Trips – The Big Outside https://thebigoutside.com America’s Best Backpacking and Outdoor Adventures Fri, 06 Mar 2026 17:16:17 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.1 https://i0.wp.com/tbo-media.sfo2.digitaloceanspaces.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/06235325/cropped-Sier2-82-Granite-Park-Muir-Wldrnes.jpg?fit=32%2C32&ssl=1 Trips – The Big Outside https://thebigoutside.com 32 32 159605698 Photo Gallery: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-yellowstones-bechler-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-yellowstones-bechler-canyon/#comments Thu, 05 Mar 2026 10:00:33 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=35709 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I wade slowly into the natural pool known as Mr. Bubble, deep in the backcountry of Yellowstone National Park, feeling the swirling blend of hot water from the natural hot springs pouring into one corner of the pool, and the cold creek water entering from another corner. I lower myself to a sitting position, chest-deep, and crab crawl to find a spot with a perfect, hot-tub water temperature—and plant myself there for a long time.

And I’m thinking: This is quite a sweet treat on a wilderness backpacking trip. I could get used to this.

Our visit to Mr. Bubble came on the second afternoon of a five-day, roughly 55-mile backpacking trip through Bechler Canyon in mid-September, the very tail end of summer, which happens to be a good time to backpack in this corner of Yellowstone. I definitely wanted to hike the Bechler after the notorious mosquito season of early to mid-summer, when dense clouds of hangry skeeters (and I do mean “hangry”) rise from the boggy Bechler Meadows and make the lives of any blood-filled creatures who happen to be here then a misery.


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 in Shoshone Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking in Shoshone Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

This trip had been on my “I’m intrigued and want to do it” list for several years for a few reasons. One is the abundance of thunderous waterfalls and cascades along the hike, created by the geology of the region and the huge winter snowpack that feeds the creeks and springs draining the plateau in the southwest corner of Yellowstone. The Bechler River is also a beauty, varying in character from a gentle, quiet, tree-lined waterway with world-class trout fishing to a raging torrent where some cascades tumble for hundreds of feet. (And the fords along the Bechler can be deep, frigid, and a bit adventurous.)

Another motivation was to explore the Shoshone Geyser Basin, the largest backcountry geyser basin in the park—imagine having Old Faithful and the Upper Geyser Basin almost entirely to yourself.

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Backpackers soaking in the hot springs-fed Mr. Bubble pool in the backcountry of Yellowstone National Park.
Backpackers soaking in the hot springs-fed Mr. Bubble pool in Yellowstone.

And the last reason was, of course, the famous Mr. Bubble natural pool, where hot water erupting from the earth—you can actually see the water boiling up from the ground just several feet away, and bubbles of heated air constantly boiling near the middle of the Mr. Bubble pool—mixes with the cold water of the Ferris Fork creek to create a wide, hot pool for soaking. We ran into a few other parties of backpackers during our lengthy soak in Mr. Bubble, where it’s not unusual for hikers to linger for hours (especially those who have the good luck of scoring a backcountry campsite nearby).

The gallery below features some of my photos from backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon. Scroll below the gallery for the link to my story about this trip, which includes my expert tips on how to take it yourself.

A backcountry permit is required for overnight camping in Yellowstone’s backcountry. Bechler Canyon is popular, so reserve a backcountry permit in advance at recreation.gov/permits/4675323. For the best chance of getting a permit for popular backpacking trips like Bechler Canyon, enter the the Early Access Lottery, which runs from March 1 through March 20. General reservations open beginning April 26.

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

See my feature story about this trip “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon”—which, like many stories about trips at The Big Outside, includes my detailed tips on planning this trip and requires a paid membership to read in full.

See also my stories “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone” and “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone National Park at The Big Outside.

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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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7 Great Southwest Backpacking Trips for Beginners https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-southwest-backpacking-trips-you-should-do-first/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-southwest-backpacking-trips-you-should-do-first/#comments Sun, 01 Mar 2026 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=24684 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Grand Canyon’s Corridor Trails

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Narrows in Zion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Needles District in Canyonlands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coyote Gulch, Glen Canyon National Recreation Area

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

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

And that was just in the first hour.

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

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

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

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

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

Zion’s Kolob Canyons and West Rim Trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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 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.”

Plan your next great backpacking adventure using my expert e-books.
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How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-rainiers-wonderland-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-rainiers-wonderland-trail/#comments Mon, 16 Feb 2026 10:16:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=51184 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Any backpacker making the substantial effort to hike the 93-mile Wonderland Trail around Washington’s Mount Rainier soon discovers why it’s one of the most popular backpacking trips in the country. Those reasons include regularly wading through some of the best wildflower meadows you’ll see anywhere, the numerous waterfalls and raging rivers gray with glacial flour—and the countless times that the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier, suddenly pops into view, looking impossibly massive.

That’s also why few backcountry permits are harder to get than one for the Wonderland—unquestionably one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

If you want to backpack the Wonderland Trail this year, it’s essential that you know how to navigate the permit-application process and the strategies that can help improve your odds of getting a permit—and the time to start that process is now.


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


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.

This story will explain the procedure for obtaining a permit to backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail and offer tips on how to maximize your chances of success, sharing expertise I’ve acquired from multiple trips on the WT and in Mount Rainier National Park over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

See my feature story (which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full) about my most-recent trip on much of the WT, a 77-mile route that combines what I consider the trail’s best sections and alternate segments, plus “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park” to learn everything you need to know to plan and take this classic trip, including a day-to-day primary itinerary, alternate itineraries, and detailed pros and cons for hiking clockwise versus counterclockwise.

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack part or all of the Wonderland Trail.

If you have backpacked the Wonderland or have other thoughts or suggestions about it, please share them in the comments section below. I try to respond to all comments.

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

A backpacker above Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Wonderland Trail above Granite Creek in Mount Rainier National Park.

Enter Mount Rainier’s Early Access Lottery

Know this truth about the Wonderland Trail: Permits are issued based on availability in designated backpacker campgrounds—and all backpacker campgrounds along the trail will become fully booked from July through September. That includes the two-thirds of backcountry campsites available to reserve and the one-third assigned on a first-come basis to backpackers requesting a permit in person at a park wilderness center up to one day before starting a trip.

Those are the only two ways of getting a Wonderland Trail permit—and a reservation is a better strategy because it will be difficult to walk in and find enough campsite availability to create an itinerary for hiking the entire trail.

For trips from May 1 through Oct. 11, 2026, Mount Rainier National Park issues permit reservations at recreation.gov/permits/4675317 up to two days before a trip starts.

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

A backpacker 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-guide.

The park holds an optional Early Access Lottery that you can enter anytime between 7 a.m. Pacific Time on Feb. 10, 2026, through when it closes at 7 p.m. Pacific on March 3, 2026, at recreation.gov/permits/4675317. Lottery results are released March 14 and winners will receive a date and time on or after March 21 when they can apply for a multi-night backcountry itinerary reservation competing against a limited number of other applicants—quite possibly the only chance of securing a permit for the entire Wonderland Trail. Lottery winners can also apply for a Mount Rainier climbing permit.

General reservations for all other permit seekers open at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on April 25. When searching permit availability at recreation.gov/permits/4675317, view by “Daily Groups” to see how many sites are available in each backcountry campground. There is a non-refundable $6 fee for an early-access lottery application or permit reservation and a fee of $10 per person per night for a permit reservation.

Maximum party size is five people for standard backcountry camps. Parties of six to 12 must stay in designated group camps.

Find more information about permits at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm and nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/upload/Wilderness-Trip-Planner-2022-wMap-FINAL_508.pdf and more about the Early Access Lottery at recreationonestopprod.servicenowservices.com.

Read all of this story, including my expert tips on getting a Wonderland Trail permit,
and ALL stories at The Big Outside, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Aurora Park, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Wonderland Trail through Aurora Park, Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo to get my help planning your trip.

Be Flexible With Your Dates and Itinerary

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to have flexibility with your dates and itinerary.

Availability at Rainier’s backcountry campgrounds will be shown in real time when attempting to reserve a permit at recreation.gov/permits/4675317. If you cannot reserve a specific campground on a specific date, you must be ready with alternative campgrounds, dates, and perhaps starting points.

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

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.

After the Wonderland Trail, hike the rest of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A backpacker crossing the Tahoma Creek suspension bridge on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt crossing the Tahoma Creek suspension bridge on the Wonderland Trail. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Try for a Walk-In Permit

You didn’t make a wilderness permit reservation but you hope to backpack all or part of the Wonderland Trail? There is a last resort: a walk-in (or first-come) permit.

Mount Rainier issues about one-third of permits on a first-come basis to backpackers requesting a permit in person at a park wilderness center up to one day before starting a trip.

Backpackers and lupine on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Backpackers and lupine on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

While the chances of having enough backcountry campsite availability to put together a complete Wonderland Trail itinerary is very slim, you may be able to backpack a section of the trail—or another trip in the park, like the Northern Loop or arguably the nicest, short backpacking trip in the park, the 22-mile traverse from Mowich Lake to Sunrise.

Expect high demand for walk-in permits. Show up at a park wilderness information center or ranger station that issues permits at least two to three hours before it opens to get a spot near the front of the long line that will form; those are located at Longmire, Paradise, White River, and Carbon River. Go there with primary and alternative routes and camps in mind. Bring warm clothes, a headlamp, a hot drink, and something to read (or a park trail map to study). See “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

You might get lucky and score a permit to start the same day. But expect to have to wait a day—if you’re fortunate enough to get a walk-in permit.

See all stories about backpacking the Wonderland Trail and backpacking in Mount Rainier National Park at The Big Outside. Like many stories at this blog, reading some of those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan your backpacking trip on the Wonderland Trail.

You live for the outdoors. The Big Outside helps you get out there.
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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.”

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

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.”

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

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

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By Michael Lanza

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

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

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


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


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

Key Details About Glacier

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chief Mountain to Many Glacier

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

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

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

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

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

Bowman Lake to Kintla Lake

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

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

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

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

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

Traverse Glacier on the CDT

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flattop Mountain

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

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

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

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

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

Glacier’s Northern Loop

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

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

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

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

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

Nyack Creek-Coal Creek Loop

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Sat, 07 Feb 2026 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50772 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

There are two immutable truths about backpacking in Glacier National Park. First, from its stirring landscape, where glaciers hang off muscular mountains and sheer cliffs soar above deeply green valleys dappled with lakes and waterfalls, to almost certain sightings of wildlife like mountain goats, bighorn sheep, moose, elk, and grizzly and black bears, there’s really no place in the continental United States quite like Glacier.

Second, it’s one of the hardest backcountry permits to get in the National Park System. But the new wilderness permit reservation system that Glacier adopted in 2023 and greatly improved in 2024 brings equity and order to the process. Still, knowing when and how to get a Glacier permit is critical if you want to backpack there.

In this story, I will offer tips on how to maximize your chances of getting a permit to backpack in Glacier, sharing expertise I’ve acquired from several trips there over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


A backpacker on the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-books to this trip and another in Glacier.

And remember this: The permit system preserves a wilderness experience for backpackers in Glacier (as well as protecting the park from overuse). That’s a major reason why Glacier ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

Dawn light at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.
Dawn light at No Name Lake in Glacier National Park.

Glacier National Park conducts two lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, for early-access times to reserve a backcountry permit: on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people (details below). For trips between June 15 and Sept. 30, Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for permit reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season.

See my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” both of which provide all you need to know to plan those trips, including very detailed tips on getting a high-demand backcountry permit, multiple itinerary options of varied lengths, the best campsites, plus expert advice on the ideal time of year, gear, and safety in bear country.

I’ve also helped many readers plan a very enjoyable backpacking trip in Glacier—including tips on maximizing their chances of getting a very hard-to-get permit and an itinerary customized for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

Like many stories at my blog, part of this story is free for anyone to read. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of this story—including tips it offers on strategies for maximizing your chances of getting a Glacier permit—and all stories about Glacier, as well as all stories at this blog, plus get a free or deeply discounted e-book.

Please share any thoughts or questions about this story, or your own tips, in the comments section at the bottom. I try to respond to all comments.

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

A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Apply on Specific Dates in March

For backpacking permit reservations during the peak season of early summer into early autumn, Glacier National Park conducts two early-access lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. The lottery only determines who gets awarded an early-access time to make a permit reservation; you won’t include any hiking itinerary details in your lottery entry.

The lotteries offer the best chance of reserving a backcountry permit for backpacking in most of the park, especially the most popular trails or an itinerary of more than one or two nights. People with earlier lottery timeslots will obviously see more camping availability than those who draw a later time. You can enter a lottery anytime during its 24-hour period and all applicants have an equal chance of being selected. Every person in your a party can enter and see who obtains the best time—and if multiple group members obtain a timeslot, all of them could try to reserve a permit.

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

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

Standard group lottery winners will get an email on March 17 with a date and time between March 21 and April 30 when they can attempt to make a permit reservation. The recreation.gov system shows availability in real time; you will either find availability for your dates and campsites and complete the process with a permit reservation or fail to get one.

Successful large-group lottery entrants will receive an email from park wilderness permit staff on March 3 with instructions for making their permit reservation. The park issues just five reservations for large-group permits every year; other large-group permits must be obtained on a walk-in basis based on availability, which is hard to do.

After the early-access reservation period closes, general reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1 at 8 a.m. Mountain Time, running through Sept. 30, although most backcountry camps will book very quickly. Glacier imposes a daily hiking limit of 16 miles for reserved permits.

There is a non-refundable $10 fee for a lottery application or any permit issued plus $7 per person per night, which can be refunded if canceled more than seven days prior to the trip start date at recreation.gov/permits/4675321.

See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm for more information and instructions on using Glacier’s permit page at recreation.gov/permits/4675321.

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

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

Be Flexible With Your Dates and Itinerary

I’ve backpacked several times in Glacier over the years and I’ve failed to get a wilderness permit just once, for a reason I understood when I submitted that application: I sought only one specific itinerary and our dates were fixed, not flexible. I decided to just throw a hail Mary pass for a trip I wanted and see if I’d get really lucky. I didn’t. In a park like Glacier, that will almost guarantee you don’t get a permit—unless you have one of the earliest lottery timeslots to make a reservation.

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to have flexibility with your dates and itinerary.

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

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside, including “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and “Jagged Peaks and Wild Goats: Backpacking Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail.” Like many stories at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan your backpacking trip in Glacier.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

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Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-the-john-muir-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-the-john-muir-trail/#comments Tue, 03 Feb 2026 10:00:48 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=4126 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

It’s known as “America’s Most Beautiful Trail” for good reason: There may be no long backpacking trip that’s more spectacular, step for step, than a thru-hike of the John Muir Trail through California’s High Sierra. From Yosemite Valley to the 14,505-foot summit of Mount Whitney in Sequoia National Park, you walk 211 miles past jagged peaks of golden granite, through a constellation of sparkling mountain lakes and more waterfalls than anyone could name, and over numerous passes from 11,000 to over 13,000 feet.

Haven’t hiked the JMT yet? Check out the photos below. They just might convince you that it’s time to move it to the top of your list.

The John Muir Trail has become one of the most sought-after long-distance hikes among serious backpackers. Late summer is the best time for a JMT thru-hike (as well as backpacking anywhere in the High Sierra, or many other Western mountain ranges, for that matter), for many reasons: The bugs, heat, thunderstorms, and crowds of July and August have largely dissipated, and the high passes are snow-free, while dry weather often lingers well into September, with mild daytime temperatures and pleasantly cool nights.


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 John Muir Trail south toward LeConte Canyon, Kings Canyon National Park.
David Ports backpacking the John Muir Trail south toward LeConte Canyon in Kings Canyon National Park.

And if you hope to make this your year for a JMT thru-hike, the time to start planning, picking dates, and preparing to apply for a wilderness permit is now.

Get a sampler of this classic, incomparable backpacking trip in the photo gallery below. Scroll past the gallery to find links to stories at this blog about the JMT, including my feature story about thru-hiking it in a week with friends, and other stories offering expert tips on how to plan and execute a JMT thru-hike.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the John Muir Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

Read read my feature story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” about my (admittedly somewhat insane) seven-day JMT thru-hike, which includes more photos, a video, and tips on pulling off your own trek on “America’s Most Beautiful Trail.” Please note that reading that full story, as with most stories about trips at The Big Outside, requires a paid subscription.

See also these stories: “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: The Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan,” and all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside.

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

One key to finishing and enjoying the 211-mile JMT (221 miles including the descent off Mount Whitney, which is not part of the JMT) is keeping your pack weight as light as possible. 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.

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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10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-national-park-backpacking-trips-for-beginners/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-perfect-national-park-backpacking-trips-for-beginners/#comments Sat, 31 Jan 2026 10:00:39 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27013 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Grand Teton’s Paintbrush-Cascade Canyons Loop

Distance: 19.7 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Best First Trip in the Grand Canyon

Distance: 21 to 23.5 miles
Difficulty: Moderate to strenuous

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Magnificent Heart of Yosemite

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Glacier’s Glorious Gunsight Pass Trail

Distance: 20 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zion’s Otherworldly West Rim Trail

Distance: 14 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

The Wild Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles
Difficulty: Easy to Moderate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-national-park-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-national-park-backpacking-trips/#comments Mon, 26 Jan 2026 10:00:32 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27712 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

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

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Wild Olympic Coast

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grand Canyon Traverse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yosemite South of Tuolumne Meadows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Glacier’s Northern Loop Made Better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zion’s Narrows

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Teton Crest Trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Needles District of Canyonlands

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sequoia’s Mineral King Area

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

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

Looking for a full-value High Sierra backpacking adventure?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bottom to Top in the Great Smoky Mountains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail/#comments Sat, 24 Jan 2026 10:34:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41150 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

There are many good reasons the 93-mile Wonderland Trail encircling Washington’s Mount Rainier ranks among the most popular backpacking trips in the country. And yet, backpackers who’ve never attempted this loop around the third-highest peak in the Lower 48 may have questions about what it’s like. If you have not hiked all or part of the Wonderland Trail, read on to learn more about why you should—and perhaps learn some myth-busting truths about this iconic and challenging trail.

The Wonderland Trail certainly belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—and I say that having hiked most of the best (some of them multiple times) over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. That’s because the Wonderland possesses nearly all of the qualities that make for a great multi-day hike—most conspicuously the countless views, from all angles, of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier, a sight that inspires beyond all expectations.

In fact, at the end of my most-recent trip there, a 77-mile hike on most of the Wonderland Trail, two friends and I—all of us very experienced and widely traveled backpackers—concurred that we had come to Rainier with high expectations for the Wonderland, and the trail exceeded them.


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 Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo to get my help planning your Wonderland Trail hike.

Not many backpacking trips in the country are harder to get a permit for than the Wonderland. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit” and get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier” to learn everything you need to know to plan and take this classic trip.

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack part or all of the Wonderland Trail.

If you have backpacked the Wonderland or have other questions or suggestions about it, please share them in the comments section below. I try to respond to all comments.

Here are five reasons every serious backpacker must hike the Wonderland Trail.

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

Backpackers and lupine on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Backpackers and lupine on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

1. It’s ‘Next Level’

What do I mean by “next level?” Well, that could be interpreted in at least a couple of different ways—including that the Wonderland has next-level scenery (more on that below).

But for many backpackers, a 93-mile hike that may take upwards of eight to 10 days will be the longest and perhaps most demanding multi-day hike they have ever done. The physical, mental, and logistical challenges inherent to a hike of that distance provides excellent preparation for a longer thru-hike, such as the John Muir Trail or a more obscure and lonely long-distance trail like the Idaho Wilderness Trail; a section or all of a long-distance footpath like the Appalachian Trail, Pacific Crest Trail, or the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier National Park; or simply longer and more demanding backpacking trips in places like the remotest corners of Yosemite, the “best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” or the North Cascades.

The Wonderland also delivers a powerful sense of accomplishment—a strong reward, whether it’s for backpackers gaining experience or a family whose children are ready for this level of challenge and parents trying to inspire and raise their kids to love the outdoors. See my stories “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trips,” “10 Tips for Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids,” “12 Tips for Getting Your Teenager Outdoors With You,” and “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

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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.

2. It’s Challenging, But Feasible

A backpacker hiking the Spray Park Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt hiking the Spray Park Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

Make no mistake: Any backpacking trip of nearly 100 miles is a serious undertaking, but the Wonderland Trail amplifies the arduousness, subjecting backpackers to a constant succession of long ascents and descents—many of them 2,000 to 3,000 vertical feet—between alpine ridge crests of volcanic rock and wildflower meadows and deeply shaded forest in valley bottoms.

The Wonderland Trail profile at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/upload/Wonderland-Profile-2018_Web.pdf shows at least 45,000 vertical feet of cumulative elevation gain and loss over the trail’s 93 miles (roughly 500 feet of up and down per mile, a moderate grade overall, although the WT has steeper sections). And that doesn’t include the variation many backpackers take off the WT onto the Spray Park Trail, which entails about 1,000 more feet of cumulative elevation gain and loss than the section of the Wonderland Trail it skirts (between the Carbon River and Mowich Lake).

Still, the Wonderland Trail shouldn’t be considered experts-only terrain. Despite its challenges, the WT does not pose the difficulties of some long, hard hikes.

The trail is well-marked and obvious—no one who can read a map will get lost. Well-spaced, designated campsites with poles for hanging food give backpackers a known destination each night with little risk of bear problems (and no need to carry a bear canister). While there are rocky sections with difficult footing, much of the trail consists of a soft treadway of packed dirt and conifer needles that’s easy on feet, leg joints, and the body overall. (It’s no mystery why many ultra-runners and hikers gravitate to it.)

If you’re looking to step up your game as a backpacker, the Wonderland Trail is a great place to do just that.

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Mountain goats along the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Mountain goats along the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my expert Wonderland Trail e-book.

3. You Will Probably See Wildlife

On our first day on the Wonderland Trail, we saw a black bear (from a distance, and it immediately dashed away), marmots—and nearly 30 mountain goats. Over the course of our hike, we also spotted perhaps two dozen more mountain goats and saw and heard pikas, both in alpine areas, and observed elk tracks in mud on the trail in deep forest.

In fact, Mount Rainier National Park—which spans an elevation range of about 13,000 feet—hosts 65 mammal species, including deer, mountain lions, fisher, and American marten (or pine marten), as well as 14 species of amphibians, five species of reptiles, 182 species of birds, and 14 species of native fish. While it lacks apex predators like grizzly bears and wolves, the Wonderland does not lack for thrilling wildlife sightings.

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

Backpackers crossing the bridge over Fryingpan Creek along the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Backpackers crossing the bridge over Fryingpan Creek along the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

4. It Can Be Hiked in Sections

Yes, 93 miles sure is a really big walk. Throw in more than 45,000 feet of combined elevation gain and loss and the words “really big walk” seem inadequate. But you need not feel compelled to eat that entire meal at your first sitting.

My first backpacking trip on the Wonderland Trail covered just part of its northern section, between Berkeley Park and the Carbon River, when I hiked Rainier’s 32.8-mile Northern Loop (a solo trip that unexpectedly turned into a tense adventure). My second WT hike traversed its southernmost stretches. On my third, with my family when our kids were nine and seven, we hiked from Mowich Lake across Spray Park and covered the gorgeous WT stretch from the Carbon River to Sunrise.

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

Finally, after the Wonderland sat on my to-do list for years, two friends and I took a 77-mile hike on most of the trail—including the sections I had not yet hiked previously. Read my feature story about that trip, “An American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.”

With several access points at road crossings in the park, the WT offers numerous opportunities to backpack—or take ultra-hikes or runs on—sections of varying lengths.

My e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier” tells you everything you need to know to plan and take this classic trip and includes several shorter, alternative itineraries describing section hikes on the WT.

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

 

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo to get my help customizing your Wonderland Trail backpacking trip.

5. It’s… Incredible

Any conversation about the quality of a hike always circles back to the scenery—and in that regard, the Wonderland equals its name and deserves top-tier status alongside classics like the Teton Crest Trail, John Muir Trail, and premier hikes in flagship parks like Yosemite, Glacier, and the Grand Canyon.

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

Why? There are the meadows choked with an abundance and variety of wildflowers matched in few places. The crystalline creeks and rivers gray and frothing with “glacial flour.” Waterfalls leaping off cliffs and cascades plunging and roaring for hundreds of feet. Mountain lakes shimmering in sunshine or offering a mirror image of Mount Rainier. Intensely quiet and enchanting forests of giant trees like Douglas fir, western red cedar, and western hemlock at lower elevations and subalpine fir and mountain hemlock growing in islands amid sprawling meadows at higher elevations.

And all of that frequently showcases a backdrop of “The Mountain,” as Rainier is known to Washingtonians. Cloaked in crack-riddled glaciers, Rainier ranks third among all U.S. mountains—behind only Alaska’s Denali and Hawaii’s Mauna Kea—in topographical prominence, a measure of how high a peak rises above its surroundings, which for Rainier is 13,210 feet. It often fills the horizon at a seemingly unbelievable scale.

As you round yet another turn on the Wonderland to discover another meadow or cross another river, Rainier appears suddenly in surprising places, stealing your breath away.

Given all of its qualities, any adventure-seeking backpacker would have to contemplate the question: How many reasons do you need to walk the Wonderland Trail?

Go there. It is the kind of adventure that validates itself over and over and stays with you long afterward.

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

Read my feature story about a 77-mile hike on most of the Wonderland Trail, “An American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.” See also “The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park.”

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

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

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A Teton Crest Trail Permit Shouldn’t Be So Hard to Get https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-teton-crest-trail-permit-shouldnt-be-so-hard-to-get/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/a-teton-crest-trail-permit-shouldnt-be-so-hard-to-get/#comments Fri, 23 Jan 2026 14:55:41 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=69571 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

At precisely 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, many thousands of Americans logged into recreation.gov/permits/4675342 hoping to reserve a backcountry permit for backpacking sometime this year in Grand Teton National Park. That enormous virtual crowd included me and probably dozens of my blog’s readers, many of whom I’ve heard from. For many, perhaps most, the experience was confusing, frustrating, and unsuccessful.

They saw backcountry camping availability for dates throughout the summer backpacking season disappear within anywhere from five to two minutes (which is exactly what I saw). Some succeeded in selecting nightly camps on specific dates to create an itinerary, only to watch the page freeze when they clicked to book and purchase their reservation—and they subsequently received a message indicating that their itinerary was no longer available.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to see all stories at The Big Outside about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park.

By that point, just a few minutes after the reservations page opened, many or probably most users saw no more backcountry camping availability for building a multi-day Teton Crest Trail itinerary on any summer dates this year.

And here’s the thing: It doesn’t have to be that way. In fact, other large and popular national parks have recreation.gov permit pages that function much more smoothly. Those parks employ methods in their reservation systems, like lotteries, that clearly help eliminate the chaos seen every January when Grand Teton National Park (GTNP) opens reservations.

To provide a little background: In recent years, many large national parks with vast areas of wilderness moved their backcountry permit reservation systems over to recreation.gov. That move has replaced internal national park reservation systems that were often clunky and frustrating for countless 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.


A backpacker above the South Fork Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton N.P.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

I’m deeply familiar with current and past permit reservation systems in our national parks. I have personally reserved scores of backcountry permits over three decades working as a professional backpacker, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor with Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

From what I’ve seen in many parks, the switch to recreation.gov has been a resounding success, easing what can be an inherently difficult process for users—as well as making it more equitable and speeding up both the reservation procedure itself and the confirmation of permits. Under past permit reservation systems, it could take several weeks for some parks to notify applicants whether they had been issued a permit reservation—and even into this decade, at least one major national park required permit applications to be faxed in. (To anyone born in this century, a fax machine is… well, never mind, it’s not important.)

Now, for many parks using recreation.gov, that takes anywhere from several days to just minutes. As much as anything, these permit reservation systems in recreation.gov have mostly become more transparent, clear, and consistent, greatly reducing the stress of trying to use a system that doesn’t operate efficiently and keeps you waiting for weeks to learn the results.

Along with the Teton Crest Trail, hike the other nine of
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

 

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that, while GTNP also moved its permit reservations over to recreation.gov a few years ago, it has not adopted some of the most effective improvements to the process of reserving a backcountry permit that other parks employ.

And it’s frankly difficult to understand why Grand Teton does not emulate any of those existing, working examples of a well-functioning permit reservation system.

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A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to see “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.”

