite number of micro-scenes that inspire an awe that’s more subdued with each episode, but cumulatively powerful and enduring. The mountains of western North Carolina constantly surprise you with spots like Moore Cove.

I shoot some photos, and have the place all to myself for maybe 10 minutes. Then a family shows up, and I pack up and depart, leaving them their own little piece of solitude and magic.

 

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 hiking and backpacking in western North Carolina, including:

The 12 Best Dayhikes Along North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Parkway.”
In the Garden of Eden: Backpacking the Great Smoky Mountains.”
Photo Gallery: Waterfalls of the North Carolina Mountains.”
Roof of the East: Hiking North Carolina’s Mount Mitchell.”
The 20 Best National Park Dayhikes” for a description of a hike along the Appalachian Trail in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

 

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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

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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.

 

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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.

 

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Are You Still Wasting Money on Outdoor Gear? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/are-you-still-wasting-money-on-outdoor-gear/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/are-you-still-wasting-money-on-outdoor-gear/#respond Thu, 28 Jun 2018 09:00:29 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=22860 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

What if every time you laid down money for hiking, backpacking, or other outdoors gear, you always knew exactly what you needed and were invariably satisfied with your purchase for years afterward? What if you knew every time whether it was smarter to spring for the pricier piece of gear or go for the cheaper model? What if you always knew when and where to find the best gear at rock-bottom sale prices?

Read on to learn how you can become that expert gear buyer—just in time for ongoing gear sales at many online retailers.

Like me, you love getting out dayhiking, backpacking, climbing, and/or trail running. We need the right gear and apparel for those activities. That stuff costs money. So we have to make choices over what we need, the best products among myriad models, which of them represent the best value, and ultimately, what we can afford.

More than two decades as a professional gear tester and reviewer have taught me a lot about making informed gear choices and when and where to shop for gear. Here are my tips for becoming a smarter gear consumer who understands how to get the best value for your buck. Please share your thoughts on my tips or your own best tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story.

 

A backpacker in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

Top 3 Tips For Buying Gear

For starters, my three top rules about buying outdoor gear would apply to buying almost any consumer product:

1. Do some research to understand what you need and the differences between choices available. (Start with the categorized menus and buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.)

2. Don’t buy at the last minute. Planning ahead usually gives you more choices and opportunities to find discounted prices. (Save money and support my work on this blog by making purchases through these links at moosejaw.com and rei.com, as well as links you find in the many gear reviews at The Big Outside.)

3. Assess price in terms of the gear’s value to you. If you use it infrequently, perhaps less-expensive gear (assuming it’s of adequate quality) will suit your needs just fine. But if you use it a lot and can afford it, high-quality gear pays for itself many times over in the currency of your quality of experience. And that matters.

 

Buy smartly. Read my “5 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear” and
Why and When to Spend More on Hiking and Backpacking Gear.”

 


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.


 

A hiker on the Visor of Half Dome, above Yosemite Valley.
Click this photo to learn how to take the best backpacking trips in Yosemite and other national parks.

Use These Expert Gear-Buying Tips

Shop for any gear and you will quickly discover: There are a lot of choices out there. Sometimes it can be difficult or even overwhelming to sort through them all and discern which product is best for your needs—which is critical, because we all have individual needs and purposes for gear.

See my pro tips on finding the right backpack, backcountry tent, shoes or boots, sleeping bag, rain jacket, and sleeping bag in these articles:

5 Tips For Buying the Right Backpack
5 Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent
How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You
Pro Tips For Buying the Right Boots
Pro Tips: How to Choose a Sleeping Bag
5 Pro Tips For Buying the Right Rain Jacket For the Backcountry

Those articles are premium content, which means that reading them requires a full paid subscription to The Big Outside, which costs as little as five bucks for a month, or pennies over four bucks a month for a full year. That’s a great value when you consider how much you will save as a more-informed gear consumer. Read more about subscribing here.

In the left sidebar, you’ll find a tag cloud with links to all reviews in categories like backpacking gear and backpacks.

 

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

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Want my help planning a trip you’ve read about at my blog, like backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooths? Click here.

No Time? Cut to the Chase

If you simply want my recommendations on the best gear, you can find a long list of Best in Class reviews at my Gear Reviews page, including the 10 best backpacking packs and down jackets; the best ultralight backpacks; the five best backpacking tents, rain jackets, and headlamps; and the best daypacks for hiking. (All of those articles are free content, and you support my work on this blog anytime you make a purchase through a link to an online retailer in any of my reviews.)

 

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

 

You’ll also find hundreds of reviews at The Big Outside, ranging from the best new stuff on the market to gear and apparel that’s a year or more old but still of high quality—and may be available now at a price steeply discounted from its original price, simply because it’s no longer new. As I point out in my “5 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear,” this is stuff that went on sale new at higher prices just months earlier—it’s current technology, not ancient crap.

Looking for great prices soon? Bookmark sites like moosejaw.comREI GarageSierra Trading Post, and theclymb.com, and watch for seasonal sales going on now or coming up soon.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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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

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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.

 

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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

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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.









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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

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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.

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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).

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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

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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.









 

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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

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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.”

 

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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.

 

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Ask Me: How Do I Stop Getting Battered Toes When Hiking? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-i-stop-getting-battered-toes-when-hiking/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-i-stop-getting-battered-toes-when-hiking/#comments Thu, 24 Aug 2017 09:00:46 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11769 Read on

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Mike,

I know this is a really random question, but when descending mountain trails my big toes suffer immensely. Besides tying the laces up really tight, is there a trick to protecting them without losing a toenail or having them feel beat up?

Geoff
Rexburg, ID

Hi Geoff,

That’s not an uncommon problem. It’s probably that your boots don’t fit quite right. Does your heel or midfoot move around at all when you hike? Does your heel slip even the slightest? Do your toes slam into the front of the boots?

If you have narrow feet or the boots are otherwise just kind of wide or big for your feet, and your feet slip even slightly, over the course of several miles your toes can take a beating—especially going downhill, of course. One way to check the fit is to see whether, when you tighten the laces up, those laces are snugged about as tight as you can make them; in other words, you wouldn’t be able to snug the laces tighter over the boot no matter what size your feet were. If you’re maxing out the lacing, the boots are too big for your feet.

 

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.

 

Long-term solution: Get boots that fit. Go to a shop where they know how to measure your feet and size boots correctly. Try on several different brands because they all fit differently, and by experimenting, you’ll find the brand that fits your feet best.

Short-term solution: Try custom insoles in your boots, replacing the typical thin, stock insoles that come with the boots. Decreasing the inside volume, to create a more snug fit, may prevent your feet from slipping. Also, I always carry some athletic tape when I’m hiking or backpacking, because it sticks to feet pretty well even when you get sweaty. As soon as I feel any rubbing or discomfort, I put two or three overlapping strips of tape over the spot. You could even preemptively tape around the toes that tend to get beat up before you start the hike.

Does that sound like it might help with your problem? Also, check out my “Pro Tips For Buying the Right Hiking Boots” and “7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters.” See my reviews of backpacking boots and lighter hiking boots and shoes at The Big Outside.

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.

 

Thanks Mike! I appreciate the advice.

It usually happens when the toe slides and bangs into the front of the boot. I like the hiking boots I have so I am going to give the custom insoles and tape a whirl first.

Thanks!

Ciao,
Geoff

 

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

 

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Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/being-stupid-with-friends-a-32-mile-dayhike-in-the-white-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/being-stupid-with-friends-a-32-mile-dayhike-in-the-white-mountains/#comments Mon, 21 Aug 2017 09:00:36 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24481 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

As we near the top of Mount Flume in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, the first of nine summits we hope to reach today, a light shower begins falling. It seems a less-than-ideal portent near the front end of one of the longest and hardest days of hiking any of us has ever undertaken—especially for three people somewhere between two and three decades past their hiking prime. But this only strikes us as one more in a long list of reasons to laugh at the absurdity of our self-imposed mission: to see whether we still have the stuff to knock off a dayhike that few mountain walkers would even contemplate. In that context, the arrival of the rain we knew was forecasted comes all in a day’s foolishness.

As Ralph Waldo Emerson once opined, “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.”

Two hours after setting out at precisely 6 a.m., under mostly overcast skies that kept turning grayer—which seems to invite a metaphor about the hair color of my companions and me—we have come about five miles and nearly 3,000 feet. That would represent a proud halfway point for many dayhikes we’ve all taken. But it comprises just a fraction of our plans for today.

My good friends and longtime trail mates Mark Fenton, David Ports, and I have embarked on arguably the most grueling long “dayhike” in the Northeast that people actually do—that’s really a thing—and one of the hardest and most scenic in the country: the 32-mile Pemi Loop through the Pemigewasset Wilderness in the heart of New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

Mark Fenton and David Ports hiking the Lincoln Woods Trail, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton and David Ports hiking the Lincoln Woods Trail, White Mountains, N.H.

From the Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway, we intend to complete a loop over the peaks of Franconia Ridge, Garfield Ridge, South Twin Mountain, and the Bonds, eventually staggering back to our car probably well after dark. We’ll cross nine named summits over 4,000 feet—eight of them “official” 4,000-footers, and two of those over 5,000 feet, while a third rises nearly that tall. While our route largely follows a few connected mountain ridges, it nonetheless makes numerous significant drops between the summits, gaining and losing a cumulative 10,000 vertical feet of elevation. For the great majority of its distance, the Pemi Loop, like many trails here, traverses terrain notoriously rocky, steep, and considerably unkind to creatures with just two legs.

Those numbers are eye-popping. But the number most relevant to our fate on this day may be our combined age in years: 162.


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The rain falls steadily and fog thick enough to impress a Scotsman envelopes our little world as we stroll a trail along the brink of cliffs to the 4,328-foot summit of Mount Flume. Standing only briefly in the cold wind raking the exposed, rocky crown, I’m struck by the fact that my quads and lower back seem to be feeling the day’s rigors sooner than I anticipated; and my left knee has begun communicating, in its simple way, some displeasure with its circumstance.

The good news is that we have less than 27 miles to go.

Got a trip coming up? See my reviews of the best hiking shoes and 10 best daypacks.

David Ports on the Osseo Trail, White Mountains, N.H. East Branch Pemigewasset River, in the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H. Franconia Ridge, White Mountains, N.H. Franconia Ridge Trail, White Mountains, N.H. Mark Fenton hiking the steps on the Osseo Trail, White Mountains, N.H.

Ultra-Hiking the Pemi Loop

Perhaps because of their ample road access and the challenging nature of these trails, the White Mountains have spawned a sub-culture of ultra-hiking, or covering long distances in a single day. The holy grail of such hikes is the one-day “Death March” of the Presidential Range: 20 miles and 8,500 vertical feet over nine summits. Other continuous ridges with good road access invite ambitious dayhikes, like Franconia Ridge and the Carter-Moriah Range linked up with Wildcat Mountain.

Then there’s a feat unimaginable even to many hikers like Mark, David, and me, who are capable of knocking off the Pemi Loop (or think they are): a one-day traverse of the Appalachian Trail through the Whites linking up all of the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) huts, from Carter Notch to Lonesome Lake, a walk of some 49 miles and 17,000 vertical feet of elevation gain. That insanity apparently began as a challenge among the typically young AMC hut “cru” staff, who spend summers developing the leg muscles to do it by hiking constantly on these trails. Beyond those super fit cru members, only a few true extremists could even consider such an undertaking.

All three of us have dayhiked the monster Pemi Loop before, 10 years ago—David on his own, Mark and I together on an punishingly hot and humid July day when we drank at least 10 liters of water each and sweated out even more.

I can help you plan the best backpacking, hiking, or family adventure of your life. Find out more here.

But that was then. Although we’ve all stayed fit and taken numerous long hikes since then, the fifties are a decade when the human body mimics a car with an odometer reading well into six digits: Parts begin to wear out, and occasionally fail catastrophically. We all know people who have replaced knees, or given up running or skiing or recreational-league basketball or soccer—who’ve adapted to the inexorable erosion of physical ability. All three of us have suffered more chronic injuries—rightly known by their other name, “overuse injuries”—than we can probably remember. And we’ve mostly healed from them, although we now understand “healing” to mean a condition better than injured and not as good as original.

Fortunately, Mark, David, and I have all avoided the knife and major injuries so far. But at our age, the question on any given day is not whether anything hurts, but what hurts the most.

We’ll all certainly be proud if we can pull off again a hike that most people half our age never could. And we’re confident but realistic: There’s no predicting what could go wrong, either physically or even situationally in these mountains known for weather as harsh as the trails. (Mount Washington, just several miles to the northeast, held the record for the fastest wind speed ever recorded in the world for more than 60 years—231 miles per hour—and has an average year-round temperature below freezing.)

 

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The Pemi Loop presents another logistical difficulty that ups the ante for this hike: Long stretches of it lie miles from the nearest road. And the farther along we are on the loop (hiking clockwise, as we are), the more complicated it becomes to abort the hike, because doing so could mean finding ourselves at a trailhead very far from our car, with no easy way to get back to it. So we view a bailout as an emergency scenario only—too poor an option to consider just because of sore legs and feet or blisters. Suffering is presumed. Blood is eminently possible.

In the back of our minds a little voice whispers, “Are you sure you can do this?”

And in moments of lucid self-awareness, all three of us would probably answer that question: “Not really.”

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.

See all of my stories about the White Mountains, including “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” and all of my stories about ultra-hiking at The Big Outside, including “Training for a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.”

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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

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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.









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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

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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.

 

 

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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

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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.

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The Best Kind of Insanity: Long Dayhikes in the White Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-kind-of-insanity-long-dayhikes-in-the-white-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-kind-of-insanity-long-dayhikes-in-the-white-mountains/#respond Mon, 01 May 2017 09:00:01 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23110 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We started up the Daniel Webster Trail by the light of headlamps at a time of day that guaranteed we’d have the mountain to ourselves for hours: 3:30 a.m. My head had that squeezed, hungover feeling from not enough sleep; the four hours we grabbed on the floor of my friend Mark’s van the night before fell at least three hours short of rejuvenating. But we didn’t have the luxury of sleeping in. We were embarking on a one-day, 20-mile “Death March” across New Hampshire’s Presidential Range. And making our objective all the more lunatic, we had a bus to catch that afternoon—with nine summits between us and that bus stop.

We finished that big day with time for a beer at the Highland Lodge before the bus arrived. That was one of several long dayhikes I’ve made over the years in the Whites, a mountain range I first began exploring 35 years ago, and have returned to almost annually since moving across the country two decades ago. I keep coming back for the same reason: the unique wealth of beautiful and challenging, long dayhikes in the Whites.

When I started hiking, I immediately fell in love with the severe contours and wind-blasted heights of these old, eroded mountains. But at that time, I looked at the Whites from the same self-limiting perspective as most hikers, presuming that 10, 12, maybe 15 miles represented the upper limit of how far someone could hike in a day. I lacked the experience to understand what was really possible, and I had not yet met anyone who introduced me to the notion that one could walk farther than that through these brutally rugged mountains in a day.

I guess you could say I’ve come a long way since 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-guides to classic backpacking trips. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.


My son, Nate, overlooking the Northern Presidential Range from Mount Washington.
My son, Nate, overlooking the Northern Presidential Range from Mount Washington.

Today, hiking a trail or standing on a summit in the Whites conjures memories of old friends and fun times reaching back across most of my life. But I also see the White Mountains differently—with, I think, a broader perspective. The topography, trail network, and road access in the Whites inspire aspirations for long dayhikes done as loops, partial loops, or traverses. It seems to me that these steep, rocky peaks act as a breeding grounds for a strange sickness: a passion for very long, hard dayhikes.

Compounding the challenge, though, is the relentlessly rocky character of trails here: I’ve hiked all over the United States and the world and found few places as hard, step for step, as New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The plum everyone wants to pick—and perhaps the archetypal big dayhike in America, first knocked off way back on Sept. 27, 1882, by Randolph locals Eugene Cook and George Sargent—is the one-day “Death March” traverse of the Presidential Range: 20 miles and some 8,500 vertical feet, much of it high above treeline on the longest alpine ridge in the East.

Make your hikes better. See The 7 Best Rain Jackets and 10 best daypacks.

But there are several other outings that just beg to be done in a day, for their aesthetics—linking up several peaks along a continuous ridge—and because their distance and cumulative vertical feet add up to something that’s very hard, but still within the realm of possibility for very fit hikers.

• The traverse of Wildcat Mountain and the Carter-Moriah Range spans 20 miles, 7,200 feet, and eight summits. The 360-degree panoramas from many summits and overlooks validate a hike that is arguably harder than the Pressies Death March—mostly because of the punishing steepness of the trail sections in Carter Notch.
• The 24-mile traverse from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch, much of it following the Appalachian Trail, is more typically done over two days with a night at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Galehead Hut (well worth the layover). But it’s a viable single-day goal, and while longer, probably not quite as hard as a Pressies Death March or the Wildcat-Carter-Moriah traverse (although you may not believe that while hiking Garfield Ridge).
• There are various ways to carve a big dayhike out of the Northern Presidentials. I wrote in this story about knocking off a tough, 17-mile, 6,800-foot loop from Pinkham Notch over four of the highest peaks in the Northeast, including Mount Washington, with three teenagers.
• The Franconia Notch area offers similarly broad possibilities. I’ve made a 17.4-mile loop from the notch over the five summits of Franconia Ridge—Flume, Liberty, Little Haystack, Lincoln, and Lafayette—that took in the sweeping views of the Whites on the long ridge traverse, as well as some trails and summits that see a lot less traffic.
• But the king of huge dayhikes in the Whites is the Pemi Loop, a 32-mile, approximately 10,000-vertical-foot circuit from Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway over Bondcliff, Mounts Bond and Garfield, and Franconia Ridge. Two friends and I—all of us in our fifties—repeated it not long ago, 10 years after first doing it. See my feature story about that day.

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If you believe you have the stuff for one of these big days in the Whites—or if you’re planning shorter dayhikes or backpacking trips through these peaks and want a digital preview of what they look like—see all of my stories about the White Mountains at The Big Outside, including these:

Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains
Step Onto Rock. Step Down. Repeat 50,000 Times: A 20-Mile, 9-Peak ‘Death March’ of the Presidential Range
Big Hearts, Big Day: A 17-Mile Hike With Teens in the Presidential Range
The Hardest 20 Miles: A Dayhike Across New Hampshire’s Rugged Wildcat-Carter-Moriah Range
Ask Me: What Are Your Favorite New England Hikes?

Find information about Appalachian Mountain Club mountain huts, hiker shuttles, and other AMC services in the Whites at outdoors.org.

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Ask Me: Where Should We Dayhike and Backpack in Hells Canyon? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-dayhike-and-backpack-in-hells-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-should-we-dayhike-and-backpack-in-hells-canyon/#respond Thu, 27 Apr 2017 09:10:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23056 Read on

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Michael,

I wondered if you might have some recommendations for either camping and dayhikes or two-day backpacking trips in the Seven Devils/Hells Canyon area. Or, maybe you have other suggestions for cool hikes relatively nearby in June.

Thanks so much!

Steph
Boise, ID

Saddle Creek Trail, Hells Canyon, Oregon.
Saddle Creek Trail, Hells Canyon, Oregon.

Hi Steph,

Early summer is a transitional time between whether it’s nicer in the Seven Devils Mountains, on the Idaho side of Hells Canyon, or down in Hells Canyon, where the Snake River forms the border between Idaho and Oregon. June is usually a little early in the Seven Devils, with snow still covering the ground at higher elevations. By late June, it’s normally getting pretty hot in Hells Canyon—it’s typically several degrees warmer than Boise. But temperatures could be fairly comfortable there in early summer; you just have to check the short-term forecast. Call to check whether the road and campground are both open; contact the Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, Riggins, Idaho, ranger district, (208) 628-3916; www.fs.fed.us/hellscanyon/.

Windy Saddle is the most-accessible jumping-off point for backpacking trips in the Seven Devils. To reach the campground at Windy Saddle, from 1.3 miles south of Riggins on US 95, turn west onto Seven Devils Road/FR 517, which is narrow and makes a huge climb over 17 miles. On hot days, it’ll be pleasantly cooler there, at 7,600 feet. From that campground, you can dayhike south on the Seven Devils Loop Trail and then turn west on the side trail to Lower Cannon Lake, a nice spot, somewhat popular for dayhikers and fishermen and a fairly easy four-mile hike one-way (eight miles out-and-back). If you’re feeling more ambitious, you can hike cross-country (it’s not too hard) to Upper Cannon Lake, where there may be no people and which is even more scenic, sitting right at the base of craggy peaks called The Ogre and The Goblin.

If you’re feeling really adventurous, you’ll see to the northwest of Upper Cannon Lake that it’s possible to hike and scramble off-trail (nothing technical) to the summit of the She Devil, which is over 9,400 feet, basically the same height as the neighboring He Devil; they’re the two highest peaks in the Seven Devils. I saw mountain goats on She Devil. I don’t know of a straightforward way to climb He Devil from Upper Cannon Lake; I’ve scrambled He Devil via the usual route from Sheep Lake (see below).

 

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Saddle Creek Trail, Hells Canyon, Oregon.
Saddle Creek Trail, Hells Canyon, Oregon.

Alternatively, hiking in the other direction from Windy Saddle, following good trail, it’s 9.4 miles to Sheep Lake at 7,882 feet, one of the largest lakes in the Seven Devils and a nice spot to camp. There’s also an established Sheep Lake Climbers Route from Windy Saddle that’s more direct, just 3.8 miles, but I haven’t taken it (though I’d like to try it). I’ve heard there are cairns and it’s not too sketchy, but it’s probably not for people who aren’t accustomed to hiking and route-finding off-trail. You could find a description online. It would be a fun, big loop dayhike to take the Climbers Route to Sheep Lake and return via the maintained hiking trail.