Frustrated Users

Since Jan. 7 of this year (2026), I have heard from many readers of this blog who’ve purchased either my e-books to trips in Grand Teton (and other national parks) or my Custom Trip Planning service to get my personalized help planning their trips (including navigating the permit-reservation process in many parks), all of them sharing their experience with GTNP’s recreation.gov page.

Few of those experiences were positive.

Susannah Clark, of Melrose, Mass., attempted to reserve a permit for five nights in camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail in September, logically figuring she would see less demand for permits than in August. It “was a complete disaster,” she wrote to me. She observed that because everyone who wants to reserve a permit sees the page to view camping availability at exactly the same instant, many are undoubtedly trying to figure out how to navigate it while availability is rapidly disappearing.

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.”

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

And it appears that, as one would expect, huge numbers of users select the exact same camping zones for the exact same dates. They might then believe they have completed an itinerary, but upon clicking the Book Now button, only a small number can receive confirmation of that specific itinerary; the rest receive a message that their itinerary is no longer available.

Clark was not able to reserve a permit at all.

“Holy smokes, is this system distressing!” Clark wrote. “People who are not comfortable with computers, are unfamiliar with the system, are not available at those exact five minutes, are never going to get an advance permit to hike the Teton Crest Trail; and if you don’t live nearby (I live on the East Coast), just jetting out and hoping for a walk-in permit is a risky investment.”

Doug Bagley, of Salt Lake City, also had a Teton Crest Trail itinerary built that was suddenly “not available” when he clicked the Book Now button. He started over repeatedly with other camping zone options and dates from early July to late September and had them in his cart but kept receiving a “not available” message. He wrote to me: “I put in a lot of time to familiarize with three different four-night backpacking itineraries. I used your guide, which was awesome. I read every thread about the online process.

“I had no chance,” Bagley wrote. “Way too many moving parts even though I thought I understood the process. I have applied for and gotten backcountry permits in Yosemite. I would rather go into a lottery like that than compete for them (in this way).”

Dennis Gawlik, of Bainbridge Island, Wash., who used my Custom Trip Planning and managed to reserve a permit on Jan. 7 for part of the Teton Crest Trail, hopes to modify it walk-in when he arrives at the park—and his dates are late September, when he realizes new snow could force him to either cancel his trip or alter his itinerary. He described to me a GTNP permit reservation experience that was “fast and hectic.”

As with other people, Gawlik attempted numerous dates and camping zone options but saw availability repeatedly disappear, destroying his various itineraries. “Yes, 8:05 a.m. was when things went really south—all booked.”

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The Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park.
The Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park.

Five minutes after GTNP opened reservations, it had become impossible to reserve a Teton Crest Trail permit.

Brothers Richard Serpe, of Cream Ridge, N.J., and Ed Serpe of Cambridge, Mass., both repeat users of my Custom Trip Planning, were among a group of people attempting to reserve a permit in January 2025—hoping that at least one of them would succeed.

They told me: “During the first 60 to 120 seconds (after reservations opened), we were each able to get one or two of our desired camps but failed to get everything we needed. Pretty much after the 120-second mark there was no going back, everything was booked solid at the camps on the desirable itinerary for the dates we were looking for.”

But while the rest of the group was attempting to reserve a standard permit for up to six people, Richard tried for a group permit for seven—and succeeded. “Honestly? It was almost anticlimactic. I got it with no trouble at all,” he wrote to me.

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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.”

Full disclosure: I was able to build a three-night Teton Crest Trail itinerary on Jan. 7 and lock it in after clicking Book Now, but I did not complete the purchase because the early September dates I chose conflicted with other plans I have; I mainly wanted to see how the system was functioning (and I immediately canceled my chosen itinerary). But I’m also much more familiar with recreation.gov and GTNP’s reservations page and camping zones than most people. And I also found virtually everything booked up for the entire summer season by 8:05 a.m.

“You should not have to be a professional permit seeker to be able to hike the national parks,” Susannah Clark wrote to me. “I really like the Grand Canyon system (on recreation.gov). It’s a little more cumbersome” because Grand Canyon National Park, like some other parks, uses an early-access lottery (more on that below), “but it is so much easier and relaxed, and you are less likely to have a heart attack from the stress of getting a permit,” Clark added.

(If you’ve had a recent experience trying to reserve a backcountry permit in Grand Teton National Park or other parks on recreation.gov, however well or poorly it went, please share it in the comments section at the bottom of this story.)

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

 

A backpacker at Lake Solitude on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at Lake Solitude in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to get my help planning your backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail or any trip you read about at this blog.

How Grand Teton Compares to Other National Parks

Many large and popular parks, like Grand Teton, receive far greater demand for permits than they have backcountry camping availability every year. That, of course, creates an unavoidable, competitive situation: Many people will fail to obtain a permit simply due to demand.

However, GTNP’s permit system is such an outlier in how it’s organized that it seems to compound the difficulty of reserving a permit—all while there are examples of national park permit systems that are set up to eliminate or at least minimize chaos.

To understand the issue better, it’s helpful to compare GTNP’s permit reservation system with those of other large, wilderness-based parks that are very popular with backpackers:

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

 

A backpacker beneath Virginia Falls along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm beneath Virginia Falls while backpacking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
  • In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas, with 60 percent of permit reservations available through a weekly rolling lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859. You can enter the lottery anytime during any weeklong period and you will find out two days after that lottery ends whether you got a permit reservation; if not, you have time to enter the following week’s rolling lottery for a specific window of dates. The remaining 40 percent of permits are made available at recreation.gov/permits/445859 seven days in advance of a trip start date.
  • Since the beginning of 2024, Grand Canyon has issued about 80 percent of backcountry permits through a monthly, two-week-long, early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337, and everyone who enters a lottery, no matter when, will have an equal chance of being selected. The lottery awards up to 750 applicants a date and time between the 4th and 17th of the following month when they can attempt to reserve a backcountry permit before reservations open to the general public; and the park expects that most of those 750 people will get a permit. The park issues about 20 percent of backcountry permits walk-in.
  • Also in 2024, Glacier started conducting two early-access backcountry permit lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people, and all applicants during these 24-hour lottery periods have an equal chance of being selected. Standard group lottery winners will get an email on March 17 with a date and time between March 21 and April 30 when they can attempt to make one permit reservation, competing against a small group of other lottery winners, before reservations open to the general public. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance.
  • Mount Rainier issues permits for two-thirds of backcountry campsites through an early-access lottery held from Feb. 10 through March 3 for preferential time slots to reserve a permit at recreation.gov/permits/4675317 for trips from May 1 through Oct. 11. Lottery winners are awarded a date and time on or after March 21 to make a permit reservation competing against a limited number of other applicants, giving them much better chances of getting a permit for the Wonderland Trail and popular climbing routes. The remaining one-third of backcountry permit availability is issued walk-in.
  • Yellowstone also conducts an early-access lottery from March 1-20 for backcountry permit reservations at recreation.gov/permits/4675323 for trips between May 15 through Oct. 31. Lottery winners will receive a date and time between April 1-24 when they can reserve a permit competing against a limited number of other lottery winners, providing the best chance of getting a permit for a popular backpacking trip like Bechler Canyon. About 75 percent of backcountry campsites can be reserved and the remaining 25 percent are available for walk-up permits issued no more than two days in advance of a trip.

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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.

In sharp contrast to those parks, in Grand Teton, for trips between May 1 and Oct. 31, permit reservations opened for everyone at recreation.gov/permits/4675342 starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, 2026. (The date sometimes varies slightly each year.) Everyone seeking a permit flooding that page simultaneously has resulted in the system getting overwhelmed and popular backcountry camping zones, like those along the Teton Crest Trail, getting booked up for the entire season within minutes.

Plus, unlike other parks that open a majority of their backcountry permit availability to reservations (the examples above range from 60 to 80 percent), GTNP allows just one-third of available permits to be reserved, leaving two-thirds available first-come, for walk-in backpackers, no more than one day before a trip begins.

By not making a larger pool of backcountry permits available to reserve in advance—and not spreading out the demand over a longer period of time, or conducting an early-access or other type of lottery, GTNP effectively amplifies the chaos of trying to reserve a permit.

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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. Click photo to read about my most recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trai.

Why is It Like This When It Could Be Better?

From what I’ve seen, it has been standard practice for many years within the National Park Service (NPS) to allow individual parks to manage backcountry permit reservations as they see fit. There are reasons for enabling local control: Most parks have trails and trailheads that see much higher demand than other areas—examples would include the John Muir Trail through Yosemite, Grand Canyon’s corridor trails (South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel), and Glacier’s Northern Loop. Parks may issue permits based on trailhead quotas or on backcountry camping quotas. Their peak seasons for backpacking may vary a bit or significantly from one another.

Still, having backpacked multiple times in all of the parks mentioned in this story as well as many others, I cannot imagine a logical reason why Grand Teton National Park could not adopt strategies employed successfully in other, similarly large and popular parks—strategies that have made the process of reserving a backcountry permit smoother, faster, and more equitable. Those parks have accomplished that despite the inherent challenges of seeing more demand than there is backcountry camping availability throughout their peak season.

It seems to me that by allowing individual parks to determine how their own backcountry/wilderness permit reservation system functions, the NPS essentially allows each park to repeat the mistakes of other parks. The argument that allowing each park to experiment with different ways of issuing permits makes sense only when all of them are adopting recreation.gov at the same time—or at least in the same year—and none have any real-world experience with it yet.

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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.

But that’s not the case now. Some parks have been using recreation.gov for at least a few years—and some popular parks that see huge demand for wilderness permits, like Yosemite, use a system that works remarkably well. This begs the question: If examples exist of successful systems, why stick with a system that real-world experience has demonstrated is flawed?

I reached out to the National Park Service’s Office of Communications via email with my questions for this story, hoping they could educate me or at least make sense of GTNP’s permit system. They told me that GTNP staff estimate about 38,000 to 42,000 backcountry “user nights” each year, with roughly one-third coming from advance reservations.

Beyond that statistic, the NPS communications staff response, frankly, did not address the specific critiques and questions I had submitted regarding GTNP’s permit system. In fact, their response was so vague that it could be describing permit reservation systems in any national park.

Lake Solitude, Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Lake Solitude, Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to see all photos for sale at The Big Outside, including this one.

Here is part of their response, lightly edited, but it captures the overall content of their response:

“The high-demand and limited opportunity nature of permits often make them difficult to obtain. Park staff evaluate the effectiveness of their permit operation and adjust over time to improve the customer experience. Demand for permits varies from park to park and by specific areas within each park. In some cases, local managers will receive thousands of permit applications for just a few dozen opportunities. Popularity and high demand for the permit is a primary reason a park will decide to utilize a lottery system to allocate permit reservations. People looking for a very specific hike (such as particular sites on the Crest Trail) may not always find those exact options available.”

The Tetons are Beloved by Many Backpackers

The Tetons are one of my very favorite mountain ranges. I’ve taken probably at least two dozen trips there over the years since my first one more than 30 years ago: backpacking, dayhiking, climbing several peaks, backcountry skiing—even paddling a canoe on String and Leigh lakes. I’ve seen black bears, several moose, certainly marmots and pikas, even a huge bull elk right outside my tent late one night (on my very first Teton Crest Trail hike).

I will return again to backpack; and at some point, with some amount of luck, I’ll reserve yet another Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit.

I’ve been thinking about writing this story for a few years but had previously held off in the hopes that GTNP would change for the better “this year.” That has not happened yet and the flaws in their permit system only grow more glaring every year.

I’m sure that GTNP managers are trying to create the safest and most enjoyable backcountry experience for all visitors. I fully support the need for a permit system to place controls and limits on the numbers of people camping in the backcountry of America’s major wilderness parks—without such a system, these places would quickly get trashed, trails and campsites overused and heavily eroded, fragile ecosystems damaged and wildlife constantly harassed and stressed by too many humans invading their spaces. I respect all the good, committed NPS employees who protect our parks, who are motivated largely by a love for them.

I’m merely saying that there are obvious, better ways for Grand Teton National Park to run their system for reserving backcountry permits. I hope they will make changes to improve their system at least before the date that they open reservations for 2027.

See all stories about backpacking in Grand Teton National Park at the Big Outside.

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

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By Michael Lanza

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Understanding Yosemite’s Wilderness Permit System

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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Yosemite’s Best Backpacking Trips

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

Little Yosemite Valley and Half Dome

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yosemite Valley to Half Dome, Clouds Rest, and Sunrise

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

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

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

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

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

See also my tips on hiking Half Dome.

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

Tuolumne Meadows to Tenaya Lake

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

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

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

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

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

The High Sierra Camps Loop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite Valley

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yosemite Valley’s North Rim to Ten Lakes Basin

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

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

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

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

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

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How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-yosemite-or-high-sierra-wilderness-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-yosemite-or-high-sierra-wilderness-permit/#respond Mon, 19 Jan 2026 10:02:56 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50516 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Ah, the High Sierra. Yosemite. Sequoia and Kings Canyon national parks. The John Muir Wilderness and Ansel Adams Wilderness, Mount Whitney, and countless other, less famous but equally beautiful places. Every backpacker who has ever walked for days through any of these wildlands holds them in special reverence—and for good reasons, given this seemingly infinite landscape’s constellations of sharply pointed granite peaks and alpine lakes, too many waterfalls to name, and rivers and creeks so pretty they make your heart glad. Plus, with thousands of miles of trails, you could spend a lifetime wandering here without seeing it all.

Little wonder there’s so much competition for backcountry permits throughout most of the High Sierra. But read on because the time for planning and reserving a permit for trips this summer is coming up fast.

This story gives you the necessary details for reserving a wilderness permit to backpack in Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks, at Mount Whitney, and in the Inyo National Forest, including the John Muir, Ansel Adams, Golden Trout, and Hoover wildernesses, which all require a permit.


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

If you want to know how to get a wilderness permit for a John Muir Trail thru-hike or section hike, see “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit.”

I also offer below tips on how to maximize your chances of getting a highly coveted permit, sharing expertise I’ve acquired from numerous trips throughout the High Sierra over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

See all of my blog’s stories about backpacking in Yosemite, the High Sierra, and Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips and information on planning each hike. See also my expert e-books to multi-day hikes in Yosemite and other parks.

Backpackers hiking the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.
Backpackers on the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park.

I’ve helped many readers plan backpacking trips in Yosemite, Sequoia, on the John Muir Trail, and throughout the High Sierra, answering all of their questions (and many they didn’t think to ask) and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you and read hundreds of comments from others who’ve received my custom trip planning.

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

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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.

Apply As Soon As Possible, Months in Advance

Know the dates to apply for a specific agency’s wilderness permit. Yosemite, Sequoia-Kings Canyon, Inyo, and Mount Whitney all accept permit reservations months in advance and issue them based on daily trailhead quotas, but with slightly different schedules and procedures (all detailed below).

For Sequoia-Kings Canyon and Inyo, plan to apply at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on the first day possible, exactly six months in advance. Applications show availability in real time, allowing you to secure a permit reservation immediately if there’s availability for your trailhead and start date. If you fail to get one, you can try again the next morning to start one day later.

Yosemite’s rolling lottery—a sensible and user-friendly system created to deal with enormous demand—provides weeklong application periods up to 24 weeks in advance for weeklong sets of dates and you are notified of whether you get a permit reservation within two business days after the lottery closes. Thus, if you strike out in one lottery period, you will have plenty of time to apply for the very next lottery period.

The Mount Whitney lottery allows you to apply anytime between Feb. 1 and March 1 for the entire upcoming season, with results announced March 15.

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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.

For popular trailheads—though not all trailheads—permits are difficult to get, especially for hiking Mount Whitney, a handful of the most popular trailheads in Yosemite, like Happy Isles, and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, like the High Sierra Trail (and certainly for thru-hiking the JMT starting at either its northern or southern terminus; see this story for tips on getting a JMT permit). That makes it imperative to apply on the earliest date possible.

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to consider at least two starting trailheads and itineraries—which requires knowing generally how far you want to walk each day—and a range of date options.

Permits issued by all national parks and forests in the Sierra for trips extending into another park or forest—for example, a John Muir Trail permit for starting in Yosemite and finishing at Whitney Portal—are valid in the other parks and forests for the permit dates. Backcountry campsites are (mostly) not designated or assigned; camp where you like but use sites that have clearly been used previously.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
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A hiker on Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton standing on Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Yosemite Wilderness Permits

In Yosemite—one of America’s 10 best backpacking trips—wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas, with special rules for the John Muir Trail. Popular trailheads, especially in the park’s core between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows, get booked up very quickly.

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite.
The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

For trips from late April through October, 60 percent of all trailhead quota permits can be reserved through a lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning at 12:01 a.m. Pacific Time on the Sunday up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the following Saturday.

For example, to start a trip between Aug. 9-15, 2026, enter the lottery between Feb. 15 and Feb. 21. You will be notified of the result on Feb. 23 and must accept it (if successful) by Feb. 26 or forfeit it, and remaining reservations become available at 9 a.m. Pacific Time on Feb. 27 at recreation.gov on a first-come, first-served basis.

The remaining 40 percent of permits are made available at recreation.gov/permits/445859 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time seven days in advance of a trip start date. Find more information at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm, where the park warns: “Do not arrive at Yosemite expecting to get a walk-up wilderness permit. While any unreserved permits will be available in person at wilderness centers on the start date of the trip, few, if any, unused permits will be available.”

There is a non-refundable fee of $10 for each lottery entered or permit reservation plus $5 per person for a confirmed permit reservation.

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

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

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.

Sequoia-Kings Canyon Wilderness Permits

In Sequoia-Kings Canyon in the southern Sierra, permit reservations open at recreation.gov/permits/445857 up to six months in advance for a trip taking place during the trailhead quota period, which is generally the Friday before Memorial Day through the Saturday between Sept. 23-29; for 2026, the quota season is May 22 to Sept. 26. Permits are issued based on daily trailhead quotas and can be submitted up to one week in advance—although availability for popular trailheads fills up quickly.

The application form requires that you indicate a specific group size with a maximum of 15 people, with lower group size limits in some areas. A “0” on the application form indicates that reservations for that date have not yet opened.

A “W” indicates that all available spots have been reserved and a portion of that trailhead’s quota will become available for backpackers seeking a walk-in/first-come permit (without a reservation) in person at the appropriate park office (depending on where you want to backpack) starting at 1 p.m. no more than a day in advance.

There’s a non-refundable fee of $15 plus $5 per person (refundable if canceled) for each confirmed permit. See nps.gov/seki/planyourvisit/wilderness_permits.htm.

See “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” and all stories about Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks at The Big Outside.

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A backpacker hiking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra, California.
Jason Kauffman backpacking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness.

Inyo National Forest Wilderness Permits

Popular for its vast wilderness areas sprawling over the High Sierra between Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon as well as for John Muir Trail section hikes, the Inyo National Forest accepts reservations for 60 percent of trailhead quotas at recreation.gov/permits/233262 starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time six months before your start date—for example, on Feb. 1 for a trip starting Aug. 1—for trips within the quota season of May 1 through Nov. 1.

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

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness.

To finish by descending Mount Whitney to Whitney Portal, you must select permit type “Overnight Exiting Mt. Whitney.” Nearly identical to the Sequoia-Kings Canyon form (except for listing different trailheads, of course), the Inyo application allows a maximum of 15 people—although if you’re extending the trip beyond the Inyo, note that Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon impose limits of eight to 12 people on a permit in some areas. See this list of Inyo National Forest trailheads and quota limits in effect from May 1 to Nov. 1.

Forty percent of Inyo trailhead quotas open for reservations at 7 a.m. Pacific Time two weeks prior to a trip’s start date. See recreation.gov/permits/233262 and fs.usda.gov/main/inyo/passes-permits/recreation, which specifies that the Inyo allows JMT, PCT, and other long-distance backpackers to exit the trail “for a reasonable period of time necessary for resupply,” which presumably would be at least one day. See also this list of trailhead entry points for accessing the JMT.

There’s a non-refundable $6 fee for each permit reservation plus a fee (refundable if canceled at least 12 days in advance) for each confirmed permit of $15 per person for trips entering the Whitney Zone and $5 per person for all other areas of the Inyo. 

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “In the Footsteps of John Muir: Finding Solitude in the High Sierra,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

Climbers below the East Face of Mount Whitney.
Climbers below the East Face of Mount Whitney.

Mount Whitney Wilderness Permits

Whether hiking Mount Whitney in a day or overnight, backpacking into this area of the southern Sierra, thru-hiking the JMT northbound or hiking a JMT or PCT section, for trips between May 1 and Nov. 1, all backpackers and dayhikers starting at Whitney Portal and entering the Mount Whitney Zone must enter the permit lottery at recreation.gov/permits/233260 anytime between Feb. 1 and March 1; the form can be viewed but not filled out until Feb. 1.

You choose either a Mount Whitney Zone Day Use permit, good for one date, or a Mount Whitney Zone Overnight permit, good for multiple dates but only the dates on your permit. Permit quotas are 100 people day use and 60 people overnight per day.

Lottery results are announced on March 15. The deadline to confirm a lottery reservation and pay the $15 per person fee is April 21 and reservations for remaining dates open on April 22 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time. Mount Whitney Trail permits are not valid for the North Fork of Lone Pine Creek approach to Mount Whitney climbing routes, like the Mountaineers Route.

See “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of Mount Whitney.”

Keep Your Group Small

The High Sierra national parks and forests all issue permits based on trailhead quotas on the total number of people starting trips every day and those quotas vary between trailheads. It stands to reason that smaller parties of one to four backpackers will have a better chance of landing a permit than larger groups, whether applying for a permit reservation or trying to get a walk-in permit.

Want to backpack in the High Sierra?
Click here for expert, detailed advice you won’t get elsewhere.

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

Try for a Last-Minute Permit

Did you not reserve a permit months in advance? It’s still possible to salvage your trip by grabbing a permit in some parts of the High Sierra on much shorter notice.

Yosemite issues 40 percent of wilderness permits at recreation.gov starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time up to seven days in advance of a trip start date; see nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm (where the park warns: “Do not arrive at Yosemite expecting to get a walk-up wilderness permit… few, if any, unused permits will be available.”). Forty percent of Inyo trailhead quotas do not open for reservations until 7 a.m. Pacific Time two weeks prior to a trip’s start date. Those late-release permits in Yosemite and Inyo enable last-minute planners to still get a reservation without having to travel to their destination and risk not getting any permit. Sequoia-Kings Canyon issues some wilderness permits to walk-ins.

You may not get your preferred starting trailhead but you will likely be able to take some trip. Take the chance and you may find that second or third choice turn out to be an amazing spot that many backpackers happen to ignore.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” for my favorite campsites in Yosemite and Sequoia, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon, and below the East Face of Mount Whitney.

Want my expert help custom planning your trip to ensure it’s as good as it can be? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you.

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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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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?
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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.”


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


A backpacker on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Kris Wagner backpacking the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

Four More Days in the Grand Canyon

Deer Creek Falls on the Grand Canyon's Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.
Deer Creek Falls on the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.

If the Grand Canyon looms large in this story—and in others at The Big Outside, like “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest”—that’s because it looms even larger in my perspective and that of probably every backpacker who ventures into it. In fact, besides hiking rim to rim to rim (described above), I can think of at least a few more days of backpacking in the Big Ditch that rank among my most scenic ever.

Those would include the second day on the very rugged and infrequently hiked, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, which featured just about everything that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, a sandy beach beside the Colorado River, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens, a high solitude quotient—even some spicy scrambling and a fun rappel off a cliff—not to mention one of the best campsites in the entire canyon, below Royal Arch (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites).

It would also include the day that two friends and I traversed most of the Escalante Route, one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, on a 74-mile hike from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Lipan Point. And I’d have to include day three on yet another rugged and remote GC hike, the 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, which features some of the canyon’s loveliest waterfalls, narrows, and desert oases.

Oh, and then there’s almost any day on the Gems Route, the most remote section of the Tonto Trail, from the South Bass Trailhead to the Boucher Trail.

See my stories “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop,” “Let’s Talk Water: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” and “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

Click here now to get 20% off my e-books
to the best first backpacking trips in Yosemite and the Grand Canyon.

 

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

Backpacking the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canadian Rockies

My family’s second day on the 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park was long and hard—12 miles over two 7,000-foot passes—but we had the most effective painkiller: views that even impressed our 14- and 12-year-old kids. One of Canada’s most popular and stunningly scenic hikes—and really deserving a spot on the list of the world’s finest treks—it follows the base of an almost unbroken limestone cliff up to 3,000 feet (900m) tall. We started that day below 1,154-foot (352m) Helmet Falls, one of the tallest in the Canadian Rockies, and hiked to Numa Creek, crossing meadows carpeted in wildflowers below hanging glaciers, and sighting four mountain goats at Tumbling Pass.

See my story about backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park.

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

 

A hiker near the summit of Galdhøpiggen (2469m), the highest peak in Norway.
My wife, Penny, near the summit of Galdhøpiggen (2469m), the highest peak in Norway.

Climbing Norway’s Highest Peak

Under a brilliantly blue morning sky in the highest mountains in northern Europe, my wife, Penny, our friend, Jeff Wilhelm, and I started a 5,000-foot climb of the highest peak in Norway, 8,100-foot Galdhøpiggen. It was the final day of a 60-mile trek in Jotunheimen National Park—another trip which every day could legitimately be the one chosen for this story—and we could have lounged in our last hut, but were glad we didn’t.

Ascending a treeless mountainside, we gained increasingly longer views of a rugged, Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers, where cliffs and peaks look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. At the chilly, windblown summit, we stood above a sea of snowy mountains and glaciers. And, of course, it being Europe, there was a hut at the summit where we could buy hot cocoas.

See my story “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park” and all stories about international trips at The Big Outside.

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Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-to-backpack-first-time-in-yosemite/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/ask-me-where-to-backpack-first-time-in-yosemite/#comments Thu, 15 Jan 2026 10:00:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=10632 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Ready for your first backpacking trip in one of America’s greatest national parks for backpackers? Having backpacked several times all over Yosemite, my advice for a first-time backpacker who wants to hit highlights like Yosemite Valley, the Mist Trail, and Half Dome is nearly identical to the itinerary I followed on my first trip more than three decades ago—but modified because now I know better.

This magnificent, beginner-friendly, four- to five-day, 37-mile loop from Yosemite Valley through the core of the park includes following the Mist Trail past 317-foot Vernal Fall and 594-foot Nevada Fall, ascending the cable route up Half Dome, reaching the equally spectacular (but much less busy) summit of Clouds Rest, walking a very pretty section of the world-famous John Muir Trail, and overlooking the jagged Cathedral Range from a campsite on the edge of alpine meadows at Sunrise.


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


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

Happy Isles in Yosemite Valley is probably the most popular trailhead in the park—it also happens to be the northern terminus of the John Muir Trail—and the park issues backcountry permits based on a daily quota of people starting from each trailhead, so it’s hard to get a permit to start at Happy Isles. But if you get it, hike up the Mist Trail to Little Yosemite Valley (also hugely popular) to camp your first night.

Get an early start that first day so you can get ahead of the Mist Trail crowds and hike Half Dome (lead photo at top of story is from the top of Half Dome) without your gear that first afternoon; by then, most hikers are coming down, you’ll share the summit with fewer people (but make sure no afternoon thunderstorms are threatening). Or even better, hike Half Dome really early on day two, ahead of just about everyone—I’ve done that, it’s when you’ll share Half Dome with the fewest people.

Click here now for my detailed, expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite National Park.
A view from the John Muir Trail of Half Dome, Liberty Cap, and Nevada Fall in Yosemite. Click photo to get my expert custom trip planning for your Yosemite backpacking adventure or any trip you read about at this blog.

Day two, head north on the John Muir Trail to camp at Sunrise. Day three, from Sunrise, hike over Clouds Rest, one of the best summits in the park, and descend to camp again in Little Yosemite Valley.

Last day, hike down the John Muir Trail back to Happy Isles, passing a classic view of Nevada Fall, Liberty Cap, and the backside of Half Dome.

My popular, expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite” describes that route it in far greater detail, including suggested daily itineraries for hiking it in four or five days, plus alternate itineraries for backpacking trips in that spectacular core of Yosemite, between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows. It shares my insights on getting a coveted permit in Yosemite and my experience of multiple trips in this area of the park going back more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Yosemite.
Want my help with yours? Click here now.

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

How to Get a Yosemite Wilderness Permit

In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas, with special rules for backpacking the John Muir Trail. Sixty percent of permit reservations are available by lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning at 12:01 a.m. Pacific Time on the Sunday up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the next Saturday. You will be notified of whether you get a permit reservation within two business days after the lottery closes.

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

Check out “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite.”

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

Hiking the John Muir Trail below Cathedral Peak, Yosemite.
Hiking the John Muir Trail below Cathedral Peak, Yosemite.

Permits are valid for continuous wilderness travel from the park into adjacent wilderness areas; similarly, wilderness permits issued by other agencies for beginning a trip in another national park or forest in the High Sierra—including Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and the Inyo National Forest—is valid for continuous wilderness travel into Yosemite National Park.

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

If you can’t get a permit to start at Happy Isles, you can do almost the same route starting at Glacier Point, following the Panorama Trail to Nevada Fall.

See all of my stories about backpacking in Yosemite, including  “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” about gorgeous multi-day hikes in the park’s most remote areas—trips to consider when you’re ready for a bigger adventure in Yosemite. (Most stories about trips at The Big Outside require a paid subscription to read in full.)

My e-books to those two hikes south of Tuolumne and north of Tuolumne tell you everything you need to know to plan and successfully pull off either trip.

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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.

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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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Backpacking the John Muir and Ansel Adams Wildernesses https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-john-muir-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-john-muir-wilderness/#respond Mon, 12 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7874 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks loom large on the radar screens of most backpackers. But savvy Sierra aficionados know that the two major wilderness areas that sprawl over nearly 900,000 acres along more than 100 miles of the High Sierra between those parks, the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, harbor just as rich a cache of soaring, jagged peaks and shimmering alpine lakes—not to mention sections of the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail that enable almost endless possibilities for multi-day hikes, short and long. And while competition is stiff for permits to backpack in the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, those permits are not nearly as hard to draw as permits for the most popular trips in Yosemite or Sequoia-Kings Canyon or to thru-hike the John Muir Trail.

Having backpacked many hundreds of miles throughout the High Sierra on numerous trips over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I have seen much of the abundant gorgeous backcountry in those mountains—and concluded that, while Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon certainly do belong on every backpacker’s tick list, you should add the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses as well.


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


Backpackers hiking the John Muir Trail to Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
David Ports and Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail to Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

On my most-recent hike of nine days and almost 130 miles through the Adams, Muir, and a corner of Kings Canyon National Park in August 2022 (the lead photo at the top of this story was taken on that trip), two companions and I walked some premier sections of the John Muir Trail, explored high, off-trail terrain, and hiked through and camped by alpine lakes below skyscraping granite peaks and spires.

That trip illustrated how the extensive trail network throughout the High Sierra’s national parks and forests enable myriad options for multi-day hikes of virtually any distance—and the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses protect those lands in as pristine a condition as you will find in any of the national parks. If you don’t have the time or desire for, say, a full John Muir Trail thru-hike, countless options for JMT section hikes and other trips exist throughout these wilderness areas.

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A backpacker hiking the Italy Pass Trail through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra, California.
Jason Kauffman backpacking the Italy Pass Trail through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness of the High Sierra.

The photos in this story are from various trips in the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses. Below the photo gallery, you’ll find links to many stories about High Sierra backpacking trips.

Please share your questions or comments about your own experiences in the High Sierra in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your next High Sierra backpacking adventure or any trip you read about at this blog.

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See all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside, including “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “In the Footsteps of John Muir: Finding Solitude in the High Sierra,” plus “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.” Those stories about trips contain numerous photos and information on planning them. While roughly the first half of many stories about trips are free for anyone to read, reading them in full is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

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Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know https://thebigoutsideblog.com/thru-hiking-the-john-muir-trail-what-you-need-to-know/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/thru-hiking-the-john-muir-trail-what-you-need-to-know/#comments Sun, 11 Jan 2026 10:05:50 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=43333 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

For many serious backpackers, a thru-hike of the John Muir Trail looms as a sort of holy grail. But every JMT aspirant inevitably faces the question: How do you plan a 221-mile hike of “America’s Most Beautiful Trail?” Besides preparing physically for it, a JMT thru-hike poses myriad logistical and organizational challenges, from obtaining one of the country’s most sought-after wilderness permits to choosing an ideal time of year, the itinerary and number of days to take, gear, food resupplies, transportation, acclimating to elevations commonly between 9,000 and over 13,000 feet, and other details.

And, of course, you also want to know: Where are the best campsites along the JMT? What’s the best itinerary for backpacking the John Muir Trail?

This article offers expert tips regarding critical planning details and challenges when thru-hiking the John Muir Trail—unquestionably one of America’s 10 best backpacking trips. It draws on my JMT thru-hike and numerous trips in the High Sierra, as well as thousands of miles of backpacking all over the country over the past three decades, my 10 years as a field editor at Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


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

Two friends and I completed our JMT thru-hike in an admittedly insane seven days, hiking ultralight and averaging 31 miles per day. (The JMT spans 211 miles, but its southern end is atop Mount Whitney, where you still must hike over 10 miles downhill to finish the trip.) While the pre-trip prep proved time-consuming, it came together smoothly and we had a very successful—and quite memorable—trip.

Want to save a lot of time and ensure your JMT hike goes as well as possible? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a JMT hike. At the bottom of that page you’ll find many comments from people who’ve received my custom trip planning, including a reader named Lauren who wrote: “Michael helped me plan my solo JMT thru-hike, and the process was beyond what I expected. He provided personal tips and perspectives from his own experiences as well as insight into what he’s seen others try and buy. He has amassed a wealth of detailed information about gear, training, trails, permits, regulations, transit, and all the details I knew would be a nightmare to suss out alone… It’s really like having a wilderness coach. Excited to plan another trip with him soon!”

Please share your questions or JMT tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a JMT thru-hike.

Getting a Permit for Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail

Obtaining a permit to backpack the entire trail represents one of the JMT’s greatest challenges—it’s one of the most sought-after backcountry permits in the country. JMT permits are in high demand for dates in July, August, and September. Check out the statistics on numbers of rolling lottery applications to start the JMT in Yosemite and their success rates at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wpstats. (Spoiler alert: Nearly 70 percent of applications are unsuccessful during those peak months.)

The JMT crosses three national parks—Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia—and two national forests, the Inyo and Sierra, as well as a pair of wilderness areas within those national forests, the Ansel Adams and John Muir. You must obtain a permit from the agency where you begin a JMT hike and that permit covers your entire trip.

Most thru-hikers try to begin in either Yosemite, the JMT’s northern terminus, or at Whitney Portal, which accesses the trail’s southern terminus, Mount Whitney.

Don’t have time for the entire JMT?
See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

A backpacker hiking above Helen Lake on the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo hiking above Helen Lake on the John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to read about this 130-mile JMT section hike.

To hike the JMT southbound (the direction I recommend; more on that below), apply for a permit from Yosemite National Park at recreation.gov up to 24 weeks in advance of the date you want to start hiking, entering a weekly rolling lottery for a permit to start within a specific window of dates.

There are just two trailheads in Yosemite where you are permitted to launch a JMT thru-hike: the JMT’s northern terminus, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, which appears on the Yosemite permit application as Happy Isles to Past LYV (Donohue Pass eligible); and Lyell Canyon (Donohue Pass eligible)—the latter offering perhaps better odds of securing a permit, although starting at Lyell Canyon means you miss the JMT’s section from Yosemite Valley to Tuolumne Meadows. (Note: LYV represents Little Yosemite Valley, the park’s most popular backcountry camp, where JMT thru-hikers are not permitted to spend a night). See nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/jmt.htm.

Backpackers starting at Whitney Portal to hike northbound reserve a permit through a lottery system conducted between Feb. 1 and March 1 at recreation.gov.

See “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit.”

Given the long odds of getting a full JMT permit during the peak season, consider the alternative of planning a trip on a long section of the trail—for which a permit can be much easier to obtain. I can help you figure out that itinerary and permit plan; click here.

I’ve helped hundreds of readers plan a JMT hike and other trips you read about at my blog.
Want my help with yours? Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness.

The Prime Season for Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail

A John Muir Trail thru-hike can often be done from early summer through September. But the best time for an ultralight thru-hike is mid-or late August to late September, when the mosquitoes have abated significantly and rain is rare—allowing you to use a tarp instead of a tent—the high passes are snow-free, and mornings are cool. Keep in mind there’s a chance of an early-season snowstorm—or increasingly in recent years, wildfires—interrupting your plans, especially in late summer.

How Many Days on the JMT?

Traditionally, backpackers have taken three weeks to thru-hike the entire JMT, a pace of about 10 miles a day. Today, with lighter gear, good training, and smart planning, many cut the time to two weeks or less. For instance, following a 15-day itinerary for backpacking the entire John Muir Trail requires averaging 14.7 miles per day—which is entirely feasible for fit backpackers.

Begin each day early—a smart plan to take advantage of the coolest hours of the day, anyway—and average 2.5 mph while walking, and you can hike 15 miles in six hours. Assuming two hours of rest time over the course of the day, that’s eight hours on the trail each day—an 8-to-4 workday. Even at 2 mph with two hours of down time, you can cover 12 miles in eight hours. Arrive with your legs in good shape and you’ll grow accustomed to that pace quickly. Experiment with backpacking longer days and traveling light on shorter trips before your JMT thru-hike.

Hiking southbound, you begin on the northern sections of the JMT, which are at moderate elevations and offer more possible resupply points to let you hike with less food weight than the trail’s southern half. By the time you reach Muir Trail Ranch, a common resupply point roughly near the JMT’s halfway point, you’ll have developed your trail legs for longer days, allowing you to carry less food weight for the southern half of the JMT.

Except for the high passes, the JMT is not, step for step, as difficult as hiking in other parts of the country. Give serious thought to food supply and daily mileage, because leaving Muir Trail Ranch with 10 or 11 days of food will add about 20 pounds to your pack as you head for the JMT’s highest passes.

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The eastern Sallie Keyes Lake along the John Muir Trail in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
The eastern Sallie Keyes Lake along the John Muir Trail in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Minimizing Pack Weight

Successful long-distance hikers live by a cardinal rule: Keep your base pack weight (including only gear and clothing weight, which remains constant, not food and water) low enough that you can hike at a strong pace and rack up decent miles every day. A base pack weight of 15 pounds or less is easy to accomplish without compromising comfort or safety; many thru-hikers get it significantly lower than that.

During the summer, given the generally dry weather in the High Sierra and nighttime lows that don’t often drop below 40° F, you can use lightweight to ultralight gear, including your pack, tent, bag, and footwear. No specialized gear is needed on this trip, other than a bear canister; see the type of bear canister that I like in this review.

See my article “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking” for tips on lowering your pack weight. (Reading it in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. If you don’t have a subscription, you can purchase that one article by clicking here.)

And see all reviews of ultralight backpacking gear at The Big Outside.

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

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

The Resupply Plan

Given the JMT’s remoteness, another of its major challenges is how few convenient opportunities to resupply food lie along it. They are, in order when hiking southbound:

  • Tuolumne Meadows in Yosemite is a bit more than 21 miles on the JMT from Happy Isles Trailhead, the northern terminus. The Tuolumne Meadows store has a decent selection of groceries. You can ship a resupply package to yourself General Delivery at the Tuolumne Meadows Post Office, Yosemite National Park 95389; include your planned arrival date in the address. Grab a meal at the Tuolumne Meadows Grill.
  • At Red’s Meadow (redsmeadow.com), a short hike off the JMT, resupply for the next 50 trail miles either by having someone meet you there, or for a fee, mailing or delivering a package in advance. Eat a big meal at the Mule House Café.
  • Although it’s a few miles farther off the JMT than Muir Trail Ranch, Vermillion Valley Resort (vvr.place) provides lodging, free tent camping, showers, laundry, and an opportunity to resupply a bit north of MTR.
  • Resupply a final time at Muir Trail Ranch (muirtrailranch.com/backpacker-resupply), about a mile off the JMT near the trail’s midpoint. Ship non-perishable food weeks in advance; a fee is charged.

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

A hiker at Trail Crest, at 13,650 feet, along the John Muir Trail on Mount Whitney.
Mark Fenton at Trail Crest, at 13,650 feet, along the John Muir Trail on Mount Whitney. Click photo to read about the ultimate, 10-day, ultralight JMT plan.

Acclimating to High Elevations

The John Muir Trail ranges in elevation from 4,035 feet at its northern terminus, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, to the 14,505-foot summit of Mount Whitney, its southern terminus. But much of the trail lies above 9,000 feet and it crosses six passes and a seventh named high point between 11,000 feet and over 13,000 feet (in order north to south): Donohue (11,056 feet), Muir (11,955 feet), Mather (12,100 feet), Pinchot (12,130 feet), Glen (11,978 feet), Forester (13,180 feet, highest pass on the JMT), and Trail Crest on Mount Whitney (13,650 feet). Two other passes approach 11,000 feet: Silver Pass (10,895 feet) and Selden Pass (10,800 feet).

The trail’s elevation profile represents yet another of its physical challenges and provides one of the best arguments for hiking it north to south: The highest elevations are in its southern half. When beginning at 4,000 feet in Yosemite Valley, you have time to gradually acclimate before reaching the first pass over 11,000 feet, crossing from Yosemite into the Ansel Adams Wilderness at Donohue Pass.

Alternatively, beginning at Whitney Portal, at about 8,370 feet, you’re already sucking air, starting with a heavy pack due to zero convenient resupply opportunities in the trail’s southern hundred miles, and will attempt to reach the JMT’s high point, Mount Whitney’s summit at 14,505 feet, on your second day. That’s a tough start.

Got any questions or suggestions regarding the JMT? Please share them below.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: The Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan,” “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” , which has more images, and “The Best Backpacking Gear for the John Muir Trail,” plus my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a JMT hike.

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How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit in 2026 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-john-muir-trail-wilderness-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-john-muir-trail-wilderness-permit/#respond Sat, 10 Jan 2026 10:02:03 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=56589 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Sometimes it can seem like everyone who’s ever carried a backpack through mountains somewhere wants to thru-hike the John Muir Trail—especially when it comes time to reserve a JMT wilderness permit. And why not? “America’s Most Beautiful Trail” earns its nickname and ranks indisputably among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.” Consequently, few permits are harder to get; most people who enter one of the JMT rolling permit lotteries get rejected. This story explains the various ways to reserve a John Muir Trail wilderness permit—which you must do months ahead of your trip dates.

The tips below draw from my personal experience thru-hiking the JMT in an admittedly insane seven days as well as numerous trips on JMT sections (most recently in August 2022), in Yosemite, and throughout the High Sierra over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


A backpacker hiking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

See “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know” and all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail and backpacking in Yosemite and the High Sierra at The Big Outside. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on planning each hike.

See also “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and my expert e-books to multi-day hikes in Yosemite and other parks, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I’ve helped many readers plan their own JMT thru-hike or section hike and backpacking trips throughout the High Sierra and elsewhere, answering all of their questions (and many they didn’t think to ask) and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you and read hundreds of comments from others who’ve received my custom trip planning.

Please share any thoughts or questions about the JMT in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Don’t Have Time for the entire JMT or didn’t get a permit?
See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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.

John Muir Trail Wilderness Permits

The 211-mile-long John Muir Trail crosses Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and a pair of wilderness areas, the Ansel Adams and John Muir. You must obtain a permit from the agency where you begin a JMT hike and that permit covers your entire trip.

A high percentage of JMT permit lottery entrants don’t get a permit simply because the number of people seeking one every year far exceeds available permits. Check out the statistics on numbers of permits awarded in Yosemite (including for JMT starts) and their success rates at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wpstats.

Spoiler alert: About 70 percent of applicants seeking a starting date during the peak period of mid-July through mid-August fail to get a permit reservation. But the success rate rises steadily to over 50 percent by mid-September—an excellent time to backpack in the High Sierra.

JMT thru-hikers generally begin in either Yosemite, the trail’s northern terminus, or at Whitney Portal, the starting point to reach the trail’s southern terminus on the summit of Mount Whitney. Backcountry campsites are not designated or assigned along most of the JMT; with few exceptions (largely in Yosemite), you may camp where you like but use sites that have clearly been used previously.

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to consider at least two starting trailheads and itineraries—which requires knowing generally how far you want to walk each day—and a wide range of starting dates.

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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.

Starting the JMT in Yosemite

To hike the JMT southbound (the direction I recommend), reserve a permit from Yosemite National Park at recreation.gov/permits/445859 up to 24 weeks in advance of the date you want to start hiking, entering a rolling lottery for a permit within a specific window of dates. You will be notified of whether you get a permit reservation within two business days after the lottery closes and will have three days to accept the permit or lose the reservation.

For example, to start a trip between Aug. 9-15, 2026, enter the lottery between Feb. 15 and Feb. 21. You will be notified of the result on Feb. 23 and must accept it (if successful) by Feb. 26 or forfeit it, and remaining reservations become available at 9 a.m. Pacific Time on Feb. 27 at recreation.gov/permits/445859 on a first-come, first-served basis. The weekly lottery ends in early May.

Yosemite issues all wilderness permits based on trailheads quotas and imposes a daily quota of 45 backpackers exiting the park via Donohue Pass on the JMT.


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A hiker on Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton standing on Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

One advantage of Yosemite’s rolling lottery is that, if you strike out in one lottery period, you will have plenty of time to apply again for the very next week.

The JMT’s northern terminus, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, is the starting point most often requested in the Yosemite lottery. There are just two trailheads in Yosemite where you are permitted to launch a JMT thru-hike or section hike—and specifically, to cross Donohue Pass, exiting Yosemite on the JMT—and those appear on the Yosemite permit application as Happy Isles to Past LYV (Donohue Pass eligible) and Lyell Canyon (Donohue Pass eligible)—the latter offering perhaps better odds of securing a permit. (Note: LYV represents Little Yosemite Valley, the park’s most popular backcountry camp, where JMT thru-hikers are not permitted to spend a night.)

See nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/jmt.htm, which explains how to get a JMT permit for starting in Yosemite and how popular the JMT has become.

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Backpackers camped by Thousand Island Lake along the John Muir Trail in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Backpackers camped by Thousand Island Lake along the John Muir Trail in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Starting the JMT at Whitney Portal

To thru-hike the JMT northbound—or backpack a JMT section—starting at Whitney Portal between May 1 and Nov. 1, you must enter the Mount Whitney Zone permit lottery at recreation.gov/permits/233260 anytime between Feb. 1 and March 1; the form can be viewed but not filled out until Feb. 1.

Choose Mount Whitney Zone Overnight permit to create a permit good for multiple dates. Permit quotas are 100 people day use and 60 people overnight per day.

Lottery results are announced on March 15. The deadline to confirm a lottery reservation and pay the $15 per person fee is 9 p.m. Pacific time on April 21. On April 22, all unclaimed lottery permits are available for reservations at recreation.gov/permits/233260 starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time.

Want to hike the John Muir Trail or another High Sierra trip?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

 

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.

Backpack a Section of the JMT

If you fail to get a permit for a JMT thru-hike, consider a long John Muir Trail section hike—a satisfying consolation prize and a permit that’s much easier to get, especially starting from a trailhead in the Inyo National Forest.

The Inyo sprawls over the High Sierra between Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, including a long stretch of the JMT through the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses. A permit from the Inyo allows you to continue on the JMT into Yosemite or Sequoia-Kings Canyon.

The Inyo National Forest accepts reservations for 60 percent of trailhead quotas at recreation.gov/permits/233262 starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time exactly six months before your start date—for example, on Feb. 1 for a trip starting Aug. 1. To finish by descending Mount Whitney to Whitney Portal, you must select permit type “Overnight Exiting Mt. Whitney.”

Forty percent of Inyo trailhead quotas open for reservations at recreation.gov/permits/233262 beginning at 7 a.m. Pacific Time two weeks prior to a trip’s start date.

See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and more information at fs.usda.gov/main/inyo/passes-permits/recreation.

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

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail to Glen Pass, Kings Canyon N.P.
Mark Fenton backpacking the JMT to Glen Pass, Kings Canyon N.P.

Keep Your Group Small

The High Sierra national parks and forests all issue permits based on trailhead quotas on the total number of people starting trips every day and those quotas vary between trailheads. It stands to reason that smaller parties of one to four backpackers will have a better chance of landing a permit than larger groups.

See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips” and all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Want my expert help custom planning your trip to ensure it’s as good as it can be? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you.

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Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: The Ultimate, 10-day, Ultralight Plan https://thebigoutsideblog.com/planning-to-thru-hike-the-john-muir-trail-do-it-right-on-this-10-day-ultralight-plan/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/planning-to-thru-hike-the-john-muir-trail-do-it-right-on-this-10-day-ultralight-plan/#comments Fri, 09 Jan 2026 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7454 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Are you planning to thru-hike the John Muir Trail? “America’s Most Beautiful Trail” should be on every serious backpacker’s tick list. After hiking it in a blazing (and slightly crazy) seven days, I became convinced that—while that was quite hard—the traditional itinerary of spreading the roughly 221 miles (including more than 10 miles descending Mount Whitney that’s not part of the JMT) over about three weeks has a serious flaw: With limited food-resupply options, you’ll carry a monster pack that may not only make you sore and uncomfortable, it could cause injuries that cut short your trip.

As I write in my blog story “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” thousands of miles of backpacking over more than three decades—including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—have taught me that the single best step I can take to make all trips more enjoyable is simple: lightening my pack weight.


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 at Evolution Lake in the Evolution Basin, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.
David Ports and Marco Garofalo hiking the John Muir Trail past Evolution Lake in the Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon N.P.

In this article, I lay out a smart, complete, and proven ultralight strategy for thru-hiking the JMT in 10 to 11 days—and why you’d want to do it—plus, for anyone not able to average over 20 miles a day, a suggested two-week JMT thru-hike. While much of this story is free for anyone to read, reading the entire story, including specific tips that are based on my experience, is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

The John Muir Trail—definitely one of America’s 10 best backpacking trips—is ideal for going ultralight because of its generally dry summers, well-constructed footpath, and moderate grades. Backpackers who arrive with their legs in trail shape can knock off 20 to 22 miles a day—spending about 10 hours a day on the trail (including breaks) and averaging 2.5 mph, a reasonable pace for someone who’s fit and carrying a light pack.

Want to hike the John Muir Trail?
Click here for my expert, detailed advice personally customized for you.

The eastern Sallie Keyes Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
The eastern Sallie Keyes Lake on the John Muir Trail in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “The Best Backpacking Gear for the John Muir Trail,” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” 

See also my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your JMT thru-hike or section hike or any trip you read about at The Big Outside, plus my expert e-books to backpacking trips in Yosemite and other parks.

Please share your thoughts on my tips below, or your own tricks, in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

 

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P., High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P. Click photo to read about my most recent, long JMT section hike.

Permit Get a permit for the entire JMT from the park or forest where you plan to start, either Yosemite National Park or Whitney Portal on the Mount Whitney Trail in the Inyo National Forest. JMT permits are in very high demand for dates in July, August, and September.

To hike the JMT southbound, apply for a permit from Yosemite National Park at recreation.gov/permits/445859 up to 24 weeks in advance of the date you want to start hiking, entering a lottery for a permit within a specific window of dates.

Permits for hiking northbound, starting at Whitney Portal on the Mount Whitney Trail, are reserved through a lottery system at recreation.gov/permits/445860, conducted in February.

See “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit.”

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

A hiker at Trail Crest on the John Muir Trail on Mount Whitney in Sequoia National Park.
Mark Fenton at Trail Crest on the John Muir Trail on Mount Whitney in Sequoia National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a JMT thru-hike.

Get the right backpack and tent for a hike like the JMT.
See the best ultralight backpacks and ultralight backpacking tents.

 

A backpacker on the John Muir Trail hiking toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness.
Mark Fenton backpacking the John Muir Trail hiking toward Silver Pass in the John Muir Wilderness. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Not Down With 20-mile Days?

It’s not for everyone, of course. Many hikers allot three weeks, a pace of about 10 miles a day. Maybe the smartest strategy for you would be something in between—say, 16 days averaging about 14 miles per day. (I can help you plan that itinerary, including suggested camps. Click here to learn more.) Experiment with backpacking longer days and traveling light on shorter trips before your JMT thru-hike.

Still, traditional backpackers can draw benefits from adopting strategies employed by fastpackers—including hiking southbound on the JMT. Besides giving you time to acclimate to the higher elevations of the southern Sierra, it gives you two resupply opportunities in the northern half (Tuolumne Meadows and Red’s Meadow) to keep your pack lighter while building up your trail legs. And it gives you half the trip—prior to reaching the last resupply opp, Muir Trail Ranch—to gauge your food needs and daily mileage capabilities.

By that time, you may find you’re walking farther every day than you anticipated and possibly eating (slightly) less than planned. Both realizations are common among people doing their first long trail. Backpackers are as likely to overestimate food as underestimate it.

Plus, except for the high passes, the JMT is not, step for step, as difficult as hiking in other parts of the country. Give serious thought to food supply and daily mileage, because leaving Muir Trail Ranch with 10 or 11 days worth of food will add about 20 pounds to your pack as you head for the JMT’s highest passes.

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A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

You might even plan to hike shorter days for the trail’s northern half, as you’re getting stronger as well as to linger in places, but by the time you reach Muir Trail Ranch, be ready for longer days in order to reduce your pack’s food weight for the southern half of the JMT.

And that, really, is the whole point. Carrying too much weight on your back only makes a trip more difficult—and can make it miserable. You spend too much time thinking about when you can take a break from carrying your pack instead of thinking about where you are. That’s not why you’re out there.

Discard any misguided notion that you’ll “miss too much” by hiking bigger days—you’re still walking, after all, and only incrementally faster than you would walk with a heavier pack. You’re just walking for more hours each day—and more comfortably.

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

Marie Lake along the John Muir Trail in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marie Lake along the John Muir Trail in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Let’s face it: The real reason you’d hike slower with a heavier pack is that it’s crushing weight is slowing you down—not because walking at that pace somehow gives you a higher-quality experience. It’s usually quite the opposite.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside and my Custom Trip Planning page for details on how I can help make your JMT hike exponentially better by giving you personally customized trip planning.

Find more advice about planning a JMT thru-hike in my story about our seven-day thru-hike, which has more photos and a video, plus tips on planning it, and this menu of stories offering expert backpacking tips 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 Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

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The Best Backpacking Trips in Zion National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trips-in-zion-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trips-in-zion-national-park/#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59760 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

If you invited all of the major Western national parks to a big family dinner, Zion would sit at the kids’ table. At a bit over 148,000 acres, Zion is dwarfed by the iconic wilderness parks that are the most sought-after by backpackers, like Yosemite (which is five times larger), Glacier (nearly seven times larger), and Grand Canyon (eight times larger), all of them with hundreds of miles of trails for backpackers to explore. But what Zion lacks in size it more than makes up for in breathtaking scenery—and for backpackers, some of the most unique, wonderful, and relatively easy multi-day hikes in the National Park System.

This story describes the best backpacking tips in Zion, based on my personal experience of doing all of these hikes on many visits there over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

A Zion backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov/permits/4675338 for trips in Zion’s wilderness, except for overnight trips through Zion’s Narrows, for which reservations are made at recreation.gov/permits/4675339. Both types of permits are reserved on this schedule: March 5 at 10 a.m. Mountain Time for trips between April 1 and June 30; June 5 at 10 a.m. for July 1 to Sept. 30; Sept. 5 at 10 a.m. for Oct. 1 to Dec. 31; and Dec. 5 at 10 a.m. for Jan. 1 to March 31.

Half of the backcountry campsites in Zion can be reserved—and usually get filled within minutes after becoming available each month—and half are available for walk-in permits, obtained in person no more than one day in advance. See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Late March through May and mid-September through October are the prime seasons for backpacking in Zion, and the cottonwood trees in Zion Canyon turn golden in October. June through early September are typically too hot and heavy rainstorms are common in July and August, while snow prevents access to higher trails on the rims in winter and snowmelt raises the river level too high to backpack The Narrows through much of the spring.

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

The park’s free shuttle buses operate regularly between the visitor center, just inside the south entrance, to the end of the Zion Canyon Scenic Drive—which is usually closed to private vehicles—for most of the year. Be aware of the shuttle schedule and when the last bus leaves the trailhead where you plan to finish a hike. Commercial shuttle services in Springdale provide rides to trailheads outside Zion Canyon.

The park has been warning hikers and backpackers against drinking water from any river or stream in Zion National Park due to a toxic cyanobacteria bloom. You will have to carry enough water for any hike or as needed between springs in the park, where you should filter the water. See more information at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/toxic-cyanobacteria-bloom-in-the-virgin-river-and-the-streams-of-zion-national-park.htm.