He Devil is a fun scramble with some route-finding but nothing really crazy, via the Northwest Ridge from Sheep Lake.

The Seven Devils Loop Trail around the range, which I’ve backpacked, is 27 or 28 miles, but you’d want to plan on extra miles to hike the side trails leading up to some of the lakes (which have the best backcountry camping), like Sheep Lake, Bernard Lakes, He Devil Lake, Baldy Lake, and Cannon Lakes. The map shows a trail to Dog Lake at the southeast corner of the Seven Devils; I’ve backpacked to it, and that trail appears to have been abandoned years ago, so there were a lot of blowdowns and it was difficult to follow. But the lake is beautiful and we had a great campsite there.

 


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.


 

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains, Idaho.
Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains, Idaho.

Also take the side trip off the loop trail to Dry Diggins Lookout, at over 7,800 feet, which has a sweeping view of the mountains and down into Hells Canyon, more than 6,000 feet below. It’s one of the few spots in the Seven Devils where you can actually see the Snake River.

If the forecast doesn’t call for really hot weather, drive north of Riggins on 95 to White Bird, and take FR 492, which is passable for cars once the road dries out (should be by late June), 17 miles over to Pittsburgh Landing on the Snake River in Hells Canyon. There’s a campground and boat launch there and the northern terminus of the 28-mile Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail. Hike south on that trail five miles to Kirkwood Ranch, a historic ranch right on the river, now managed as a museum, where there’s usually a volunteer caretaker who can show you around. I’ve camped in their big meadow when backpacking (they allow backpackers). There are some boat shuttle services that will give you a ride upriver and drop you off anywhere along the Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail, and you can hike back to Pittsburgh Landing, either as a dayhike or backpacking trip.

I’ve backpacked most of the Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail a couple of times, it’s gorgeous, ranging from right along the river to a few hundred feet above it, and not very strenuous (only a couple sections), though water sources are infrequent—you just have to look at the map and plan your water sources. There are some nice beach campsites.

I’ve also backpacked a 56-mile loop on the Oregon side of Hells Canyon, from the rim down to the river. It is a bit farther drive from Boise, but a really nice hike. See my story about that trip at The Big Outside.

From Boise, the closest access to Hells Canyon (only about a three-hour drive) is at its southern end, at Hells Canyon Dam. I’ve dayhiked from that area on the Oregon side, but I haven’t explored it much.

Good luck.

See also these stories at The Big Outside:

Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites
My Top 10 Favorite Backpacking Trips
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit
10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier
7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters

Best,
Michael

 

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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

 

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Photographing All 59 National Parks: 5 Top Tips From QT Luong https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photographing-all-59-national-parks-5-top-tips-from-qt-luong/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photographing-all-59-national-parks-5-top-tips-from-qt-luong/#comments Thu, 20 Apr 2017 09:00:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23086 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The number of people who can say they’ve visited all 59 of America’s national parks comprise a fairly small club. Only one person has made large-format photographs in all of them. In the 400 vividly sharp images in his beautiful and inspiring, coffee-table book Treasured Lands: A Photographic Odyssey Through America’s National Parks, photographer QT Luong distills the results of more than 20 years and 300 trips hiking, paddling, diving, skiing, snowshoeing, and climbing in every park, every type of environment, every season, and at all times of day and night.

Now, in an interview with The Big Outside, Luong talks about this project and offers his top five tips for shooting outdoors, for photographers from amateurs to pros.

Luong was featured in the Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan documentary “The National Parks: America’s Best Idea,” and Duncan wrote the introduction to Treasured Lands. Burns said of Luong’s book: “It is not as if our exquisite national parks need any help in the beauty department, but Luong’s revelatory photographs suggest that our ordinary equipment for seeing is missing something. Luong offers us a leg up to a new way of understanding nature’s greatest gifts.”

Accompanying the photos in Treasured Lands is a guide that includes a map indicating where the images were shot in each park, as well as extended captions that detail each image’s orientation and lighting, along with pertinent facts on each park’s geography and natural history.

 

QT Luong on the Root Glacier in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, Alaska.
QT Luong on the Root Glacier in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, Alaska.

Interview With Photographer QT Luong

The Big Outside: What was the inspiration behind this long and incredibly committing photography project that led to this book?

QT Luong in Dusy Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
QT Luong in Dusy Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

Luong: In the winter of 1993, I visited Yosemite. In the spring of the same year, I headed to Alaska to climb Denali. The sheer scale and pristine beauty of the north far exceeded anything I had witnessed in the mountains of Europe. In the fall, I toured Death Valley. After standing on the highest point of North America, I was now looking at its lowest. I had never seen such wide-open spaces and deserts before, and the geological surprises concealed within this arid land mesmerized me.

I realized how much diversity the national parks encompass—they present every ecosystem a vast continent has to offer, and it was all new to me. Each park represents a unique environment, yet collectively they are all are interrelated, interconnected like a giant jigsaw puzzle. I wanted to exhaust every opportunity to experience that natural diversity, and I wanted to share it with others.

This, combined with my realization of the descriptive power of large format photography inspired me to embark on a project that I thought was both original and compelling: photograph each of America’s national parks with a large-format camera, because only large-format photography would do justice to the grandeur of the parks.

 

Get the right pack for you. See my “Gear Review: The 10 Best Packs For Backpacking
and my “5 Tips For Buying the Right Backpack.”

 

Clouds and Telaquana Mountains above Turquoise Lake, Lake Clark National Park, Alaska.
Clouds and Telaquana Mountains above Turquoise Lake, Lake Clark National Park, Alaska.

TBO: As a photographer, what did you learn through shooting all 59 national parks?

Luong: The natural world is more interesting and more rich than one could imagine, and the more you look, the more you see. For this to happen, you have to keep your curiosity alive and be open to surprises, which are one of the most rewarding parts of the work. More ideas come to you if you understand what you are photographing—in this case the natural history. Even after visiting a place multiple times, you can always find new photographs.

My project to photograph the national parks now spans almost a quarter-century. During that time, I moved from using large-format film to shooting with digital cameras, and I reformulated goals for my project several times. Not only is there always something new to learn about nature, but this is true of photography as well.

 

QT Luong’s Top 5 Tips For Outdoor Photographers

 

View from Inspiration Point, Anacapa Island, Channel Islands National Park.
View from Inspiration Point, Anacapa Island, Channel Islands National Park.

1. Plan For Seasonal Conditions

For most of the year, like the rest of California’s hills, Channel Islands National Park is brown. From mid-March to mid-April, the strange and endemic tree-sunflower coreopsis blossoms. I timed my visit to Anacapa Island for that time frame.

Instead of hiking in summer just because the weather is favorable, think about the natural features that you expect to encounter, and when they will be at their best. Any vegetated area is more beautiful when adorned with wildflowers, and depending on elevation and latitude, they can peak anytime from late winter to mid-summer. A forest that is a wall of green in summer can be totally transformed during a few weeks by autumn foliage, which can appear from mid-August (Gates of the Arctic) to November (Guadalupe Mountains, Congaree).

 

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 at the bottom of this post, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

 

Ferns and flowers in spring, Shenandoah National Park.
Ferns and flowers in spring, Shenandoah National Park.

2. Let the Light Guide Your Choice of Subject and Composition

Shenandoah National Park is known for its views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, but on that cloudy day, the light was too flat for vast landscapes. I took instead a walk in the forest.

Large subjects such as wide landscapes often need strong light because their shapes are defined by shadows and contrast. Often, sidelight and low-angle light accentuate those shapes. On a clear day, try to be in position to photograph such landscapes in the early morning and late afternoon with the sun at your side.

Conversely, small subjects such as flower close-ups and forest scenes benefit from the soft light provided by a cloudy sky or full shade. On overcast days, concentrate on intimate scenes and exclude the sky, since its brightness may overwhelm your compositions.

♦

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♦

 

Blue Mesa basin at dusk, Petrified Forest National Park.
Blue Mesa basin at dusk, Petrified Forest National Park.

3. Arrive Early and Don’t Give Up Until it is Over

Half-an-hour earlier, the bottom of the canyon was in deep shade. Now from the rim of Blue Mesa in Petrified Forest National Park, as the sky took on pastel colors, the even light revealed the blue, gray, and tan stripes of the buttes.

For key scenes, try to arrive well in advance of the optimum hour, to give yourself plenty of time. If that’s a sunrise, it means arriving at pre-dawn when the light is beautiful on its own. After sunset, don’t pack up immediately, as the light when the sun is fifteen minutes below the horizon is soft and directional at the same time, particularly great for canyons.

Yes, that may mean doing some hiking in the dark, but that can be a nice experience. Don’t forget your headlamp!

 

Douglas Fir in Wall Street Gorge, midday, Bryce Canyon National Park.
Douglas Fir in Wall Street Gorge, midday, Bryce Canyon National Park.

4. Experiment and Vary Perspective

For an unusual perspective on Wall Street Gorge in Bryce Canyon National Park, I walked right to the base of a tall fir tree growing between the hoodoos and pointed the camera straight up.

When you happen upon a scene you like, keep exploring possibilities. Look for interesting foregrounds and compositions rather than settling for the first spot you happen upon.

Begin with a wide composition that encompasses the whole landscape, then zoom with a telephoto on the features that you find the most interesting. Try placing the camera closer to your foreground, for instance low to emphasize features such as wildflowers. Instead of photographing only with level orientations, point the camera up or down for different perspectives.

 

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.

 

 

Fog in valley and peaks lit by a winter sunset, Yosemite National Park.
Fog in valley and peaks lit by a winter sunset, Yosemite National Park.

5. Revisit Iconic Views

Almost a decade and maybe a hundred visits after I first set foot in a Yosemite in the winter of 1993, I eventually captured the color contrast of sunset-lit cliff tops and fog-filled valley, my color homage to Ansel Adams.

A deeper understanding of a place leads to better photos. On repeat visits, you can see develop a relationship with a place, visualize changes, and grasp the interactions within the environment. Atmospheric elements such as clouds, mist, or rainbows can transform worn-out scenes, and so do seasonal variations. The more you return to the same spot, the higher your chance to catch “lucky” conditions that transform the ordinary into the extraordinary.

All of the photos in this story were provided courtesy of QT Luong.

Order a copy of QT Luong’s Treasured Lands: A Photographic Odyssey Through America’s National Parks at treasuredlandsbook.com.

See more of QT Luong’s work at terragalleria.com

Follow QT Luong at:
twitter.com/terragalleria
instagram.com/terragalleria

See my “12 Simple Tips For Taking Better Outdoor Photos” all of my stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside, and these stories:

Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites
My Top 10 Favorite Backpacking Trips
10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit
10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier
7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters

 

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Ask Me: How Do We Flatlanders Train For High Altitudes? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-we-flatlanders-train-for-high-altitudes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-how-do-we-flatlanders-train-for-high-altitudes/#comments Tue, 21 Feb 2017 10:00:02 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17185 Read on

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Hi Michael,

I hope this finds you well! At the end of the year I am hoping to join my friends on an adventure to Argentina to climb Aconcagua. We are not taking the technical routes, so no ropes or glacier travel. My question is this: what is the best way to train for high altitude? I live at sea level in Portland, Maine, so access to high peaks is not really an option.

We are building into our plan several days at the different camps to help acclimate on the way. The plan is somewhat fluid but we are expecting to take about two weeks on the mountain. Is there anything that I can do from a training perspective over the next months to make it less uncomfortable? Should I really focus on my fitness and conditioning? More strength and endurance?

Appreciate any thoughts that you have. It’s a once-in-a-life trip for us and I want to try and be as prepared as possible!

Many thanks!

Chris
Portland, ME

 

Hi Chris,

Congrats on your plans to climb Aconcaqua. Your question points out a challenge many climbers face, of course. My experience with elevation has been limited to U.S. peaks over 14,000 feet and trekking Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit, where the Thorung-La pass is at nearly 18,000 feet. So not nearly as high as you may go if all goes well for you. But I’ll share my experience and what I know.

Trekkers en route to the Thorung-La pass, at nearly 18,000 feet, on Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Trekkers en route to the Thorung-La pass, at nearly 18,000 feet, on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

We took 10 days to walk up a valley to the Thorung-La, which was the recommended amount of time to gradually acclimate to increasingly higher elevations. So we did fine hiking over the pass, but I certainly didn’t feel great—I felt lethargic and had a headache, which isn’t too bad, considering, but I’d never before felt that way on a 14er. I can tell you that once we reached a town at 12,000 feet (a few hours after we crossed the pass), I felt fantastic, like I could sprint down the streets.

While everyone’s reaction to elevation differs and is basically genetic, there is evidence that going into the climb in peak physical condition will help you. This article provides some good background information. At the least, I think being in poor shape would only compound how badly you feel if you’re feeling the effects of high elevation.

 


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.


 

I have seen people get sick at elevations that had never bothered them on previous trips or climbs. So never assume that if you’ve felt well at a given elevation once that you will feel just as good the next time.

In Nepal, we carried the drug Diamox with us to combat symptoms of altitude sickness, and it helped. But it also is a diuretic and will cause you to urinate more, which can dehydrate you. Ultimately, if your symptoms do not go away quickly, you should descend until you feel better, before the symptoms escalate into a life-threatening situation.

Lastly, taking good care of yourself matters: staying well hydrated before, during and after your climb, eating well, and sleeping enough. High elevations can upset your G.I. system and diminish your appetite, but it’s important to try to consume enough to fuel your body.

 

Got a trip coming up? See my reviews of the best gear duffles and luggage and 6 favorite daypacks.

 

I don’t think there are any great secrets to dealing with high elevations; but arriving there in really good physical condition, especially training beforehand to increase your body’s VO2 max, can only help you.

Good luck. Let me know how it turns out. You might find these stories at The Big Outside helpful:

12 Pro Tips For Staying Warm Outdoors in Winter
10 Smarter Ways to Think About Your Layering System
Review: 6 Super Versatile Layering Pieces
Gear Review: The 5 Best Headlamps

Best,
Michael

 

This story took quite a while to write, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using the buttons below. 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

 

 

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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

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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.









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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

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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.

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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.

♦

 

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Photo Gallery: Fall Hiking and Backpacking in the North Carolina Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-fall-hiking-and-backpacking-in-the-north-carolina-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-fall-hiking-and-backpacking-in-the-north-carolina-mountains/#comments Mon, 17 Oct 2016 10:00:02 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20795 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In a light mist drizzling from the fog embracing the mountains along the Blue Ridge Parkway in western North Carolina, I followed a well-worn trail downhill through a mixed deciduous forest just beginning to show its fall colors. A mile and a half down that path, I stood on rocks in the stream below Crabtree Falls, which plunges a nearly vertical 70 feet over numerous, shallow ledges. The photogenic waterfall seemed an auspicious start to a week of exploring one of America’s hiking meccas, the mountains of western North Carolina.

My trip culminated in backpacking a 34.3-mile loop in Great Smoky Mountains National Park (the lead photo, above, was taken along the Appalachian Trail in the park). In between, I dayhiked the rigorous, 12-mile Black Mountain Crest Trail, over 13 named 6,000-footers, to the summit of the highest peak east of the Mississippi River, 6,684-foot Mount Mitchell; hiked to numerous beautiful waterfalls from the Blue Ridge Parkway to Gorges State Park and the tallest in the East, 811-foot Whitewater Falls; explored mystical corners of the Southern Appalachians like Moore Cove; and hiked to glorious views of the Pisgah National Forest’s lush mountains at Looking Glass Rock and 6,214-foot Black Balsam Knob on the Art Loeb Trail.

I just returned from a week of hiking and backpacking in the mountains of western North Carolina, at the invitation of The Big Outside’s newest sponsor, Visit North Carolina. I’d hiked in the region before, but never spent so much time there. The trip opened my eyes to the beauty that makes western North Carolina so popular with hikers (who comprise a significant number of the visitors that make the Blue Ridge Parkway and Great Smoky Mountains National Park the first and third most-visited U.S. national park units).

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.


I’ll post numerous stories from this trip in the coming weeks and months. Meanwhile, check out the gallery of photos below from that trip.

Then visit the websites listed below the photo gallery to get ideas and help plan your hiking and backpacking adventures in western North Carolina.

 

Forney Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Silers Bald shelter, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. View along Appalachian Trail, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Andrews Bald, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Springhouse Branch Trail, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Noland Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Noland Creek, Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Crabtree Falls, along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Black Mountain Crest Trail, Mount Mitchell. Black Mountain Crest Trail, Mount Mitchell. Looking Glass Rock. Roaring Fork Falls, off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Looking Glass Rock seen from John Rock. Fall color in Pisgah National Forest. Moore Cove, Pisgah National Forest. Rainbow Falls, Gorges State Park and Pisgah National Forest.

For more information, see:

Visit North Carolina, visitnc.com

North Carolina Waterfalls, ncwaterfalls.com.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, nps.gov/grsm

Blue Ridge Parkway, nps.gov/blri

Pisgah National Forest, fs.usda.gov/recarea/nfsnc/recarea/?recid=48114

Mount Mitchell State Park, ncparks.gov/mount-mitchell-state-park

Gorges State Park, ncparks.gov/gorges-state-park

North Carolina Division of Parks & Recreation, ncparks.gov

 

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.


♦

 

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Photo Gallery: A Desolation Wilderness Dayhike https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-a-desolation-wilderness-dayhike/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-a-desolation-wilderness-dayhike/#respond Tue, 20 Sep 2016 10:00:34 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20533 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Although California’s Desolation Wilderness had long been on my list of places I wanted to explore, my first dayhike there happened serendipitously. We had just finished a 65-mile backpacking trip in Yosemite National Park and were planning on launching straight into an 86-miler in northern Yosemite, but wildfire smoke sent us packing. So we wound up in the Lake Tahoe area, which wasn’t getting smoke from the fires, looking for a dayhike. And we found a great one.

My friends Todd Arndt, David Ports, and I started up the Bayview Trail, above Emerald Bay on the southwest side of Lake Tahoe, in late afternoon—when most hikers were returning to their cars, assuring that we’d have a handful of mountain lakes to ourselves on a beautiful late-summer evening.

We followed an 11.3-mile, lollipop route past Granite Lake (about a mile in, a good destination for a short dayhike or weekend backpacking trip for a young family) to Middle and Upper Velma Lakes, Fontanillis Lake, and Dicks Lake—a great area for a weekend backpacking trip.

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Along the Bayview Trail, Desolation Wilderness. Fontanillis Lake, Desolation Wilderness. Fontanillis Lake, Desolation Wilderness. Fontanillis Lake, Desolation Wilderness. Dicks Lake, Desolation Wilderness. Along the Bayview Trail, Desolation Wilderness.

The Desolation Wilderness encompasses 63,960 acres of granite peaks, glacial valleys and lakes, and sub-alpine and alpine forest west of Lake Tahoe. The area has been protected since the creation of the Lake Tahoe Forest Reserve in 1899.  In 1931, it became the Desolation Valley Primitive Area. In 1969, five years after passage of The Wilderness Act, the Desolation Wilderness was added to the National Wilderness Preservation System.

After several hours of hiking there, the Desolation remains on my list of places to explore more deeply.

See all of my stories about adventures in California at The Big Outside, including my stories about that 65-mile backpacking trip in Yosemite National Park and my story about two of us returning a year later to take that 86-mile northern Yosemite hike.

Make It Happen

Season The prime hiking season in the Desolation Wilderness and the mountains around Lake Tahoe extends from late June through September.

The Itinerary From the Bayview Trailhead on CA 89, west of South Lake Tahoe, hike the Bayview Trail southwest. At 3.5 miles, reach a junction with trails that form a 4.3-mile loop to Middle and Upper Velma Lakes, Fontanillis Lake, and Dicks Lake. After hiking that loop in either direction, return on the Bayview Trail.

Map Lake Tahoe Basin Hiking and Biking Trail Map, $12.99, adventuremaps.net.

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.


♦

 

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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

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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.

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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.

 

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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

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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.

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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.

 

 

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Big Hearts, Big Day: A 17-Mile Hike With Teens in the Presidential Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-hearts-big-day-a-17-mile-hike-with-teens-in-the-presidential-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-hearts-big-day-a-17-mile-hike-with-teens-in-the-presidential-range/#comments Mon, 04 Jul 2016 10:00:46 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19598 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Like two spooked deer, Marco and Liam bound ahead of us on the trail, pause to wait for us to catch up, and then sprint ahead again. Powered by the blindly stratospheric self-confidence of athletic teenage boys, they do this repeatedly as we hike a trail paved with rocks the size of bowling balls and dorm-room refrigerators. We are in the early hours of a marathon dayhike over the four peaks of New Hampshire’s Northern Presidential Range, but they are treating it like a short, interval-training workout.

Something tells me this strategy won’t carry them through our long day. But I say nothing. I’m just curious to see how long a pair of fit young bucks can keep this up.

My son, Nate, on the other hand, moves at a steady, moderate pace, apparently uninterested in their demanding regimen. Although younger than Marco and Liam, he’s done more hiking than either of them; he has earned a nascent understanding of personal limits, and realizes he will hover somewhere around his own today—either near enough to see it, or tripping painfully beyond that blurry line. But in reality, even though Marco completed one comparably long and arduous dayhike just a year ago, none of these teenagers can fully comprehend just how taxing a day they have embarked on.

Thus, however today goes for us, we are assured of one outcome: By sometime this evening, these three young lads will have acquired a bit more wisdom.