See my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips, including “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park,” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these hikes or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

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

Looking for dayhikes? See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.”

The Narrows

There are many great canyon hikes in the Southwest, but a tiny number compare with The Narrows—which certainly ranks among the very best backpacking trips in the Southwest and the 10 best backpacking trips in America. Generally hiked over two days top to bottom, the route descends 1,500 vertical feet over 16 miles from the upper trailhead at Chamberlain Ranch to the Temple of Sinawava Trailhead at the end of the road in Zion Canyon.

A backpacker in the Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking on day one in the upper Narrows in Zion National Park.

This spellbinding adventure begins with easy hiking amid forested plateau country that offers no hints of the spectacle awaiting ahead. But you quickly enter and follow the North Fork of the Virgin River downstream, often hiking directly in the mostly ankle- to calf-deep water.

The canyon walls steadily rise higher and draw closer as you walk with the river deeper into the earth, sometimes wading pools up to thigh- or waist-deep. With the permit system limiting the number of backpackers, and dayhikers not permitted to hike from the bottom of The Narrows upstream beyond Big Spring (five miles up), you’ll enjoy a surprising amount of solitude—especially on day one—in this canyon that grows ever more spectacular. Water and tiny oases of greenery erupt from solid sandstone walls, which eventually reach a thousand feet tall and squeeze down to about 20 feet across in places where you’ll see only a slender strip of sky high overhead.

Early summer and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking The Narrows, which is frequently unsafe because of high water levels in April and May and sometimes into June, and during July and August, when heavy rainstorms are common.

Hiking in the river will slow your pace more than expected for a flat hike. Use trekking poles. The water is cold in spring and fall and with little direct sunlight in The Narrows, the temperature is often 10 or more degrees Fahrenheit cooler than in Zion Canyon; plus, the wind frequently blows down canyon, making it feel colder. Bring multiple clothing layers—especially if hiking in early morning in spring or fall—and if you don’t own canyoneering boots (which drain water and have traction for slippery cobblestones underfoot), neoprene socks, and dry pants, rent them in Springdale.

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

It’s popular and tough to get a permit for, but that’s because the park regulates the number of overnight hikers to preserve a sense of a wilderness experience: A friend and I saw only two other backpackers early on our first day, and no one else until we were a couple hours downstream on our second day.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and execute this classic backpacking trip.

See my feature story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows,” with many more photos and a video, plus basic trip-planning information (though not nearly as much trip-planning detail as provided in my Narrows e-book). Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading that story in full is an exclusive benefit for paid subscribers to The Big Outside.

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Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

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

The West Rim Trail

The Narrows and Angels Landing are more famous, but some locals who know the park like their back yard (because it is) call the West Rim their favorite trail in Zion. A 16.6-mile hike with about 800 vertical feet uphill and 3,600 feet downhill from the upper trailhead at Lava Point, at 7,890 feet off Kolob Terrace Road, to the Grotto Trailhead in Zion Canyon (shuttle bus stop no. 6), the West Rim Trail begins with a traverse across a high plateau overlooking a mind-boggling labyrinth of canyons and mesas.

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

The trail’s nine backcountry campsites lie spread out along its higher elevations, all located above Cabin Spring (the lowest of three springs along the trail), where the trail begins a steep drop of 2,500 feet over 4.7 miles into Zion Canyon, zigzagging through a landscape of towering beehive rock formations and wildly colored cliffs and passing overlooks with some of the best views of Zion Canyon.

Hiking the West Rim Trail top to bottom, usually done as an overnight trip, although some hikers and runners do it in a day, offers the opportunity to tag the summit of Angels Landing—not merely one of the best hikes in Zion, but one the best hikes in Utah’s national parks and in the entire National Park System.

At Scout Lookout on the West Rim Trail, take the nearly half-mile spur trail that follows a knife-edge spine of rock to the summit of Angels Landing, where you’ll drink up a 360-degree panorama of Zion Canyon.

The lower West Rim Trail, mostly a paved sidewalk, descends steeply at times through the tight switchbacks of Walter’s Wiggles and the often shady and cool Refrigerator Canyon before reaching the floor of Zion Canyon.

See my feature stories about backpacking in the Kolob Canyons and the West Rim Trail with my family and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon and the East Rim Trailhead.

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A young girl hiking the La Verkin Creek Trail in Zion National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the La Verkin Creek Trail in Zion National Park.

La Verkin Creek Trail

At the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons area of Zion National Park, you get an immediate introduction to the enchanting scenery awaiting on the hike up the La Verkin Creek Trail, standing at an overlook of deep-red cliffs rising hundreds of feet tall, split by parallel canyons. (Tip: Drive a few minutes past the trailhead to the Kolob Canyons Viewpoint at the end of the road—you won’t regret it).

Plus, you’re starting out 2,000 feet higher in elevation than Zion Canyon, in an area of the park with cooler temperatures when it’s getting hot at the park’s lower elevations. Even more appealing, the Kolob Canyons draw far fewer people than the enormously popular trails in Zion Canyon and along the Zion-Mt. Carmel Highway.

La Verkin Creek in the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park.
La Verkin Creek in the Kolob Canyons of Zion National Park.

A relatively easy, out-and-back hike of about 14 miles (more or less, depending on where you camp), with about 1,000 vertical feet both uphill and downhill, this is an ideal overnight or two-night hike for families with young kids and beginner backpackers but also a beautiful hike for anyone—and an opportunity to explore these remote canyons.

The trail follows perennial La Verkin Creek through a canyon with scattered cottonwood trees and lots of greenery, contrasting dramatically with the red cliffs. At 6.4 miles from Lee Pass, the trail reaches a junction with the Kolob Arch Trail, a 1.2-mile hike to an overlook of the 287-foot span, considered the world’s sixth largest, but you see it only from a distance.

Like many Southwestern streams, La Verkin Creek’s level varies significantly throughout the year, often running high and brown with silt in spring, while mellowing to a much lower, quieter, and clearer stream by late summer and fall. It can be challenging to ford in spring and usually easy by fall, but fording isn’t necessary for a dayhike or overnight trip on the La Verkin Creek Trail—only if you want to continue south from La Verkin to Hop Valley and Kolob Terrace Road, and perhaps through Wildcat Canyon to the West Rim Trail.

There are 10 backcountry campsites between Lee Pass and the Kolob Arch Trail on the La Verkin Creek Trail and three more farther upstream, beyond the junction with the Hop Valley Trail at 6.7 miles from the trailhead. The Lee Pass Trailhead just over two miles from the Kolob Canyons entrance in the park’s northwest corner, off exit 40 on I-15.

See my feature stories about backpacking in the Kolob Canyons and on the West Rim Trail and a 50-mile dayhike across Zion from the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon and the East Rim Trailhead.

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

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

Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon

The Hop Valley in Zion National Park.
The Hop Valley in Zion National Park.

Want to take the best long backpacking trip in Zion? The 37-mile, north-to-south traverse from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to the Grotto trailhead in Zion Canyon links up the La Verkin Creek, Hop Valley, Wildcat Canyon, and West Rim trails on a generally downhill route through these highlights of Zion’s backcountry, including, of course, Angels Landing,

Typically done in four days, this trip’s scenery justifies its logistical complications, such as transportation (there are commercial shuttle services) and limited safe water sources. But the few springs along the route as well as the opportunities to cache water at the Hop Valley or Wildcat trailhead on Kolob Terrace Road, approximately halfway through the trip, and replenish again in Zion Canyon, enable completing this hike without carrying onerous water weight. Seasonal timing is also key and springs often flow stronger from March through May than in the fall.

Hike “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A hiker on the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion National Park, a short side hike off the Observation Point/East Rim Trail that's currently closed.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Hidden Canyon Trail in Zion, a short side hike off the Observation Point/East Rim Trail that’s currently closed.

Zion Traverse

An owl in Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park.
An owl in Hidden Canyon, Zion National Park.

An unforgettable multi-day hike with few peers in the Southwest or the entire country—and a classic, one-day challenge for ultra-fit dayhikers and trail runners—the roughly 50-mile, north-south traverse of Zion from the Lee Pass Trailhead to the East Entrance Trailhead crosses the entire park, extending the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon trek (above) onto the East Rim Trail.

Unfortunately, the Observation Point Trail has been closed since a major rockfall in 2019, with no indications of reopening. The usual access, the Observation Point/East Rim Trailhead and the Weeping Rock shuttle stop no. 7 in Zion Canyon, are closed, barring access from there to the upper section the East Rim Trail as well as two great hikes, Observation Point and Hidden Canyon—and shutting down, for now, a critical link from the West Rim Trail to the East Rim Trail that’s necessary to complete the full Zion traverse.

For dayhikers and backpackers who want to access the East Rim area and Observation Point, there is an alternative route from the East Mesa Trailhead, at about 6,500 feet outside the park. See “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park.”

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

 

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America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-favorite-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/my-top-10-favorite-backpacking-trips/#comments Tue, 06 Jan 2026 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=17698 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

What makes for a great backpacking trip? Certainly top-shelf scenery is mandatory. An element of adventurousness enhances a hike, in my eyes. While there’s definitely something inspirational about a big walk in the wild, some of the finest trips in the country can be done in a few days and half of the hikes on this list are under 50 miles. Another factor that truly matters is a wilderness experience: All 10 are in national parks or wilderness areas.

I’ve probably thought about this more than a mentally stable person should, having done many of America’s (and the world’s) most beautiful multi-day hikes over more than three decades (and counting) of carrying a backpack, including my 10 years as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. In the final analysis, though, the criterion that matters most is more simple and intuitive: that it’s undeniably a great trip. And that character shows itself over and over in my picks for the 10 best backpacking trips in the country.


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


A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Each hike here merits a 10 for scenery. The longest trips on this list can be chopped up into smaller portions. Each description below includes a difficulty rating on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the hardest in terms of strenuousness and challenge. I’ve listed them in a random order that’s not intended as a quality ranking; I think that’s impossible.

I regularly update this list as I take new trips that belong on it—but it has remained largely unchanged for a while (I think you’ll see why), except for adding new photos and links to new stories each time I revisit one of these trails or parks; as well as adding some new Close Runners-Up trip suggestions, which accompany each hike in my top 10.

My advice: Do every one of these top 10 and runner-up hikes that you can, when you can—many of the top 10 are harder to get a permit for than the runners-up, so the latter group provide good backup plans. You won’t be disappointed with any of them.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my complete e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The descriptions and photos below link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance.

See my affordable, expert e-books to several of the trips described below and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these classic adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside. You might also find helpful tips in my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tipsand “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

If you have a trip to suggest, please tell me about it in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I hope to get to them all. It’s a tough assignment, but I’m on it.

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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 River in Yosemite. Click photo to see all of my expert e-books to backpacking in Yosemite and other parks.

A Grand Tour of Yosemite

Distance: 152 miles, with multiple shorter variations
Difficulty: 4

A backpacker hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River in Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

John Muir saw more than a few world-class wildernesses, and he focused much of his time and energy on exploring and protecting Yosemite. A lot of people would legitimately argue it’s the best national park for backpackers. After several trips there, I had thought I’d seen Yosemite’s finest corners, including many trails in the park’s core, its section of the John Muir Trail, and the summits of Half Dome and Clouds Rest.

Then, in two trips totaling seven days spread over two years, I backpacked 152 miles through the biggest patches of wilderness in the park, south and north of Tuolumne Meadows (also shown in the lead photo at the top of this story)—and discovered Yosemite’s true soul, a vast reach of deep, granite-walled canyons, peaks rising to over 12,000 feet, and one gorgeous mountain lake after another dappling the landscape. And after those two trips, I returned again to backpack a 45-mile hike that I subsequently dubbed “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

See my stories “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about the 65-mile first leg of that 152-mile grand tour of Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” about the nearly 87-mile second leg, “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne Meadows
and the 87-mile hike through northern Yosemite (which include shorter options).

A mother and young daughter backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes in Sequoia National Park.

Want more of a less-committing, introductory backpacking trip in Yosemite? See my story “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite.” The trip I suggest in that story is described in much greater detail in my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.” That e-book offers planning tips and suggested daily itineraries for a primary route and alternate itineraries for backpacking trips in the spectacular core of Yosemite, between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows.

Close Runners-Up:

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” about a 40-mile family backpacking trip that featured campsites that made both my top 25 all-time favorites and my list of the nicest backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past, plus all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

Two Hikes in Glacier National Park

Distance of each: 90-94 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty of each: 3

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

With rivers of ice pouring off of craggy mountains and cliffs, deeply green forests, over 760 lakes offering mirror reflections of it all, megafauna like bighorn sheep, mountain goats, elk, moose, and grizzly and black bears, and over a million acres in Montana’s Northern Rockies, most of it wilderness, little wonder that Glacier is so popular with backpackers.

Two big hikes of over 90 miles—both of which have multiple possible shorter variations—deservedly grace this top 10 list. On both, my companions and I saw all of those sights and large beasts described above—yes, including grizzlies—and enjoyed a surprising degree of solitude even while hitting many of the park’s highlights.

One, a 90-miler through northern Glacier, split into 65- and 25-mile legs, was a variation of a hike known as the Northern Loop, following a route I customized to hit some of Glacier’s best scenery, including the entire Highline Trail, the Many Glacier area, Piegan Pass and Stoney Indian Pass, the Ptarmigan Wall and Tunnel, and some of the park’s finest lakes and most-remote wilderness.

On the second hike, three friends and I backpacked about 94 miles through Glacier, from Chief Mountain Trailhead at the Canadian border in the park’s northeast corner to Two Medicine, combining parts of the primary and alternate routes of the Continental Divide Trail, and adding the high, alpine trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass above Two Medicine. Yet again, we saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a griz, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening (because it was September)—not to mention vistas unlike anywhere else in America.

See my story about the two-stage, 90-mile hike “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” about the 94-mile hike, and “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” about my most recent, weeklong hike in Glacier on a variation of the CDT route.

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

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

And check out “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Close Runners-Up:

Think of the Canadian Rockies this way: They resemble Glacier but with more and bigger glaciers and covering a much vaster area. For much of its distance, the 34-mile Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park passes below a long chain of sheer cliffs and mountains that conjure images of numerous El Capitans lined up in a row, but with thick tongues of glacial ice pouring off them. And the 27-mile Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park remains above treeline for more than half its distance, with nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains in every direction.

Retaining a surprising degree of anonymity considering that they’re situated between Glacier and Yellowstone, the Beartooth Mountains rise to over 12,000 feet and are most uniquely characterized by high, rolling, alpine plateaus over 10,000 feet. Like Glacier, the Beartooths have deep, glacier-carved canyons with remnant patches of ancient ice, and are home to moose, mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, bald eagles, gray wolves, black bears, and grizzlies—plus hundreds of trout-filled alpine lakes. See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

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Join now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

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

Teton Crest Trail

Distance: 33-40 miles, multiple variations
Difficulty: 4

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

One of my first big, Western backpacking trips was on the Teton Crest Trail in Wyoming’s Grand Teton National Park, and it so inspired me that I’ve returned more than 20 times since to backpack, dayhike, rock climb, backcountry ski, and paddle a canoe in the Tetons. I can’t imagine that jagged skyline ever failing to give me chills.

Running north-south through the heart of the national park and adjacent national forest lands, the Teton Crest Trail stays above treeline for much of its distance, with expansive views of the peaks, but also drops into the beautiful South Fork and North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Paintbrush Canyon, and the upper forks of Granite Canyon, and crosses Paintbrush Divide at 10,720 feet.

Various trails access it, allowing for multiple route options, any of them making for one of America’s premier multi-day hikes.

See my stories  “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail,” plus all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped countless readers plan a perfect, personally customized itinerary on the Teton Crest Trail. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

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

Close Runners-Up:

A two- or three-day hike linking any of the east-side canyons in Grand Teton National Park, such as the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop (the most popular in the park). See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.” Or virtually any backpacking trip in the Wind River Range (see below).

A backpacker on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

The Wonderland Trail

Backpackers in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm and Todd Arndt in Moraine Park on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.

Distance: 93 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty: 4

No multi-day hike in the contiguous United States compares with the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier—because there’s no mountain in the Lower 48 like glacier-clad, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier.

Backpacking the Wonderland Trail, one repeatedly sees Rainier fill the horizon at a seemingly unbelievable scale, a sight always thrilling and inspiring. This trail features some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, countless waterfalls and cascades, crystalline creeks and raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and likely sightings of mountain goats, marmots, deer, and possibly black bears.

Accessed from several trailheads, it can be thru-hiked in its entirety—commonly done over nine to 10 days—or you can backpack shorter trips of varying lengths on sections of the Wonderland. The full loop is a strenuous trip, with over 44,000 cumulative vertical feet of elevation gain and loss, and choices you make like which direction to hike the loop, where to begin it, and whether to take a popular detour onto the higher and more-scenic Spray Park Trail, all affect the trip’s overall difficulty—which I spell out in detail in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

This much I will guarantee: The Wonderland Trail is the kind of adventure that stays with you long afterward.

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

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

Close Runner-Up:

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail” about a trip very similar in character to the Wonderland Trail—but much shorter and requiring no permit reservation—the 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

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

A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.

Zion’s Narrows

Distance: 16 miles
Difficulty: 2

The North Fork of the Virgin River carves out a uniquely deep, slender, and awe-inspiring redrock canyon in Utah’s Zion National Park, with walls up to 1,000 feet tall that close in to just 20 feet apart in places. Springs gush from cracks in the walls, nourishing lush hanging gardens. On clear nights, a black sky riddled with stars fills the narrow strip visible between the rock walls soaring overhead.

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

In the low-water levels when backpackers typically make the two-day descent of The Narrows, you’re walking most of the time in water from ankle-deep (most commonly) to, occasionally, waist-deep, over a cobblestone riverbed that makes for slow progress.

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

But you’ll feel no desire to rush through one of the most enchanting hikes in the National Park System (especially since the lower end is often crowded with dayhikers, while the trip’s first day and second morning are much quieter).

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

Close Runners-Up:

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch
Traversing Zion National Park
The Needles District and Maze District of Canyonlands National Park
Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Death Hollow Loop, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona

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

 

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, in the Evolution Basin along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

John Muir Trail

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Marie Lake in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Distance: 221 miles
Difficulty: 4

The John Muir Trail’s 211 miles from Yosemite Valley to the highest summit in the Lower 48, 14,505-foot Mount Whitney in Sequoia National Park, has often been described as “America’s Most Beautiful Trail”—and hyperbolic as it sounds, it’s hard to argue against that lofty claim.

The two- to three-week journey through California’s High Sierra (totaling 221 miles, including the 10-mile descent off Whitney, not actually part of the JMT) stays mostly above 9,000 feet as it traverses mile after jaw-dropping mile of a landscape of incisor peaks, too many waterfalls to name, and countless, pristine wilderness lakes nestled in granite basins.

You climb over numerous passes between 11,000 and over 13,000 feet, with views that stretch a hundred miles. Although not a place for solitude during the peak season (mid-July to mid-September), the JMT may be the one hike on this list that every serious backpacker probably aspires to accomplish.

The hardest part may be what comes long before you lace up your boots: getting a JMT permit, which necessarily requires figuring out your itinerary and how many days you will spend on the trail.

A backpacker hiking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra, California.
Jason Kauffman backpacking through Granite Park in the John Muir Wilderness.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” an “Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan” for a JMT thru-hike, and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?

Close Runners-Up:

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my story about a remote, partly off-trail, 32-mile traverse of the John Muir Wilderness, and all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Gbookrand Canyon. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

South Kaibab to Lipan Point, Grand Canyon

Distance: 74 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty: 5

Every backpacking trip I’ve taken in the Grand Canyon deserves a spot on this list—the place possesses all the qualities of a great adventure, in a landscape like nowhere else on the planet. But when a longtime backcountry ranger in the park told me this 74-mile hike was “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” of course I had to check it out.

After backpacking it, I decided: He’s right.

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to read about “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

For starters, the South Kaibab is one of the best trails in the entire National Park System. Beyond that, this route follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” in the canyon, the Escalante Route, which involves some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling. This hike also includes an outstanding section of the Tonto Trail, the beautiful and surprisingly rigorous Beamer Trail, and another lovely, rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

Plus, you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado River, and the kind of solitude that’s rare in many national parks.

See “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

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

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.
David Ports on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail.

I’ve helped many readers plan a perfect, personally customized backpacking itinerary in the Grand Canyon—a place where trip planning is complicated by seasonal temperature extremes and road access, scarce water sources, high competition for backcountry permits, and significant differences in character and difficulty between trails and routes.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your Big Ditch backpacking trip.

Close Runners-Up:

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

Hike all of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”
For a beginner-friendly trip, see “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

 

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

The Southern Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles
Difficulty: 2

The 17.5-mile hike from the Hoh River north to La Push Road, on the southern coast of Washington’s Olympic National Park, is still one of my kids’ most memorable backpacking trips—mostly for the hours they spent playing in tide pools on the beach (they were nine and seven at the time). But it’s also one that backpackers of all ages find gorgeous and fascinating.

A backpacker descending a rope ladder on the coast of Olympic National Park.
My wife, Penny, descending a rope ladder on the coast of Olympic National Park.

It features giant trees in one of Earth’s largest virgin temperature rainforests; frequently mist-shrouded views of scores of sea stacks rising up to 200 feet out of the ocean; boulders wallpapered with sea stars, mussels, and sea anemones; rugged and very muddy hiking on overland trails around impassable headlands; sightings of seals, sea otters, whales, and to my kids’ delight, lots of slugs; and rope ladders to climb and descend very steep terrain—including cliffs.

Consequently, while just as scenic, it’s less crowded than the more popular northern stretch of the Olympic coast. The 73-mile-long finger of the park on the Pacific Ocean protects the longest stretch of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States—and one of America’s most unique backpacking adventures.

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

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

Close Runner-Up:

Honestly, nothing.

But for classic wilderness trips in the Pacific Northwest, I suggest the hike to Cascade Pass and up Sahale Arm to Sahale Glacier Camp, in North Cascades National Park, with a jaw-dropping campsite view; this 80-mile hike (and shorter variations of it) in the North Cascades; the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness; and certainly, Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.

See all stories about Olympic National Park and stories about the North Cascades at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

The Wind River Range

Distance: multiple routes and distances
Difficulty: 3 to 5

The Winds can’t honestly be described as “undiscovered,” by any stretch. Still, as popular as a few corners are, much of this Wyoming range offers a rare combination of periods of solitude amid some of the most dramatic peaks and beautiful mountain lakes in the country—lots of lakes. Rank U.S. mountain ranges according to the best scenery and lakes, and I think the top two are the Winds and the High Sierra—and you could argue which is number one for as many years as it would take to visit every lake in the Winds.

I’ve taken several trips into the Winds over the past three decades, backpacking, climbing, and one really long dayhike—all of them outstanding, but a few places stand out.

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

One was a camp in Titcomb Basin—where granite peaks rise to over 13,000 feet from lakes at over 10,000 feet—on a 41-mile loop where two friends and I hiked past a constellation of beautiful lakes and took a spicy off-trail route over 12,240-foot Knapsack Col.

On long stretches of a lonely, 43-mile loop in a less-visited area of the Winds, we enjoyed one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had, crossed four high passes, and walked one stunning trail after another past numerous alpine lakes, including two of the prettiest backcountry lakes I’ve hiked past without camping at.

I’ve climbed in and hiked through the Cirque of the Towers on multiple epic adventures, including a 27-mile, east-west dayhike across the Winds and a 96-mile, mostly off-trail, south-north traverse of the Wind River High Route. But most recently, a friend and I hiked across the Cirque to cap off a four-day loop from Big Sandy that crosses four passes and features camps by beautiful lakes—a route I consider the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

The Winds can seriously make you wonder: “Why don’t I just come here all the time?”

Don’t forget anything important! See “An Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist.”

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

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

Close Runner-Up:

See my stories about another high, rugged mountain range where you can find solitude, northern Utah’s High Uintas: “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.”

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks?
Click here now for my e-book “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Distance: 36 miles, with longer and shorter variations
Difficulty: 2

The Sawtooths are one of the West’s most under-appreciated mountain ranges, with national park-caliber scenery, but nowhere near the numbers of hikers found in the most popular parks (although more and more backpackers are exploring the few popular areas of the Sawtooths).

Having backpacked and climbed through most of the range since settling in Idaho more than 20 years ago, the multi-day hike I’d recommend there is a five-day, roughly 36-mile route from Redfish Lake to Tin Cup Trailhead on Pettit Lake, including an out-and-back side trip to one of the finest lakes basins in the entire range.

Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Requiring a short shuttle that can be arranged locally—the Sawtooth trails aren’t conducive to creating long loop hikes—this trip crosses four passes over 9,000 feet and features campsites on some of the Sawtooths’ best mountain lakes, below endless jagged ridgelines.

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

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains.

Close Runners-Up:

See my stories “Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths—A Photo Gallery,” “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” and “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” about a 57-mile hike in the more remote southern Sawtooths.

See also my story about the Idaho Wilderness Trail, a nearly 300-mile, long-distance trail I helped conceive that passes through the Sawtooths, and all stories about Idaho’s Sawtooths and neighboring White Cloud Mountains at The Big Outside; plus my story about another under-appreciated mountain range dappled with gorgeous lakes, northeastern Oregon’s Wallowas, “Learning the Hard Way: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

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

Was this story helpful?
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Backpacking Glacier National Park: What You Need to Know https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-glacier-national-park-what-you-need-to-know/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-glacier-national-park-what-you-need-to-know/#respond Mon, 05 Jan 2026 14:05:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=69442 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I remember my first backpacking trip in Glacier National Park, more than 30 years ago, feeling magical—and a little bit intimidating, which is best illustrated by the fact that I had probably carried bear spray only once before. But I’m pretty sure my girlfriend (now wife) and I did not reserve a backcountry permit months before—we just showed up and got one. (Good luck doing that today.) We did little, if any, research on a route. We encountered some surprises and had what we considered a mostly wonderful adventure.

Today, though, with several multi-day hikes in Glacier under my hipbelt and knowing the park’s terrain, trails, climate, regulations, and permit system well, our uninformed strategy for planning that first, long-ago trip seems both quaint and like a formula that invites frustration and disappointment—especially in this era of much higher numbers of backpackers. Now, I take a very different approach to planning trips there.


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


Backpackers hiking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Backpackers hiking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

It’s not that planning a backpacking trip in Glacier is unnecessarily complicated. But familiarizing yourself with all that backpacking in Glacier entails—some of which is unique to Glacier—is far more likely to result in the experience that you’re hoping for.

So, what do you need to know about backpacking in Glacier?

This article will answer the biggest questions on how to go about planning and executing what is certainly one of the best of America’s 10 best backpacking trips—including details and tips on obtaining a wilderness permit that can be very hard to get. The information below draws on my several trips backpacking (and dayhiking) there over more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor with Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

See “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park” and all stories at this blog about backpacking in Glacier. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips and information on planning each hike. See also my expert e-books to two great multi-day hikes in Glacier and other parks, including “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan backpacking trips in Glacier and many other places, answering all of their questions (and many they didn’t think to ask) and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you and read hundreds of comments from readers like you who’ve received my custom trip planning.

Click on any photo below to read about that trip. Please share your questions, personal stories, or tips about backpacking in Glacier in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

 

A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all of my e-books describing classic backpacking trips in Glacier and other national parks and wildernesses.

It’s Not as Hard as You May Think

With a few exceptions, Glacier’s trails are well-constructed, well-marked with signs at junctions, and mostly only moderately steep—built at what’s called a “horse grade” because many early visitors to the park traveled the trails on horseback. The topography, with the Continental Divide splicing the park into approximate halves and valleys filled with long, narrow lakes draining both sides of the Divide, allow for an extensive trail network that blends relatively easier hiking with ascents to and descents from passes that, with few exceptions, are not grueling.

A backpacker below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.
Mark Fenton below Virginia Falls in Glacier National Park.

Many backpackers who are reasonably fit and carrying packs weighing 25 to 40 pounds—basically, a total weight that doesn’t feel awful to them—will find hiking eight to 10 miles per day moderately difficult in Glacier, and a hiking pace of two mph feasible to maintain.

Also, trails in Glacier, even at the highest passes, remain below 8,000 feet, an elevation that doesn’t cause problems for most people beyond breathing harder when hiking uphill. That and the moderate grades of most trails result in daily elevation gain when backpacking 10 miles or less per day often totaling less than 3,000 feet and sometimes less than 2,000 feet; and 2,500 feet of uphill spread over 10 miles is an average relatively gentle gradient of 250 feet per mile.

Plus, the distribution of the park’s 65 designated backcountry campgrounds often enables planning days under 10 miles.

For those reasons, you may find that backpacking in Glacier is not as hard as on trails in parks with higher actual elevations, steeper trails, and/or greater elevation ranges between valleys and passes.

Water is generally plentiful throughout Glacier’s backcountry, although you may encounter waterless stretches of a few miles (perhaps two hours) or more when crossing passes. That means you almost never have to carry more than one to two liters, or about two to four pounds, of water. But be aware of water sources along your route. See the best water-treatment systems in my review of “Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories” and a menu of all reviews of water filters at The Big Outside.

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

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan a backpacking trip in Glacier or any other trip you read about at this blog.

How to Get a Glacier Backcountry Permit

As in most major Western national parks (like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Mount Rainier, and others), Glacier permits are in high demand for dates in July, August, and the first part of September. First key step for success: Know when to reserve a permit. Fortunately, like many other parks, Glacier in recent years instituted a reasonably user-friendly system created to manage enormous demand.

Glacier conducts two early-access backcountry permit lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. Those lotteries provide the best chance of reserving a permit for popular trails and backcountry camps for trips between June 15 and Sept. 30, and all applicants during these 24-hour lottery periods have an equal chance of being selected.

Standard-group lottery winners will get an email from the park wilderness office on March 17 with a date and time between March 21 and April 30 when they can make one permit reservation (or anytime after their time slot). Large-group lottery winners will receive an email on March 3 with instructions for making their permit reservation for one of just five permit reservations the park issues annually for large groups.

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see how you can purchase a professionally printed enlargement of this image and many other photos you see at The Big Outside.

General reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1, running through Sept. 30.

Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season and limits daily hiking distance to 16 miles on reserved permits.

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

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to consider at least two starting trailheads and a range of date options.

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

 

A backpacker on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.

The Peak Season

While lower-elevation trails and backcountry camps in Glacier are often snow-free and open from mid-June into October, the peak backpacking season in Glacier generally begins around mid-July, when higher elevations and passes become mostly snow-free, and the season often extends into September, although the first snowstorm can arrive by early September or even late August.

But the best time for hitting the trails in Glacier is late July through early September, when the Rocky Mountains weather is typically idyllic: sunny days with very moderate temperatures, although afternoon thunderstorms are not uncommon, and comfortably cool nights and mornings.

And an early snowfall occurring before your late-summer trip isn’t necessarily a disaster. Snow from those early-season storms often melts away within a day or two after sunshine returns.

On one September backpacking trip, friends and I enjoyed sunny days with moderate temperatures, cool but not freezing nights, and dry trails—just a few days after a snowstorm hit the park. And we benefited from that storm occurring before our trip because it largely smothered a wildfire that was sending smoke throughout the park.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn about my custom trip planning.

Gear

During summer, given the generally good weather in Glacier and nighttime lows that don’t often drop below 40° F/4° C, you can use lightweight to ultralight gear, including your pack, tent, bag, and footwear. Still, look closely at the forecast and, if necessary, be prepared for heavy rain, particularly in thunderstorms, and possibly freezing temperatures.

Glacier National Park provides bearproof food-hanging systems or food lockers in all backcountry campgrounds, so backpackers do not have to carry a bear canister. See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/bears.htm.

Find categorized menus of gear reviews, best-in-category reviews, and buying tips at my Gear Reviews page, and all reviews of ultralight backpacking gear at The Big Outside.

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

 

Glenns Lake on the Northern Loop in Glacier National Park.
Glenns Lake on the Northern Loop in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

Trailhead Transportation Logistics

Depending on where in the park you’re backpacking and whether you’re hiking a loop or a point-to-point route between different trailheads—especially if those trailheads are far apart—travel logistics can be very easy or complicated.

If your backpacking trip starts or finishes (or both) along the Going-to-the-Sun Road, it’s definitely easiest and most convenient to use the park’s free shuttle, which makes several stops along that road. It’s truly much easier—and cheaper—than trying to drive your own vehicle. It runs regularly from early July through Labor Day; see nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/shuttles.htm.

In recent years, Glacier has required timed vehicle reservations to drive a private vehicle from mid-June through late September in two areas: the west side of Going-to-the-Sun Road and the North Fork. See nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/vehicle-reservations.htm.

See my expert e-books to two great multi-day hikes in Glacier, “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips,” and the All Trips page at The Big Outside.

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

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

These articles at The Big Outside may be useful when planning a Glacier trip:

8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking
How to Plan Food for a Backpacking Trip
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
10 Pro Tips For Staying Warm in a Sleeping Bag
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking

And see all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-a-hard-to-get-national-park-backcountry-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-tips-for-getting-a-hard-to-get-national-park-backcountry-permit/#comments Fri, 26 Dec 2025 10:00:49 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=11376 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Backpackers planning a trip in popular national parks like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Glacier, Zion, Grand Canyon, Mount Rainier, Rocky Mountain, Great Smoky Mountains, and others have one experience in common: A high percentage of them fail in their attempt to reserve a backcountry permit—and many probably don’t fully understand why. This story will answer your questions about how and when to reserve a backcountry permit in many parks—most of which have their own, unique reservation process and dates to make a reservation. And this story will share my expert tips on maximizing your chances of success.

Countless backpacking trips over more than three decades—during which I was the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and have now run this blog for even longer—have taught me many tricks for landing coveted permits in flagship parks, which receive far more requests than they can fill. The strategies and knowledge of these permit processes outlined below will help you land a hard-to-get national park backcountry permit—just as they have worked countless times 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 hiking over Yosemite's Clouds Rest, with Yosemite Valley in the distance.
Mark Fenton backpacking over Yosemite’s Clouds Rest, with Yosemite Valley in the distance. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Just in the past several years, using these strategies, I’ve gotten permits for backpacking trips on three hugely popular trails, the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, a long section of the John Muir Trail, and the Teton Crest Trail (a trip I’ve taken multiple times), as well as in Yellowstone, Glacier three times (this trip and this one, with one canceled due to wildfires), the Maze District of Canyonlands (and before that, the Needles District), North Cascades, two popular trips in Canadian Rockies national parks (this one and this one), Yosemite three times (this trip, this one and this one), and Grand Canyon six times (for trips in 2025, 2024, 2022, 2019, 2018, and 2015)—and I’ve had just two unsuccessful reservation attempts, a previous one for the Wonderland Trail (under the park’s old permit system; the new one is better, although still extremely competitive) and one for Glacier in 2021 that was rejected for reasons I anticipated and explain in tip no. 3 (below).

And if you want to take a trip in one of those popular parks this year, the time for reserving permits is now or coming up soon.

A backpacker overlooking the Colorado River on the Tonto Trail east of Bass Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports overlooking the Colorado River while backpacking the Tonto Trail east of Bass Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to get my personally customized backpacking trip planning.

A friendly warning: Don’t backpack without a permit. Backcountry rangers might issue you a citation for camping without a permit, which could involve a fine and a court appearance. The more immediate problem with lacking a permit for where you’re trying to camp is that all established campsites there could be occupied, leaving you no option but camping illegally in a potentially uncomfortable spot and causing damage to a sensitive area. That’s not cool and it’s not fun.

When you’re frustrated over being denied a permit for the hike you really wanted to take, keep this in mind: The permit system in parks imposes quotas on the number of backpackers in order to protect the landscape from overuse and give all of us an uncrowded, better wilderness experience. Compare the experience in many parks with places you’ve been that have no permit system and are overcrowded and visibly over-used, and you’ll realize: Permits are a good thing.

Plus, if you take a little time to understand how permit processes work, they become less daunting and you may have more success with them—and enjoy adventures of a lifetime.

Please share what you think of my tips or your own tips or questions in the comments section at the bottom of this story and please share this story with anyone who might benefit from it. I try to respond to all comments and questions. Click on any photo or link below to read about that park or trip.

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A backpacker in The Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.”

#1 Do Your Homework

Research your route in advance. Know where you want to go and how far you intend to hike each day. Keep in mind that your party’s speed will be determined by the slowest person, and factors like the terrain’s ruggedness, total elevation gain and loss on your route, and whether it’s at high elevations. (See the expert tips in my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”) Plan daily distances and pick campsites that make sense for your group, to minimize the likelihood of not reaching one and camping illegally.

See my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips” and “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking.”

See also my expert e-books to backpacking trips in several popular national parks for detailed hiking itineraries, expert planning advice, on-the-ground knowledge, and tips specific to getting a permit in those parks.

Don’t have the time or expertise to plan it yourself? Want to make sure your trip is as good as it can be? Visit my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your next great adventure and see hundreds of comments from readers like you who’ve received my custom trip planning.

Insider Tip

I have called or emailed backcountry rangers with questions many times, even at popular parks, and received prompt responses. If you’ve done your research and know the park—and have good experience, especially in that park—I have found that a backcountry ranger will more readily point you toward route options that they might not suggest to a novice. Don’t hesitate to talk about your experience.

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 expert Wonderland Trail e-book.

#2 Know When to Apply

Check the park’s website (or, for most national parks, recreation.gov) months in advance of the trip dates you’re planning to learn about the timing and procedure for reserving a backcountry permit, which varies from park to park.

In some parks, to have any chance of reserving a permit, you must be ready at the very minute that reservations open—especially for popular hikes in parks that attract a lot of backpackers (like most parks and trails mentioned in this story).

Fortunately, most parks have now abandoned antiquated apply-only-in-person and apply-by-fax-machine permit systems and moved to online permit reservations operated through recreation.gov, a positive step forward in an era when demand for backcountry permits is skyrocketing in many places.

Still, while many are easy to navigate, a few are unnecessarily chaotic and frustrating for users in ways that seem clearly avoidable, given the numerous examples within the National Park System of successful park permit systems that work smoothly. The NPS is making progress but could still do much better.

Insider Tip

Use a shotgun: Try for permit reservations in multiple parks for a range of potential dates, hoping that at least one is successful. You can always cancel any you can’t use and usually get virtually all of the cost refunded. In parks that conduct early-access permit lotteries, have everyone in your group enter the lottery.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog.

When to Reserve a Backcountry Permit in These Major Parks

•    In Grand Teton, for trips between May 1 and Oct. 31, permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov/permits/249986 starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, 2026, and up to two days before your trip start date. But popular backcountry camping zones, like those along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up very quickly after reservations open—often within minutes in a process that can be chaotic. The park allows one-third of available permits to be reserved in advance, leaving two-thirds available first-come, for walk-in backpackers, no more than one day before your trip begins. See my expert e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip in the Tetons, and my Custom Trip Planning page to see how I can help you plan that trip, as well as my stories “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail” and “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit.” There is a $20 non-refundable fee if you obtain a permit plus $7 per person per night. Find more information at nps.gov/grte/planyourvisit/bcres.htm.

•    In Yosemite, wilderness permit reservations are issued based on trailhead quotas, with special rules for backpacking the John Muir Trail. Sixty percent of permit reservations are available by lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning at 12:01 a.m. Pacific Time on the Sunday up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the following Saturday. For example, to start a trip between Aug. 9-15, 2026, enter the lottery between Feb. 15 and Feb. 21. The remaining 40 percent of permits are made available at recreation.gov at 7 a.m. Pacific Time up to seven days in advance of a trip start date. The non-refundable permit fee is $10 for each lottery entered or a walk-in permit plus $5 per person if you get a permit. Permits issued by other national parks or forests in the Sierra for trips extending into Yosemite—for example, a John Muir Trail permit (see info below)—are valid in Yosemite for the permit dates. See my expert e-books to three stellar, multi-day hikes in Yosemite, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” and my stories “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.” Find more info at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm.

Start planning now to take one of “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips.”

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P., High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P. Click photo to read all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at this blog.

•    To thru-hike the John Muir Trail southbound, enter the Yosemite National Park lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 up to 24 weeks in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the following Saturday. For example, to start a trip between Aug. 9-15, 2026, enter the lottery between Feb. 15 and Feb. 21. See nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/jmt.htm. Permits for hiking northbound, starting at Whitney Portal, are reserved through a lottery system at recreation.gov; enter it between Feb. 1 and March 1, with results announced March 15. To start a JMT section hike (or any hike) in the Inyo National Forest between May 1 and Nov. 1, apply at recreation.gov at 7 a.m. Pacific Time six months in advance, or up to two weeks in advance for a walk-up permit. See my stories “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit in 2026” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes” and all stories about backpacking the JMT at The Big Outside. Visit my Custom Trip Planning page to see how I can help you plan a successful and unforgettable JMT thru-hike or section hike or any other trip (as I’ve done for many other readers).

•    Since the beginning of 2024, Grand Canyon has issued about 80 percent of backcountry permits through a monthly, early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337. Apply for the lottery anytime during a two-week period that ends on the first of the month four months in advance of the month you’d like to hike—for example, between Nov. 16 and Dec. 1 for a trip anytime in April and between May 16 and June 1 for October. The lottery awards up to 750 applicants a date and time between the 4th and 17th of the following month when they can attempt to reserve a backcountry permit. The park expects that most of those 750 applicants will get a permit. The fee is $10 per permit plus $15 per person or stock animal per night. The park holds about 20 percent of backcountry campsites for walk-in permits and issues a limited number of permits for the popular Bright Angel and North and South Kaibab corridor trails; that often involves waiting at least a day. See much more detail in “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon” and my e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Find more info at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/backcountry-permit.htm.

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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 for my expert e-book to this trip.

•    Glacier conducts two early-access backcountry permit lotteries at recreation.gov/permits/4675321, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. Those lotteries provide the best chance of securing a permit for popular trails and backcountry camps for trips between June 15 and Sept. 30, and all applicants during these 24-hour lottery periods will have an equal chance of being selected. Successful large-group lottery entrants will receive an email from park wilderness permit staff on March 3 with instructions for making their permit reservation for one of just five permit reservations the park issues annually for large groups. Standard group lottery winners will get an email on March 17 with a date and time between March 21 and April 30, 2025, when they can apply for one permit reservation (or anytime after their time slot). General reservations open for all remaining backcountry campsites on May 1, running through Sept. 30. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season and limits daily hiking distance to 16 miles on reserved permits. There is a non-refundable $10 fee for a lottery application plus $7 per person per night that’s refundable if canceled more than seven days prior to the trip start date. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park.” Find more information at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm.

•   In Zion, backpacking permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov/permits/4675338 for trips in Zion’s wilderness, except for overnight trips through Zion’s Narrows, for which reservations are made at recreation.gov/permits/4675339, both on this schedule: March 5 at 10 a.m. Mountain Time for trips between April 1 and June 30; June 5 at 10 a.m. for July 1 to Sept. 30; Sept. 5 at 10 a.m. for Oct. 1 to Dec. 31; and Dec. 5 at 10 a.m. for Jan. 1 to March 31. Half of the backcountry campsites in Zion can be reserved—and usually get filled within minutes after becoming available—and half are available for walk-in permits, obtained in person no more than one day in advance. Max group size is 12. There is a non-refundable $20 fee for a permit and a refundable cost of $7 per person per night. See my story about backpacking the Narrows and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking The Narrows in Zion National Park.” Find more information at nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/backpackinginfo.htm.

Want my highly detailed, personally customized planning for any trip on this list?
Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

Backpackers on the High Sierra Trail above the Middle Fork Kaweah River in Sequoia National Park.
Backpackers on the High Sierra Trail above the Middle Fork Kaweah River in Sequoia National Park.

•    For Sequoia and Kings Canyon, reserve a permit at recreation.gov/permits/445857 starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time up to six months in advance for a trip taking place during the trailhead quota period, which for 2026, is May 22 to Sept. 26. Permits are issued based on trailhead quotas and can be made up to one week in advance—although availability for popular trailheads gets booked up quickly. The park keeps a portion of each trailhead quota available for backpackers seeking a first-come permit (without a reservation) no more than a day in advance. There’s a non-refundable fee of $15 plus $5 per person (refundable if canceled) for each confirmed permit. Permits issued by other national parks or forests in the Sierra for trips extending into Sequoia or Kings Canyon—for example, a John Muir Trail or Mount Whitney permit—are valid in these parks for the permit dates. See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit.”

•  Mount Rainier issues permit reservations at recreation.gov/permits/4675317 for two-thirds of backcountry campsites for trips from May 1 through Oct. 11, 2026, up to two days before a trip starts. The park holds an optional Early Access Lottery for preferential time slots to reserve a permit, greatly improving chances of getting a permit for the Wonderland Trail and popular climbing routes. Enter the lottery anytime between when it opens at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on Feb. 10, 2026, through when it closes at 7 p.m. Pacific on March 3, 2026. Lottery participants will be notified of results on March 14 and winners will receive a date and time on or after March 21 to make a multi-night permit reservation competing against a limited number of other applicants. General reservations for all permit applicants open at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on April 25. The maximum party size is five people and three tents for standard campsites and parties of six to 12 must use designated group camps. There is a non-refundable, $6 fee for an early-access lottery application or permit reservation and a fee of $10 per person per night for a permit reservation. One-third of available permits are issued first-come, in person at a park wilderness center, up to one day before starting a trip. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.” Find more information at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm and and more about the Early Access Lottery at recreationonestopprod.servicenowservices.com.

Pack Smartly. See “An Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist.”

Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.
Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.

•    Yellowstone accepts reservations for backcountry permits during the peak backpacking season, May 15 through Oct. 31, at recreation.gov/permits/4675323. For the best chance of getting a permit for a popular backpacking trip like Bechler Canyon, enter the Early Access Lottery, which runs from 8 a.m. Mountain Time on March 1 through 11:59 p.m. on March 20. Lottery participants are notified of results on March 25 and winners will receive a date and time between April 1-24 when they can reserve a multi-night backcountry itinerary competing against a limited number of other applicants. General reservations open at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on April 26. There’s a $10, non-refundable fee for entering the Early Access Lottery and a non-refundable $10 fee for a reservation (not charged if you’ve already paid the lottery fee), plus a refundable backcountry camping fee of $5 per person per night. About 75 percent of designated backcountry campsites can be reserved and the remaining sites are available for walk-up permits issued from May through October at park backcountry offices no more than two days in advance of a trip. Maximum group size ranges from four to 12 people at backcountry campsites. See nps.gov/yell/planyourvisit/backcountryhiking.htm and the park’s Backcountry Trip Planner at yellowstone.co/pdfs/bctripplanner.pdf.

•    In Great Smoky Mountains, permit reservations can be made starting at midnight Eastern Time up to 30 days in advance of a trip’s start date at smokiespermits.nps.gov. There is a non-refundable fee of $8 per person per night with a maximum of $40 per person and seven nights. Maximum party size is eight, but some sites have a lower total capacity. Find more information and the permit reservation form at smokiespermits.nps.gov. Reservations and permits can also be obtained in person at the Backcountry Office at Sugarlands Visitor Center.  See the park website’s Backcountry Camping—Backpacking page at nps.gov/grsm/planyourvisit/backcountry-camping.htm.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

Young kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Our kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.

•    For Canyonlands, including backpacking in the Needles District, Island in the Sky District, and Maze District and multi-day float trips on the Green River, permit reservations open at recreation.gov/permits/4675315 at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Nov. 10 for a trip beginning between March 10 and June 9, on Feb. 10 for a trip between June 10 and Sept. 9, on May 10 for a trip between Sept. 10 and Dec. 9, and Aug. 10 for a trip between Dec. 10 and March 9 in the Island or Maze or from Feb. 13 to March 9 in the Needles. Reservations close three days before a trip start date, but you can get a permit in person closer to your start date at locations in the park and in Moab listed at recreation.gov/permits/4675315. Backpacking party size limits are seven in the Needles and Island in the Sky districts and five in The Maze. There’s a non-refundable $36 permit fee plus a refundable fee of $5 per person per night. Find more information at nps.gov/cany/planyourvisit/backcountrypermits.htm.

•    Rocky Mountain opens permit reservations at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on March 1 at recreation.gov/permits/4675320 for camping in the backcountry between May 1 and Oct. 31, for a maximum of seven nights. Reservations are accepted up to three days prior to a trip. Permits are issued based on quotas for designated individual backcountry campsites that accommodate parties up to seven people or group sites for parties of eight to 12 people. Unlike other parks, Rocky doesn’t hold a fixed percentage of backcountry sites for walk-ins; instead, most backcountry permits are reservable, and only a limited number of permits will be available at recreation.gov/permits/4675320 during the peak summer season. The total reservation fee is $36. Find more information at nps.gov/romo/planyourvisit/wild_guide.htm.

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

A backpacker in the Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking in the Bailey Range, Olympic National Park.

• At Olympic, permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov/permits/4098362 starting at 7 a.m. Pacific Time on April 15 for trips from May 15 through Oct. 15, except in areas under seasonal closures: Backpacking permits are issued for Glacier Meadows/Elk Lake, Grand Valley, Royal Basin, Lake Constance, Upper Lena Lake, and Flapjack Lakes only from June 15 to Oct. 15, and for the Seven Lakes Basin/High Divide area only from July 15 to Oct. 15. Group size limits are 12 people and lower in some camp areas. Permits listed as walk-up can only be obtained by contacting the Wilderness Information Center. The permit fee is $6 per reservation plus a refundable $8 per person age 16 and older per night. Find more information at nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/wilderness-reservations.htm and nps.gov/olym/planyourvisit/upload/OLYM-Wilderness-Trip-Planner.jpg

North Cascades accepts permit reservations at recreation.gov/permits/4675322 for backcountry camping from May 16 through Oct. 11 for up to 60 percent of backcountry campsites, while permits for the other 40 percent of backcountry campsites are issued walk-in/first-come no more than one day in advance. For the best chances of getting a permit that includes popular camps, enter the Early-Access Lottery anytime between March 2, 2026, and 9 p.m. Pacific Time on March 13, for the chance to win a timeslot between March 24 and 9 p.m. Pacific Time on April 21 to make a permit reservation. General reservations open April 29 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time. The maximum party size for camps varies between four and up 12 people in group sites. There’s a non-refundable $6 fee for the Early-Access Lottery and a refundable $10 fee per person age 16 and older for a permit. Find more information at nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/permits.htm and in the Wilderness Trip Planner at nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/wilderness-trip-planner.htm.

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

 

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

•  In Everglades, backcountry permit reservations can be made year-round 90 days in advance of your trip’s start date at recreation.gov/permits/4675314, beginning daily at 10 a.m. Eastern Standard Time. There is a non-refundable $21 reservation fee plus $2 per person per night in the backcountry. The park no longer issues walk-up permits. Quotas exist for each wilderness campsite for number of groups and number of people per site. Find more information at nps.gov/ever/planyourvisit/wildernesscamp.htm.

Insider Tip

For parks like Grand Teton, Olympic, Zion, Rocky Mountain, and Canyonlands that open permit reservations at a specific date and time (i.e., they do not have an early-access lottery or rolling reservations), start your reservation the very minute they begin accepting them. Set up an account in advance at the host website, like recreation.gov, and familiarize yourself with it.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River, Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

#3 Have Alternative Itineraries and Dates Ready

If you want to take a popular trip during its peak season, having flexibility with your dates and itinerary is the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit.

Since most large, marquis wilderness parks now use recreation.gov or a similar online system that shows backcountry camping availability and processes your reservation in real time, this requires entering the process with a range of possible start dates and routes in mind so that you’re ready to adjust quickly if your first choice isn’t available. That may be as simple as starting a day earlier or later for the same route, reversing your route’s direction, starting midweek instead of on a weekend, or choosing an entirely different route.

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

With a park like Yosemite that conducts a weekly rolling lottery for weeklong date periods rather than processing your reservation in real time, you can improve your chances by indicating that you can start on any date during that week and providing alternative itineraries.

As I mentioned at the top of this story, my permit application for a 2021 trip in Glacier was rejected—and I’m sure it was mainly because I applied for just one specific itinerary that I wanted and our dates were not flexible, which greatly reduced my chances of succeeding. The rejection email the park sent me noted that they received over 2,500 backcountry permit applications just on the first day that it opened, March 15. That was under Glacier’s previous permit system; the park now uses recreation.gov.

Insider Tip

If you’re determined to backpack in a park, make any permit reservation, even if it’s slightly or entirely different from your desired route. When you pick up your permit, ask about altering your itinerary; other campsites may be available due to cancellations and sites held for walk-ins. Ask a backcountry ranger for suggestions.

A backpacker in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite. Click photo to see all of my expert e-books to backpacking in Yosemite and other parks.

#4 Focus on Less Well-Known Areas of Popular Parks

This piece of time-tested advice is also the first of my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking”—which is worth reading for the appeal of solitude as well as the clear overlap between that goal and the objective of getting a backcountry permit.

And you might be shocked at how much permit demand is concentrated in just a handful of enormously popular trails in national parks that backpackers all want to explore, including, just to name a few, Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Glacier, Great Smoky Mountains, and Mount Rainier.

You might also be pleasantly surprised to find how much incredibly scenic hiking is found in less well-known areas of those parks—and how much solitude you can find.

Below Forester Pass on the John Muir Trail, Sequoia National Park.
Below Forester Pass on the John Muir Trail, Sequoia National Park.

A few examples:

• In Yosemite, about 10 percent of the park’s hundreds of miles of trails—the John Muir Trail from Happy Isles to Donohue Pass and the Sierra High Camps loop—accounts for about 80 percent of all trail use. The Little Yosemite Valley backcountry campground alone accounts for almost 20 percent. Thus, the other 20 percent of all trail use gets distributed over 90 percent of Yosemite’s trails.
• In the Grand Canyon, about 75 percent of applicants seeking a permit for backpacking the three popular corridor trails, Bright Angel and South and North Kaibab, in spring or fall will fail to get a permit. Put differently, there’s about four times more demand for the three backcountry campgrounds on the corridor trails than there is availability.
• In Mount Rainier, close to half of permit seekers want to backpack the Wonderland Trail. The park has campsite capacity to grant about 900 permits annually for the entire Wonderland, while historically three times as many people have sought a permit for the full Wonderland (and that number is likely growing). But those 900 permits represent less than 25 percent of the approximately 4,000 backpacking permits issued annually.
• In Great Smoky Mountains, shelters along the Appalachian Trail are far and away the most popular—and that’s the park’s busiest trail—but backcountry campsites elsewhere in the park are much easier to reserve.

But many backcountry areas even in popular parks see far less demand for permits, such as northern Yosemite and a hike I consider Yosemite’s best-kept secret backpacking trip; numerous trails in Glacier including sections of the Continental Divide Trail; the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route, Gems Route, Royal Arch Loop, and Clear Creek Trail and Utah Flats Route; Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop; the Maze District in Canyonlands; and a gorgeous swath of the High Sierra in Sequoia National Park, among numerous examples. I even enjoyed solitude on most of a solo, 34-mile loop in the Great Smoky Mountains—during the October peak foliage season.

Go where others don’t.
See “Big Scenery, No Crowds: 12 Top Backpacking Trips For Solitude.”

Hikers on the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon, Todd Arndt, and Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

#5 Think Small

Keeping your party small—at two to four people or even solo—can increase your odds of landing a permit in parks where permit quotas are based on the number of campers in an area each night or departing from each trailhead daily.

Glacier’s backcountry campsites are sized for a party of four people; in a park where it’s already very hard to get a permit, larger parties face much higher hurdles to getting one than a group of four or fewer. In Mount Rainier and the Maze District of Canyonlands, standard parties are limited to five people. In Yosemite, permits are issued according to a maximum quota of hikers starting at each trailhead in the park—and it’s common for quotas at popular trailheads to winnow down to just one, two or three spots available on some dates.

Most parks limit the number of people allowed on one standard permit, often to six to eight; otherwise, it’s considered a group permit, and there may be fewer campsites for large groups.

Insider Tip

While it’s hard to get a permit to dayhike Yosemite’s Half Dome, it’s probably less difficult to add Half Dome to your backpacking permit because many more people attempt to reserve dayhiking permits than backcountry permits. See “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite.”

A backpacker above Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail..
David Gordon backpacking into Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail.. Click photo for my expert Teton Crest Trail e-book.