Nate, who’s 14, my 17-year-old nephew Marco Garofalo, his 16-year-old buddy Liam Lynch-Galvin, my good friend and ultra-hiking partner Mark Fenton, and I are dayhiking a roughly 17-mile loop from Pinkham Notch over the four summits of the Northern Presidentials: 5,366-foot Mount Madison, 5,799-foot Mount Adams, 5,716-foot Mount Jefferson, and the highest in the Northeast, 6,288-foot Mount Washington. We’ll go up and down a cumulative 6,800 vertical feet over some of the rockiest and, step for grueling step, hardest trails 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.


Mark Fenton hiking the Osgood Trail, Presidential Range, N.H.
Mark Fenton hiking the Osgood Trail, Presidential Range, N.H.

We’re here because these boys wanted to challenge themselves on a huge hike—something they know Mark and I have done many times. I’d originally considered taking these boys on the Northeast’s classic ultra-dayhike, a 20-mile, nine-summit “Death March” traverse of the entire Presidential Range. But that requires significantly more driving time and shuttling vehicles. Besides, today’s little outing will fulfill their desire for a challenge.

I’m also curious to gauge my Western-raised son’s reaction to these Eastern peaks that inspired my lifelong passion for the hills. More than three decades after I first stood on some of these granite boulder-pile summits, looking out over this now intimately familiar landscape of turbulent, forested mountains and valleys, of ancient upheaval and patient erosion, I still feel a pulse-quickening chill whenever I walk a trail here. While some of that feeling no doubt springs from many fond memories, I think the White Mountains, like other parts of the Northern Appalachians, possess a subtly majestic character that’s uniquely their own.

But Nate has led quite an adventurous life for someone his age, having already backpacked in numerous national parks from Mount Rainier, Glacier, Grand Teton, Sequoia, and the Grand Canyon to Utah’s parks; he has climbed Mount St. Helens, sea kayaked Alaska’s Glacier Bay, whitewater kayaked Idaho’s world-class Middle Fork of the Salmon River, and taken multi-day hut treks in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park and Italy’s Dolomite Mountains. And those examples all took place just in the past seven years. (Plus, less than a year after this Northern Presidentials dayhike, Nate and I would climb The Mountaineers Route up the highest peak in the Lower 48, California’s Mount Whitney.)

Given all that, can my 14-year-old possibly see these smaller mountains with the same awe I felt when I started hiking in my early 20s, years before my first visit to a Western national park? I hope so.

Check out my “10 Tips For Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You
and “My Top 10 Family Outdoor Adventures.”

Mount Madison

Squadrons of black flies dive-bomb us as we emerge from the forest and enter the alpine zone on the Osgood Trail up Mount Madison. Marco showers himself in bug repellent, but acknowledges before long that it has negligible impact on these persistent creatures. Nate doesn’t complain except to point out that he prefers the bug-free air of most of our Western landscapes over the Northeast’s version of the Black Plague.

Other than the black flies, though, it’s a perfect day for hiking—not always the case in the frequently humid Eastern summer. The temperature was in the 50s when we set out from Pinkham Notch, and it will get up to around 70 by this afternoon, with just a few high clouds and a pleasant breeze. A fine day to hike oneself into a stupor of exhaustion.

The Osgood Trail is unquestionably one of the most scenic of the few alpine trails in the Whites that receive relatively little traffic. We ascend steadily, with a few short, steep sections, up the treeless ridge crest, with a 360-degree view that takes in Madison’s crown, Adams, Jefferson, Washington, the Carter Range to the east, and a rumpled green blanket of smaller hills rolling over northern New Hampshire and western Maine.

In mild, calm air and tiny clouds of black flies, we stroll up to the summit of Madison, having covered the day’s first 6.7 miles and the biggest chunk of uphill, some 4,000 vertical feet, in five hours. It’s an hour slower than Mark and I had planned on. He says, in an optimistic tone that belies the essence of his message, “We’re looking at a longer day than we thought, but that’s okay, we’ll be fine.” Still, he and I exchange glances that communicate: We’re in for a late night.

Nonetheless, we all sit on boulders at Madison’s summit and take the time to eat fat sandwiches, guzzle water, and enjoy a much-needed rest. Besides, one of the best vistas in the East unfolds before us: an arc of the tallest peaks in the Northeast forming a badly dented and misshapen horseshoe around as wild a valley as you’ll find to the right of the Mississippi River, the densely forested, steep-walled glacial scar of the Great Gulf Wilderness.

The boys look and feel good. The day is beautiful, the scenery magnificent. Such circumstances can convince a person that he can do anything.

Make your hikes better.
See “The 7 Best Rain Jackets For the Backcountry” and “The 10 Best Hiking Daypacks.”

Mount Adams

Ninety minutes later, after a brief visit at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Madison Spring Hut to refill water bladders, we finish the long, high-stepping-over-boulders slog up Adams. A dozen or more other hikers linger at the summit. Once again, the view energizes the boys. Mount Washington looks deceptively close, but in reality, lies about six very strenuous miles from us.

From the second-highest summit in the Northeast, we can see virtually all of the White Mountains. Mark and I point out and name several peaks, recalling past hikes we’ve done together, resurrecting great memories. Someday, these boys will do the same thing, remembering today and probably laughing over how much this hike kicked their butts. In that regard, they will hardly be alone among White Mountains hikers.

By mid-afternoon, as we’re climbing Jefferson, all three boys are visibly dragging. Nate tells me, “On Western trails, I’d be fine—we’d be done this hike by now. This constant rockiness is really tough.” My son has learned, firsthand, the defining characteristic of White Mountains trails.

Given the boys’ weariness, we decide to skip the spur trail over the top of 5,533-foot Mount Clay—not considered a distinct summit, but rather a shoulder of Mount Washington—and instead follow the lower route, the Gulfside Trail around Clay. Part of the Appalachian Trail, the Gulfside offers some of the easiest hiking we’ve done all day. This rejuvenates us as evening finds us still high in the Presidential Range, about as far from any road as we could be.

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 story, or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

At a trail junction where we face a choice to take an easier route around Washington or go for the top, all three boys are unanimous: We have to reach the summit of the Northeast’s tallest peak. Mark and I don’t object: The weather’s fine, they’re doing reasonably well, and while it’s later than either Mark or I have ever tagged the top of Washington, we have headlamps for descending in the dark, and we’re confident of getting through the more difficult parts of the descent, to the bottom the Lion Head, in daylight.

Trailing behind the other three on the Gulfside Trail up Washington, Nate and I walk along the brink of the sharp dropoff into the Great Gulf. Soft light suffuses all that we can see. We pause to admire it, and Nate says, “Wow. That’s amazing.” Even for this Western kid, the White Mountains can display some magic.

A little while later, we present five tired but beaming faces for a victorious summit photo on Mount Washington. Behind us, the sun slips below the horizon.

Hike stronger and smarter. See my stories “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb
and “10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier.”

A 15-Hour Day

Dusk settles in as we cross Washington’s wildflower-strewn Alpine Garden. Soon, darkness will engulf the White Mountains, turning the forest around us into black walls. We’ll face 90 minutes of downhill hiking by the beams of our headlamps before reaching our car in Pinkham Notch at 10:40 p.m.—more than 15 hours after we left there this morning.

I size up all three boys. Their legs look wooden as they plod downhill. They’re more physically spent than perhaps any of them has ever known.

Acquiring wisdom is exhausting.

But they’re obviously pleased with their accomplishment. Broad smiles crease their faces; their spirits are in the clouds. Liam seems giddy with disbelief over the scale of our day. Marco will text me tomorrow: “My legs are really sore and I’ve just been resting today, but it was definitely worth it.” Nate will talk—proudly—about the rigorousness of this day for months.

Will taking teenagers on a grueling hike encourage or discourage their appetite for more outdoor adventures? Or does this encourage—as some hikers would say—the “wrong” attitude toward the outdoors, turning what some maintain should be a patient experience of appreciation into an athletic contest?

From my experience of my earliest ultra-hikes and watching these kids, I believe that, yes, for now, they’re focused on the accomplishment—their bragging rights. But I don’t believe enjoying the outdoors must follow any strict set of rules; that’s probably the best way to turn off young people. I see today bringing these boys multiple benefits, like building self-confidence, expanding their knowledge of themselves, and ultimately developing in them a love for being outside and enjoying nature in myriad ways.

Does it really matter how we inspire kids to spend time outdoors? I don’t think so. By simply getting them out here, under whatever premise, we inevitably expose them to moments of pure beauty that they will carry with them. That will help shape and mature their perspective on why they want to do this. Eventually, that perspective will broaden, and their pleasure will arise from more than just feats of athleticism. They will come to the outdoors for the pure beauty of it.

As we’re descending the Lion Head Trail, I overhear Marco talking to Liam, and I expect comments about how tired they are. But instead, Marco expounds on how he loves hiking in the evening. “It’s so quiet,” he says.

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.

Nate, me, Liam, Mark, Marco.
Nate, me, Liam, Mark, Marco, on Mount Washington.

See all of my stories about the White Mountains, including “Step Onto Rock. Step Down. Repeat 50,000 Times: A 20-Mile, 9-Peak Presidential Range ‘Death March,'” “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” and all of my stories about ultra-hiking, including “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb” and “Cranking Out Big Days: How to Ramp Up Your Hikes and Trail Runs.” And see all of my stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

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THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR fit, experienced dayhikers and backpackers, and novice dayhikers and backpackers who are fit, well prepared and, ideally, accompanied by experienced people. Challenges include extremely rocky, steep trails, and weather that can get hot and humid and produce a thunderstorm. The trail is well marked, so route-finding won’t be a problem for anyone with solid map-reading skills.

Make It Happen

Season The prime hiking season in the White Mountains is June through mid-October. Winter hiking skills and gear are usually required from November through mid-spring, and deep snow can make hiking difficult in late April and May.

The Itinerary Our roughly 17-mile, 6,800-vertical-foot loop from Pinkham Notch followed the Old Jackson Road, the Madison Gulf Trail, the Osgood Trail to the summit of Mount Madison, then the Gulfside Trail south to the summit of Mount Washington, with spur trails to the summits of Mounts Adams and Jefferson. Then we descended the Lion Head Trail and Tuckerman Ravine Trail to Pinkham Notch.

Getting There Start this loop hike at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Pinkham Notch Visitor Center on NH 16 in Pinkham Notch, about 20 miles north of Conway, N.H., and 11 miles south of Gorham.

Where to Stay We spent the night before our hike at the AMC’s Joe Dodge Lodge in Pinkham Notch, so we could hit the trail without having to drive in the morning. Joe Dodge Lodge and the AMC’s eight mountain huts are popular; make reservations at least a few months in advance, and further in advance for summer and early-fall weekends, at outdoors.org/lodging/lodges.

Shuttle Service The Appalachian Mountain Club’s hiker shuttle bus operates daily from early June through mid-September, and on weekends and holidays from mid-September through mid-October, stopping at several trailheads throughout the White Mountains. There is a fee. See the schedule at outdoors.org/lodging-camping/lodging-shuttle.cfm.

Permit No permit is required for dayhiking or backpacking in the White Mountains.

Guidebook and Maps White Mountain Guide, amcstore.outdoors.org.

Concerns Weather is the biggest hazard, including thunderstorms, strong winds, rain, snow, and whiteout conditions on summits and exposed ridges. Check the forecast for the summits, posted daily at all AMC mountain huts and the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, and available from the Mt. Washington Weather Observatory, mountwashington.org.

Contact Appalachian Mountain Club, (617) 523-0655, outdoors.org. Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, White Mountains, (603) 466-2721.

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Great Hike: Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/great-hike-garnet-canyon-grand-teton-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/great-hike-garnet-canyon-grand-teton-national-park/#respond Sun, 05 Jun 2016 10:00:49 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19257 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Snow still covered the ground deeply at the very end of May as my friend Dave Simpson and I hiked up into Garnet Canyon, in Grand Teton National Park. We were there to attempt a one-day climb of the Middle Teton; but in the mountains, things do not always go as planned. Snow conditions were softer and more unstable than we expected, and as we hiked to well above 10,000 feet, we saw seven wet avalanches slough off the peaks to either side of us (none, fortunately, threatening us). So we abandoned our climbing plans, but still enjoyed one of the premier dayhikes in the Tetons—as I think you’ll see in this photo gallery from that day.

From the Lupine Meadows Trailhead, it’s just over four miles with more than 2,200 feet of vertical to the grassy area known as The Meadows, where there are campsites by a creek; it’s a good spot to turn around. Just before reaching The Meadows, the trail crosses an area of massive boulders, requiring scrambling, beyond the end of the maintained Garnet Canyon Trail, but the views are just as good before the boulders.


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The prime season for hiking and backpacking in the Tetons, when trails are mostly snow-free, is July through September. Plan on late July into the first half of August for wildflowers in bloom at higher elevations.

If you’re making plans to dayhike or backpack in Garnet Canyon or anywhere in the Tetons, see all of my stories about Grand Teton National Park and one of America’s finest backpacking trips (and one of my top 10 favorites), the Teton Crest Trail, as well as all of my Ask Me posts about the Tetons.

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You’ll also find some spots in the Tetons, and inspiration for other great national-park adventures, in my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites, and useful advice on clearing the hurdles to backpacking in the Tetons in my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

While you’re at it, check out all of my stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

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3-Minute Read: Hiking in Death Valley National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-hiking-in-death-valley-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-hiking-in-death-valley-national-park/#respond Thu, 02 Jun 2016 10:00:57 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19209 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

On a sunny and calm morning in the middle of May, three companions and I set out from a trailhead at just over 8,100 feet in the Panamint Range of California’s Death Valley National Park, with the temperature at 29° F—which was exactly 80 degrees colder than the temperature we’d seen when we arrived at Furnace Creek, at 190 feet below sea level, four days earlier. Less than three hours later, we stood on the 11,049-foot summit of Telescope Peak (above photo), highest point in the largest national park in the Lower 48, looking down more than 11,000 vertical feet at the bottom of Death Valley—as much relief as there is between the summit of Mount Everest and its primary base camp.

Everywhere you look, Death Valley presents you with extremes.

I spent four days in the largest U.S. national park outside of Alaska, roughly the size of Connecticut. Besides dayhiking Telescope, we backpacked for three days up and down a canyon incongruously lush with greenery, with a vibrant creek carving through it—in the hottest and driest corner of America. So not only is Death Valley a place of extremes, but it’s a place of striking contrasts, including stark beauty in an environment that’s starkly hostile to life.

 

Katie Hughes scrambling up a cliff beside a waterfall in Surprise Canyon, Death Valley National Park.
Katie Hughes scrambling around a waterfall in Death Valley’s Surprise Canyon.

I went there with three women from the outdoor industry: Rosie Mansfield, head of product development and design for Osprey Packs; Katie Hughes, lead content strategist for Big Agnes; and Elisabeth Brentano, an ambassador for both Big Agnes and Oboz Footwear. We were there to test out some new packs from Osprey, tents and sleeping bags and pads from Big Agnes, and boots from Oboz. And to explore a park that I, like many hikers, had never hit the trail in before.

Some of the gear we tested is brand new, and some will come out next spring; it was fascinating and exciting to see where these three top brands are headed in product development. I’ll post stories about our hikes and the gear we tested there later at The Big Outside. Meanwhile, see all of my stories about adventures in California national parks and all of my stories about national park adventures.

 

Rosie Mansfield enjoying the view from the 11,049-foot summit of Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.
Rosie Mansfield enjoying the view from the 11,049-foot summit of Telescope Peak, Death Valley National Park.

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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.

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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.









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Photo Gallery: Hiking the Columbia Gorge https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-the-columbia-gorge/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-hiking-the-columbia-gorge/#comments Mon, 23 May 2016 10:00:17 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8697 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

My son and daughter aren’t that into great views. I still remember my son saying to me, making no attempt to mask his disdain, “What is it about adults and views?” Kids don’t want an experience in nature that’s no better than a picture on the wall—they want to immerse themselves in it, get dirty and wet and throw stuff. That’s why dayhiking in the Columbia Gorge with them was a big hit.

In fact, it was a winner as a three-generation adventure, thanks to some of those loathsome views for us adults, like the vistas from the upper stretch of the popular Dog Mountain Trail. But also because the gorge is one of the best spots in the Pacific Northwest for seeing waterfalls and wildflowers. My kids will not soon forget walking behind Tunnel Falls and traversing the sheer cliff to either side of the waterfall, or hiking beneath the deep overhang behind Ponytail Falls (lead photo, above).


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.


 

With more than 200 miles of trails and scores of waterfalls in the 292,500-acre Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, it’s a major center for hiking and backpacking less than an hour from Portland. It’s also a great destination for hiking with kids—because here, nature is more interactive than a touch screen. See what I mean in the photo gallery below, then read my story about this trip for more photos, a video, and trip-planning tips.

See also my photo gallery from a 20-mile dayhike in the Columbia Gorge.

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Buying Gear? Read This First https://thebigoutsideblog.com/buying-gear-read-this-first/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/buying-gear-read-this-first/#comments Sun, 01 May 2016 10:00:46 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12289 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Are you in the market for a new pack or boots for hiking or backpacking, or a new tent or sleeping bag? How do you find something that’s just right for you? What should you be looking for? How much should you spend? These are questions I’ve heard from many friends and readers over the years as they’ve waded through the myriad choices that are out there. Here are my five top tips for buying gear that’s right for you, gleaned from lessons I’ve learned from two decades of testing and reviewing gear and helping people find gear they love.

No matter what you’re shopping for—boots, pack, tent, bag, other gear or some major piece of apparel like a jacket—consumers grapple with largely the same, general questions that I wrote above. They’re trying to narrow the daunting array of choices out there, but they’re not quite sure how to do that.

I’ve listed below five steps to follow in the decision-making process for buying gear. At the bottom, I’ve provided links to my stories offering specific tips on buying a new pack, boots, tent, and bag.

 

Backpackers at Columbine Lake, Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, at Columbine Lake, Sequoia National Park.

No. 1 Decide What It’s For

A friend asked me once to recommend boots he could buy for backpacking that would also work well for climbing glaciated peaks (in the Pacific Northwest); I told him that was a little like shopping for a dump truck that would also give him good mileage as a commuting vehicle. If you set out in search of a pack or boots for every dayhike or backpacking trip you ever take, then you may wind up with just that—which may serve your needs in a general way, but not be quite right for anything. Focus on how you intend to use that item most of the time, and buy something that’s good for that purpose.

 

 

Backpackers on the Tonto Trail between New Hance Trail and Horseshoe Mesa, Grand Canyon.
Lisa and Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.

 

No. 2 Decide What You Need

Do you need solid ankle support, or do you prefer really lightweight, nimble footwear? Are you a big guy who needs a roomy tent, or a parent backpacking with a young child with a top priority of minimizing gear weight? Do you want the lightest bag you can afford, or do you get cold easily and need a bag that’s a little fatter and warmer than the average person uses?

The reason for the almost infinite number of choices in gear is the infinite variability in the wants and needs of consumers. That can seem confusing but it’s ultimately good for you. Your first step in the buying may simply be writing down your customized answers to numbers one and two in this list of tips and using that as a guide as you begin winnowing your short list.

 

A hiker on the Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park.

 

No. 3 Get the Fit Right

Especially with footwear, packs, and performance apparel, fit and personal satisfaction go together like chips and salsa. You can be happy with boots or a pack that are not quite what you wanted, but are what you could afford; but you’ll never be happy with the top-of-the-line, expensive boots or pack that don’t fit you well. A poorly fitting pack can make you miserable, while poorly fitting boots can end a trip. With those gear items for which fit becomes critical, boots and packs, narrow your list to at least three options, and perhaps up to six or seven, based on steps one and two (above). Then go try them on and you will find the model you like.

 

Jan Roser backpacking to Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Jan Roser below Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

 

No. 4 Don’t Wait Until the Last Minute

The best way to spend more than you want or need to spend, and be forced to settle for something that’s not quite what you wanted, is to wait until the last day or two before a trip and rush out to buy something.

You wouldn’t buy a car or a house that way, because you want to take the time to find something that feels just right for you. Treat buying boots, a pack, tent, bag, or other major gear or outdoor-apparel item the same way—those aren’t like batteries or stove fuel that you dash out to pick up at the last minute. Plus, shopping around weeks or even months in advance gives you time to wait for sale prices.

 

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.

No. 5 Spend What You Can Afford

This last nugget of advice goes both ways: If you can only afford an entry-level pack or other piece of gear, look for the best-quality item that’s within your budget and get it. (Tip: Pick a brand name known for high quality, because they will usually bring the same dedication to quality to their affordable gear as they do to their pricier gear.) Maybe it won’t be as comfortable or last as long as the high-end gear you coveted, but it will enable you to get out there and have fun and may last you until you can afford something better. (See my “5 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear.”)

By the same token, I always tell friends or readers seeking advice: If you can afford the best, why settle for something that will be less comfortable, or heavier, or not fit or perform as well as pricier pieces of gear or apparel that are within your budget? Measure the value in terms of your enjoyment and comfort as well as the cost per mile or day of use, because higher-quality gear, while pricier, often proves much more durable than cheaper stuff. It’s money well spent.

 

 

My son, Nate, at Tunnel Falls, Eagle Creek Trail, Columbia Gorge, Oregon.
My son, Nate, at Tunnel Falls, Eagle Creek Trail, Columbia Gorge, Oregon.

See a categorized menu of all of my reviews of hiking gearbackpacking gear, daypacks, backpacks, hiking shoes, backpacking boots, backpacking tents, sleeping bags, and kids’ outdoor gear and these stories at The Big Outside:

5 Tips For Buying the Right Backpack

Pro Tips For Buying the Right Boots

5 Tips For How to Buy a Backpacking Tent

Pro Tips: How to Choose a Sleeping Bag

See also my stories “The Simple Equation of Ultralight Backpacking: Less Weight = More Fun,” “5 Tips For Spending Less on Hiking and Backpacking Gear,” “Why and When to Spend More on Outdoor Gear” and “Ask Me: How Do We Begin Lightening Up Our Backpacking Gear?

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.

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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.

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Photo Gallery: Celebrating National Parks Week https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-celebrating-national-parks-week/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-celebrating-national-parks-week/#comments Sun, 17 Apr 2016 10:00:35 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8505 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

This is National Parks Week, a good time to contemplate the writer and historian Wallace Stegner’s famous quote: “National parks are the best idea we ever had. Absolutely American, absolutely democratic, they reflect us at our best rather than our worst.” Are you planning to visit a national park this week or this year? Here’s a gallery of photos from several parks I’ve visited (including Olympic, photo above) to offer a little inspiration.

You’ll find stories, photos, videos, and trip-planning tips and information at The Big Outside about adventures in many national parks, and I’m planning to post more parks stories in the coming weeks and months.

See a gallery of photos from (almost) every national park I’ve visited, and a menu of all of my stories about parks at my All National Parks Trips sub-page at my All Trips page.

If you’re not visiting a park this week, celebrate National Parks Week by starting the planning now for your next park trip. After all, life’s too short to not visit at least one national park every year.

The Big Outside is proud to partner with these sponsors and supporters of national parks. 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.



 

 

 

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today, a Trip Advisor site, and others. Subscribe for updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box at the top of the left sidebar or on my About page, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

 

Hiking above Paradise, Mount Rainier National Park. Tourists and General Sherman Tree, Sequoia National Park. Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado. Piegan Pass Trail, Glacier National Park. City of Rocks National Reserve, Idaho. Black bear, Olympic National Park. Below Tricouni Peak, North Cascades National Park. Backpacker in The Narrows, Zion. Me atop Mount Hoffman, Yosemite National Park. Above Squaw Canyon, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. Northern Bailey Range, Mount Olympus in background, Olympic National Park. Tonto Trail at Salt Creek, Grand Canyon. Garnet Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

 

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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.









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3-Minute Read: Hiking Arizona’s Canyon de Chelly https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-hiking-arizonas-canyon-de-chelly/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/3-minute-read-hiking-arizonas-canyon-de-chelly/#respond Tue, 12 Apr 2016 10:00:32 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18397 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Our guide Edwina, a woman from the Navajo Nation—or as she tells us the people call themselves, the “Diné” (pronounced da-NAY)—leads our two-family group of eight along a zigzagging, sometimes exposed, primitive “trail” dropping several hundred feet into Canyon del Muerto, a wide, river-cut gorge of sheer, red-rock walls, one of the two main chasms of Canyon de Chelly. Descending narrow ledges, tilting slabs, dry water runnels, and manmade steps carved into the rock, we follow her on a storied and occasionally heart-pounding path into the history of ancient and modern civilizations—and in many ways, the history of the United States.

During our four-hour, 6.5-mile, guided hiking tour into Canyon de Chelly National Monument, in northeastern Arizona, we stop periodically and Edwina tells us some of the history of Canyon de Chelly, where cultures have thrived for nearly 5,000 years—longer than anyone has lived uninterrupted anywhere on the Colorado Plateau. A young woman in baggy, denim shorts and unlaced sneakers, Edwina matter-of-factly relates the tale of the senseless slaughter of women, children, and elderly Diné people (while warriors were out hunting) by Kit Carson’s men, and about the U.S. government later recruiting Navajo speakers as code talkers, which proved critical to the American victory over the Japanese in World War II.

 

 

Canyon de Chelly National Monument, Arizona. Steps carved into a cliff. First Ruin, Canyon de Chelly National Monument. Walking downriver in Canyon del Muerto. Junction Ruin, Canyon de Chelly.

In the canyon bottom, we take off our hiking shoes and walk in the ankle-deep river—the water still icy in late March, although the sun warms us. And Edwina points out ancient ruins built on ledges high up cliff faces, petroglyphs and pictographs on the cliffs, even a wandering line of steps leading up one cliff, chiseled into the sandstone by some previous inhabitants of Canyon de Chelly who clearly has less fear of falling than most contemporary Americans.

She leads us across her grandmother’s land, where she has a small farm. Some 40 Navajo families own land in the canyon, which is entirely on the Navajo reservation. While only a few people live there, some of them seasonally, they still raise livestock and farm in Canyon de Chelly.

Under an agreement between The National Park Service and the Navajo Nation, who manage the park collaboratively, while the public is free to drive the scenic roads on both rims to canyon overlooks, visitors must be accompanied by a guide to hike into the canyons. Just one trail is open to the public for unguided hiking, which begins at the White House Overlook on the South Rim and descends 600 feet to the White House Ruin. But take a guided hike: They’re reasonably priced and you’ll see and learn a lot more about Canyon de Chelly than you will on your own.

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.

 

 

 

Make It Happen

Guides We took a four-hour, 6.5-mile hiking tour with Ancient Canyon Tours, ancientcanyontours.com. See a list of all authorized tour operators in Canyon de Chelly at nps.gov/cach/upload/CDC_2015.pdf.

Contact Canyon de Chelly National Monument, nps.gov/cach.

Do you like The Big Outside? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, recognized as a top outdoors blog by USA Today, a Trip Advisor site, and others. Subscribe for updates about new stories and free gear giveaways by entering your email address in the box 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.

♦

 

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Climbing Horstman Peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-photo-one-story-climbing-horstman-peak-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-photo-one-story-climbing-horstman-peak-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#respond Thu, 17 Mar 2016 10:00:16 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18071 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Unless you’ve done a fair bit of peak scrambling in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, or have looked up at the seemingly infinite row of granite teeth rising above the Sawtooth Valley, or you are a local in one of the few, scattered little towns in the area, you’ve probably never heard of Horstman Peak. But for my friend Chip Roser and me, Horstman had developed into a mild obsession by the time we set out at first light one morning last September to make another attempt on its 10,470-foot summit, which had eluded us a year before.

By later that morning—on a day that would stretch to nearly 12 hours for a roughly 14-mile, 5,000-vertical foot, mostly off-trail hike and third-class scramble—I shot this photo of Chip minutes before we reached Horstman’s crown. It was yet another challenging and satisfying success in a continuing effort to tag the highest summits in Idaho’s best-known mountain range.

I’ll write about this hike and scramble of Horstman Peak in an upcoming feature story, with many photos and a video.

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.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, see all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including my previous One Photo, One Story posts from hikes of 9,860-foot McGown Peak and the highest in the Sawtooths, 10,751-foot Thompson Peakthis photo gallery from the Sawtooth Wilderness; this story about Chip and I climbing another prominent Sawtooths peak, Mount Heyburn; my feature stories “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” and “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes;” and this Ask Me post where I answer a reader’s question: What are the best hikes in Idaho’s Sawtooths?

See also a menu of all of my stories about hiking at The Big Outside, and my All Trips page for ideas for your next adventure.

Wind4-016Do you like my blog? I’m Michael Lanza, the creator of The Big Outside, and I appreciate connecting with my readers. I invite you to subscribe to this blog by entering your email address in the box at the top of the left sidebar or below, 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.









 

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Facing the Biggest Challenge: Friendship and Climbing in Joshua Tree https://thebigoutsideblog.com/facing-the-biggest-challenge-inside-friendship-and-climbing-rocks-in-joshua-tree-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/facing-the-biggest-challenge-inside-friendship-and-climbing-rocks-in-joshua-tree-national-park/#comments Mon, 01 Feb 2016 11:00:07 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17384 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A dry, invisible waterfall of heat pours from the desert sky as we follow a footpath through the Wonderland of Rocks, a vast archipelago of granite monoliths and spires floating in an ocean of sand in the backcountry of southern California’s Joshua Tree National Park. My friend David and I are in search of one particular crack in one specific stone skyscraper, which feels a little like picking through hundreds of haystacks scattered across a farm in pursuit of one needle.

We high-step through gardens of prickly-pear cacti and other vegetation that has evolved to put a hurt on you for the easy mistake of brushing against it. I pause frequently to consult photos of some of these granite monoliths in my guidebook to help pinpoint our location. I also contemplate—as seems to happen whenever I head out rock climbing for the first time in a while—the complicated human relationship with fear. There’s the natural anxiousness that can accompany trying to claw your way up a sheer cliff. But fear and its antipode, courage, take many forms. One can be so difficult to confront that it destroys lives. The other can save them.

My longtime friend David Ports and I have rendezvoused here at Joshua Tree because I had work-related travel to Palm Springs, so he scheduled necessary business travel to bring him here at the same time. We both carved out two free days to climb here in one of America’s rock climbing meccas. (We followed two of my “10 Tips For Getting Outside More:” “Plan trips weeks or months in advance” and “Build extra time into a business trip.”) Having never lived in the same state, we’ve always made that level of effort to get together, and always for some outdoor adventure.

Scrambling carefully up slabs and over truck-size boulders, we reach a wide ledge at the base of a cliff. Above us, a crack splits the wall, running straight up for 120 feet—a climbing route named Mental Physics. To a hiker passing by, it may look like any of a hundred cracks in a dozen or more cliffs within view from the trail below us. But I would recognize it even 50 years from now, from vivid memories of previous dates with this ancient seam, with other climbing partners in years past.

We pull rope and gear from our packs and commence a familiar ritual of preparation. Then I start up the crack first.

Mental Physics presents enough challenge to demand my full attention and grant me the purity of focus, the temporary evacuation of all other thoughts that is the real gift of an activity like rock climbing. But it’s not hard enough to overwhelm the forearm strength or test the foggy muscle memory of a couple of 50something people who’ve climbed for many years, but are climbing for the first time in months. I reach the top and turn around to soak up the warm sunshine and the view of the Wonderland of Rocks.

After we’ve finished our first climb of this short trip and rappelled back to the ledge, David says, “It used to be about getting out as early as we could, seeing how many routes we could climb or miles we could hike. Now it’s just about getting out with good friends and having fun.”

And we both smile because he’s exactly right.

 

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David Ports hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park.
David Ports hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park.

20 Years of Adventures… So Far

For David and me, navigating the obscure footpaths of the Wonderland of Rocks feels like many of our past adventures. We have wandered in tandem confusion through more cacti-studded deserts, seas of winter snows, labyrinthine canyons, and mountain wildernesses than either of us can probably remember. We’ve played dueling body odors in some of the most beautiful backcountry areas in America, from the North Cascades to the Tetons to the Grand Canyon and scores of lonely places in between.

We met two decades ago, through mutual friends, and immediately hit it off. We shared the same interests and outdoor passions, the same skill level and endurance, and an insatiable appetite for more. But mostly we shared a sense of humor that often seemed like we were two people simultaneously telling and hearing the same comic monologue. Our wives insist we’re nuts and not as funny as we believe. But we kill each other.

We’ve never been hesitant about attempting adventures brimming with uncertainty, which sometimes results in wrong turns and prudent retreats—but also in the higher emotional peak when you reach some place you weren’t sure was possible. And that may be a physical or a psychological place, or both.

Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park.
Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks, Joshua Tree National Park.

We’ve had close calls. After one rock climb in a remote corner of the mountains outside Leavenworth, Washington, we were scrambling off the cliff when David, just ahead of me, tripped and fell, landing at the very lip of the narrow ledge we were traversing—within inches of taking a fall that would have certainly been fatal. “Don’t do that!” I yelled at him, half-jokingly, once it was obvious he was okay, as if that needed saying.

Some years ago, I was leading a sport-climbing route in the forest near Washington’s Snoqualmie Pass, with David belaying, when I fell while trying to clip a bolt. With a lot of slack rope out, I braced for the kind of long fall that, at a minimum, tests your bowel control, and can result in broken bones. But I dropped just a few feet before the rope stopped me. Hanging in the air, I looked down at David and saw him standing several feet lower than where he’d originally been belaying me. The instant I popped off, he had literally leapt down the steep hillside in order to take in much of that rope slack and save me from a potential disaster.

Without fail, though, we’ve always maintained our sense of humor. That’s an invaluable asset in a backcountry companion.

 


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.


 

David and I, with another friend, skied for a week through Yellowstone, camping in below-zero temperatures and pushing through a storm that dumped several feet of fresh snow over three days. Besides the beauty and solitude of the Yellowstone wilderness, what we remember most about that trip was the exhausting strenuousness of breaking trail through bottomless powder while dragging gear sleds, and somehow laughing hysterically, often over the absurdity of our situation, nearly the entire way.

Almost invariably, our adventures concluded with a small feast, a few beers, and more chuckles over an ever-growing mountain of tales.

Such a deep and rich shared history has the effect of making each new trek into uncertainty irresistibly hilarious to us. As we hike around Joshua Tree, other climbers we occasionally pass might conclude that we’re not very serious about this sport. Perhaps they are right.

 

David below Mental Physics, Wonderland of Rocks. Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks. The Wonderland of Rocks. The Wonderland of Rocks. Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks. The Wonderland of Rocks. Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks. Hiking in the Wonderland of Rocks.

Real Hidden Valley

Tucked away in Joshua Tree’s Real Hidden Valley, an amphitheater of granite towers ringing a garden of desert plants, stands a clean pillar of coarse granite that’s not nearly as tall or massive as JT’s biggest formations. You could hike the trail through Real Hidden Valley and never notice it. But if you walk around to the back side of the aptly named Hidden Tower and look up with the eyes of a climber, you’ll see a beautiful crack, an elegant bit of natural sculpture splitting that pillar vertically for some 60 feet, sections of it barely wide enough to jam fingers and the toes of climbing shoes into. Countless thousands of rock climbers from all over know that crack by the name Sail Away.

While gearing up for it on our first afternoon in Joshua Tree, David and I watch a small party of climbers crawl, one by one, up Sail Away. As with Mental Physics, the recollection of past ascents of this crack rush back to me—of how I had to slot my hands and fingers into the crack just right for them to hold my body weight as I shifted each foot a little higher.

When I start up the crack—with the comforting knowledge that my belayer is someone who would jump off a ledge to save me from injury (or at least I like to believe he still would)—it remains true to my memory. For a timeless period of complete focus, I lose myself in the simple fluidity of motion involved in employing just your hands and feet to remain attached to a cliff. The pieces of protective gear that I frequently slip into the crack lock in reassuringly. Then, feeling a little disappointed to finish, I pull myself up onto Hidden Tower’s tiny summit, not much bigger than my dining room table and not as flat, and belay David up.

We sit there for a little while as the sun dips toward the horizon and the golden monoliths fanning out for miles all around us begin to glow softly with the coming evening.

 

A climber on Sail Away, Real Hidden Valley. View from Ryan Mountain. David on Ryan Mountain. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree. Scrambling off a rock climb in Joshua Tree. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree. Cholla Cactus Garden, Joshua Tree.

Alcohol, Fears, and Courage

Eventually, I noticed—or perhaps opened my eyes to the truth—that David typically drank more than me, usually a lot more. But I didn’t ask him about it, at least not in any confrontational or meaningful way. Maybe I should have. Maybe I didn’t because, culturally, we tend to not take a drinking problem as seriously as, say, a drug addiction or other similarly self-destructive behavior. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered because he needed to realize that on his own.

One morning, out of the blue, he called me to say he had finally, after many years of struggling with it, admitted to himself that he’s an alcoholic and he was going to quit drinking. He joined a recovery program.

David recently celebrated his third year of sobriety. Although he possesses the self-knowledge to remind me that this disease called alcoholism isn’t curable, so far, I believe his courage has saved more lives than his own. His children are growing up with a father who’s sober rather than drunk—a father who demonstrates the courage to confront his greatest fears. That’s a powerful example that his kids will only fully comprehend after they become adults and inevitably have to face their own fears, whatever form they take.

David and me atop Sail Away.
David, left, and me atop Sail Away in Real Hidden Valley.

As a young man, I went through too many years of not recognizing my limits with alcohol, until I finally decided that I much preferred feeling good physically over feeling like hell. Fortunately, I learned to enjoy a beer or two and stop. Alcoholics can’t do that—they either drink too much or quit drinking entirely. I’ve known people who quit and people who let alcohol (or drugs) destroy their careers, marriages, lives. Hard as it is, quitting always looks better.

Alcohol isn’t inherently evil. But like a lot of the stuff we surround ourselves with—the possessions we obtain to create the impression of happiness or success or fulfillment—alcohol in excess is, in a way, just garnish to enhance the presentation, to help obscure our perception of what’s really missing in ourselves or our relationships with other people. It’s part of the stuff we don’t really need, and when we strip away all that’s superfluous, we discover how little we really need.

The outdoors can do that for us. We go out there partly to strip away all the unneeded material possessions and emotional baggage of civilization. Strong relationships do that for us, too. Although David always insists I shouldn’t refrain from having a beer when we’re together, we’ve both discovered that we don’t need alcohol to lubricate our friendship. We laugh just as heartily without it (further evidence that we are truly funny, although our wives still aren’t buying it).

Sometimes the greatest challenges we face are inside us. Confronting the fear of falling off a cliff pales in comparison to confronting the fear of falling off the shaky scaffolding you’ve erected to support a perception about yourself that isn’t true to yourself. That’s when fear can seem bigger than you.

Courage takes many forms. But perhaps no personal challenge demands more courage than to face down your own demons.

 

David Ports on Ryan Mountain, Joshua Tree National Park.
David Ports on Ryan Mountain, Joshua Tree National Park.

Ryan Mountain

As we’re talking about options for a trail run on our last morning, David tells me how the park’s trailhead signboards show backcountry trails not shown on standard park maps. Those maintained trails create a spider web of paths throughout Joshua Tree. David has explored some and describes more he wants to run or hike. I like having friends who are always plotting future adventures.

“That’s the great thing about this park, there are lots of these backcountry trails that aren’t highly publicized but offer opportunities to explore,” he says.

We want to knock off a quick trail run and still fit in one more climb before we both have to depart by early afternoon to travel home. So we opt for a dash up Ryan Mountain, three miles round-trip and more than 1,000 vertical feet. As usual when we run together, I push my anaerobic threshold to keep David within sight ahead of me.

We reach the 5,457-foot summit before 9 a.m., while the long rays of early-morning sunlight brush the landscape with gold plating. The park sprawls out around us, its giant rock formations looking very small from up here; the Joshua trees are mere specks sprinkled over the desert floor. In the distance loom 11,502-foot Mount San Gorgonio and 10,834-foot Mount San Jacinto. It’s one of the best panoramic views in the park, a great spot to watch the day begin or end.

Although we’re eager to run back down the trail and get to another area of the park for one more rock climb before we part ways, we linger for a bit, enjoying the view, striking goofy poses for photos. We laugh over things we won’t recall later, jokes that are nothing and memories that are everything.

And I’m glad my friend has achieved peace because friendships like this are too hard to find. Now I don’t shrink from asking him how he’s doing with sobriety. He’s jumped off a ledge to catch me. I owe him the same.

See my story about hiking and climbing in Joshua Tree National Park with my family, all of my stories about adventures in California and California’s national parks, and my “10 Tips For Getting Outside More” and “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR rock climbers from experts to beginners, as long as someone in the group knows how to build anchors, and dayhikers of all ability levels who can read a map. Climbing routes at Joshua Tree are very traditionally rated; climbers new to JT may feel that routes here are rated one or two full number grades lower than a comparable route would be elsewhere—for example, that a 5.7 at JT feels like a 5.8 or 5.9 in other areas. Choose routes below your ability level until you get used to the character of climbing here. Some routes are runout, and some descents are complicated and involve exposed scrambling. Hiking here presents the usual challenges of the desert—generally no water available, extended exposure to sun and hot temperatures, and open terrain in which distances can be deceiving. (See Concerns below.)

Make It Happen

Season Spring and fall are the peak seasons, with daytime highs usually in the 70s and 80s and nighttime lows around 50. Winter days often get into the 60s, and nights drop to around freezing. Summer highs frequently exceed 90° and 100° F. The park receives very little rain or snow.

The Itinerary Some of my favorite easy and moderate routes at Joshua Tree are Mike’s Books, Overhang Bypass, and The Flake in Hidden Valley Campground; Fote Hog and Sail Away in Real Hidden Valley; Southwest Corner on Headstone Rock (Ryan Campground); White Lightning on Hemingway Buttress (Lost Horse area); The Swift on Lost Horse Wall; and Hex Marks the Poot, Mental Physics, and Enchanted Stairway in the Wonderland of Rocks.

Getting There Joshua Tree National Park lies 140 miles east of Los Angeles and 215 miles southwest of Las Vegas. Its three entrances are:
•    The west entrance, on Park Boulevard, five miles south of CA 62 at Joshua Tree Village.
•    The north entrance, on Utah Trail, three miles south of CA 62 in Twentynine Palms.
•    The south entrance, at Cottonwood Spring on Cottonwood Spring Road, north of exit 168 off I-10.

Camping The park has several campgrounds, all first-come, which frequently fill up on weekends in spring and fall.

Map Trails Illustrated Joshua Tree map no. 226, $11.95; (800) 962-1643, natgeomaps.com. Find maps of the park and backcountry trails at nps.gov/jotr/planyourvisit/maps.htm.

Guidebook Rock Climbing Joshua Tree, by Randy Vogel, $35, Falcon Guides, falcon.com. The Trad Guide to Joshua Tree—60 Favorite Climbs From 5.5 to 5.9, by Charlie & Diane Winger, $22, wingerbookstore.com.

Concerns
•    Carry all the water you need when climbing, hiking, or in any other activity.
•    There’s little shade. Minimize exposure to sun and heat by wearing a sun hat, sunblock, and covering as much skin as is comfortable with light, breathable clothing, including pants to help protect you from the myriad plants that want to bury thorns in your skin.
•    Many trails are not well marked, and numerous user trails branch off main trails. Distances and navigating by sight in the desert can be deceiving. Check your map and eyeball your surroundings frequently to keep track of your location, especially when hiking off-trail.