#6 Camp Outside the Park

National parks often border on other public lands, like national forests, where there’s typically no limit on the number of backpackers—which may give you campsite options when sites or camping areas within park boundaries are full on your trip dates. For instance, Alaska Basin, along the Teton Crest Trail, is not within Grand Teton National Park; so if you can’t get a permit to spend a night on Death Canyon Shelf in the park (a gorgeous spot and one of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites), Alaska Basin is a very nice alternative and may fit neatly into an itinerary for which you have the other camping zones you need inside park boundaries.

At other parks, like Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, you can start your trip in a national forest wilderness area—which, in the High Sierra, are just as spectacular as the parks—and permits issued by those national forests are valid for continuing a multi-day hike into either park. That may increase your chances of getting a permit to backpack in the park. Keep in mind that advance permit reservations are needed in many of those national forests, too, often made months ahead of your trip dates.

See my stories “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail” and “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit.”

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

 

Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

#7 Try For a Walk-In Permit

If all else fails, show up at the park at least a couple of hours before the backcountry office opens and try to get a front spot in line for a walk-in, or first-come permit. Parks hold a percentage of permits for walk-in backpackers, issuing those usually no more than a day in advance. The percentage of permits set aside for walk-in backpackers varies greatly between parks. As examples, Grand Teton keeps two-thirds of available campsites for walk-ins, in Yosemite it’s 40 percent, and in Glacier it’s 30 percent of campsites.

Insider Tip

Start a trip from a less-popular trailhead and you might be able to land campsites in more-popular areas later in your trip.

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

The difficulty of landing a first-come permit varies during the peak hiking seasons. Since Grand Teton sets aside two-thirds of available permits for walk-in backpackers, chances are relatively good, especially if you’re flexible about your itinerary and accept what’s available—and any Tetons hike is great. At Zion, Glacier, Grand Canyon, Denali, and Everglades, you might not score a permit to start that same day, but Grand Canyon has a wait list—get on it.

If you don’t get one of the available permits the first day you show up, you will have to return each morning until you do.

Yosemite makes 40 percent of permits available up to seven days in advance of a trip start date—and that’s the correct way to get a walk-in permit there. The park warns at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm: “Do not arrive at Yosemite expecting to get a walk-up wilderness permit. While any unreserved permits will be available in person at wilderness centers on the start date of the trip, few, if any, unused permits will be available.”

See my story “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

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A young boy backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
My son, Nate, backpacking a section of the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.

#8 Go Outside Peak Season

I’ve always been amazed at how few backpackers there are in the Tetons in September, when, while it could snow, you can more often enjoy perfect weather. In Yosemite and Sequoia-Kings Canyon, at lower elevations in Olympic and North Cascades, and sometimes at Mount Rainier and Rocky Mountain, good hiking weather can extend into October. At Sequoia-Kings Canyon, the quota season for permits ends on the Saturday between Sept. 23 and 29; if you have a good forecast after those dates, you can get a last-minute permit.

A family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

I backpacked Zion’s hugely popular Narrows and dayhiked The Subway (which requires a permit that’s hard to get) in early November in very pleasant weather (albeit short days) and low water (a plus); I saw a good forecast and grabbed a permit because there was availability at that time of year, when just a week or two earlier all permits were undoubtedly reserved. Good weather and hiking conditions can also last into late autumn and return by late spring in Great Smoky Mountains.

In mountain parks, the most popular season extends from early or mid-July to mid-September or later. In desert parks like Grand Canyon and Zion, it’s April, May, September, and October. Although summers are too hot for backpacking, watching for a good forecast and going in early spring or late fall means you will have a much easier time getting a permit.


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A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.
A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park. Click on the photo to see my 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.

#9 Go to a Less-Popular Park

Okay, this tip and the next one don’t help you land a permit for a popular hike—but they do offer excellent alternatives if you fail to get that desired permit. National parks that are off the radar of most backpackers are never a disappointment. At two of my favorite Western parks, North Cascades and Capitol Reef, walk-in permits are relatively easy to obtain (although North Cascades does accept reservations for popular areas).

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

 

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

#10 Dayhike It

When all efforts to secure a permit to camp in the backcountry fail, ask yourself: Is it possible to dayhike all or part of my route or another trail in the same area?

It’s often easier to hike a long distance in one day than it is to carry a heavy backpack a shorter distance. Choose well-maintained, well-graded trails and keep your pack light, and if you have the stamina for it and can average even a reasonable two mph pace over a 10-hour day, you can cover 20 miles.

If I were to add an eleventh tip, it would be this: When your first attempt fails, find another trip to do that year instead, and try again the next year. Wherever you go, the effort to plan and pull off that adventure will pay off.

See the All Trips List and All National Park Trips page at The Big Outside.

See also all stories with my expert tips, including “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking,” A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

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The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-southwest/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-southwest/#comments Sat, 20 Dec 2025 10:00:15 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21800 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We all love the majesty of mountains. But the vividly colored, sometimes bizarre, often incomprehensible geology of the Southwest canyon country enchants and inspires us in ways that words can only begin to describe. And while you will find very worthy dayhikes and even roadside eye candy in classic parks like Grand Canyon, Zion, and Canyonlands, you really have to put on a backpack and probe more deeply into those parks—and other canyon-country gems you may not know much about—to get a full sense of the scale, details, and hidden mysteries of these mystical landscapes.

Drawing from more than three decades of chasing the best backpacking trips in the Southwest—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—I’ve put together this list of my picks for the 12 very best multi-day hikes in America’s Southwest canyon country, from its acknowledged gems to trips you may not have heard of. While I’ve listed the trips in a specific order, I don’t intend that as a quality ranking. They all deserve five stars.


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


A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail, along the Thunder River-Deer Creek loop in the Grand Canyon.

The descriptions and photos below all link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including detailed tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance of a spring or fall trip.

See also “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First,” my expert e-books to some of the trips described below, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

I’d love to read your thoughts about my list—and your suggestions for trips that belong on it. Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A backpacker standing at Ooh-Ah Point on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
Todd Arndt standing at Ooh-Ah Point on the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Rim to Rim Across the Grand Canyon

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

Most multi-day hikes, including some of the best, feature stretches of hours at a time that are ordinary. Not the Grand Canyon. With huge physical relief and so little vegetation to obstruct views in this desert environment—except for brief stretches of forest at the South and North rims—there’s never a dull moment as you traverse a cross-section of a chasm stretching 277 miles long and averaging a mile deep and 10 miles across (as the crow flies—hiking distances on winding trails are much greater). It’s undoubtedly one of the most unique and spectacular treks in the world.

Although most trails here are quite rugged—and some routes on the map are not even maintained—the three so-called “corridor” trails, while strenuous, are maintained, don’t present the kind of scary exposure or difficult scrambling found on other trails, and have more frequent water availability. The typically three-day hike crossing from rim to rim (one-way, can be done in either direction) via the South Kaibab and North Kaibab trails is 21 miles with over 10,600 feet of cumulative ascent and descent; via the Bright Angel and North Kaibab, it’s 23.5 miles with over 10,100 feet of cumulative ascent and descent.

See my stories “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “A Grand Ambition, or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all stories about South Rim backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

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

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

The Narrows, Zion National Park

One of the most uniquely magnificent and coveted hikes in the National Park System, The Narrows of the North Fork of the Virgin River in Zion squeeze down to the width of a hobbit’s living room in places, with walls of golden, crimson, and cream-colored sandstone that rise as much as a thousand feet tall. 

On this 16-mile, top-to-bottom hike—typically done in two days—you’ll walk in the shallow river most of the time and see very little direct sunlight, marveling at the constantly changing canyon and natural oddities like a waterfall pouring from cracks in solid rock, creating a hanging garden.

Enormously popular, the lower end of the Narrows teems with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dayhikers on hot days of late spring through early fall, when the river is warm and low. Many of those people don’t walk more than a mile or two upriver, while some go as far as Big Spring, at mile five, the farthest point dayhikers can venture without a wilderness permit. The hauntingly quiet upper Narrows can feel remarkably lonely.

Not surprisingly, this unrivaled adventure ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “My 25 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever,” and our campsite in The Narrows graces my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

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

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

Young kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Our kids backpacking over the Big Spring Canyon-Squaw Canyon pass in the Needles District, Canyonlands National Park.
Along the Chesler Park Trail.
My son, Nate, on the Chesler Park Trail.

The Needles District, Canyonlands National Park

Stratified cliffs stretch for miles. Stone towers, with bulbous crowns bigger around than the column on which they sit, seem ever at the verge of toppling over. Multi-colored candlesticks of Cedar Mesa sandstone, in more hues than Crayola has yet replicated, loom 300 feet tall, forming castle-like ramparts.

Trails marked by zigzagging lines of stone cairns lead across waves of slickrock slabs, up narrow water runnels and calf-pumping ramps. In the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, trails ignore the axiom of Euclidian geometry that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Hikers there navigate a maze without walls.

The Needles District encompasses a high plateau split by canyons. Erosional forces working over unfathomable gulfs of time formed this arid and tortured landscape; but it looks more like the work of giant children squeezing mud from their fists. That network of trails creates multiple options for short, relatively easy, but strikingly scenic backpacking trips and dayhikes through The Needles.

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

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Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch

A backpacker hiking down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch.

For much of the first three days of the five-day descent of Paria Canyon, you pass through its twisting narrows, where walls of searing, orange-red sandstone shoot up for hundreds of feet, so close together at times that a person can cross from one side to the other in a dozen strides.

Sunshine often ignites the upper walls and reflects warm light downward, painting every wave of rock in a subtly different hue. You’re often walking in the shallow river, and pockets of quicksand add an adventurous element to this trek.

The 38-mile hike down Paria Canyon has become famous among backpackers for its towering walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and sandy benches for camping, shaded by cottonwood trees.

It’s done alone or combined with its 16-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch—where the walls, in spots, are barely wider than a person.

See my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon.”

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

A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

A waterfall in Coyote Gulch.
A waterfall in Coyote Gulch.

On a two-family, roughly 15-mile backpacking trip through Coyote Gulch, we hiked across ancient, petrified dunes; squeezed through a less-than-shoulder-width, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall (which was fun and not as hard as it sounds); and stood at a cliff top overlooking a desert landscape of redrock towers and cliffs, including Stevens Arch, measuring some 220 feet across and 160 feet tall. And that was just in the first hour.

One of the Southwest’s easier backpacking trips—because of its short distance, lack of a narrows creating flash-flood potential, and the presence of a perennial stream (read: you don’t have to carry several pounds of water)—Coyote Gulch features a natural bridge, two of the region’s most distinctive natural arches, and one deeply overhanging wall some 200 feet tall with amazing echo acoustics.

Coyote’s sheer walls at times loom close and you walk in the creek; elsewhere, the upper canyon walls spread a quarter-mile apart and rise up to 900 feet overhead. In a sense, Coyote delivers a complete—and beginner-friendly—canyon-hiking experience.

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

Coyote Gulch is one of “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. Click on the photo to get my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon’s ‘Best Backpacking Trip’

Wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route.

Whoa, you’re thinking—the “best backpacking trip in the entire Grand Canyon??” That was my initial reaction when a longtime backcountry ranger in the canyon whom I know, who’s hiked every mile of trail in the park, described this 74-mile route from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Lipan Point to me using those words. I mean, every hike in this place is amazing, right?

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

Then I backpacked it and found myself agreeing with him.

Besides the fact that the South Kaibab is one of the absolute best hikes in the entire National Park System, this route—which has shorter alternatives—follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, the Escalante Route, and incorporates the little-traveled and beautiful Beamer Trail, as well as another rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

There’s some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling, and water sources are sporadic—this high-level adventure is better for experienced and fit backpackers, ideally with a previous GC or other Southwest backpacking trips under their belts.

But you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado River (with the prospect of mooching real food from a river party).

See “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Aravaipa Canyon

A backpacker hiking into Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking into Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon from the West Trailhead.

Just 12 miles long from its west trailhead to its east one, southern Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon captures enough water flowing out of the Galiuro Mountains to sustain a vibrant, perennial stream and an oddity in the Grand Canyon state: a desert oasis, where cottonwood trees taller and more abundant than you’ll see in most Southwest canyons line both creek banks.

The lush greenery contrasts starkly against redrock walls that rise as much as 700 feet above the creek. But high up the canyon walls and the often-dry side canyons, the environment shifts abruptly to that of the surrounding, vast Sonoran Desert, with saguaro occupying the numerous cliff ledges like thousands of spectators in a strangely steep-sided, long, narrow, and winding stadium.

With no maintained trail in the canyon, backpackers follow whatever user trails get beaten into the sandy ground—or, more often than not hike directly in Aravaipa Creek, splashing through water that ranges from not too cold to chilly and rarely up to calf-deep. The max stay permitted is two nights and most backpackers set up a base camp and dayhike to explore this unique and truly lovely canyon.

See my story “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon.”

On the same Southwest trip that we backpacked in Aravaipa Canyon in early April, three of us from that group also backpacked one of the finest three-day sections of the Arizona Trail, Passage 16, during a wildflower superbloom. See my story about that surprisingly beautiful hike.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

 

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

Owl and Fish Canyons, Bears Ears National Monument

A pool of clear water in Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
A pool of clear water in Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

The loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, begins and ends with rugged hiking and scrambling to enter and exit both canyons: You will use your hands at times going up and down, including the final, 12-foot corner in a cliff to reach the rim of Fish Canyon (aided by a fixed rope dangling down the cliff). The upper sections of both canyons present very steep terrain and, especially in Owl Canyon, debris from flash floods like knots of crushed vegetation and boulders bigger than a car to navigate around.

This hike isn’t for anyone who’s uncomfortable with mild to moderate exposure. But these canyons evoke better-known places in southern Utah, with tall, red cliffs, towers, the striking amphitheater surrounding Nevills Arch (see lead photo at top of story), rippled slickrock, pour-offs and seasonal waterfalls, flowering cacti, cottonwoods, and a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water in parts of both canyons.

Just 15 to 17 miles, hiked in two to three days, Owl and Fish canyons offer incredible scenery (and night skies), solitude, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips. That’s a rare find.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

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

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

Traversing Zion National Park

La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park.
La Verkin Creek in Zion National Park.

Other Southwestern parks have natural arches, spires, and ancient cliff dwellings, but none really matches Zion’s grandeur: the giant walls of white and blood-red rock, with striations rippling across vast spans of sandstone.

While the park is best known for the 2,000-foot-tall cliffs of Zion Canyon and the justifiably popular dayhike up Angels Landing (which I consider one of the best dayhikes in the entire National Park System), backpacking a nearly 50-mile, north-south traverse takes you on a grand tour of this flagship park. And it can be broken into sections for shorter, beginner-friendly trips.

From Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons, where burgundy cliffs rise above verdantly green stream bottoms, you’ll pass between the black-streaked, red walls of Hop Valley, and follow the West Rim Trail—considered by some Zion aficionados the park’s best—high above a maze of deep, white-walled canyons.

After descending a sidewalk-wide footpath blasted out of cliffs, the traverse passes Angels Landing—a must-do side trip—before crossing Zion Canyon and taking the East Rim Trail past Weeping Rock, through Echo Canyon, and past the white beehive cliffs of the park’s east side.

See all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside, including “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery” and “Mid-Life Crisis: Hiking 50 Miles Across Zion in a Day.”

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

 

A backpacker along the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon's Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking along the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.

Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Grand Canyon

Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.
Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.

Yes, this top-10 list has three hikes in the Big Ditch—and it could justifiably have more. There is no place like the Grand Canyon, period. But of all the backpacking trips I have taken there, the most unique, varied, and magical just may be this rugged and remote, 25-mile loop off the North Rim.

Long on the radar of in-the-know backpackers and river-rafting parties taking side hikes, the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop has an unusual abundance of a rare element in much of the canyon: water.

The two perennial creeks and one river (not counting the Colorado River, which this hike follows for a few miles) pour over some of the Grand Canyon’s loveliest waterfalls (see the photo near the top of this story), course through sculpted narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation.

Descending a vertical mile to the Colorado River and then climbing back up again, on often-rugged trails, with seasons limited by road access and heat often challenging to put it mildly, this hike is no walk in the park—which is why many backpackers take four days or more to complete it. But it packs in all the qualities you go to the Grand Canyon for.

See my feature story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

 

A backpacker hiking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow Loop, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

Backpackers hiking down Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
David Gordon and Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

From crossing a high, sand and slickrock plateau on the Boulder Mail Trail, to descending the sometimes narrow and always dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, and finally ascending the upper canyon of the Escalante River between soaring, overhanging walls of red, brown, and cream-colored rock painted with desert varnish, the 22-mile Death Hollow Loop northeast of the town of Escalante delivers a primer on the rugged and adventurous character of a host of desert Southwest landscapes.

The Boulder Mail Trail’s circuitous route over waves of rippling Navajo Sandstone repeatedly rises and falls steeply—but nothing compares to the overlook of Death Hollow just before the trail plunges into it. Death Hollow poses flash-flood risk and, in the best conditions, involves walking in cold water ranging from below the ankles to mid-thigh or deeper—when you successfully skirt the deepest pools—with challenging obstacles and possibly wind blowing up or down the canyon to compound the water’s chill. Then there’s the poison ivy, which is, well, hard to exaggerate about.

But hit this route in good weather and safe water levels and you will be blown away by it.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop.”


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A backpacker at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

The Maze District, Canyonlands National Park

Hikers on the Pete's Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Pete’s Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Descending the trail off Maze Overlook, we followed a wildly circuitous trail across slickrock, marked by cairns but otherwise unobvious and not visible on the ground, winding below redrock cliffs and towers, past mounds of shattered boulders resembling ancient ruins, and along the sloping rims of giant bowls of rippled stone. In several spots, we removed and lowered our packs to scramble through tight crevices or downclimb a ladder of shallow footsteps chiseled into a sandstone cliff face.

That was on the second morning of our five-day backpacking trip into the Maze—and it came after we had lingered long over the panorama at the brink of the white cliffs of Maze Overlook, above the vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons that could only be called the Maze. A very rugged, remote, and hard-to-reach corner of the Southwest, with few water sources that can dry up seasonally, the Maze is undoubtedly one of the hardest trips on this list—for many reasons.

But the adventurous character of its routes, jaw-dropping vistas and canyons, ancient pictographs, and deep solitude make it a holy grail for serious Southwest explorers.

See my story “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze.”.

See all stories about hiking and backpacking in Southern Utah and national park adventures at The Big Outside.

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

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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.

Get full access to ALL stories at The Big Outside about these and many other trips,
including my expert tips on planning them, plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon

A backpacker hiking down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch.

In mid-April, joined by friends David Gordon, Doug Jenkins, and Jeff Wilhelm, I backpacked an overnight hike down southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch to its confluence with the canyon of the Paria River, which flows south into Arizona and empties into the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon.

Then, having planned a longer hike but facing a forecast that promised to turn our lovely, sunny, warm weather abruptly into a full-blown snowstorm by afternoon on our second day, we pivoted upstream to finish at the White House Trailhead, the top end of Paria. (We finished as we had confidently planned we would, a couple of hours before the storm commenced—and very happy that we did.)

Unquestionably one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, these two canyons combine what’s often described as the country’s or the world’s longest slot canyon, Buckskin, with the much longer and more varied Paria Canyon, which itself has a narrows with high walls that extends for several miles.

I had first backpacked this exact same route more than 30 years ago (and Paria top to bottom, without Buckskin, about 10 years ago), and seeing Buckskin Gulch again after so much time made it feel almost brand new to me. Its walls, often slightly overhanging, rise to perhaps 200 feet high and the canyon widens briefly a few times. But it mostly remains a true, very narrow slot—sometimes barely wider than a person.

Gazing around, I was reminded that the greatest magic of slot canyons is how the diffused light paints the wildly rippled, orange and red walls in too many shades of those colors to quantify, as well as hues of brown and a deep black that looks like an oil spill—creating stark contrasts that delight and mystify the human eye and brain.

See my story about that trip “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon,” my story about a previous, two-family trip backpacking down the length of Paria Canyon, “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.


Are you a fan of the beautiful photos you see at The Big Outside? Click here now
to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!


The unnamed lake where we camped in the lakes basin on the south side of Snowyside Peak, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
The unnamed lake where we camped on our first night in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains in August.

The Sawtooth Mountains

In August, two good friends and regular backpacking compadres, Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton, joined my wife, Penny, and me on a four-day, roughly 31-mile, point-to-point backpacking trip through Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—a range that’s become my home mountains, having explored it extensively for almost 30 years since I moved to Idaho, from numerous backpacking trips to big dayhikes, bagging a bunch of peaks (adding yet another new one to my list in 2025; see the bottom of this story), backcountry skiing, and rock climbing some classic routes.

And it pleases me to say that, for as much as I’ve already seen of the Sawtooths, on this trip we hiked through areas that were entirely new to me—as well as new to Penny and Todd, who’ve also explored these mountains a fair bit, and entirely new to Mark, on his first trip here. He came away from it loving this wilderness and eager to come back.

A backpacker hiking Trail 7092 to the pass on the Edith-Imogene Lakes Divide in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My wife, Penny, backpacking Trail 7092 to the pass on the Edith-Imogene Lakes Divide in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

While most of our trip was on trails, we did hike over an off-trail pass that was steep at times but straightforward on one side and involved crossing some not-entirely stable talus on the side we descended; all in all, though, not bad. And that pass delivered us into a remote area of the Sawtooths that sees very few backpackers, despite an abundance of beautiful alpine lakes and more high passes with sweeping views of these sharply incised peaks. And Todd and I scrambled up a 10,000-foot summit, a very worthwhile and remote peak to bag (which I’ll describe in more detail in my upcoming story about this trip).

Watch for my upcoming story about this trip. Meanwhile, see “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside as well as my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking trips in the Grand Canyon, Sawtooths, Wind River Range, and elsewhere. Want my help with your next trip? Click here.

Sunset at Lower Cook Lake on a solo backpacking trip in the Wyoming's Wind River Range in September.
Sunset at Lower Cook Lake on a solo backpacking trip in the Wyoming’s Wind River Range in September.

The Wind River Range Solo

In the first week of September, after a good friend and longtime regular backpacking partner regrettably had to back out of this trip due to a persistent injury, I embarked on my first solo multi-day hike in probably a couple of decades (mostly because I prefer good company and I’m fortunate to have a great bench of partners).

But I wouldn’t have canceled because it was in one of my very favorite mountain ranges in America: Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Excited for it despite not having company, I walked about 64 miles in six glorious days, much of it on trails all new to me, including a big piece of the Continental Divide Trail through the Winds—which, by the way, is widely considered among thru-hikers (at least among the sizable sample I’ve now met) one of the two best sections of the CDT, along with Glacier National Park.

And what an adventure it was.

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

The Winds are known for its constellation of alpine lakes—estimates include 1,300 name and 1,600 total lakes—and this trip delivered on that reputation even more than I expected: I camped by gorgeous waters every night and walked past an untold number of gorgeous lakes at the foot of big, rocky peaks.

Watch for my upcoming story about that trip. Meanwhile, see “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

The right gear makes any trip go better.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A hiker on the 10,716-foot summit of Mount Cramer, second-highest peak in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Chip Roser on the 10,716-foot summit of Mount Cramer, second-highest peak in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Hiking the Second-Highest Peak in Idaho’s Sawtooths

In the first week of October, with the early-morning temperature bottomed out at a bone-chilling 19° F, my friend Chip Roser and I the hit the trail walking as fast as we could—partly just to warm up, but also because we had a big day ahead of us: hiking the second-highest peak in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, 10,716-foot Mount Cramer.

It was admittedly late in the season for hiking in the Sawtooths, but there wasn’t any snow yet at higher elevations and we had a forecast promising sunshine all day, comfortably cool temps, and little wind; and once the sun finally found us (we started early in the cold shade of the forest), we warmed up quickly and remained so all day. And what a day it was.

Morning at Hell Roaring Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
A 20-degree morning at Hell Roaring Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

From the Upper Hell Roaring Trailhead (requiring a high-clearance vehicle; otherwise, start at the Lower Hell Roaring Trailhead), we hiked Trail 7092 past a glassy-calm Hell Roaring Lake to the northeast corner of Imogene Lake. From there, we found a use trail leading to the start of the long scramble up the rocky east ridge of Cramer.

Cramer’s summit rises to a sharp point on a boulder resembling a very large arrowhead, From there, in the heart of the Sawtooths, you can see the entire range and pick out numerous other peaks and distinctive alpine lakes far below. We even ended that nearly 18-mile October hike, with more than 3,500 vertical feet of uphill and downhill, with a little daylight remaining.

By the way, if you’re interested in a great hike up the highest peak in the Sawtooths (and somewhat shorter than Cramer, but a full day), read about 10,751-foot Thompson Peak and other outstanding hikes in my story “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths” (which I will update in 2026, adding this hike). And see all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

As you plan your trips for next year, see “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and my Trips page at The Big Outside.

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
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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.

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

 

Sea kayakers in Alaska's Glacier Bay National Park.
Sea kayakers in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park.

Sea Kayaking Alaska’s Glacier Bay

Few corners of the planet remain as pristine as this national park that’s the size of Connecticut, which sits at the heart of a contiguous protected wilderness the size of Greece. On a multi-day sea kayaking trip here, you can see massive tidewater glaciers explosively calving bus-sized chunks of ice into the sea, humpback whales, orcas, Steller sea lions, mountain goats, seals, sea otters, brown bears, and a variety of birds and wildflowers. It feels like traveling back in time to the end of the last ice age.

See my story about my family’s five-day sea kayaking trip in Glacier Bay, “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

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

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

Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail

The Teton Crest Trail is, step for step, unquestionably one of the most gorgeous mountain walks in America, a true classic offering all the elements of an unforgettable backpacking trip: views of the incomparable skyline of the Tetons and deep, cliff-flanked, glacier-scoured canyons; wonderful campsites, wildflowers, mountain lakes and creeks; and a good chance of seeing moose, elk, marmots, pikas, mule deer, and black bears. I fell in love with the Tetons on my first visit, more than 20 years ago, and I’ve returned more than 20 times since to backpack, rock climb, dayhike, bag most of the major summits, canoe, and backcountry ski. I never grow tired of the sight of these peaks.

See my stories  “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail
and see this menu of all of my expert e-books to classic backpacking trips.

A backpacker at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail

If hearing the JMT described as “America’s Most Beautiful Trail”—as it often is—seems to you like a hyperbolic claim, then you really must go see for yourself. For mile after jaw-dropping mile, you walk below incisor peaks of clean granite, past more waterfalls than anyone could name in a thousand lifetimes, along pristine wilderness lakes nestled in rocky basins, and over passes topping 12,000 and 13,000 feet with views that stretch a hundred miles. Whether or not you agree with that nickname “America’s Most Beautiful Trail,” it will be one of the most wonderful research projects you’ve ever done.

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, including “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” an “Ultimate, 10-Day, Ultralight Plan” for a JMT thru-hike, and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?

Want my help planning your hike on the Teton Crest Trail, JMT, or another trip?
Click here now for expert advice you won’t get elsewhere.

Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile's Patagonia region.
A guanaco in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile’s Patagonia region.

Trekking Patagonia: Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park

One of the most prized trekking destinations in the world, Torres del Paine National Park is a place of severely vertical stone monoliths thousands of feet tall, and some of the world’s largest glaciers pouring into emerald lakes. Of twisted lenga trees, raging whitewater rivers, and the maybe most relentless winds you’ve ever encountered. Patagonia is a dream destination for backpackers all over the world. Read this story to learn how to do Patagonia right.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine.”

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

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

Exploring Deep into the Grand Canyon

Know this before you go to the Grand Canyon: This place will steal your heart. That has been my experience from numerous trips over the years, from rim-to-rim-to-rim dayhikes to multi-day hikes on some of the canyon’s most remote and rugged paths. Now, every return visit just fuels my hunger to go back yet again to explore another corner I haven’t seen yet.

Choose the dayhike or backpacking trip that looks most appealing and suits your skills and experience, and just go see this seemingly infinite complex of shockingly deep and wide side canyons, walls stacked in multi-colored layers, and an army of stone towers. If you’re like me, you will end up going back again and again.

See my numerous stories about Grand Canyon National Park at The Big Outside, including “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim, dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim, and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A family trekking hut-to-hut on the Alta Via 2 through Italy's Dolomite Mountains.
My wife and daughter on our hut-to-hut trek on the Alta Via 2 through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.

Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

The Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends,” a roughly 108-mile/180-kilometer alpine footpath through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, Italy’s Dolomites, is famous for many attributes, including comfortable mountain huts with excellent food; a reputation for being the most remote and difficult of the several multi-day alte vie (plural for alta via), or “high paths,” that crisscross the Dolomites; and scenery that puts it in legitimate contention for the title of the most beautiful trail in the world.

Read about my family’s weeklong, hut-to-hut trek on a 39-mile/62-kilometer section of the AV 2 in my story “’The World’s Most Beautiful Trail:’ Trekking the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomites.”

See which section of the Alta Via 2 made my “30 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”
Click here to learn how I can help you plan this incomparable trek.

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

Backpacking in Glacier National Park

Think of Glacier National Park and you think of mountain scenery that truly justifies a severely overused adjective: awesome. You think of wildlife sightings that are possible in few places in the Lower 48: bighorn sheep, moose, elk, so many mountain goats you may lose count, and black bears and grizzly bears.

There are two 90-mile hikes in Glacier that make my list of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips:” The first is a tour of northern Glacier, broken up into two hikes, a 65-miler that’s my modified version of Glacier’s best backpacking trip, the Northern Loop, and a 25-miler on the beautiful Gunsight Pass Trail, simplified logistically by the park’s free shuttle buses. The second is a north-south traverse through Glacier mostly on the Continental Divide Trail, from Chief Mountain Trailhead at the Canadian border to Two Medicine.

Both trips deliver everything that makes Glacier a favorite of backpackers: sightings of bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and maybe even grizzlies. Go in September and you may hear elk bugling most mornings and evenings.

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside, including “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” about my most recent, weeklong hike in Glacier.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop
and the CDT through Glacier, which also describe shorter itinerary options.

Hikers descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands.

Adventuring in Iceland

Do you believe in elves? Icelanders do, or at least enough to route highways around places considered the abodes of elves and trolls. This belief may draw inspiration from a landscape of raw beauty that has shaped the values of its people. Smaller than Kentucky, the country has about 150 volcanoes, the greatest concentration in the world. While exploring rugged trails through old lava flows, thermal features spewing steam into the sky, and mind-boggling waterfalls and glaciers, I began to think of Iceland as like a first crush, a mountain cabin, or Alaska: easy to fall in love with, hard to leave. You will feel the same way.

I returned in July 2022 to trek hut to hut on Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails and drive the Ring Road to see more of this fascinating island nation on dayhikes.

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

Take the world’s best trips.
See all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

Hikers in the Cares Gorge, Picos de Europa National Park, Spain.
My family hiking in the Cares Gorge in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

Hiking Spain’s Picos de Europa

Just a few hours’ drive from a major airport in northern Spain lies a spectacular mountain range resembling the Dolomites, with huts and charming mountain towns—and it’s possible you’ve never heard of it. On a five-day, 52-mile hike through the Picos de Europa, my family walked below jagged limestone peaks rising to over 8,500 feet, over passes above 7,000 feet and across mind-boggling alpine terrain that conveys a sense of much bigger peaks. We spent nights either in huts or delightful B&Bs or inns with great food in quiet, beautiful little villages.

See my story, “The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains.”

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

 

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

Trekking Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park

Hike every day through a starkly beautiful, Arctic-like landscape of mountains plastered with snow and ice, and valleys bisected by rushing streams or filled with iceberg-choked lakes. Then spend every night in the most comfortable mountain huts you have ever encountered, eating meals fit for a four-star restaurant—that’s trekking Jotunheimen. From the multi-cultural experience to exciting stream fords and the opportunity for more challenging, optional side hikes—like the steep scramble up a peak named Kirkja and the all-day hike to Norway’s highest summit, Galdhøpiggen—this adventure was a home run for everyone in our group, age nine to 75.

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

See also my story describing my top 10 family adventures, and a menu of every story about outdoor adventures at my Trips page at The Big Outside.

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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.

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

A family trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.
My nephew Marco, daughter, Alex, and 80-year-old mom, Joanne, hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc in Italy.

4. Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

My list would be incomplete without one of the biggest, most beautiful and fun adventures my family has ever taken. And you’ll find the Tour du Mont Blanc (also the lead photo at top of story) on just about any list of the world’s greatest trails. The main reason is the sheer majesty of this roughly 105-mile/170-kilometer walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot/4,807-meter Mont Blanc. Passing through three Alpine nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—and over several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers almost constant views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “augilles,” and the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

Making this trip all the more special was the fact that we had three generations of my extended family represented, including my 80-year-old mother.

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

Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

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

5. Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast

For our kids, who were nine and seven, this three-day backpacking trip on the wilderness coastline of Washington’s Olympic National Park ranked as a favorite for all the expected reasons that children love a wild ocean shore: playing for hours in water, exploring the variety of sea life in tide pools, and picking, awestruck, through the myriad flotsam from civilization like old, salt-worn buoys (my son took one home).

For adults, the scores of offshore sea stacks, giant trees, and natural beauty make the Olympic coast one of America’s classic backpacking trips.

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

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

A young boy backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.

6. Dropping Into the Grand Canyon

Sure, any trip in the Big Ditch is worthy of a top 10 list—you could fill a top 10 list just with Grand Canyon hikes. But in this rugged terrain and unforgiving environment, choosing the right backpacking route becomes critical; most trails are rough, many trailheads remote.

This four-day, 29-mile hike combines two of the most spectacular and accessible trails coming off the South Rim—the Grandview and South Kaibab—with an easier, less-busy stretch of the Tonto Trail that delivers constant, big views.

See my story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon Grandview Point to the South Kaibab” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

A mother and young daughter paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, in Florida's Everglades region.
My daughter, Alex, and wife, Penny, paddling a mangrove tunnel on the East River, on the edge of Florida’s Everglades.

7. Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades

Seeing scores of large, exotic birds like brown pelicans, roseate spoonbills, white ibises, and black anhingas. Canoeing among remote islands to camp on a wilderness beach you have all to yourself. Watching a dolphin surface just off your canoe’s bow and swim a wide circle around you. Paddling a flatwater river shared with alligators (kept at a safe distance).

It’s hard to overstate how exciting and fun this park is for adults and children. And the trip my family took when our kids were ten and almost eight was one of the most beginner-friendly in the Everglades.

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

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

West Rim Trail, Zion National Park, Utah.
Backpacking the West Rim Trail in Zion National Park, Utah.

8. Backpacking Zion, a Land of Otherworldly Scenery

Many hikers content themselves with exploring the trails of Zion Canyon and the popular dayhike up Angels Landing—all worthwhile. But backpack into the backcountry and you discover a sprawling landscape that’s unique even in the Southwest.

Cliffs of pure white and blood-red sandstone soar hundreds of feet overhead, rock ripples like water, and you walk along a high rim looking down on a labyrinth of slot canyons and isolated mesas. This trip’s moderate difficulty and multiple itinerary options make it ideal for families and beginner backpackers.

See “Backpacking Through the Otherworldly Scenery of Zion,” “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” and “The Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” at The Big Outside.

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

A young girl cross-country skiing the Biscuit Basin Trail through the Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park.
My daughter, Alex, cross-country skiing the Biscuit Basin Trail through the Upper Geyser Basin in Yellowstone.

9. Exploring Yellowstone

Visiting the world’s first national park, Yellowstone, should be a requirement of American citizenship (and I would gladly contribute to a fund to make it affordable for every family). Besides the opportunity to see a range of wildlife that nearly mirrors what North America looked like before Columbus, you can watch geysers erupt and see natural hot springs, whistling fumaroles, bubbling mud pots, and some beautiful waterfalls.

I’ve visited many times, with my kids and before I had a family, in every season. It’s wonderful for everyone, at any stage in life, partly because so many of its highlight features can be seen on short walks. And to me, cross-country skiing the almost flat, 2.5 miles of trail through Yellowstone’s Upper Geyser Basin, past one-fourth of the active geysers in the world (and the greatest concentration of them), is one of the most fascinating experiences in the National Park System.

See my stories “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” “The Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” “Cross-Country Skiing Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone at The Big Outside.

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See the best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

 

The "kids raft" running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
The “kids raft” running Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

10. Rafting Idaho’s Incomparable Middle Fork Salmon River

For a complete package of sheer thrills, five-star scenery, immersion in a vast wilderness, beautiful campsites, repeated episodes of children shrieking with joy, and an experience guaranteed to be a family favorite that you’ll want to repeat—not to mention eating like every day was Thanksgiving—few trips we’ve taken as a family compare to our guided float down Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Flowing like an artery through the heart of the second-largest federal wilderness in the continental United States, the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork is widely considered second only to the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in terms of raw beauty. My family might argue it’s better—and we’ve take three Middle Fork trips.

See my stories “Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” and “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River,” and all stories about river trips at The Big Outside.

See my All Trips List, all stories featuring my expert outdoors tips, and all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

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How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Mon, 01 Dec 2025 10:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=37275 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

For backpackers, the Teton Crest Trail really delivers it all: beautiful lakes, creeks, and waterfalls, high passes with sweeping vistas, endless meadows of vibrant wildflowers, a good chance of seeing wildlife like elk and moose, some of the best campsites you will ever pitch a tent in, and mind-boggling scenery just about every step of the way. And it’s a relatively beginner-friendly trip of 40 miles or less, which most people can hike in four to five days.

No wonder it’s so enormously popular—and there’s so much competition for backcountry permits.

In this story, I will offer tips on how to maximize your chances of getting a permit to backpack the Teton Crest Trail, sharing expertise I’ve acquired from at least two dozen trips in the Tetons and several on the Teton Crest Trail over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


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

See my story from my most-recent trip on it, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including basic information on planning a TCT backpacking trip. For much more information and expert tips on planning this trip, get my top-selling e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I’ve also helped many readers plan a backpacking trip in the Tetons and elsewhere, answering all of their questions and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you.

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

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

A backpacker above the South Fork Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton N.P.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Apply the First Day Possible in January

For backpacking trips between May 1 and Oct. 31, permit reservations can be made at recreation.gov starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, 2026, and up to two days before your trip start date. But go online to make your reservation right at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on the day reservations open because most campsites that are available to reserve, especially along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up for the entire summer very quickly, often within minutes. Find more information at nps.gov/grte/planyourvisit/bcres.htm.

This point cannot be overemphasized: Given the huge demand for reservations and the fact that they get booked up so quickly, there’s effectively just one day every year—and for all practical purposes, just one brief window that may only last minutes—when you can reserve a permit for backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Be prepared to reserve one then.

See my story “A Teton Crest Trail Permit Shouldn’t Be So Hard to Get.”

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

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

Be Flexible With Your Dates and Itinerary

As I write in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” the single most-effective strategy for maximizing your chances of getting a permit for a popular trip during its peak season is to have flexibility with your dates and itinerary.

When going through the Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit reservation at recreation.gov , you will be able to check availability in real time for each camping zone on specific dates; thus, you will either finish the process with a permit, or you will be unable to finish the process and obtain a permit due to lack of availability on your dates.

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

Plan in advance how far you want to walk each day and begin the process with a specific, day-to-day itinerary planned out—but also with a range of possible starting dates and camping zone options.

Many backpackers will find hiking eight to 10 miles per day moderately difficult on the Teton Crest Trail—but the TCT is accessed via trails up canyons on the park’s east and west sides, with backpackers primarily using (from south to north) Granite, Death, Cascade, and Paintbrush canyons on the east. The topography generally creates a strenuous uphill day (or two) at the beginning of a trip and a long descent at the trip’s end. Some backpackers may want to build in short days, which also creates time for side hikes.

Select a Mountain Camping Zone for each night in the backcountry. The camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail within Grand Teton National Park are spaced out at easy to moderate distances for most backpackers to hike in a day; some, like the zones in the North and South Forks of Cascade Canyon, are close enough to provide relatively short hiking days. Keep in mind that each camping zone is roughly a few miles long, so where you camp within each zone will determine each day’s actual hiking mileage.

See a basic map of camping zones in the park’s backcountry camping brochure and my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” for my two favorite areas to camp along the Teton Crest Trail.

I suggest side hikes and several itinerary options in my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park,” which provides great detail on everything you need to know to plan and pull off this trip, including when and how to get a permit.

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

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.

While your permit designates a specific camping zone each night, you are not assigned a specific site; you can choose any unoccupied campsite when you arrive in each zone. The boundaries of the camping zones are marked by small signs along the trail. In some zones, like the North Fork Cascade Canyon, individual campsites are marked by signs; in others, like Death Canyon Shelf, there are not marked sites, but you can select from numerous, established sites that have clearly been used before, to minimize impact.

There is a $20 non-refundable fee if you obtain a permit plus $7 per person per night. 

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to see “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.”

Keep Your Group Small

Grand Teton National Park issues permits for standard campsites for backpacking parties up to six people; parties of seven to 12 must reserve the group site in each zone. Whether making a permit reservation in January or trying to get a walk-in permit (see below), keeping your party smaller than seven will improve your chances of getting a permit in the zones of your choice, because the park limits the total number of people permitted nightly for each zone.

Sunset Lake, along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Sunset Lake, along the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Try for a Walk-In Permit

You didn’t plan months in advance and now it’s too late to reserve a permit for camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail? There is a last resort: get a walk-in (or first-come) permit.

The park allows reservations for only about one-third of permits in advance—leaving two-thirds of backcountry camping available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, issued no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. Naturally, there’s high demand for walk-in permits. Show up at a park backcountry desk (there’s one in the park’s Craig Thomas Discovery & Visitor Center in Moose) at least an hour and ideally two or more hours before it opens, to get a spot near the front of the line.

Arrive there with a preferred hiking itinerary planned, including where you’d like to start and finish and camp each night, plus optional itineraries, and talk to a ranger about what’s available. You might get lucky and score a permit to start the same day. But expect to have to wait a day—if you’re fortunate enough to get a walk-in permit.

You can get the required bear canister on loan for free at the backcountry desk if you don’t have one. (See my favorite bear canister in my review of essential backpacking gear accessories.)

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf.

Go Outside Peak Season

I’ve always been amazed at how few backpackers there are in the Tetons in September, when you can often enjoy perfect weather. The peak season for backpacking runs from whenever the higher sections of trail and the passes become mostly snow-free, usually by mid-July, through around Labor Day.

That’s also the period with the greatest demand for backcountry permits.

Although there is the possibility of your plans being ruined by an unusual early-season snowfall, choose dates after Labor Day and your chances of getting a permit are much better.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “American Classic: The Teton Crest Trail,” “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail,” and “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” plus all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail and about Grand Teton National Park at The Big Outside.

My Custom Trip Planning page explains how you can get my personal help planning this trip or any trip you read about at my blog.

After the Teton Crest Trail, hike the other nine of
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

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5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Mon, 01 Dec 2025 10:00:59 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26181 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

On my first backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park, camped on Death Canyon Shelf, a broad, boulder-strewn and wildflower-carpeted bench at 9,500 feet, I awoke to the sound of heavy clomping outside my tent. I unzipped the tent door to investigate—and saw a huge bull elk standing just outside my nylon walls.

As I’ve come to learn over at least two dozen trips to the Tetons since that first one over three decades ago, that elk encounter symbolized just one of several compelling reasons why every backpacker should move the Teton Crest Trail to the top of their to-do list: the wildlife. Where it occurred illustrates another reason: After years of backpacking all over the United States—including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—Death Canyon Shelf is still one of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites.


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


Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

And I certainly consider the Teton Crest Trail one of the 10 best backpacking trips in America. It’s one I keep going back to again and again. (Read about my most recent trip.)

I think the five reasons I lay out below will give you insights into questions you might have about this classic hike—and inspire you to go do it.

But know this important planning detail: The park begins accepting permit applications at recreation.gov starting at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on a specific date in early January. (The date changes every year and gets announced by late autumn. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail” for details.) Apply then because most campsites along the TCT that are available to reserve for summer dates will disappear quickly—typically within minutes.

The park only issues reservations for about one-third of permits in advance, leaving two-thirds available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, which can be obtained no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. While there’s high demand for walk-in permits and popular camping zones will fill up first, it’s often possible to get a walk-in permit for a very good hike; and if you’re near the front of the line, perhaps for your first-choice route and camps.

My top-selling e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and pull off that trip. And I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a successful and memorable backpacking trip in the Tetons. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can create a personalized trip plan ideal for you.

If you’ve backpacked in the Tetons or have other thoughts or suggestions about this trip, I’d appreciate you sharing those in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here are the five reasons every backpacker must hike the Teton Crest Trail.

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

1. It’s Not Particularly Hard

Some big, wilderness parks are famous for steep, rugged terrain, high elevations, and/or severe weather. But with the exception of two or three long uphill slogs—like Paintbrush Divide from either direction, or climbing from the lower Death Canyon Trail to either Static Divide or Death Canyon Shelf—trails in the Tetons are not especially difficult. Most of the hiking is at elevations that flatlanders acclimate to fairly quickly and have no trouble with, other than occasional shortness of breath.

Like most of the Mountain West, the Tetons commonly see afternoon thunderstorms in summer, and snow can fall in September. But they generally receive stable, sunny weather with moderate temperatures during the peak hiking season, from mid-July through mid-September.

Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Don’t expect an easy stroll (and keeping your pack light has the biggest impact on comfort and fatigue). But we took our kids backpacking in the Tetons for the first time when they were eight and six, on a three-day, 20-mile loop from String Lake Trailhead up Paintbrush Canyon and down Cascade Canyon—probably the park’s most popular multi-day hike, and it includes the highest and hardest pass on the TCT. (Click here now to get my e-book to that trip, which is the best beginner-friendly backpacking trip in Grand Teton National Park.) They were 10 and eight when we took took them on a four-day hike on the TCT.

In truth, on much of the TCT, you follow a good footpath, traversing a high plateau and descending and ascending canyons that are rarely steep. It is certainly tiring but not exceptionally strenuous.

See my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

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

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
A moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

2. There’s a Good Chance of Seeing Wildlife

I’ve seen elk (and heard them bugling in September), moose, deer, pronghorn antelope, marmots, and pikas in the Tetons. Both times I’ve backpacked with my family there, we’ve seen moose fairly close (though at a safe distance). There are black and grizzly bears in the Tetons, but bear encounters are not common; in all of my trips there, I’ve seen one black bear, and it ignored me hiking down the trail while it fed on berries a short distance away. You should take appropriate precautions, of course, and the park requires carrying bear canisters for food storage.

Look for elk, marmot, and pikas at higher elevations in summer, moose in wet areas (like Phelps Lake, the forks of Granite Canyon, Death Canyon, and the main stem and forks of Cascade Canyon), pronghorn and bison in Jackson Hole, and deer everywhere. Hit the trail early in the morning or explore from your campsite in the evening hours—and be quiet—for the best chances of seeing wildlife.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in the Jedediah Smith Wilderness.
Todd Ardnt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail toward Alaska Basin. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

3. It’s Not Crowded

Most dayhikers do not venture as far as the more-remote sections of the Teton Crest Trail, and climbers focus largely on the Grand Teton and other high peaks in the park’s core. Consequently, you’ll see only other backpackers on much of the TCT, and those numbers are managed to provide a wilderness experience. With the exception of a few spots that get busy at certain times of day—like misleadingly named Lake Solitude around midday in July or August, when dayhikers are streaming in, or Alaska Basin (which is actually outside the park, but along the TCT) on summer weekends, and in campsites in mornings and evenings—you will not see too many people in the Teton backcountry, especially after Labor Day.

Campsites are also fairly well spread out within the camping zones, keeping parties largely out of sight and earshot of one another.

See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Want a shorter trip? Click here now to get my expert e-book
“The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

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

4. It’s Not Experts-Only

Beginners who can read a map can backpack the TCT. Throughout Grand Teton National Park, you will find trails that are well-constructed, obvious, and clearly marked, including signs at junctions. You can hike moderate days and still complete a Teton Crest Trail trip in four days, or take an overnight or weekend trip on a section of it. In many ways, backpacking the Teton Crest Trail is relatively beginner-friendly.

Get good gear. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Todd Arndt above the South Fork Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.

5. It’s Drop-Dead Beautiful

However high your expectations may be from the many articles, photos, and videos of the Tetons readily available to anyone with wifi, a hike on the Teton Crest Trail will still wow you. From the campsites to the high passes, canyon bottoms, and virtually every step of the hike, the TCT offers a succession of soaring cliffs, vast fields of wildflowers (in mid-summer), waterfalls, and nearly constant but ever-changing views of one of the most dramatic and famous mountain skylines in America.

That’s why I consider it one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

See my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your Teton Crest Trail trip.

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

See all stories at The Big Outside about Grand Teton National Park and backpacking the Teton Crest Trail (which require a paid subscription to read in full), including:

A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail
How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail
Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail
The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park
10 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons

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

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5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Mon, 17 Nov 2025 10:23:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50125 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Create a list of the attributes that constitute a great backpacking trip and the chances are very high that you will describe Glacier National Park. There’s the incomparable landscape, where the remnants of glaciers hang off craggy mountains, vertiginous cliffs tower above deeply green valleys carved in the classic U shape by ancient rivers of ice, and hundreds of mountain lakes reflect it all. And encounters with wildlife like bighorn sheep, mountain goats, elk, moose, and, yes, grizzly and black bears: Few places in the continental United States harbor such a breadth of megafauna.

Sprawling over a million acres in Montana’s Northern Rockies, most of it wilderness, Glacier exudes a sense of wildness and beauty that no longer exists in most of the country.


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


A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all of my e-books describing classic backpacking trips in Glacier and other national parks.

Little wonder that this park remains so enduringly popular with backpackers. After more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States and more than a decade running this blog, having taken many of the best multi-day hikes out there—some of them, like Glacier, multiple times—I think that Glacier is, in many respects, the best. (See my lists of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips”—and yes, of course, Glacier graces both lists.)

I’ve had the good fortune to get to know Glacier—and its extremely competitive permit system—very well.

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

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker on the Continental Divide Trail above Medicine Grizzly Lake in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Continental Divide Trail above Medicine Grizzly Lake in Glacier National Park. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside,

See also my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” both of which provide all you need to know to plan those trips, including detailed guidance on getting a high-demand backcountry permit, multiple itinerary options of varied lengths, the best campsites, plus expert advice on the ideal time of year, gear, and safety in bear country.

I’ve also helped many readers of my blog plan a very enjoyable backpacking trip designed specifically for them in Glacier. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

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

Please share your thoughts on this article—or your favorite hikes in Glacier—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep above the Redgap Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

1. Well, There’s All Those Critters

On nearly every backpacking trip I’ve taken in Glacier, I have seen bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and both black and grizzly bears (the last from a safe distance—most of the time, with the exception of this encounter). I’ve seen mountain goats on every trip. Go in late summer or early fall and you may hear elk bugling every morning and evening (as I did on this mid-September trip).

While you can see all of those megafauna in some other parts of the Lower 48 and Alaska, very few places host such a density of them—which means you are more likely to see them in Glacier than other wildlands.

Every backpacker who walks through the wilderness of Glacier takes home a powerful sense of awe over this park—and a desire to return again and again.

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

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

2. And the Mountains and Lakes—Wow

The Blackfeet who’ve inhabited this area for centuries called these mountains “the backbone of the world.” In 1901, the American anthropologist, historian, naturalist, and writer George Bird Grinnell, in campaigning for the creation of Glacier National Park, coined the phrase “Crown of the Continent,” and it stuck.

Today, Glacier’s one million acres comprise just one piece of a contiguous, protected ecosystem spanning nearly 13 million acres across the U.S.-Canada border.

But those words and numbers fail to even come close to conveying the majesty of these peaks. The Rocky Mountain chain arguably reaches its full glory in the Northern Rockies of Glacier, where giant axe and knife blades of rock erupt from the earth, slicing into a sky often strikingly blue in summer.

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A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass, on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

More than 760 lakes dot Glacier’s landscape, many of them nestled among peaks so jaggedly dramatic that you’ll struggle to leave them—like Elizabeth Lake, Sue Lake, and Lake Ellen Wilson, to name just three that I list among the most gorgeous backcountry lakes I’ve ever seen.

Among Continental Divide Trail thru-hikers, the prevailing opinion is that the two greatest highlights of their multi-month trek were the Wind River Range and Glacier.

Of course, the best way to know this is to go and see for yourself.

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

A backpacker hiking the Continental Divide Trail toward Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Continental Divide Trail toward Triple Divide Pass in Glacier National Park.

3. It’s Not That Hard

Some big, mountainous parks are notorious for steep, rugged terrain, high elevations, and/or severe weather. But that’s not generally the case in Glacier. Most of the park’s trails are built at what’s called a “horse grade,” meaning never too steep for horses, which is less steep than many trails designed strictly for humans. Step for step, mile for mile, hiking here feels a bit easier than in many other parks.

A backpacker along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt beside Red Eagle Creek, along the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier National Park.

Trail elevations in Glacier pose significantly less challenge than other parts of the Rockies or the High Sierra: With the highest passes on trails under 8,000 feet, most people feel little effects of altitude beyond shortness of breath hiking uphill.

Like most of the Mountain West, Glacier may see afternoon thunderstorms in summer, and snow can fall in September or even August, although that’s rare. But the park often sees stable, sunny weather with just about perfect temperatures during the peak hiking season of mid-July into mid-September, without as many biting insects as wetter climates.

Don’t expect an easy stroll (and keeping your pack light has the biggest impact on comfort and fatigue). But we took our kids backpacking in Glacier for the first time when they were nine and seven, on a three-day hike on the Gunsight Pass Trail—and they loved it.

The biggest challenge of backpacking in Glacier is staying safe in bear country—and park management all but eliminates the possibility of the most common mistakes people make, with designated backcountry campgrounds all equipped with bearproof food-hanging systems. That delivers another great benefit of relieving you of the weight of a bear canister that’s required in many other parks, from Grand Teton to Yosemite, the parks and national forests of the High Sierra, and other destinations.

See my story “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

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

 

A backpacker on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click on photo to learn how I can help you plan your Glacier trip.

4. Finding Solitude and a Wilderness Experience

Sure, you will encounter other backpackers and dayhikers on some trails. But as in many major national parks, Glacier’s management limits the number of backcountry permits issued to backpackers. While virtually all available permits get claimed during the peak summer season, every time I’ve backpacked in Glacier, my party has enjoyed hours every day seeing few other people—especially the farther you hike from any road (and the park has very few roads).

See “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park.”

Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.

Certain areas of the park attract the most visitors—including Logan Pass and Many Glacier. But in a park that spans over a million acres, mostly wilderness, it’s not hard to get away from the hordes, especially in more-remote areas like the North Fork, Goat Haunt, and Nyack/Coal Creek areas and even some sections of the Continental Divide Trail.

Yes, it’s hard to get a backcountry permit in Glacier—and that’s a good thing. The wilderness experience remains protected—and amplified by all the factors noted above.

Want deeper solitude? Follow tip no. 2 (“Go outside the peak season”) in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking” and backpack in Glacier in late September or early October, when average temperatures range from highs in the 50s and 60s Fahrenheit to lows in the 30s to around freezing. While precipitation is more likely than in August, September and October both average just over two inches of total precipitation—and none on two out of every three days—falling mostly as rain in September, while the shift to snow occurs sometime in October.

In other words, you can see snow in late summer and early fall, but the weather is dry more often than not, with moderately cool temps. Watch the forecast and take advantage of a good weather window.

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

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

5. Because It Will Blow You Away

Backpacking my own variation of Glacier’s Northern Loop with two friends who’d never been to the park before, as we reached Piegan Pass—and a view that stopped us in our tracks—one of them remarked, with joking sarcasm, “I can’t see why you wanted to take us here, Mike. It’s not like there’s much to see.” And that was just our first day.

As was the case the first time I backpacked much of the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier with three other friends (I more recently hiked a slight variation of that same route), every day felt like a walk through a time 10,000 years before the present, when nature was pristine (mostly, although human-caused climate change is rapidly causing the park’s glaciers to melt away) and North America’s full complement of original animal species still roamed the mountains. Those two trips culminated with a crossing of the high and stunning Dawson Pass Trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass, overlooking some of the biggest peaks and glaciers and most-remote wilderness in the park’s core—and seeing yet more bighorn sheep.

That’s what awaits you in Glacier. Go there.

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside, including “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and “Jagged Peaks and Wild Goats: Backpacking Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail.” Like many stories at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park,” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan your backpacking trip in Glacier.