Contact Joshua Tree National Park, (760) 367-5500, nps.gov/jotr. Greater Palm Springs Visitor Information, visitgreaterpalmsprings.com.

 

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Photo Gallery: 11 National Parks, One Year https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-11-national-parks-one-year/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-11-national-parks-one-year/#comments Tue, 29 Dec 2015 11:00:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10838 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Backpacking in the Grand Canyon, Glacier, Olympic, Rocky Mountain, North Cascades, and Mount Rainier (lead photo, above) national parks. Hiking to Yosemite’s waterfalls. Paddling the Everglades and sea kayaking Glacier Bay. Rock climbing in Joshua Tree, and cross-country skiing in Yellowstone. In one magical year, we took 11 national park adventures with our kids, sharing experiences that expanded their understanding of their world, times filled with joy and wonder.

I wrote about that year of family wilderness adventures in my book, Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, which won a National Outdoor Book Award honorable mention. In it, I also explore how climate change is affecting each of these incomparable places in a singular and tragic way, virtually ensuring that they will all be radically changed in a generation—by the time my children are my age.

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The photo gallery below contains a photo from each park we visited. Click on the name of any park above to read my story at The Big Outside about it, where you will see more photos, trip-planning information, and often a video. Read an excerpt from my book.

And see menus of all of my stories about Family Adventures and National Parks trips at The Big Outside.

 

A family hiking the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail in Yosemite Valley. Mangrove tunnel, East River, on the outskirts of Everglades National Park. Gunsight Pass Trail, Glacier National Park. Kayaking past the Lamplugh Glacier, Glacier Bay National Park. Cross-country skiing the Rim Trail, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park. Tonto East Trail, Grand Canyon National Park. Ryan Campground, Joshua Tree National Park. Backpacking in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park. Hannegan Pass Trail, North Cascades National Park. Rope ladder, Southern Olympic coast, Olympic National Park. Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

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Luck of the Draw, Part 1: Hiking Zion’s Subway https://thebigoutsideblog.com/luck-of-the-draw-part-1-hiking-zions-subway/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/luck-of-the-draw-part-1-hiking-zions-subway/#respond Mon, 26 Oct 2015 10:00:10 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15437 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In the refrigerator-like shade at the bottom of a fissure hundreds of feet deep, somewhere in the labyrinth of sandstone canyons that dice up the backcountry of Zion National Park, our keyhole-shaped passageway narrows to the width of a doorway. A shallow, ice-water creek pumps along this slot canyon’s floor, which drops off before us about four feet into a pool extending some 30 feet ahead of us. We’ve been informed the water temperature is around 51° F. And it looks deep.

We’re going for a chilly swim.

But we came prepared for it. My friend David Gordon and I pull dry suits from our packs and slip into them, tugging the heavy zipper tightly closed and sealing the suit’s snug gaskets around our necks, wrists, and ankles. Then I relax and watch as David, my willing and able guinea pig, hoists his pack overhead and slides over the edge into the pool.

David Gordon in The Subway, Zion National Park.
David Gordon in The Subway, Zion National Park.

David and I are a few hours into a one-day, top-to-bottom descent of The Subway, more properly identified as the Left Fork of North Creek. A well-known, technical slot canyon in Utah’s Zion National Park, The Subway takes its name from its most-photographed corner, a bend where floodwaters have bored an oval passage that, you guessed it, resembles the most strikingly colorful subway tunnel you will ever see (lead photo at top of story).

Ironically, David and I are here out of sheer luck blended with a bit of good timing.

Because of this route’s popularity, and the park’s twin objectives of protecting the canyon from overuse and protecting a wilderness experience for visitors, Zion limits the number of permits issued each day for The Subway to 80—and they’re hard to get via the park’s lottery system. (See Permit info in the Make It Happen section at the bottom of this story and my story “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”)

That quota includes last-minute Subway permits, which you can obtain between seven and two days in advance. David and I saw a forecast for unusually warm, sunny weather in early November, and we both had time to take a short trip. So I rolled the dice and put in for a last-minute permit to dayhike The Subway top to bottom—and scored one. Then I hit the jackpot a second time, drawing an equally hard-to-get permit just days in advance for a two-day, top-to-bottom hike down Zion’s world-famous Narrows. (See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”)

Because we had the flexibility to make last-minute plans during a good weather window in November, David and I were on our way to tick off two of the most coveted national park hikes in America.


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I’m not normally one to seek out the most popular outdoor adventures. Although I enjoy the company of my family or good friends in the outdoors (and making new friends), like many wilderness lovers, I don’t love seeing hordes of other people out there. For me, solitude magnifies the emotional power of wild places. In my opinion, any outdoor experience becomes entirely transformed by crowds of people—it becomes diminished.

In both The Subway and The Narrows, David and I will definitely feel our perception of each place downshift abruptly as soon as we reach at the point in the lower canyon of each where we merge into the flow of dayhikers coming up from the bottom (more so in The Narrows, where bottom-up dayhikers are not controlled by a permit system, as in The Subway).

But we will also discover an unexpected degree of solitude during most of our time in The Subway and The Narrows. Despite their fame and the hype surrounding them, both hikes eclipse all expectations.

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Start of The Subway route in Zion. Hiking to The Subway. Hiking to The Subway. Entrance to The Subway. In the Left Fork of North Creek, AKA The Subway. David in The Subway. First rappel in The Subway. David in The Subway. First swim in The Subway. Hiking The Subway. Hiking The Subway. Second rappel in The Subway. A hiker in The Subway, Zion National Park.

The Left Fork of North Creek

The warm sunshine and made-to-order breeze didn’t feel like the first week of November as we set out on the sandy Wildcat Canyon Trail this morning. Mesas and cliffs of chalk-white sandstone capped by green wigs of forest gleamed in the distance. Within 30 minutes, we turned off the Northgate Peaks Trail at a sign marking The Subway route.

We followed occasional cairns across sharply angled slickrock and descended steeply into Russell Gulch. Crossing its sandy bottom, we picked up a faint trail climbing onto a ridge and walked to its end. There, it looked like we’d hit a dead end of sheer cliffs falling away beneath us—until we discovered a very steep gully splitting the cliff like a bombed-out elevator shaft. We scrambled carefully down that chimney of loose rocks and found ourselves standing in the Left Fork of North Creek.

Embraced by the startling quiet, we walked down a canyon spanning 50 to 100 feet or wider across, where trees dwell mostly in the shade of walls hundreds of feet tall. We clambered cautiously over great boulders piled up in the canyon bottom, imagining the noise and destruction created when they cleaved from the cliffs overhead. When a loud party of five approached from behind us, we stopped to eat and let them get ahead of us; we didn’t move on until the last echoes of their boisterous conversation had faded away. For the next two hours, through the heart of The Subway, we would see no one else.

Walking past a tree deposited by flash flood waters in The Subway, Zion National Park.
Walking past a tree deposited by flash flood waters in The Subway, Zion National Park.

The Left Fork of North Creek carves a deep canyon between the monolith called the North Guardian Angel and Guardian Angel Pass, roughly between Zion National Park’s Kolob Canyons area to the northwest and Zion Canyon to the southeast. Most of this 9.5-mile hike—which starts and ends at trailheads more than seven miles apart on the gravel Kolob Terrace Road—involves navigating a desert-topography smorgasbord of slickrock, sandy or rocky gullies, and the broad, open lower canyon of the Left Fork.

All of that’s incredibly scenic. But The Subway has risen to the level of iconic hike because of a segment comprising just a fraction of these 9.5 miles: a roughly one-mile section of the Left Fork’s twisting canyon with wildly sculpted, kaleidoscopic walls. In some parts of it, the canyon expands to broader than a soccer pitch; in others, it narrows to a slot barely more than shoulder-width across. Descending this stretch of the Left Fork demands a time commitment—a couple of hours or more—disproportionate to its modest distance. That’s because it requires scrambling over and around boulders and up and down steep, often wet slabs, frequently walking through shallow water, occasionally swimming deep pools, and rigging three rappels (the longest of them 30 feet).

Plus, it’s so damn amazing that you may just spin around in awe. And that takes time, too.

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Wading a pool in The Subway. In The Subway. Near the last rappel in The Subway. Exiting the last narrows in The Subway. Exiting the last narrows in The Subway. Lower Left Fork of North Creek Canyon. Lower Left Fork of North Creek Canyon. Lower Left Fork of North Creek Canyon. In The Subway.

The Three Pools

Now, as we’re putting on our dry suits at the first pool we have to swim, a thought hits me and I say it aloud: “That group ahead of us didn’t bring dry suits. We would have caught up to them while they were putting them on.” David just shakes his head, both of us contemplating how cold they’ll get swimming a succession of frigid pools, then hiking, soaked, through this shaded canyon’s cool air. (We’ll later hear from another hiker who ran into them that, in fact, they did not have dry suits and had described the pools and The Subway in general as “miserable.” If you descend The Subway top to bottom, bring a dry suit. See Concerns in Make It Happen section below.)

After David swims across the pool, I follow, pushing my floating dry pack ahead of me, feeling the water’s bracing chill through my dry suit.

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We soon encounter a second pool that we have to swim, and then a slot where the water rises to chest-deep. The canyon widens again briefly, as if taking a deep breath before narrowing again. Trees blaze with yellow leaves—one more benefit of our late-autumn timing. At yet another tight constriction, we make a second rappel of only eight feet over Keystone Falls, easing down into a pool that our route description says is often waist-deep, but today, in low-water conditions, is just ankle-deep.

 

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Great Hike: Iceline Trail, Yoho National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/great-hike-iceline-trail-yoho-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/great-hike-iceline-trail-yoho-national-park/#comments Tue, 13 Oct 2015 10:00:16 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15235 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The hike begins with a short walk to the base of Takakkaw Falls, which plummets thunderously more than 1,100 feet (350m) over a cliff, raining mist on hikers below. Fed by the Daly Glacier and Waputik Icefield, the waterfall takes its name from the Cree word meaning “it is magnificent.” You won’t contest the claim. Beyond, you begin a long, steady ascent, first through forest, but soon with expansive views of the Yoho Valley in the Canadian Rockies, where sprawling icefields cap the mountains. A bit over two miles from the trailhead, traversing an ice-ravaged, open landscape of rock, dirt, and a few tiny but hardy plants and wildflowers, you get your first view of the thick, severely cracked Emerald Glacier, pouring off of 10,000-foot peaks in the President Range.

The eight-mile, out-and-back dayhike of the Iceline Trail to Iceline Summit (the trail’s high point at 7,316 feet/2,230m) is no secret to Canadians; it’s popular with dayhikers and backpackers. But in Yoho you don’t see the crowds of neighboring Banff National Park—and Yoho has scenery easily as good as any of the Canadian Rockies parks, as you can see in the photo gallery below from my family’s dayhike on the Iceline Trail.


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The hike ascends 2,250 feet/685m to the Iceline’s high point, but you can turn around before that and still enjoy basically the same views of the mountains and glaciers flanking the Yoho Valley. For much of the hike, Takakkaw Falls is visible and audible far below you, glowing like a ray of sunlight in the valley bottom. And for the upper half of the hike, you’re looking straight ahead at the thick tongue of the Emerald Glacier, eventually coming nearly to the toe of two of its lobes.

My family dayhiked the Iceline after a four-day backpacking trip on the Rockwall Trail in nearby Kootenay National Park. If you’re looking for an introduction to Yoho or have one day to hike here, the Iceline is hard to beat.

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THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR anyone, including beginners and children, capable of hiking at least five to six miles round-trip, and close to 2,000 vertical feet up and down, on a trail that’s well constructed and well marked, but nonetheless rocky at times.

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Hiking to the Stunning Monolith Valley in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-photo-one-story-exploring-the-stunning-monolith-valley-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/one-photo-one-story-exploring-the-stunning-monolith-valley-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#comments Sun, 13 Sep 2015 22:00:36 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=14663 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Our day’s primary goal—reaching the 10,470-foot summit of Horstman Peak, which had eluded us on a previous attempt—was already behind us when my friend Chip Roser and I descended south off Horstman to hike across a valley that lies just a few miles as the crow flies from the busiest spot in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, and yet probably sees no more than a handful of hikers a year. We’d gotten distant views of the Monolith Valley before, but those glimpses hardly did justice to the spectacle of this stunning paradise of water and granite.

We boulder-hopped across a glacier-carved cirque to a rocky promontory overlooking a triad of clear, alpine lakes glistening in the sun at nearly 9,000 feet. An arc of razor-sharp spires and peaks stretched before us, forming an almost impregnable, natural fortress. The only ways in or out of the Monolith Valley are by hiking many hard miles off-trail over Horstman Peak or one of three passes that range from about 9,400 feet to nearly 10,000 feet high, or bushwhacking up a thickly forested tributary of Fishhook Creek, finding your way around and through numerous cliff bands. Not surprisingly, very few hikers have ever heard of the Monolith Valley, let alone seen it—even though, just a few hours after enjoying the view in this photo, Chip and I would finish our nearly 12-hour dayhike in the company of hundreds of tourists at Redfish Lake.

I’ll write about this hike and our climb of Horstman Peak in an upcoming feature story, with many photos and a video. Meanwhile, see all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including my previous One Photo, One Story posts from similar peak-bagging hikes of 9,860-foot McGown Peak and the highest in the Sawtooths, 10,751-foot Thompson Peakthis photo gallery from the Sawtooth Wilderness; this story about Chip and I climbing another prominent Sawtooths peak, Mount Heyburn; my feature stories “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” and “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes;” and this Ask Me post where I answer a reader’s question: What are the best hikes in Idaho’s Sawtooths? And click here for a menu of all of my stories about hiking at The Big Outside.

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My Friend Who Never Grew Old https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-friend-who-never-grew-old/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-friend-who-never-grew-old/#comments Wed, 02 Sep 2015 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=14371 Read on

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How a Climbing Tragedy Shaped My View of Risk, the Outdoors, Parenting, and Life

By Michael Lanza

The finger-numbing morning shadow of Maine’s highest peak, Katahdin, hung over us as we organized ropes and gear to rock climb the Pamola Cliffs, a slab of heavily fractured granite rising several hundred feet above us. Somewhere up there, Katahdin’s famous Knife Edge ridge—where we intended to finish the climb—scraped at the heavens. Below us, Chimney Pond caught the light of the clear sky like an unblinking eye in the dark green conifer forest.

I felt a powerful and untarnished sense of joy and excitement that always washed over me on the brink of a great, new adventure. I was back in one of my favorite spots in New England, Baxter State Park. I’d organized the trip months earlier, planning to climb that first day, hike a loop over Katahdin the next day, and backpack north of Katahdin for three days after that, with an assortment of friends, some of whom were arriving that night. None of that ever took place; we never even reached the top of the Pamola Cliffs. Within a few hours, a good friend was dead and the way I viewed the outdoors would be changed forever.

Five of us roped up as two teams, with one friend, Bill, and me leading. Belaying and following were my girlfriend, Penny; my friend Rick, with whom I started climbing four years earlier, and whom I’d known since his older brother and I became best friends in high school; and Rick’s girlfriend, Diane. On the second pitch, 150 feet above our companions, Bill and I tried to build belay anchors. But the rock was crap, breaking off every time we tried to place gear in a crack.

At my suggestion, Bill reached up and tapped the cliff as if knocking lightly on a door, a routine test to see whether it was solid. Then we watched, stunned, as a block of granite bigger than a large suitcase slid past him.

We both yelled, “Rock! Rock! Rock!” as the block plunged toward our friends, smashing apart into dozens of stones. I believed I was about to watch them all die. As the rain of granite washed over them, I saw one cantaloupe-size piece strike Rick on the head, tearing off his helmet and flipping him violently over backward.


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Penny and Diane looked up, miraculously unscathed. I stared at Rick, hoping he would stand up and wave to let us know he was fine, too. Then Penny shouted to me, “Blood is gushing from his head!” Bill and I down-climbed to them as quickly as we could, and Diane lowered Bill to the ground to get help while Penny and I pumped Rick’s chest and breathed into his mouth. Diane began screaming Rick’s name repeatedly, her voice echoing across the cirque, eventually followed by her sobbing. We kept scanning the sky for the helicopter that arrived much too late.

I watched Rick for any sign of life, any slightest movement, even hoping he would cry out in pain. But he never moved again.

Twenty years have passed since that day, Sept. 2, 1995, when the outdoors, for me, changed color. After spending several years prior to that day living for hiking and climbing, my life took a hairpin turn that I could never have anticipated. The journey that ensued not only still continues, it has probably shaped how I look at everything today—certainly including my perception of risk in the backcountry and how I think about taking my children anywhere: backpacking, climbing, paddling whitewater, skiing, even bicycling on streets. It also shapes how I talk to them about the challenges and hazards they face growing into young adults.

There’s an old saying that time stops for no one. But there’s one exception to that rule: It stops only for those whose time runs out. Twenty years ago today, it stopped for my friend, Rick Baron. As I have aged two decades since then—as my life has taken the myriad, often unpredictable turns that a person’s life takes over the course of 20 long years—my friend Rick has been frozen in memory at the age of 30.

He’s my friend who never grew old.

Rick and me climbing in New York's Shawangunks, early 1990s.
Rick (right) and me climbing in New York’s Shawangunks, early 1990s.

First Climbing Partner

Rick and I had known each other since I was a young teen: He was the younger brother, by four years, of my high school best friend. In our twenties, we became one another’s first climbing partner and found a new basis for a growing friendship. He was one of those people who smiles and laughs frequently but parses out spoken words frugally; and yet, when he did say something, it usually seemed worth hearing. He had the gift of likeability—maybe a benefit of not talking too much, or maybe simply because he rarely saw reason to get into a conflict with anyone.

He and I were developing together a growing passion for the outdoors, and climbing frequently. We climbed together from New Hampshire to New York’s Shawangunks, from Yosemite Valley to the Grand Teton. (The lead photo at the top of this story shows Rick on the Grand Teton’s Lower Exum Ridge.)

Rick Baron on the Grand Teton in 1993.
Rick Baron on the Grand Teton in 1993.

For at least a few years after the accident, I thought about it and Rick almost daily. These days, I think about him now and then. I wonder how many days we might have shared in the mountains over these two decades if not for one fateful moment that I wish I could have back. I wonder how much closer we might be as friends today.

I look at my kids and contemplate what the children he never had would have been like—and whether our kids might have become close friends. The impacts of an untimely death are multi-generational, rippling forever even as time stops for the one who leaves us. The void where there is no one gets filled with fading memories and pained thoughts of what might, could, should have been.

Twenty years is a very long time. Humans take about that long to reach adulthood. Most animals, domestic or wild, don’t live 20 years. Most of us who are in middle age or beyond might look back at the person we were 20 years ago and see someone quite different from who we are today. Although we occasionally wish it would, time doesn’t stop for the living.

Over the past 20-plus years, I’ve been fortunate in my work as a writer to have hiked all over the U.S., including many of our major national parks, and around the world. I’ve accumulated a lot of miles and memories—most of it wonderful and enriching—in places as far-flung and exotic as New Zealand, Patagonia, Iceland, Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, the Aitana Mountains of southern Spain, the Swiss Alps, and Nepal’s Himalaya.

Rick hasn’t.

In the past 20 years, I have gotten married to the woman who was my girlfriend that day on Katahdin, moved to a Western city that I’ve come to love, and had two children who are now 14 and 12 and serve me a helping of wonder every day.

Rick hasn’t.

I’ve had more near misses in the backcountry in the past 20 years than I could count on both hands. Rick had some near misses before Sept. 2, 1995; we shared one or two. But while you get an unknown number of near misses in life, if you get hit, that’s it. You only get one.

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My daughter, Alex, then six, getting her focus at Idaho's City of Rocks.
My daughter, Alex, then six, getting her focus at Idaho’s City of Rocks.

Life is Risky

The American Alpine Club publishes an annual, slim book titled “Accidents in North American Mountaineering,” a compendium and analysis of all reported climbing accidents on the continent. If you climb or have an appetite for a certain kind of non-fiction horror, or a fascination with the variety of human miscalculation and its consequences in vertical environments, you might find its dry prose captivating.

According to “Accidents,” between 1951 and 2007, an average of 25 people died in climbing accidents annually in North America. No one knows how many climbers there are out there or the rate at which climbers perish relative to, say, the total number of climbing days they amass as a population. Experience in climbing leads one to conclude that within such niche activities, there is significant variation in risk levels, depending on how and where you’re pursuing it. Given how often human error factors into accidents, how much you know about climbing safely is huge, too.

It’s hard to quantify relative risk, especially for backcountry and wilderness activities; there isn’t a wealth of statistics out there. But I did find one website that rather morbidly compiled the odds of a wide variety of modes of departing this world.

According to besthealthdegrees.com/health-risks (which cites numerous, respected sources), the odds of dying in a car are one in 6,700. On a plane, it’s 1.27 deaths for every 100,000 flight hours. The odds in specific forms of sport and recreation include 7.1 deaths per one million bicyclists; one in 101,083 in skydiving; one in 15,700 in mountain hiking; one in 10,000 canoeing; one in 1,750 mountain climbing; one in 560 hang gliding; one in 167 in Nepal (activity not specified, though presumably trekking in Nepal presents more danger than spinning a prayer wheel); and one in 100 in Grand Prix racing. Climbing above 6,000 meters in the Himalaya has a frightening death rate of 10 to 12.6 of every 100 participants. Even more disturbing: One in 60 participants in BASE jumping dies.

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Life is an awfully risky proposition, it turns out. I’ve seen more people than I could list die prematurely from an array of causes: car accidents, brain bleed, heart disease (read: cigarettes), cancer and other diseases—enough people that I make no assumptions about anyone’s longevity, mine included. Life expectancy is a statistic that applies only to a population, not any individual.

One of my favorite quotes is from Helen Keller, who knew something about hardship: “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 those words. Although it took me a while to get back on the rock after Rick’s death, I have climbed as much as I can fit it into a busy life over the past 20 years. I still love it, although its hazards occasionally give me small fits of terror.

Yes, we who love the outdoors venture forward in quiet acceptance of the uncomfortable truth that adventure walks hand-in-hand with risk. Things can go wrong.

But risk is not a constant; it’s a variable whose value rises and falls with our decisions and choices. We can acquire the knowledge and ability to minimize risk, but we also have to exercise that ability, and the emotional side of decision-making—the passion behind the pursuit of adventure, the beauty, the thrill—can compromise our thinking.

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Before Rick was killed, I understood that loose rock is dangerous. But I didn’t envision someone I knew dying because of it. Rick’s death shifted my perspective 180 degrees. It’s as if I’d spent my entire life prior to that day looking through the wrong end of the binoculars. I lost not only a friend: I lost a certain innocence that comes with believing that everything in life usually turns out just fine.

Now I see hazards everywhere. I notice every flake of rock that time and erosion are patiently levering off a cliff face. I see every texting, phone-talking, distracted driver who could hit my children or me as we ride bicycles through town. With any activity, especially anything unfamiliar, I ask an inordinate number of specific questions, wanting to enter all available information into a mental algorithm in pursuit of a calculation of risk that will never be fully knowable, but that can inform better decisions.

I have now climbed for about a quarter-century, and tied into a rope hundreds if not thousands of times; but I always ask my partner to check my knot and my belay setup, because the human mind is fallible. I’ve seen—more than once, unfortunately—the consequences of a high-speed collision between rock and flesh. I would prefer to never see it again.

My 14-year-old son, Nate, kayaking Idaho's Middle Fork of the Salmon River.
My 14-year-old son, Nate, kayaking Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Please Don’t Glorify Premature Death

I gave a eulogy at Rick’s funeral. I said something about how he and I enjoyed the thrills of climbing. If I were giving that eulogy today, I’d write a different one. I’d say that, 20 years out, I’ve long ago given up the search for something, anything, that validates that tragedy.

I know there’s no sharp line separating acceptable from unacceptable risk. But over the past 20 years, whenever I’ve read or heard about someone I don’t know dying too young in the outdoors, part of a very old wound inside me opens up again. It happened most recently earlier this summer, after the death of a semi-famous climber-adventurer who perished in Yosemite after leaping from a cliff wearing a wingsuit. (I’m not naming anyone because it’s not my intention to disrespect the dead or his loved ones.) I read a tribute to that victim, written by someone who shared the deceased’s love for adventure, and it followed a similar theme that such articles invariably do: glorifying the risks they took, however extreme, and making the specious argument that embracing a degree of risk that’s associated with a shocking death rate demonstrated their passion for life.

The irony in that contradiction feels like an enormous weight on my chest that’s too heavy for me to lift off.

Rick’s parents and brother have never blamed me, and we remain close. But I’ll never forget the first time I faced Rick’s mother after he died. Every adventurer who lacks an adequate respect for hazard should look into the face of a mother or father who has outlived a child. Some kinds of grief never go away.

And yet, Rick’s death did not extinguish my desire to climb, backcountry ski, and hike through wilderness. I take my children backpacking and rock climbing. My 12-year-old daughter wants to rock climb for our annual father-daughter trip. My 14-year-old son backcountry skis with me and has developed a love for whitewater kayaking. I encourage him in that, and I see hope for him in his fascination with the minutia of paddling whitewater, because that knowledge will inform his decisions about safety.

With any activity that entails some inherent risk, I explain it to my kids and talk about decision-making and consequences of mistakes—and I frame larger questions they will face as teenagers and young adults in the same context.

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When my family took a six-day rafting trip down Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River this summer, my son wanted to kayak it. He did great, too; but I was proudest of him when he decided, on his own, to not paddle through two difficult rapids. Maybe that approach will prevent him from becoming an elite, extreme kayaker. I’d be okay with that.

Most of the people I know who climb, kayak, and ski backcountry snow do not, as some people assume, inadequately value life. Besides family and friends, these things are still the best reasons I’ve found for living. I also intend to keep on living by making sure I’m doing these things as safely as possible.

I don’t intend this to sound dark, but I’ve learned that witnessing death brings life into sharper focus. The image resides forever in the back of your mind, never far from consciousness, never letting you forget. It frequently reminds you to cherish the people you love, to understand that time really is a thief—not just because it steals away our youth (which it does), but because it takes the people we love from us.

Life becomes more precious when you’ve navigated its edges.

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

In 2000, the singer-songwriter Warren Zevon released a song and album titled, “Life’ll Kill Ya.” It was prophetic. Three years later, he was dead of cancer at 56. A year before his death, on the TV show “Late Night With David Letterman,” when asked by Letterman whether terminal cancer had taught him anything about life and death, Zevon famously answered, “Enjoy every sandwich.”

It’s the unfairness and crushing finality of a young person’s death that leaves us feeling empty and robbed, like we’ve irreparably broken an invaluable possession that can never be replaced. That’s exactly what life is.

I still get a little weepy whenever I think about Rick; I am as I type this. I live with the regret that I looked at that loose rock on Katahdin and failed to suggest that we abandon our plans. But I’ve made my peace with that truth, and learned that some wounds never fully heal, but they grow calluses, and that’s a form of healing.

No doubt there are some “extreme” outdoor athletes who would scoff at my words. Most of them are young men, a fact that silently communicates volumes about unacceptable risk. Perhaps they would write me off as just another middle-aged dude who worries for his kids.

I’ll own that accusation proudly. And I hope every one of those young climbers, kayakers, backcountry skiers, and others has the good fortune to live long enough to become like me. It’s a good life. I highly recommend extending it to a ripe old age.

See all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

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Photo Gallery: A Big Day in the Columbia Gorge https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-a-big-day-in-the-columbia-gorge/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-a-big-day-in-the-columbia-gorge/#respond Thu, 18 Jun 2015 11:00:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=13022 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

To some hikers, the Rock of Ages Trail on the Oregon side of the Columbia Gorge will feel like the supreme challenge, a gauntlet thrown down; to others, it could seem like a cruel joke. My friend Geoff Sears and I hiked on the balls of our feet much of the way up this crazily steep, unmaintained goat path—which climbs more than 2,000 vertical feet in one stretch of less than two miles—at times scrabbling along narrow spines of vegetation-cloaked rock where a slip could send us toppling downward through dense rainforest.

Geoff and I were in the business segment of a dayhike than would run a bit more than 20 miles, with about 5,000 feet of vertical gain and loss. It would also take us through some of the best-preserved, old-growth forest in the Columbia Gorge; past tall, sheer, thunderous waterfalls; and over the 4,055-foot summit of Larch Mountain, a rocky promontory with one of the best, 360-degree panoramas in the Gorge, reaching from the Columbia River a vertical three-quarters of a mile below us, to the snowy crowns of Mounts Hood, Jefferson, Adams, St. Helens, and Rainier on far horizons.

With more than 200 miles of trails and scores of waterfalls, as well as stunning wildflowers in spring, the 292,500-acre Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area is a worthy hiking destination no matter where you live.

 

Ponytail Falls, Columbia Gorge, Oregon. Ponytail Falls, Columbia Gorge, Oregon. Hiking Rock of Ages Ridge, Columbia Gorge. Hiking Rock of Ages Ridge, Columbia Gorge. Devils Backbone on Rock of Ages Ridge, Columbia Gorge. Horsetail Creek Trail, Columbia Gorge. Mounts Rainier and Adams, from Larch Mountain, Columbia Gorge. Mount Hood from Larch Mountain, Columbia Gorge. Weisendanger Falls, Multnomah Falls Trail, Columbia Gorge.

See also my story “Nature in Your Face: Hiking the Columbia Gorge,” about a family hiking trip in the Columbia Gorge.

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR fit hikers. Challenges include significant distance and elevation gain and loss, rugged trail, and a very steep climb, with a little exposure and scrambling, on the Rock of Ages Trail, which ascends over 2,000 feet in under two miles. Unlike most maintained trails in the Columbia Gorge, this unofficial, user trail is also not well marked, although it is fairly obvious and not difficult to follow. Don’t attempt to descend it and it’s best to avoid it in wet conditions because of the high possibility of slipping and taking a bad fall. The other trails along this route are well maintained and marked.

Make It Happen

Season The best time of year for viewing wildflowers and waterfalls is May and June. It’s possible to hike year-round at lower elevations in the Columbia Gorge, though it rains frequently from October through June. Higher trails become snow-free by early summer.

The Itinerary The loop hike described here is slightly more than 20 miles, with roughly 5,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, but there are several trail options to make it shorter. From the trailhead, follow the trail uphill through switchbacks 0.2 mile and turn right onto the Gorge Trail. In another 0.2 mile you’ll reach 80-foot-tall Ponytail Falls, which the Gorge Trail passes behind—one of the signature waterfalls of the Columbia Gorge. After visiting it, backtrack a few minutes to pick up the Rock of Ages Trail. It may only be marked by a sign reading “trail not maintained,” but it’s a beaten footpath rising very steeply into the forest. At 1.2 miles up the Rock of Ages, you’ll reach the open, narrow spine known as the Devils Backbone, with views of the gorge 1,300 feet below. The trail’s angle eventually eases and it reaches a junction at 3.3 miles (and 3,000 feet elevation) with the Horsetail Creek Trail; turn right.

At 5.1 miles into your hike, turn left onto the Bell Creek Trail. (To shorten this hike to a 10.9-mile loop, instead of turning onto the Bell Creek Trail, continue to the right on the Horsetail Creek Trail and return to your car via the Oneonta Trail and Horsetail Falls Trail.) Follow the Bell Creek Trail about 3.3 miles to Trail 424 (which you can also descend for a more direct, shorter route back to this hike’s start). Turn left and continue a bit more than two miles to Larch Mountain Road. Walk up the road about 10 minutes to the 0.3-mile Sherrard Point Trail leading to the 4,055-foot summit of Larch Mountain, a rocky point enclosed by a fence for safety, with big views of the gorge and Mounts Hood, Jefferson, Adams, St. Helens, and Rainier. Backtrack down the Sherrard Point Trail and start a long descent of Trail 441 along Multnomah Creek, passing several waterfalls—including an exciting overlook from the top of Multnomah Falls—and reaching the trailhead about nine miles from Larch Mountain. (You can walk the road or the trail from Multnomah Falls.)

Getting There From I-84 east of Portland, Oregon, and west of Hood River, take exit 35 and follow the Historic Columbia River Highway west for 1.5 miles to the Horsetail Falls Trailhead, where Horsetail Falls drops 176 feet over a cliff lush with moss and vegetation into a deep pool.

Map Green Trails map Columbia River Gorge-West no. 428S OR, or Bridal Veil, OR no. 428, $8 each, greentrailsmaps.com.

Guidebook Day Hiking Columbia River Gorge, by Craig Romano, $18.95, The Mountaineers Books, (800) 553-4453, mountaineersbooks.org.

Contact Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area, (541) 308-1700, fs.usda.gov/crgnsa.

 

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Celebrating National Trails Day https://thebigoutsideblog.com/celebrating-national-trails-day/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/celebrating-national-trails-day/#respond Sat, 06 Jun 2015 11:00:11 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12852 Read on

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My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.

By Michael Lanza

We all have many reasons to celebrate National Trails Day, when individuals and groups across the country dedicate time and effort to ensuring that the trails we use, from local parks to national parks, remain in good condition for everyone. I like to also see this day as a marker for the fast-approaching summer season, and a reminder to make sure you have hiking or backpacking plans on your calendar.

To help you with inspiration and ideas, see my “Photo Gallery: 20 Big Adventures in Pictures,” as well as my All Trips page at The Big Outside, and menus of all of my stories about hiking, backpacking, family adventures, and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

You can also find some great inspiration in the blogs of The Big Outside sponsors Nature Valley granola bars and Osprey Packs, where serious outdoors enthusiasts who make a living getting outside are doing very cool things all the time.

After you’ve done some vicarious adventuring through reading, get outside this weekend. I will.

I invite you to subscribe to this blog by entering your email address in the box at the top of the left sidebar, and follow my adventures on Facebook and Twitter.

 

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The Hardest 20 Miles: A Dayhike Across New Hampshire’s Rugged Wildcat-Carter-Moriah Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-hardest-20-miles-a-dayhike-across-new-hampshires-rugged-wildcat-carter-moriah-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-hardest-20-miles-a-dayhike-across-new-hampshires-rugged-wildcat-carter-moriah-range/#respond Mon, 01 Jun 2015 11:00:30 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12769 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We’re moments from embarking on one of the hardest, long dayhikes in the White Mountains of New Hampshire when we come to a screeching stop before our first teenager moment. My 16-year-old nephew, Marco, discovers his hydration bladder mouthpiece is cracked and unusable. Then I notice he’s carrying a one-liter bladder from an old, little kid’s daypack he used years ago—hardly enough water capacity for a 20-mile day traversing eight summits. Fortunately, we’re starting today’s hike at the Appalachian Mountain Club visitor center in Pinkham Notch, so we buy him a three-liter bladder. Then I see that his daypack belt has no buckle; he insists it’s fine, but I persuade him that the dollar spent on a new buckle will feel like money well invested by around mile 10.

Minutes later, on the Lost Pond Trail, Marco’s sister, Anna, who’s almost 18, realizes she forgot to fill her water bladder—but doesn’t say anything, worried about holding us up. Luckily, my friend and longtime partner in these ultra-hikes, Mark Fenton—whose 16-year-old daughter, Skye, rounds out our party—notices Anna has no water and urges her to go back and fill it at the visitor center. The delay costs us five minutes, a much smaller price than a severely dehydrated, first-time ultra-hiker.

I’m tempted to make a joke about teenagers, but there are too many friends of mine who could read this and point out the essentials I’ve forgotten on past hikes. That lengthy list that includes the keys to my car awaiting us at the other end of my first attempt at dayhiking the Presidential Range (the weather soured that day, saving me from bearing full responsibility for having to abort our plans), and my boots for a three-day backpacking trip in Maine’s Baxter State Park (I did the hike in old sneakers.)

One of life’s largest gifts is that you can compile enough blunders of your own that you learn to just keep quiet about the smaller mistakes of other people.

Besides, even talking and laughing expends energy, and the five of us will need to use every calorie wisely in order to complete the hike we have planned for today. By nightfall—or hopefully not too long after dark, although we recognize the distinct possibility of this day turning epic—we intend to hike south to north over Wildcat Mountain and the length of the Carter-Moriah Range in the White Mountains.

Anyone who’s hiked in the Whites will appreciate the bald ambition of trying to knock off a 19.9-mile traverse over eight summits more than 4,000 feet high, with 7,200 feet of cumulative elevation gain, in a day.

But even in the notoriously rugged Whites, Wildcat Mountain and the Carter Range harbor some mind-bogglingly steep and rocky trails. The first time I hiked the Carter Range, years ago, I backpacked it in three days—and we didn’t even include Wildcat Mountain. Two summers ago, Mark and I spent a long day on this same traverse, but injuries nagging both of us prevented us from completing what we hope to accomplish today. And this time, we’re attempting it with three teenagers who have little idea of just how deep a hole we’re dragging them into. Only Skye has made just one previous hike of comparable difficulty, the Presidential Range “Death March,” with Mark.

I’m not going into this with any illusions: This could be the hardest 20 miles I’ve ever hiked—and I’ve notched some very long and difficult days over the years. It’s undoubtedly one of the hardest days you could attempt in the Northeast, and arguably harder than the better-known Presidentials Death March, even though the Pressies hike entails a bit more vertical relief.

The question Mark and I grappled with in considering this plan remains open: Can these three young people make it?

Carter Notch

For some years, Mark and I have made an annual big dayhike in the Whites. This year, he wanted to bring Skye, because she actually enjoyed hiking the Pressies Death March with him. That suggestion prompted me to invite my niece, Anna Garofalo, and her brother, Marco, both of them fit, athletic kids who have hiked and backpacked, though never any single day nearly as strenuous as this. (Marco has come close by hiking Mount St. Helens, but even that rugged day doesn’t compare to a 20-mile day in the White Mountains.) Despite my warnings about how hard a day it would be—or perhaps because of my warnings—they leapt at the invitation.

As with the most vertiginous footpaths in the Whites, the Wildcat Ridge Trail can feel like a hybrid of a hard trail and an easy rock climb. From Pinkham Notch, it ascends about 2,000 feet in under two miles. We scramble up gullies of busted rock that make some climber “trails” I’ve hiked look reasonable. Higher up, at open ledges with views across Pinkham Notch to Mount Washington, we lean into the mountain and hope our shoes stick to severely angled, granite slabs.

But our three fresh, young horses maintain a strong pace. At an open, rocky ledge at the top of a cliff high above Carter Notch, we stop for photos of smiling adventurers. Everyone’s feeling good. Confidence still rules the day.

From here, we can see a string of peaks stretching ahead of us—our route—and it looks imposing. And we can’t even see the end of our hike from here.

I had hoped we’d reach Carter Notch Hut within three hours; keeping a strong pace and moving efficiently is one of the keys to ticking off a big dayhike. But it takes us four. As we’re eating lunch outside the Carter Notch Hut, Mark and I exchange looks when he says to me and the youths, without making a big deal of it: “We may be on more of a 12-hour pace than a 10-hour pace. It’ll be good just to be aware of that.”

Then, as if to punctuate that point, we embark on the brutal, 1,500-foot climb out of Carter Notch to the highest summit we’ll hit today, 4,832-foot Carter Dome. Just before leaving the hut, I glance at the map, which shows the absurdly steep first half of this uphill stretch as several squiggly contour lines packed together very nearly as tightly as spots on the map indicating cliffs. I’ve labored both up and down this stretch of the Carter-Moriah Trail a few times over the years, and still I look at it and shake my head. You have to marvel at the rare combination of optimism, imagination, and sadism that inspired some trail designers to envision this route.

I’ve hiked rugged trails all over America and the world. I’ve seen very few maintained trails where a person could actually fall to their death without ever leaving the trail.

The Carter-Moriah Trail out of Carter Notch is one of them.

Mount Hight

Not far beyond Carter Dome, the finest summit of our day, 4,675-foot Mount Hight thrusts a bare, rocky crown above treeline, giving us a 360-degree panorama of the Whites. To the immediate west, the Presidential Range looms higher than where we stand, silhouetted through a gauze of humid air. Since shortly after we set out from Pinkham this morning, we’ve been perspiring at brow-mopping, T-shirt-soaking levels, which will continue even into the evening.

If walking the length of the Carter Range feels at times like a cross between hiking and rock climbing, on days like this it also bears a resemblance to swimming. Call it a White Mountains triathlon.

Looking east into Maine, the wooded mountains rise a little lower but no less abruptly in their relief between valleys and summits—the classic Appalachian landscape. Four more thickly forested peaks still lie ahead of us, snaking northward. We can finally almost see the end of our mega-trek, but it still looks insanely far off, and we’ve already put in more than six hard hours of almost constant walking.

As if to remind us that much of our work today is not nearly over, the descent off Mount Hight plunges straight down a rocky stepladder missing every other step.

Ascending Middle Carter, Anna looks unhappy. She and I are trailing minutes behind the others, and she feels she’s holding everyone up. She isn’t sure she can make it. I realize she hasn’t eaten enough and her energy level has crashed, which I know from experience will make your mood crash hard, too. So I insist we stop then and there while she eats something.

The food delivers an immediate improvement in her energy level and mood. Shortly after our break, when we catch up with the others on an open, rocky outcropping, with 360-degree views, she revives and tells me, “I’m going to do this.”

Mount Moriah

On the most popular trails and summits in the Whites—certainly Washington and others in the Presidential Range, as well as Franconia Ridge and smaller peaks like Mount Chocorua that are beloved for their huge views from rocky, open summits—it’s rare to not run into many people. But while we encounter other hikers, for much of today we’re entirely on our own. There are probably a variety of reasons for that. Wildcat Mountain and the Carter Range happen to be parked beside the tallest peak in the Northeast, which pulls hikers in like paper clips to a magnet. And no doubt the difficulty of the hiking here not only dissuades some people, but it slows the pace of most hikers enough that parties are less likely to overtake another.

Whatever the explanation, that degree of solitude amplifies every aspect of the experience—including the sense that you are doing something that’s really, really hard.

The mid-afternoon haze builds up to point where it looks like we could get a thunderstorm, but not a drop falls from the sky. By late afternoon, the sun comes back out, feeling nuclear as we make the tediously long, gradual ascent of Mount Moriah.

We can all feel the miles in the stiffening of leg muscles and the soreness in ankles that get constantly tweaked, twisted, and battered on these trails. All the way up Moriah, like a kid in the back seat, Anna keeps asking me, “Are we almost at the top? Is that the top right there?”

She and I reach the summit of Moriah, a few ticks over 4,000 feet above sea level, as the sun bends close to the horizon, pouring low-angle light across the long arc of mountains we have traversed today. From any perspective, it looks improbable. The other three beat us here and have already started a 4.5-mile descent through woods that will take us well over two hours and seem like a month. We won’t reach the car until 8:45 p.m., in the fading moments of dusk, more than 13 hours after we started our hike.

Anna and I snap photos and linger a few minutes, enjoying the view and the respite from walking. It’s downhill from here; even though it will feel painful and interminable, we know we’ll make it. Anna, Marco, and Skye will remember this hike for a long time, not only for its difficulty, but because one of the greatest experiences in life is to attempt something very challenging, entirely unsure about whether you can do it—even having doubts along the way—and then rise to the challenge and accomplish it. You have slain a dragon.

Mark and I have known that feeling over the years: dayhiking more than 44 miles and 11,000 feet rim to rim to rim across the Grand Canyon and back, thru-hiking the John Muir Trail in a week averaging 31 miles a day, and dayhiking the 32-mile, 10,000-foot Pemi Loop here in the Whites. But he and I find that feeling rarely these days. We know what we can do, so even on a day as hard as today, while we challenge ourselves, we don’t really get that sense of doubt about whether we’ll make it. We’re deprived of that powerful sense of achieving the impossible, of slaying dragons.

So we settle for the next-best pleasure available to us: We live that experience vicariously. Today, without knowing it, Skye, Marco, and Anna have given it to us as a gift by letting us watch them experience it.

Plus, we get to enjoy some teenager moments that are just plain funny.

On the long descent, Anna keeps up a steady volley of questions aimed at me:

“How much farther do you think it is?”

“We must be almost there, right? Are we almost there?”

After several of those inquiries, she delivers my favorite line from her of the day: “I hate to ask this question, but do you know how many more minutes before we get there?”

And between her queries, I can hear her behind me the whole way down, muttering under her breath, “Oh, my feet hurt so much. My legs are killing me. Okay, let’s do this thing.”

See all of my stories about hiking in the White Mountains, including “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” “Step Onto Rock. Step Down. Repeat 50,000 Times: A 20-Mile, 9-Peak Presidential Range ‘Death March’,” and “Ask Me: What Are Your Favorite New England Hikes?

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR fit, experienced dayhikers and backpackers, and novice dayhikers and backpackers who are fit, well prepared and, ideally, accompanied by experienced people. Challenges include extremely rocky, steep trails, and weather that can get hot and humid and produce a thunderstorm. The trail is well marked, so route-finding won’t be a problem for anyone with solid map-reading skills. Along the Carter-Moriah Trail between Carter Notch and Mount Moriah, there are four side trails leading to NH 16 that provide opportunities to bail out and shorten the hike.

Make It Happen

Season The prime hiking season in the White Mountains is June through mid-October. Winter hiking skills and gear are usually required from November through mid-spring, and deep snow can make hiking difficult in late April and May.

The Itinerary We traversed Wildcat Mountain and the Carter-Moriah Range south to north, starting at Pinkham Notch and finishing at the northern terminus of the Carter-Moriah Trail, following the Lost Pond Trail for 0.9 mile, the Wildcat Ridge Trail for 4.8 miles, making a 0.4-mile side trip to Carter Notch Hut for a lunch break (we brought all of our own food), and the Carter-Moriah Trail for 13.8 miles. The total distance was 19.9 miles and the cumulative elevation gain was 7,200 feet.

Getting There To leave a vehicle at the hike’s finish, the north end of the Carter-Moriah Trail, from the eastern junction of NH 16 and US 2 in Gorham, N.H., drive east on US 2 for a half-mile. Turn right onto Bangor Street and drive a half-mile to its end, where there’s roadside parking at the trailhead. Start the hike at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Pinkham Notch Visitor Center on NH 16 in Pinkham Notch, about 20 miles north of Conway, N.H., and 11 miles south of Gorham.

Where to Stay We spent the night before our hike at the AMC’s Joe Dodge Lodge in Pinkham Notch, so we could hit the trail without having to drive in the morning. Joe Dodge Lodge and the AMC’s eight mountain huts are popular; make reservations at least a few months in advance, and further in advance for summer and early-fall weekends, at outdoors.org/lodging/lodges.

Shuttle Service The Appalachian Mountain Club’s hiker shuttle bus operates daily from early June through mid-September, and on weekends and holidays from mid-September through mid-October, stopping at several trailheads throughout the White Mountains. There is a fee. See the schedule at outdoors.org/lodging/lodging-shuttle.cfm.

Permit No permit is required for dayhiking or backpacking in the White Mountains.

Guidebook and Maps White Mountain Guide, from the Appalachian Mountain Club, amcstore.outdoors.org.

Concerns Weather is the biggest hazard, including thunderstorms, strong winds, rain, snow, and whiteout conditions on summits and exposed ridges. Check the forecast for the summits, posted daily at all AMC mountain huts and the Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, and available from the Mt. Washington Weather Observatory, mountwashington.org/weather.

Contact Appalachian Mountain Club, (617) 523-0655, outdoors.org. Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, White Mountains, (603) 466-2721.

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Photo Gallery: Idaho’s Craters of the Moon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-craters-of-the-moon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-craters-of-the-moon/#comments Wed, 27 May 2015 11:00:50 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12701 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Few places bear a name as simultaneously hyperbolic and yet as descriptively true as Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve in south-central Idaho. Over the past 15,000 years, eight distinct lava flows erupting from fissures in the earth have created the largest lava field of its kind in the continental United States, made up of about 60 flows and 25 cones and sprawling over more than 600 square miles. Explore the place with young kids and they just may believe you’ve transported them to the moon.

I’ve been wanting to post a photo gallery from Craters for a while. These pictures are from a family camping trip over a Memorial Day weekend several years ago, when our kids were seven and five—good ages for exploring the volcanic features of Craters, many of which are reached on short hikes. Those include the half-mile round-trip hike up 6,181-foot Inferno Cone, with its sweeping panorama of the Craters moonscape and the distant Pioneer Mountains and Lost River Range; the fascinating, nearly two-mile hike along the North Crater Trail, with its stark, yet colorful landscape and lava tubes we crawled inside with the kids; and walking the length of the cave-like, 800-foot-long Indian Tunnel lava tube.

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Craters is also the place where I shot one of my all-time favorite photos of my children (lead photo, above), hamming it up in the twisted and desiccated trunk and branches of a dead tree along the North Crater Trail.

Scroll below this photo gallery for some info on visiting Craters of the Moon, and read about the proposal to make Craters of the Moon a national park. And see all of my stories about family adventures, all of my stories from trips in Idaho, and my All Trips page at The Big Outside for ideas on where you take your next family adventure.

 

Craters of the Moon landscape. Hiking up Inferno Cone. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Lave tube along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Lave tube along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Along the North Crater Trail, Craters of the Moon. Craters of the Moon landscape. Caves Trail, Craters of the Moon. Indian Tunnel, Craters of the Moon. Indian Tunnel, Craters of the Moon. Indian Tunnel, Craters of the Moon. Indian Tunnel, Craters of the Moon. Indian Tunnel, Craters of the Moon. Craters of the Moon landscape.

Season Late May through June, when wildflowers peak, and late September through October, the least-windy time of year, are the best times of year to camp and hike in Craters. July and August in the high desert (at an average elevation of 5,900 feet) have cool nights, mild mornings, and hot afternoons.

Getting There The campground and entrance to Craters of the Moon is along US 20/26/93, 18 miles southwest of Arco, 24 miles northeast of Carey, 84 miles from Idaho Falls, and 90 miles from Twin Falls.

Camping Lava Flow Campground operates on a first-come basis and has water and bathrooms.

Contact Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve, (208) 527-1335, nps.gov/crmo.

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Ask Me: What Pack Do You Recommend for Hut Treks? https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-what-pack-do-you-recommend-for-hut-treks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-what-pack-do-you-recommend-for-hut-treks/#respond Tue, 26 May 2015 11:00:49 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12690 Read on

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Hi Michael,

Hope all is well. I’m looking for your opinion on a 30-liter pack. I am going to Nepal in October on a 15-day trek. I think this would be the perfect size for me, because also I like a little bigger daypack for my hikes in the White Mountains. I have an older Gregory Z30, and I just tried on the new one and like the new details, plus I sweat really badly on hikes. As always thank you in advance, and I look forward to hearing from you.

Mike
Everett, MA

Hi Mike,

Nice to hear from you again. Congrats on heading to Nepal. I trekked the Annapurna Circuit almost 20 years ago (the lead photo at the top of this story was taken outside a teahouse high up the Marsyangdi Valley on the Annapurna Circuit). Are you still planning to go, despite the earthquake devastation? It’s possible that, by October, you won’t have trouble traveling there. I just wonder how long it will take to rebuild roads and transportation systems, which are primitive.

When I’ve picked a pack for an overseas hut trek in places like the Swiss AlpsNorway, Italy’s Dolomites, or New Zealand, I often think about the travel logistics before and after the trek, which entail some of the same questions you’ll consider when traveling to Nepal. Big question: Is there a place in the country you’re visiting where you can safely leave some luggage and personal belongings for days while you’re on the trek? If not—and it’s not always convenient to do so—I like to travel as light as possible, so that I can carry everything I brought to that country everywhere I go, and still keep my pack reasonably light on my trek. That means minimizing everything from your clothing to toiletries and reading material, but it’s certainly possible. (I’ve done it several times.)

If your pack is compact enough to carry onto your flights rather than checking luggage, that’s all the more convenient. If not, it’s helpful to also have a tough, lightweight, flexible duffle bag that you can put your pack and everything else inside while flying, then crumple it up small and bury it inside your backpack while trekking. (I’ve used the Mountain Hardwear Lightweight Expedition Duffel, which stuffs into its own pocket.)

I also want my trekking pack to be fairly light and compressible, but have some pockets that allows me to compartmentalize and organize my stuff and access some items quickly.

 

My wife and daughter trekking below the Pale di San Martino in Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My wife and daughter trekking below the Pale di San Martino in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

A 30-liter pack will be adequate if you’re only carrying a liner sleeping bag or travel sheets. But if you’re bringing a sleeping bag—as you probably are for trekking in Nepal—you might want to consider a somewhat bigger pack that’s still lightweight, which can also pull double duty as a large daypack or a weekend backpack.

The ultralight REI Flash 45 is good for carrying up to 20-25 pounds, and may be all you need, plus it’s light enough to double as a daypack or hut pack. Look at the Osprey Exos 38 or Exos 48 (I reviewed the Exos 58), or the new Gregory Stout 45, which I tested recently in the Grand Canyon and will review soon. The North Face Banchee 35 is a nice pack (I reviewed the Banchee 65). Osprey also has the Kestrel 32 and 38 and the Stratos 34 and 36. I’ve reviewed the Sea to Summit Flow 35L Dry Pack, which is waterproof and super durable, although it has little in the way of external features for convenient access to items.

You may also want to check out my story “Buying Gear? Read This First,” and my “5 Tips For Finding the Right Backpack.”

Michael

 

The Dart Hut on the Rees-Dart Track in New Zealand's Mount Aspiring National Park.
The Dart Hut on the Rees-Dart Track in New Zealand’s Mount Aspiring National Park.

Michael,

I should have said that I have a small The North Face Expedition Duffel, and I will only be carrying a daypack with what I need for the day, a porter will carry my duffel.

Thanks!
Mike

Mike,

Ah, you’re taking the luxury route! Smart man. If you only need a large daypack, see all of my daypack reviews, and specifically the Osprey Manta 28 or Manta 36, the L.L. Bean Day Trekker 25 with Boa, and the Gregory Miwok 24.

Good luck.

Michael

In Ask Me, I share my response to a reader question. Got a question about hiking, backpacking, gear, or any topic or trip I write about at The Big Outside? Send it to me at mlanza@thebigoutside.com, message me at facebook.com/TheBigOutside, or tweet it to @MichaelALanza. I will answer the ones I can in a post, using only your first name and city, with your permission. I receive a high volume of questions, so I cannot always respond quickly.

NOTE: I’ve been testing gear for Backpacker Magazine for 20 years. At The Big Outside, I review only what I consider the best outdoor gear and apparel. See all of my reviews by clicking on the Gear Reviews category at left or in the main menu.

—Michael Lanza

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Hike It Baby Gets Families Hiking, One City at a Time https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hike-it-baby-gets-families-hiking-one-city-at-a-time/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hike-it-baby-gets-families-hiking-one-city-at-a-time/#comments Wed, 29 Apr 2015 11:00:45 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=12258 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Shanti and Mark Hodges took their son, Mason, on his first hike when he was nine days old, walking a flat, quarter-mile trail at Oswald State Park on the Oregon coast. That was in July 2013. Then Mark, 35, an avid hiker, started carrying Mason on regular walks in the woods—just the two of them. Shanti worried about that.

“In my mama haze I would freak out and be like, ‘You can’t go on that trail with him—he’s too small at two to three weeks old,’” Shanti, 43, told me on the phone. “And Mark was like, ‘Sure we can.’ And off he went. Within another week, I was like, ‘I am not going to sit around (at home)—I’m going, too.’ So by three weeks (after Mason was born), we were out walking with the stroller on dirt trails and I realized, hey….we can do this!”

She says now: “I am so happy we trusted our gut and that Mark is so in love with nature that he didn’t let having a baby stop us.”

But the Hodges live in Portland, Oregon, and Mark’s work is based in Alaska; he’s away from home for days at a time, and Shanti wanted companions for her regular hikes with Mason—other parents with babies. So she started an informal group she called Hike it Baby, with a website and Facebook page. And it kind of took off.

Hike it Baby has since expanded into more than 90 cities around America, with almost 20,000 families—many with no previous hiking experience—participating in regular, organized, free hikes with their young children. Portland’s branch is the biggest: While the group doesn’t maintain membership rolls, the Portland branch’s Facebook page has nearly 3,000 likes as of this writing (Hike it Baby’s main Facebook page has about 3,400). But that doesn’t include all participants, Shanti says. The branches have people who come once or only occasionally, and others who take five hikes a week.

 

Lisa Rawdin, Shanti Hodges, Mariah Brown and Sierra Wendorff hiking with their babies in Portland's Forest Park. Mark Hodges with Mason at Crater Lake, Oregon. Mark Hodges with Mason at Ponytail Falls in the Columbia Gorge, Oregon. Mason, Mark, and Shanti Hodges in Loreto, Baja California Sur, Mexico. Shanti Hodges with Mason at Horsetail Falls in the Columbia Gorge, Oregon. Shanti, Mark, and Mason Hodges on Dog Mountain, Washington. Shanti Hodges with Mason. Shanti Hodges with Mason.

Around the country, Hike it Baby branches have picked up big followings in Anchorage, Alaska (the second-largest branch); Houston and Austin, Texas; Ashville, N.C.; Golden, Colo.; and Eugene, Oregon. There are small but active groups from Nashville to Boston. Vancouver, B.C., was the first international chapter, and new branches have started up in Edmonton, Alberta, and Sydney, Australia.

The website has information on everything from finding local chapters to starting your own branch in a new city. “We call it a branch because it’s all intertwined, everyone is connected,” Shanti says. The cost of entry to start a branch is minimal: $25, and someone starting a branch gets about 90 minutes of on-the-phone training.

“My husband is my inspiration and why I started this group,” Shanti says. “He was always getting out there with Mason from the first few days Mason was born.”

When Shanti first contacted me (because she was following my blog), and I looked at what she has accomplished with Hike it Baby, I was astounded at how many parent groups they had in cities all over the country. So I contacted her and listened to her story—one to which I could relate. My wife and I took each of our kids on their first “hike”—a very short walk in the Boise Foothills, near our home—when each was just days old. I would regularly take our first baby, our son, on solo hikes, carrying him as an infant on my chest, then as a toddler on my back, and occasionally run into people who’d look at me in shock and ask, “You’re out here with a baby?”

My kids, now 14 and 12, are very experienced in the outdoors. They’ve backpacked in numerous national parks and wilderness areas, including Glacier, Olympic, Grand Teton, and Sequoia. They’ve sea kayaked in Alaska’s Glacier Bay, cross-country skied in Yellowstone and annually to a backcountry yurt since they were little, and rock climbed at Joshua Tree and many times near our home in Idaho.

But while I try, through this blog, to help families and other people figure out how to take bigger adventures than they’ve perhaps done before, what my family does may not be within the comfort zone of many parents. What’s impressive about Hike it Baby—and clearly a big part of its success—is how Shanti has focused the informal organization on demystifying hiking, inviting anyone, no matter their experience level, physical condition, or the ages of their children.

“I always like to say to women that hikes don’t have to be defined as you’re going up a mountain and being hard-core,” Shanti told me. “Opening up the definition a lot is really important for families with newborns. We teach women how to nurse on the trail, and that changes their life. A big goal of my mission is to make hiking accessible to everyone, no matter how much weight you’ve gained. I weighed almost 200 pounds when I had Mason, and now I’m a size six and I was never a size six before.”

 

Mason, Mark, and Shanti Hodges in Loreto, Baja California Sur, Mexico.
Mason, Mark, and Shanti Hodges in Loreto, Baja California Sur, Mexico.

Shanti emphasizes that Hike it Baby is not a guide service. “We are a platform to gather people together,” she says. “We do our best to prepare everyone and to let people know they are hiking at their own risk. We also post articles that encourage them to think about really being ready and only pushing as far as you are comfortable.”

Hike it Baby isn’t just for stay-at-home moms with infants. “I try hard to get dads involved because I feel dads get left out of a lot of the parenting early in a baby’s life,” Shanti told me. “Mark would take Mason and a bottle and go off on fire roads in the woods, and Mason loved it. I was worried (at first), but then realized it was fine. There’s this fear element with children under three months old—don’t do this, don’t do that. Enough already! What do you think they do in Africa? I really try to get dads out there on hikes with us.”

She tells people who have never hiked before: “Get out on one hike a week and see how much it changes your life.”

She receives emails and Facebook messages daily from people thanking her, telling her that Hike it Baby has been inspirational for them.

“It’s really exciting to see hundreds of families hiking every day,” Shanti says. Her husband, Mark, is “kind of in awe because he kept saying, ‘It’s just a hike group. No one is going to want to do this all over the country.’ I love calling him when he is away and saying, ‘Three new branches.’”

Find out more about Hike it Baby at hikeitbaby.com, facebook.com/hikeitbaby, instagram.com/hikeitbaby, pinterest.com/hikeitbaby, and on Twitter @hikeitbaby.

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No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks https://thebigoutsideblog.com/no-straight-lines-backpacking-and-hiking-in-canyonlands-and-arches-national-parks/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/no-straight-lines-backpacking-and-hiking-in-canyonlands-and-arches-national-parks/#comments Mon, 06 Apr 2015 11:00:48 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11846 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We follow a zigzagging line of stone cairns over waves of slickrock in the backcountry of the Needles District of Utah’s Canyonlands National Park. Cliffs and 300-foot-tall sandstone candlesticks tower around us, in more shades of red than Crayola has yet replicated, glowing in the warm afternoon sunshine of late March. Five adults and four kids from three families, we traverse slabs, scramble in single file up the smooth, dry bottom of a narrow water runnel, and pump out calf muscles walking straight up steep ramps. In the desert Southwest, trails haven’t learned the axiom of Euclidian geometry that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. We’re navigating a maze without walls.

Above us, a long, sandstone ridge forms a 200-foot-tall wall, mostly of sheer cliffs, separating Big Spring Canyon from Squaw Canyon. Just below a saddle in that ridge, we use hands and the balls of feet to smear delicately up a short but steeper slab, where a slip could result in a cheese-grater slide and tumble back down to the bottom.

Out of habit and instinctive parental concern, I offer to carry any kid’s backpack up the slab. But they all basically shrug off my offer—while, I can’t help but notice, being kind enough not to openly laugh it off. To them, three 13-year-olds and an 11-year-old, this minor challenge represents a welcome flash of excitement—a mild adrenalin pulse they will remember as one of today’s highlights, not something to worry over. Then each of them scrabbles expertly up it.


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In the slickrock pass between the canyons, we drop our packs for a break and to enjoy a view that would make Dr. Seuss smile. Stratified cliffs stretch out in three directions. Stone towers, with bulbous crowns bigger around than the column on which they sit, seem ever at the verge of toppling over: On top of flouting generally accepted rules of geometry, this Alice’s wonderland ignores the laws of physics. I’m not sure that’s good for backpackers tromping through here who are used to their environment simply behaving the way it’s supposed to behave.

After the snacks have been consumed and the pictures taken, we shoulder packs again and the four kids lead the way down into Squaw Canyon, amused by the continually circuitous route of cairns through a place where you can see for miles and still not be able to see exactly where you’re going.

Big Spring Canyon, Needles District, Canyonlands National Park. Big Spring Canyon. Big Spring Canyon, Needles District. Sofi, Alex, Lili in Big Spring Canyon. Big Spring Canyon, Needles District. Big Spring Canyon, Needles District. Big Spring Canyon, Needles District Big Spring Canyon, Needles District Big Spring Canyon, Needles District Big Spring Canyon, Needles District Big Spring-Squaw Pass, Needles District. Big Spring-Squaw Pass. Big Spring-Squaw Pass. Big Spring-Squaw Pass. Big Spring-Squaw Pass.

The Needles District of Canyonlands

I’ve come to southeastern Utah with my son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, and our friends and frequent adventure partners the Serios (Vince, Cat, and daughters Sofi and Lili) and Jeff Wilhelm and his 21-year-old daughter, Jasmine. We’ve planned a spring-break week of backpacking and dayhiking to explore the Needles District of Canyonlands and Arches National Park. First up is this overnight, short, easy hike up Big Spring Canyon and down Squaw Canyon, followed by a dayhike to the incomparable Chesler Park area of The Needles (lead photo at top of story). Then we’ll base camp at a rented condo in Moab for a few dayhikes in Arches.

The Needles District and Arches harbor the kind of geological oddities that fascinate both kids and adults. I’ve walked in the past to almost every spot we’ll visit this week. But by returning with my kids, I can relive vicariously, through them, that magical experience of seeing all of this for the first time.

One of the four geographically distinct areas of Canyonlands National Park, the Needles District covers the high plateau and canyons south and east of the Colorado River and south of Moab. The Colorado and Green rivers subdivide the park’s districts—the other three being the Island in the Sky, The Maze, and Horseshoe Canyon. And the rivers themselves provide a platform for water-based adventures like the classic, multi-day float trip on the Green through Stillwater Canyon, and one-day or half-day, beginner-friendly canoe trips on the Colorado, supported by Moab-based outfitters that will rent you the canoe and water gear and pick you up by jetboat in the afternoon.

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Squaw Canyon, Needles District Squaw Canyon, Needles District Squaw Canyon, Needles District Campsite, Squaw Canyon. Squaw Canyon, Needles District Squaw Canyon, Needles District Squaw Canyon, Needles District Lost Canyon Trail, Needles District The pass into Lost Canyon, Needles District. Peekaboo Trail, Needles District Peekaboo Trail, Needles District Peekaboo Trail, Needles District Peekaboo Trail, Needles District Peekaboo Trail, Needles District Peekaboo Trail, Needles District

With its trail network and backcountry campsites, the Needles is the district of Canyonlands most conducive to backpacking—although you’re limited in how far you can hike by the scarcity of water, forcing you to carry a lot of it. From our route’s last reliable water in Big Spring Canyon, we’re hauling all we’ll need for nine people for the rest of our first day through our second day.

While that can make it challenging to backpack with kids who can’t yet carry their share of gear and food weight, it just requires recalibrating your sense of how far your family can hike and how many days you backpack.

After the Needles District, hike the other nine of “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

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. The desert Southwest has a way of defying comprehension, even among people who’ve come to know it well. I can only imagine what it looks like to the eyes of these kids, since it wasn’t until adulthood that I first gazed in awe and disbelief on this region.

A mile down Squaw Canyon from the pass, we reach our designated campsite near the junction with the Lost Canyon Trail. Tomorrow, Jeff, Jasmine and I will explore the geological abstractions of Lost Canyon, along with the Peekaboo Trail, while the others take the direct route down Squaw Canyon back to our cars.

Tents go up, cook stoves come out. Night falls early in March, gifting us with one of the darkest and most star-riddled skies in the country.

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Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park Trail, Needles District Chesler Park. Chesler Park. Chesler Park.

Chesler Park

Hiking to Chesler Park has the quality of approaching the Emerald City in the land of Oz: Chesler’s outsized, multi-colored towers of Cedar Mesa sandstone form a castle-like rampart on the horizon, looming ever larger as you near it. The day after finishing our overnight backpacking trip, we’re dayhiking some 11 miles out-and-back to Chesler. As our party spreads out on the trail, Nate and I hike together, scrambling atop smaller rock formations along the trail and passing between two close sandstone walls that form a narrow corridor.

The long, morning shadow of 300-foot-tall pinnacles falls over us as we walk up one of the Chesler Park Trail’s few steep sections. At a break in the row of pinnacles, we stroll through a sort of natural doorway into Chesler Park. It’s pretty much as I remember it from a backpacking trip here many years ago: a horseshoe of sandstone spires arcing around a patch of desert about a mile across. We walk to a couple of ledges overlooking Chesler and the badlands outside its walls, where white-capped mushrooms of stone sprout from the earth and yet more burnt-red spires rise in the distance.

I try to persuade the kids to hike a couple miles farther, to the other side of Chesler Park, where the Joint Trail passes through a very narrow, sheer-walled slot in solid rock that I know will delight them. But today, I get no takers. The sun’s hot, our hike will cover about 11 miles without going out to the Joint Trail—and the kids know we’re headed from here to a condo, our first showers in a few days, and real food and ice cream. So I surrender to a wave of momentum that I can’t stop, and we turn around to hike back out.

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.”

Nate, Double Arch, Windows Section, Arches. Double Arch, Windows Section. Turret Arch, Windows Section. Nate, South Window, Windows Section. Turret Arch. Turret Arch. Tunnel Arch, Devils Garden, Arches. Nate, Alex, Sofi in Devils Garden. Pine Tree Arch, Devils Garden Pine Tree Arch, Devils Garden. Jasmine hiking in Devils Garden. Landscape Arch, Devils Garden. Hikers in Devils Garden

Arches National Park

About a mile-and-a-half out the Devils Garden Trail in Arches National Park, just past Landscape Arch—the park’s largest, spanning 306 feet—the trail appears to terminate abruptly. But it doesn’t, a fact made obvious by the hikers ahead of us on this popular trail, leaning forward into a steep, narrow, stone ramp ascending between cliffs. We follow the traffic toward some of the more remote arches in the park’s Devils Garden area, Navajo and Partition.

Within the first hour of hiking into Devils Garden, we had already visited Landscape as well as Tunnel Arch and Pine Tree Arch. Later, two of us will take the half-mile walk out to Skyline Arch. Yesterday, we spent a couple of leisurely hours walking around the park’s Windows Section, ogling and scrambling around a veritable riot of sandstone bridges that boggle the mind: the twin North and South Windows, Turret Arch, and Double Arch, all within a short walk of one another.

Several years ago, when these kids were too young to remember much of their first visit to Arches, we hiked them down the flat, mile-long Park Avenue trail, below signature formations of Arches National Park like the Three Gossips and the Courthouse Towers. We also took them on the 20-minute walk around Balanced Rock, a sight so improbable to them that the term “balanced rock” embedded itself in my children’s vocabulary, as a term referring to any random assemblage of rocks, however tiny or ephemeral, that appeared top-heavy.

 

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Cranking Out Big Days: How To Ramp Up Your Hikes and Trail Runs https://thebigoutsideblog.com/cranking-out-big-days-ramp-up-your-hikes-and-trail-runs/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/cranking-out-big-days-ramp-up-your-hikes-and-trail-runs/#comments Mon, 16 Mar 2015 11:00:23 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=2705 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I don’t remember the first time I hiked more than 20 miles in a day. But living and hiking in New England at the time, where one mile of rocky, up-and-down trail feels as physically punishing as two miles in other parts of the country, I undoubtedly got to that distance through incrementally longer dayhikes. I only wish I could remember the sense of pleasure with myself that I must have felt that first time.

But I can list precisely the number of times I’ve hiked more than 30 miles in a day.

Those days don’t happen without a conscious decision to do it and some preparation and planning. My first was the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, linking up the Bondcliff-Mt. Bond ridge and Franconia Ridge: 32 miles and about 10,000 very brutal vertical feet. A friend and I did it on a July day when the heat and humidity seemed engaged in a contest to see which could leap higher. Despite consuming at least 10 liters of water each, we finished it dehydrated and completed pasted physically—but awfully pleased with ourselves. (We were training for a seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail.)

Hard as it was, that experience convinced us that we could go even farther.

That led to other huge dayhikes like the rim-to-rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon (aka r2r2r) across and back again in a day: 44.5 miles and 11,000 feet. While it ranked among our hardest days—though not as brutally rugged and humid as the Pemi Loop—we all finished surprised at what we still had in reserve. A year after the r2r2r, seven of us went for a 50-mile dayhike across Zion National Park; five in our group made it, and I got a lesson in overuse injuries and a harsh reminder of the importance of eating smartly on these huge days.

 

West Rim Trail, Zion National Park. South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon Scott White and Chip Roser on a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho's White Cloud Mountains. Todd Arndt in the Cirque of the Towers, on a 27-mile dayhike across Wyoming's Wind River Range. Scott White and Chip Roser on a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho's White Cloud Mountains. Mount Flume, in New Hampshire's White Mountains. Todd Arndt during a 44.5-mile dayhike across the Grand Canyon and back. Shelli Johnson below Lizard Head Peak, on a 27-mile dayhike across Wyoming's Wind River Range. North Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon Franconia Ridge, in New Hampshire's White Mountains. South Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. West Rim Trail, Zion National Park. Mark Fenton atop Bondcliff on a 32-mile dayhike through New Hampshire's White Mountains. Mount Washington, Presidential Range, N.H.

Whatever we call them—ultra-hikes, mega, or extreme—dayhikes and trail runs of 20 miles or more are, as much as anything, a journey of self-discovery. We’re exploring our own physical potential, and discovering the powerful and intoxicating joy of realizing how far we can carry ourselves on foot in a single day. Whenever I can fit it into a busy life, I like treating myself to a local 20-mile trail run. And for me, there are few pleasures greater than knocking off a huge day in a breathtaking natural setting with good friends.

I hope it goes without saying that attempting a dayhike or trail run of 20, 30, or 40 miles or more requires serious training and preparation. I’ve laid out here what I’ve learned about hiking or trail running very far in one day.

 

David Ports on the West Rim Trail, during a 50-mile, one-day traverse of Zion National Park, Utah.

Training: Core, Resistance, and Cardio

To pull off mega-dayhikes and trail runs, you have to get serious about training, ideally at least three months before the big day; after all, it’s very much like training for a marathon. The smartest strategy is to maintain a year-round regimen, so that you’re not playing catch-up with your fitness and trying to ramp up your regimen too rapidly in the three months prior to a big hike—that can be a formula for an overuse injury.

I follow a three-pronged exercise program:

1. Core and Balance Exercises and Stretching

Core fitness provides the foundation of strength, endurance, balance, and stability, and is critical to feeling strong throughout a long hike or run. A strong core helps your body carry a pack—even a light hydration or daypack—conserving energy in the large muscles of your legs to forestall fatigue, and helping avoid back pain and muscular injuries.

The good news? Core training doesn’t require a huge daily time commitment to achieve noticeable results.

Five to seven days a week, do five to 15 minutes of a mix of abdominal and back exercises. I do a mix of these, as many reps as I can (Google them and you’ll find videos):
•    Slow bicycle crunches—In the crunch position, hold each elbow to the opposite knee for a second;
•    Planks—Try to build up to three minutes;
•    Body roll-ups—Lie on your back, arms extended overhead, roll up into a ball, touching your feet, extend again, repeat;
•    Supermans on an abs ball.

I work some of the above exercises into my resistance workout in the gym, which I do twice a week for about an hour. Every other day of the week, whether I’m doing a cardio workout or taking a rest day, I do at least five minutes of core work.

As part of my twice-a-week resistance workout at the gym, I incorporate balance exercises to train my body for uneven terrain. I mix up the following for variety:
•    Standing on one leg on a BOSU, with its rounded side up; try to build up to being able to extend your raised leg straight out in front of you, and then rotate it straight out behind you (bending your torso forward);
•    Standing on one leg on a BOSU, with its flat side up, with light dumbbells in your hands, pumping your arms forward and backward as if running;
•    Doing a variety of balance positions on a bongo board, including simply sliding side to side, or dropping into a squatting position and coming back up.

I’m a big believer in daily stretching or yoga to avoid injury and not only give your muscles greater range of motion, but give them more strength throughout their full range of motion. I’m sure that some falls I’ve taken over the years—whether skiing, hiking, or climbing—could easily have resulted in injury if I were less limber. Plus, daily stretching or yoga just makes me feel better.

 

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.

 

Scott White and Chip Roser on a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
Scott White and Chip Roser on a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

2. Resistance Exercises

Resistance exercise—lifting weights or doing body-weight exercises like squats, pushups, dips, and pull-ups—strengthens muscles by overworking them, postponing muscle fatigue on long dayhikes and runs, and makes bones stronger. It also gives you power and strength for climbing hills with a pack on.

Do resistance exercises two or three times a week for an hour, developing a routine that targets all of the major muscles. Do at least half of your exercises in a way that engages the core muscles.

Here’s an example of modifying an exercise so that it also engages your core muscles:

Instead of doing standard one-arm rows with a dumbbell while bent over leaning on a bench, with a dumbbell in each hand, balance on one foot. Then tilt your torso 90 degrees forward and extend your raised leg straight out behind you; your torso and extended leg should form the top bar of a T, with your other leg the post of the T, with your arms extended downward holding the dumbbells. Keep the knee of the “post” leg slightly bent (to avoid injury; I’ve made that mistake). Alternate rowing with each arm, using dumbbell weight that allows you to do 20 to 30 reps (10 to 15 with each arm); then do a second set balancing on the other leg. Start with lighter dumbbells than you’re inclined to use—balancing on one leg while rowing with your arms greatly increases the difficulty.

Suggested resistance exercises:

In the gym, do at least two exercises focused on the legs, in sets long enough to temporarily exhaust you and push you to your anaerobic threshold—have you panting for breath. I do four body-weight exercises in succession without a break in between (one or two sets): 20 squats, 20 lunges, 20 jumping lunges, and 10 standing jumps.

3. Cardio Workouts

Cardio workouts can entail a variety of activities that accelerate your heart rate for a sustained period of time: trail running, vigorous walking, bicycling, Nordic skiing, and using cardio machines in the gym. Do any of these on hills to amplify the intensity. Mixing up activities helps avoid boredom and overuse injuries associated with doing one activity a lot.

•    Intense cardio workouts of 20 to 60 minutes are adequate for your midweek workouts, but try to fit in one run, ride, or hike a week of at least two hours.
•    Trail running is great training for hiking—and because it’s intense, it’s ideal when your time’s limited. Besides building cardio-vascular conditioning and endurance, running on trails strengthens bones and your muscles, feet, ankles, and knees for hiking, and trains your body to manage uneven terrain, reducing the chances of an ankle sprain or similar injury when hiking.
•    On training runs or hikes, practice moving at a stronger pace, quickening your stride walking or running; it will help you move faster on a long hike or run.
•    Work gradually up to a run or hike that’s at least two-thirds the distance of the mega-dayhike or run you’re training for. Take this longer outing a week or two prior to the big day to give your body time to recover afterward.
•    In the week prior to your ultra-hike or trail run, taper off your workouts significantly, so that you’re just maintaining fitness without fatiguing yourself. I will go from a normal five exercise days to four, with no more than one very intense workout, and take two consecutive rest days (just doing a little core work and stretching) before the ultra-hike.
•    Build endurance through “bonus” training time: Walk, run, or bike local errands. Do lunges, crunches, and planks when you get up or before bed or while watching TV. Take stairs instead of elevators and escalators. Doing these things regularly can earn you a couple hours or more of “free” exercise time every week.

See my story “Training For a Big Hike or Mountain Climb.”

 

Mark Fenton atop Bondcliff on a 32-mile dayhike in the White Mountains, N.H.

Exercise Intensity

Most of us don’t have the luxury of more free time to exercise. But we can control how intensely we work out. Set goals for increasing the difficulty of your workouts—such as more reps or weight, or pushing your pace on training runs or hikes—and your endurance will grow.

I also increase the intensity of workouts by wearing a weight vest while doing resistance and core exercises in the gym and when using a stair machine (though I don’t wear in during high-impact activities like trail running because of the risk of overuse injury). It doesn’t require a lot of weight to greatly elevate the difficulty; I often just put 12 pounds in my 20-pound vest.

 

Lighten Your Pack

Every pound you’re carrying demands more energy from you every step of the way. Think about how much impact superfluous weight has if, instead of traveling 10 miles on foot—taking roughly 20,000 steps—you’re going 20 miles and taking 40,000 steps. Or 30 miles and 60,000 steps. The cumulative toll of every ounce over the course of a big day can make the difference between finishing happy or hurting—or not finishing.

•    Decide what to wear and carry not based on a need to be prepared for all possible developments, but based on the day’s forecast and typical seasonal weather patterns, how far you’re going, and your maximum distance from a road. You don’t have to prepare for the end of the world.
•    Bring a layering system that’s not just versatile, but lightweight and not more than needed. Two examples: Do you really need a rain jacket, or will a four-ounce wind shell suffice? (If the forecast is for heavy rain, postpone to another day.) And don’t bring an emergency sleeping bag when a fist-size, four-ounce, emergency bivy sack like the one made by Adventure Medical Kits will do. You won’t sit around cooling off for long spells, so bring just enough layers to stay warm while moving.
•    While you will bonk if you don’t consume enough calories to make it through a big day (see Food and Water below), we each have a limit to how much food we can stomach. Experience will teach you where your own limit is, allowing you to dial in precisely how much you have to carry. But generally, no matter how many calories you’ll burn in a day—and you will run a deficit on a big day, but that’s okay—many people won’t consume more than about 4,000 calories. The takeaway message: Plan precisely how much you will eat, to avoid hauling superfluous weight.

See my tips on ultralight backpacking, which offer some useful advice for dayhikers, too.

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Todd Arndt in the Cirque of the Towers, on a 27-mile dayhike across Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Food and Water

•    Beyond training, adequate hydration is probably the most important factor determining whether you’ll make it through a huge dayhike or trail run. While you’ll probably need a half-liter to a liter per hour, how much you should drink varies depending on external factors like ambient air temperature and humidity level. Drink every 15 minutes or so and pay attention to your body’s signals: If you feel thirsty, you’ve already fallen behind. You should urinate at a normal frequency, and your urine should be clear.
•    You’ll probably replenish from streams. Know where water sources are and avoid carrying an unnecessary surplus of water (unless you’re in a place where water sources are unreliable or you’ll face extreme heat). Carry a lightweight and efficient water-treatment method like a Steri-Pen.
•    Drink a lot of water when you’re refilling at a water source; better to carry water in your belly than on your back.
•    On a big day, don’t rely just on water—carry a sports drink in powder form for electrolyte replacement, especially later in the day.
•    Remember: Your body absorbs water at a limited rate (about a liter per hour), so drink frequently rather than gulping water at longer intervals.
•    Proper nutrition is also critical. While you may make it through a 15- or 20-miler without eating enough—burning up stored energy in fat reserves—the farther you go, the more your body will insist on getting refueled. Men need about 250 calories per hour, women about 200 calories. Experiment with the sorts of foods you like eating on the trail, but include a diverse blend of sweet and salty—the latter particularly important in hot weather, to replace sodium you’re body’s losing. I also find I’ll hit a limit for how much processed food, like energy bars, I can eat in one day. I carry plenty of whole foods, like nuts or a bagel with turkey, cheese, lettuce, and cucumber slices.
•    Keep snacks within reach, like in a pack hipbelt pocket, to eat on the move.

 

David Ports hikes past Snowdrift Lake on a 20-mile dayhike in Grand Teton National Park.

Trail Strategy

•    Start early—nothing will sink an ambitious plan like a late start, and you want to take advantage of the cool hours of morning and exert less in the heat of afternoon.
•    Dial back from your usual training pace slightly, to keep some energy in reserve.
•    Break up a big day mentally into a series of shorter hikes, identifying where you’ll take rest breaks, to make the total distance feel more manageable. You don’t have to follow a rigid schedule, but having some idea of when you want to reach key spots along the way will prevent a much later finish than hoped for.
•    Take breaks of 15 to 30 minutes every three hours or so—long enough for some recovery without losing too much time.
•    Manage your stationary time wisely—you can only push your pace so much, but you can move more efficiently by not wasting time when you’re not moving. Examples: Don’t all stop just because one person has to stop briefly, and plan rests where you can refill water.
•    Carry a small first-aid kit to deal with the most likely issues, like blisters and cuts. To prevent blisters on long days, I often preemptively place athletic tape over my heels—eliminating the friction that contributes to blisters. See my article “6 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters.”

 

Mark Fenton ascends Mt. Washington on a 20-mile dayhike of New Hampshire’s Presidential Range.

Use Trekking Poles

I wouldn’t consider making an ultra-dayhike without poles, which greatly lessen muscle fatigue and the impact on joints. I like ultralight, adjustable poles for trails with a lot of steep ups and downs, so that I can vary the length as needed.

I have used poles when alternately running and hiking on an outing, but I find that the law of diminishing returns applies here: The more running you do versus walking, the more exhausting it is to use poles—all the more argument for having lightweight, collapsible poles that you can tuck away on the outside of a daypack if you want to run a long section of trail.

 

Descending the North Kaibab Trail on a 44.5-mile, rim-to-rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon.
Descending the North Kaibab Trail on a 44.5-mile, rim-to-rim-to-rim hike of the Grand Canyon.

Big Caveat for Big Days

This point is both obvious and worth emphasizing: Don’t overextend yourself. This may seem like a joke in the context of dayhikes or trail runs of 20 miles or more, yet those are perfectly reasonable objectives for someone who’s prepared for them, but a recipe for disaster for anyone who’s not. Land managers warn against attempting these sorts of outings because park staff have to deal with the people who wind up needing help. Don’t become one of those people.

•    Know the challenges and hazards of the environment you’re entering.
•    Make incremental steps up in distance, not huge leaps; don’t set your sights on a 30-miler unless you’ve done some 20-mile days.
•    Assume you have to get yourself out of any situation, not that someone else will save your butt.

See also my stories “10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier” and “Are You Ready For That New Outdoors Adventure? 5 Questions to Ask Yourself.”

 

Remember: It’s Supposed to Be Fun

Well, okay, training isn’t always fun. But the payoff for this training should be, on some level, satisfying, rewarding, invigorating, uplifting… and fun. Don’t make the training itself a misery to endure—an exercise program that you loathe is one that’s too easy to quit.

Find a routine that fits into your lifestyle and schedule so that you look forward to it, rather than it becoming drudgery—which will better motivate you to stick to it. Make it a habit and, in time, you will find that you feel better physically and that it reduces the stress in your life. And having an objective on the horizon that you’re getting ready for provides a powerful motivation for many people—which leads me to a final suggestion…

 

Keep a To-Do List

I maintain a tick list of ultra-dayhikes I want to do. Do the same yourself: A list will motivate and excite you to train and make plans for knocking off another of them. Best of all, even as I strive to keep checking off another big dayhike, my list keeps getting longer. There’s a wealth of trails out there waiting for you. Looking for ideas? Besides the stories I’ve linked above, see all of my stories at The Big Outside about ultra-dayhikes I’ve done, including a hike in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, a 25-miler in the Grand Canyon, a 20-mile, nine-summit “Death March” the length of New Hampshire’s Presidential Range, these big dayhikes or runs in Glacier National Park, and this Ask Me post suggesting a 29-mile dayhike in the Grand Canyon.

 

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