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Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/not-a-dull-moment-backpacking-buckskin-gulch-and-paria-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/not-a-dull-moment-backpacking-buckskin-gulch-and-paria-canyon/#comments Fri, 14 Nov 2025 12:43:13 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=68772 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We haven’t hiked far down the sandy wash from the Wire Pass Trailhead when the red rock walls start steadily rising higher on both sides and crowding in closer. And although none of the four of us has backpacked this route into southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch before, we’re all familiar with approach hikes into slot canyons—and the unnatural and kind of thrilling sensation of descending into the Earth.

Before long, the walls stand barely more than shoulder-width apart and perhaps a hundred feet tall and the light at the bottom of this slot canyon grows dim. We downclimb a sturdy wooden ladder installed for getting over a pour-off that drops several feet. Little or no direct sunlight reaches us now, only the reflected light hitting the tops of these walls and seeping downward. In rare places where the twisting canyon aligns with the sun, the sudden direct sunlight feels intensely hot, especially in contrast to the pleasant coolness of the deep shade filling most of this slot.


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 down southern Utah's Buckskin Gulch.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking southern Utah’s Buckskin Gulch. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

The flat, dry, sandy bottom initially makes for relatively easy walking. Then we encounter a rockier bottom and the first puddles, some spanning the slot from wall to wall and extending for 10, 20, 30 or more feet, some shallow, others calf deep. Where puddles have dried up, we walk across mud—sometimes firm, sometimes quite mucky. But nothing that compares to my recollection of the first time I backpacked down Buckskin Gulch and we had to wade through thigh-deep pits of watery but thick muck that felt like wet cement choked with sticks and stones, all of which had been smashed up and carried downstream by flash floods.

Less than an hour from the trailhead, we reach this short tributary canyon’s confluence with Buckskin Gulch and turn downstream.

My friends David Gordon, Doug Jenkins, and Jeff Wilhelm and I are backpacking down Buckskin Gulch to the canyon of the Paria River, which flows from southern Utah into northern Arizona and empties into the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon. Instead of hiking from the Buckskin-Paria confluence all the way down Paria to Lees Ferry, we’re planning to finish at the White House Trailhead, the starting point for the usual route that backpackers follow down Paria Canyon to Lees Ferry.

And we have a weather forecast that has placed a somewhat hard deadline on our backpacking trip—a trip that we’re undertaking, nonetheless, because we’re all experienced enough to share high confidence that we can meet that deadline.

(The Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story includes much more detail about our itinerary, why I originally planned it as I did, and how and why we changed our plans right before the trip based on the weather forecast. Much of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading all of this story, including that Take This Trip section, is an exclusive benefit of a subscription to The Big Outside.)

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One of the Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest

As we continue down Buckskin Gulch, the walls, often slightly overhanging, rise to perhaps 200 feet high and the canyon widens and narrows a few times. But it mostly remains a true, very narrow slot. Gazing around, I’m reminded that the greatest magic of slot 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.

Wildly rippled and sculpted by too many floods for us to guesstimate, over too many years for us to fathom, and scored by layers of geology, the tall, sheer walls also preclude any quick escape from this canyon: The only exits lie hours behind or ahead of us. And that is why you only want to hike any slot canyon with a reliable forecast for clear skies and zero rain.

After Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon, hike the rest of
The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A backpacker hiking Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah.
Find the backpacker! David Gordon backpacking Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah.

For a few decades now, Buckskin Gulch, located in the Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness on the Utah-Arizona border, has been increasingly well known as possibly the longest slot canyon in America, and perhaps the world. (The first claim seems substantiated by the lack of another one identified as longer, but the second claim may be unknowable.) The official measure given Buckskin by its management agency, the Bureau of Land Management, puts it at 16 miles from the top of its actual canyon—like many canyons here, it begins as an almost flat, usually dry wash in the open desert, with no walls—to its confluence with Paria Canyon. Type its name into a search engine and the top phrase likely to fill in is “Buckskin Gulch longest slot canyon.”

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 the very good reason of protecting the river’s water quality and this fragile canyon environment, the permit system limits the number of backpackers starting a multi-day hike here at a total of 20 people per day. In my experience, because parties spread out in these canyons, that system ensures a nice degree of solitude.

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Hiking a slot canyon where heavy rainstorms regularly trigger flash floods that constantly deposit new debris and relocate and reorganize pre-existing debris can feel like investigating the rubble of a city recently bombed—and indeed, the damage from flash floods is often relatively recent, certainly in geological time, having occurred only months or weeks or even just days before.

We occasionally pass below logs that were once tree trunks, stripped of their bark and white as bones, pinned between the walls 20 to 30 or more feet overhead by some past flood, spanning the canyon like little bridges for wall-climbing lizards. The height of those logs speaks to the depth and power of the floodwaters that pinned them—forces that anyone would shudder to contemplate.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

Backpackers in Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm, David Gordon and Doug Jenkins backpacking Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah.

We step around the decaying carcass of an animal, maybe a pronghorn or a goat, that either fell to its death from the canyon rim high overhead or was swept away in a flash flood, carried probably a considerable distance, and deposited there when the water level dropped.

At a jam-up of giant boulders that spans Buckskin’s close walls—looking like some catastrophic geologic train wreck—we scramble over and around gritty, sandy rocks to find a route through the wreckage. We first climb up, then carefully downward through a gap, passing our packs through difficult and tight spots, and finally underneath rocks to reach the jam’s other side. And continue hiking.

A backpacker hiking Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah.
Doug Jenkins backpacking in Buckskin Gulch in southern Utah. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Finally, some nine or more hours after we started out from the Wire Pass Trailhead, we find an established, sandy campsite on a bench a few feet above the canyon bottom, in a stretch of lower Buckskin Gulch that widens to at least 200 to 300 feet across. Soaring walls of vermilion, maroon, and scarlet with dark water streaks rise at least a couple hundred feet above us, riddled with ledges, cracks, overhangs. Smallish cottonwood trees inhabit the benches of sand and mud on both sides of this bend in the canyon.

We drop our packs and pitch tents, all of us genuinely surprised at how long and hard a day we just had—our fatigue considerably amplified by the several liters of water we each carried, not sure whether we’d find any in Buckskin or how silted it might be, and the same with the Paria River tomorrow. One party of three is camped a short distance from us, out of sight and mostly beyond earshot. Before dark, a lone backpacker claims the campsite directly across the canyon from us.

The spring desert night seems to drip very slowly from the sky because of the protracted time between when the sun drops behind the walls in late afternoon and when darkness overtakes the canyon later in the evening. Dusk takes its sweet time in the bottom of a narrow canyon.

And the absolute silence on a windless evening like this one feels as dense as the quicksand that I’ve encountered on both of my previous trips into these canyons. Words spoken somewhat loudly echo distinctly off the walls, sounding like they were mimicked perfectly by another person just across the canyon.

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Paria Canyon

At the Buckskin Gulch-Paria Canyon confluence the next morning, I look around, searching, I guess, for something about this spot that looks familiar. But nothing does. That’s the nature of Southwest canyons—nothing remains the same for very long. I can’t imagine how many flash floods have rearranged Buckskin and Paria over the past three decades since I first stood here.

I last stood at this confluence 10 years ago, on a backpacking trip with my family and another family, our group including four teenagers and one ’tweener; we started at White House Trailhead, instead of the Wire Pass Trailhead, and hiked down Paria to Lees Ferry, not attempting Buckskin that time because of reports of about four feet of icy water filling that canyon on that late-March trip. (We ran into a couple at a campsite in lower Paria Canyon who told us they had backpacked down Buckskin, wading for hours through icy water with their puffy jackets and every layer they brought on their upper bodies—and were still freezing.)

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

 

A backpacker hiking up Paria Canyon in southern Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking up Paria Canyon in southern Utah.

And before that, I stood at this confluence 32 years ago, with my girlfriend (now my wife) after camping the night before somewhere very close to where we camped last night, possibly on the same sandy bench—although, undoubtedly, the canyon bottom has been reshaped countless times since then and would look different today from that first trip, while the upper walls may remain largely unchanged.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See also my stories “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, ultralight backpacking tent, ultralight sleeping bag, ultralight air mattress, and stove I used on this trip.

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.

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Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-yosemite-what-you-need-to-know/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-yosemite-what-you-need-to-know/#respond Sat, 08 Nov 2025 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=55248 Read on

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The first major Western national park I backpacked in was Yosemite. I wanted to begin exploring America’s big, iconic wilderness parks—and like a lot of backpackers, I thought: Where else would I start but Yosemite? The name alone conjures mental images of walking for days through wild backcountry sprinkled with shimmering alpine lakes, granite walls, and high passes and summits overlooking a sea of jagged peaks (which, it turns out, is accurate).

Today, after many return trips throughout Yosemite, I’ve learned that one can spend a lifetime wandering the more than 700,000 acres of wilderness in America’s third national park and not get tired of it.

But what do you need to know about taking a Yosemite backpacking trip? This article will answer all of your questions on how to go about planning and executing what is unquestionably one of America’s 10 best backpacking trips—including tips on obtaining a wilderness permit that can be very hard to get. The information to follow draws on my numerous trips backpacking, dayhiking, and rock climbing there over more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor with Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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 Indian Ridge, overlooking Half Dome, in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking Indian Ridge in Yosemite. Click photo to read about Yosemite’s “best-kept secret backpacking trip.”

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and all stories at this blog about backpacking in Yosemite and in the High Sierra. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on planning each hike. See also my expert e-books to three great multi-day hikes in Yosemite and other parks, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I’ve helped many readers plan backpacking trips in Yosemite, on the John Muir Trail, and throughout the High Sierra, answering all of their questions (and many they didn’t think to ask) and customizing an itinerary ideal for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you and read hundreds of comments from readers like you who’ve received my custom trip planning.

Click on any photo below to read about that trip. Please share your questions, personal stories, or tips about backpacking in Yosemite in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

A backpacker hiking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.

First: It’s Not as Crowded as You Think

Yosemite will far surpass your expectations in many ways—and it can blow up the stereotype of hugely popular national parks. The first is the notion that it’s overrun with people. I can speak to that question from deep personal experience: I’ve hiked many days there, during the peak season, encountering few other people.

While certain spots and trails get insanely busy at times—think: Yosemite Valley, the Mist Trail, Half Dome—most of the park’s backcountry offers a surprising amount of solitude. The truth is that only about 10 percent of the park’s 750 miles of trails accounts for about 80 percent of all trail use: mostly the John Muir Trail from Happy Isles to Donohue Pass, Little Yosemite Valley (which alone accounts for almost 20 percent of backcountry use) and the Sierra High Camps loop. And the average length of backpacking trips is just two nights.

Consequently, as a career backcountry ranger in Yosemite once told me, “There are areas of the park where you will see very few people.”

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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. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

How to Get a Yosemite Wilderness Permit

As in most mountainous Western national parks (like Grand Teton, Glacier, Mount Rainier,, and others), Yosemite permits are in high demand for dates in July, August, and September. First key step for success: Know when to reserve a permit. Fortunately, Yosemite established in 2022 a sensible and user-friendly system created to handle and spread out enormous demand.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Yosemite.
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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. Click photo to get my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

Yosemite issues wilderness permits based on daily trailhead quotas (with special rules for the John Muir Trail) through a rolling lottery that provides weeklong reservation periods.

Enter a lottery up to 24 weeks in advance of your desires trip start date and you will be notified of whether you get a permit reservation within two business days after the lottery closes. Thus, if you strike out in one lottery period, you can apply in any subsequent lottery period—so it makes sense to enter the lottery for the earliest possible date you could take the trip.

Sixty percent of permit reservations are available by lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 beginning at 12:01 a.m. Pacific Time on the Sunday up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance of the date you want to start hiking, with the lottery for each specific window of dates closing at 11:59 p.m. the following Saturday.

See “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit.”

Forty percent of wilderness permits become available for reserving at recreation.gov/permits/445859 starting seven days and up to three days before a trip start date.

See “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.” Find more information at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm.

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Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite.

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

See these articles at The Big Outside that may be useful for a Yosemite hike:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
8 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking
How to Plan Food for a Backpacking Trip
10 Pro Tips For Staying Warm in a Sleeping Bag
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking

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

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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.
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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. 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 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-great-john-muir-trail-section-hikes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-great-john-muir-trail-section-hikes/#comments Mon, 27 Oct 2025 09:05:04 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=55973 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Like moths to a flame—or perhaps pikas to talus—at some point, many serious backpackers will decide they must thru-hike the John Muir Trail. But some will wonder whether they’re ready or have the time for a 221-mile hike that may take up to three weeks—and many will fail to get one of the most sought-after wilderness permits in the country. What then?

Well, there’s no better Plan B for a JMT thru-hike than knocking off a section of it as a consolation prize or to dial in your strategy and gear for eventually adding “America’s Most Beautiful Trail” to your tick list. And for virtually any JMT section hike, you’ll have much better chances of getting a wilderness permit than you will for a JMT thru-hike.


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 past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

The Best Hikes on the John Muir Trail

I put together the John Muir Trail section hikes described in this article—which vary greatly in distance and lie spread out along the entire JMT (most of which overlaps the Pacific Crest Trail/PCT)—based on my personal experience thru-hiking it in an admittedly insane seven days as well as numerous trips on JMT sections and throughout the High Sierra from Yosemite to Sequoia-Kings Canyon National Park. I’ve also backpacked thousands of miles all over the country over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor at Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

You’ll see on maps that it’s certainly feasible to combine some of the section hikes described below in a longer, partial-JMT trek. And some of the trips in this article hit wonderful stretches of the JMT while also covering significant distances off the JMT, exploring other, very worthy corners of the High Sierra.

Camping restrictions exist on some heavily used sections of the John Muir Trail; check each park’s or forest’s website when planning a trip. Bear canisters are required throughout the High Sierra. (See my favorite bear canister in this review.)

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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.

This article includes links to feature-length stories about trips, which contain numerous photos and often a video. See also “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit,” “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside, plus “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Many stories at my blog, like this one, are partially free for anyone to read, but reading them in full (and seeing all the trips I describe in this story) is an exclusive benefit of subscribing to The Big Outside—which gives you full access to all stories at this blog, including my expert tips on planning the many trips I’ve personally taken and written about.

Check out my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures, variations of these best hikes on the John Muir Trail, your JMT thru-hike, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside, and my expert e-books to many classic backpacking trips.

If you have any questions or suggestions for other JMT sections or High Sierra trips, please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

A backpacker on the 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, High Sierra.

Tuolumne Meadows to Reds Meadow

36 miles

From the Lyell Canyon/Rafferty Creek Trailhead at the east end of Tuolumne Meadows, at 8,700 feet in Yosemite, you can hike just over a half-mile to jump on the JMT southbound. From there, you’ll remain on the John Muir Trail for the next 35 miles to Reds Meadow.

Backpackers crossing Donohue Pass from Yosemite into the Ansel Adams Wilderness on the John Muir Trail.
Todd Arndt and Heather Dorn crossing Donohue Pass from Yosemite into the Ansel Adams Wilderness on the John Muir Trail.

A likely easier permit to get compared to starting at the JMT’s traditional northern terminus, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley, this section hike ascends some 2,300 feet to cross 11,056-foot Donahue Pass from Yosemite into the Ansel Adams Wilderness, then mostly cruises downhill past Thousand Island and Garnet lakes and a few smaller ones before reaching Reds. 

A relatively easy but scenic JMT introduction, this 35.7-mile section also offers the logistical conveniences of not requiring two vehicles or to pay for a shuttle or have someone drop you off, with public bus and shuttle services connecting Tuolumne and Reds (as well as Yosemite Valley). Add about 24 miles—making it a 60-mile hike—by starting at Yosemite Valley, also a great, weekend or three-day JMT section hiking to Tuolumne Meadows.

See photos and read about this section of the JMT in my story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience or Certifiably Insane?

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

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 get my custom trip planning for your JMT hike or any trip you read about at this blog.

Agnew Meadows to Yosemite Valley

52 miles

You may notice that this hike is the only one in this article described as hiking the JMT northbound—not because any of these trips cannot be hiked in either direction, but because many JMT thru-hikers and section hikers go southbound in order to gradually acclimate to the higher elevations of the southern trail. But the benefit of hiking this section northbound is an easier wilderness permit to obtain—versus trying to start at the JMT’s northern terminus in Yosemite Valley—for a hike that combines a great stretch of the trail through the Ansel Adams Wilderness and the JMT’s entire Yosemite segment.

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

From Agnew Meadows at over 8,300 feet—where there are various possible starting trailheads—the shortest route to the JMT reaches it just 3.7 miles from the trailhead, at the west shore of Shadow Lake, where you’ll turn north and remain on the trail for the next roughly 48 miles to Yosemite Valley (depending on the route you take through Tuolumne Meadows and whether you opt for diversions off the JMT to Clouds Rest and Half Dome).

After passing two of the trail’s prettiest lakes, Garnet and Thousand Island, this route ascends steadily to enter Yosemite at 11,056-foot Donohue Pass. From there, it’s virtually all downhill through Lyell Canyon to Tuolumne Meadows, Cathedral Pass and Lakes, the meadows of Sunrise below the peaks of the Cathedral Range, past the Half Dome Trail junction—a highly recommended side trip—and the brink of thunderous, 594-foot Nevada Fall, finishing at the JMT’s northern terminus, the Happy Isles Trailhead in Yosemite Valley.

See photos and more info about this route and Yosemite in “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail” and “The 12 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite,” and see all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

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A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P., High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P. Click photo to read “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

North Lake-South Lake Loop

57 miles

From the Piute Pass/North Lake Trailhead, at 9,360 feet, to the South Lake/Bishop Pass Trailhead, at over 9,800 feet, this near-loop—the trailheads lie a short drive apart—constitutes, mile for mile, not just one of the best hikes along the John Muir Trail, but also one of the best multi-day hikes in the High Sierra.

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail south toward LeConte Canyon, Kings Canyon National Park.
David Ports backpacking the John Muir Trail south toward LeConte Canyon, Kings Canyon National Park.

Located within the John Muir Wilderness of the Inyo National Forest (which is the permitting agency) and a corner of Kings Canyon National Park, this hike features nearly 27 miles of the JMT’s finest miles along the South Fork San Joaquin River, past alpine lakes rippling below soaring cliffs in the Evolution Basin, over 11,955-foot Muir Pass, and through LeConte Canyon, with its own towering granite walls and peaks.

The loop also crosses two other passes, Piute at 11,423 feet and Bishop at 11,972 feet; Humphreys Basin at 11,000 feet below Mount Humphreys, which towers to almost 14,000 feet, and the wall of peaks along the Glacier Divide; plus Dusy Basin at over 11,000 feet, below the massive crest of the Palisades’ 13ers and 14ers; and follows the courses of Piute and Evolution creeks past waterfalls and roaring cascades. There’s not a dull moment on this entire hike.

Find more information at fs.usda.gov/recarea/inyo/recreation/recarea/?recid=21048&actid=51 and fs.usda.gov/recarea/inyo/recarea/?recid=20358&actid=50.

Want to hike the John Muir Trail?
Click here for expert, detailed advice you won’t get elsewhere.

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail to Glen Pass, Kings Canyon N.P.
Mark Fenton backpacking the JMT to Glen Pass in Kings Canyon National Park.

Rae Lakes Loop

41 miles

This 41.4-mile loop in Kings Canyon National Park earns its status as one of the most enduringly popular backpacking trips in the entire High Sierra—and certainly one of the best hikes on the John Muir Trail, even though much of the loop stays off the JMT, exploring the backcountry of Kings Canyon National Park amid the skyscraping peaks of the southern High Sierra—for a few good reasons.

The Rae Lakes Valley, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
The Rae Lakes Valley, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

But foremost that it features an outstanding section of the JMT through the Rae Lakes Valley and over 11,978-foot Glen Pass, the loop’s only high pass.

Starting at Road’s End, at 5,035 feet in Yosemite Valley-like Kings Canyon, the loop gradually ascends the valleys of the South Fork Kings Canyon River and Bubbs Creek (when hiking clockwise) and finishes down the Bubbs Creek Valley.

Besides the convenience of a loop hike at a distance that many backpackers will consider moderate—plus just one high pass to cross, making it a bit easier than several section hikes in this article—it also begins on the west side of the High Sierra, less than a day’s drive from major airports and most Californians, helping to explain the huge demand for this permit.

Find more information at https://www.nps.gov/seki/planyourvisit/rae-lakes-loop.htm.

Do the JMT right. See “How to Get a John Muir Trail Wilderness Permit
and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

A hiker at Trail Crest on Mount Whitney.
Mark Fenton at Trail Crest on Mount Whitney.

Kearsarge Pass Trailhead to Whitney Portal

48.6 miles

This section hike is not for the faint of heart or backpackers who struggle with high elevations. But the reward for this serious effort is some of the biggest scenery and highest points on the John Muir Trail, including the summit of Mount Whitney—certainly a highlight of any JMT thru-hike or section hike.

A backpacker on the John Muir Trail below Forester Pass in Sequoia National Park.
A backpacker north of Forester Pass on the John Muir Trail in Sequoia National Park.

While it begins with a climb of almost 2,700 feet in 4.7 miles from the Kearsarge Pass Trailhead, at 9,185 feet, past a string of small lakes in the John Muir Wilderness to 11,845-foot Kearsarge Pass—where you enter Kings Canyon National Park—you’ll reach the JMT south of Glen Pass in just 7.5 miles and follow it southbound for 30.7 miles to its southern terminus atop 14,505-foot Mount Whitney.

The JMT makes a gradual ascent of the Bubbs Creek Valley to 13,180-foot Forester Pass, the trail’s highest, enters Sequoia National Park and descends through a stark alpine lakes basin at over 12,000 feet, and then makes a long, grueling ascent of almost 4,000 feet up the west face of Whitney to its broad summit.

From there, it’s a long, 10.4-mile and over 6,000-foot descent to the Whitney Portal Trailhead at nearly 8,400 feet. Starting at the Kearsarge Pass Trailhead lends you better odds getting a permit than trying to start at Whitney Portal—one of the most popular trailheads in the High Sierra.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience or Certifiably Insane?” and “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of Mount Whitney.”

Get the right gear for your trips.
See “The Best Backpacking Gear for the John Muir Trail.”

See all stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail at The Big Outside and “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

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.”

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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.

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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.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Canadian Rockies and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

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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.

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

Hikers descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar, Iceland.
My daughter, Alex, and son, Nate, descending off Mount Bláhnúkur, above Landmannalaugar in Iceland’s Central Highlands.

Hiking in Iceland

Steam from hot springs and fumaroles rises from scores of points stretching to a distant horizon. The landscape is a kaleidoscope of color—paint-can spills of ochre, pink, gold, plum, brown, rust, and honey against a backdrop of electric-lime moss and July snowfields smeared across the highlands. An old, hardened lava flow pours down one mountainside in a jumbled train wreck of black rhyolite. And that’s just day one on the Laugavegur Trail.

Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.
Alftavatn Lake. along the Laugavegur Trail. Iceland.

A typically four-day, hut-to-hut trek in Iceland’s remote Central Highlands, it belongs on any list of the world’s most beautiful paths—as does the Fimmvörðuháls Trail, a two-day addition to the Laugavegur that’s arguably even more stunning. Cap the adventure of a lifetime taking dayhikes along the Ring Road.

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

Ready to hike one of the world’s great treks? Click here now for my e-book
The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

A hiker on a trail overlooking the Mont Blanc massif in Switzerland.
A hiker on a trail overlooking the Mont Blanc massif in Switzerland.

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc

Look at any list of the world’s greatest hiking trails, and the Tour du Mont Blanc (photo at top of story) almost invariably occupies a spot at or near the top of it. The first reason is the sheer majesty of this roughly 105-mile (170k) walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps:” Crossing several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “aiguilles,” and the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

A young teenage girl descending from the Fenetre d’Arpette on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland.
My daughter, Alex, descending the steep trail from the Fenetre d’Arpette pass on the Tour du Mont Blanc in Switzerland. Click photo for my e-book to the Tour du Mont Blanc.

But there’s also the rich cultural experience of passing through three nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—as well as some of the best food I’ve eaten on any international trip. Plus, the abundance of scenic mountain towns and villages and availability of public transportation allows hikers to customize their trek, choosing which sections to hike depending on difficulty, weather, and how they feel.

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

Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

Or click here now to get more than 20% off on my e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail!

 

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

Hiking New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park

Tongariro National Park, in New Zealand’s central North Island, looks like a place devastated by a very big bomb—which is sort of what happened, but countless times. Its volcanoes remain active: One erupted 45 times in the 20th century and another ranks among the world’s most active. And on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, a 12-mile/19.4-kilometer traverse of much of the park, you’ll soak up almost constant views of these rugged peaks, broad craters, and lakes that all but glow with color in this stark landscape.

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

Arguably the best dayhike in New Zealand and among the best in the world, it’s no casual stroll, with nearly 6,000 feet/1,700 meters of combined uphill and downhill, including steep, loose terrain in spots. But among the highlights, the panorama from the rim of Red Crater overlooks several volcanoes, and the Emerald Lakes and Blue Lake make their names seem inadequately descriptive.

See my story from my most recent trip, “Hiking New Zealand’s Classic Tongariro Alpine Crossing” and my story from a previous hike, “Super Volcanoes: Hiking the Steaming Peaks of New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park.”

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

 

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail north toward Tekarra camp, Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

Backpacking the Skyline Trail in the Canadian Rockies

The Skyline Trail makes a 27.3-mile/44-kilometer traverse of the Maligne Range in Jasper National Park—the much-less-visited but larger sister park of its joined-at-the-hip sibling, Banff, in the Canadian Rockies. Remaining above treeline for about 15.5 miles/25 kilometers of its distance and riding the airy (and often windblown) crest of a high ridge at its apex, the Skyline has long been considered a Canadian Rockies classic for its nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains stretching to distant horizons in every direction.

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the 48 contiguous U.S. states that compares with the Canadian Rockies. Yes, I’m serious.

See my stories “Hiking and Backpacking the Canadian Rockies—A Photo Gallery,” “Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

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

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

Trekking Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains

On a weeklong, hut-to-hut trek through one of the world’s most spectacular and storied mountain ranges, Italy’s Dolomites, my family hiked a 39-mile (62k) section of the roughly 112-mile (180k) Alta Via 2, or “The Way of the Legends.”

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

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

Make your kids want to go again. See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

A hiker in the Cares Gorge, in northern Spain's Picos de Europa National Park.
My daughter, Alex, hiking through the Cares Gorge in Spain’s Picos de Europa National Park.

Hiking Spain’s Picos de Europa

What if I told you there’s a stunning mountain range in Europe that’s just a few hours’ drive from a major airport, has mountain huts and charming mountain towns, is surprisingly inexpensive to trek through—and you’ve probably never heard of it? Well, I’ve gotten around a fair bit, but I had never heard of northern Spain’s Picos de Europa until just months before my family’s five-day, 52-mile hike through them. Amid jagged limestone peaks rising to over 8,500 feet, we hiked over passes above 7,000 feet and across mind-boggling alpine terrain that conveys a sense of much bigger peaks.

My strong recommendation: Hire local guide Alberto Mediavilla Serrano, the best guide in the Picos; alberto.mediavilla@gmail.com. While following trails there isn’t terribly difficult in good weather, when we got a surprise snowstorm in June that reduced visibility and covered all trail markings, Alberto knew the mountains well enough to find the way in those conditions, advise us to change our plans to take a safer alternate route, and where we could find very reasonably priced rooms and good food in a village that night.

Read my feature story about my family’s trek, “The Best 5-Day Hike in Spain’s Picos de Europa Mountains.”

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

A hiker in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile's Patagonia region.
Jeff Wilhelm hiking in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile’s Patagonia region.

Trekking Patagonia’s Torres del Paine

Undoubtedly one of the most prized trekking destinations in the world, Torres del Paine National Park is Chile’s Yosemite. In the vast region known as Patagonia, it is a place of severely vertical stone monoliths thousands of feet tall: Imagine looking at Yosemite Valley stacked atop one of the deep valleys of Glacier National Park. Cracked glaciers stretch many miles long and wide, calving into emerald lakes, and the wind will occasionally knock you off your feet. Hiking hut-to-hut or camping on the roughly 31-mile (50k) “W” trek, on the south side of the mountains—where the weather is often better than the north side—takes in some of the park’s finest scenery.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine.”

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

Trekkers hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, daughter, Alex, and Cat hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my e-book to trekking the Milford Track.

Trekking New Zealand’s Milford Track and Sea Kayaking in Milford Sound

The Milford Track in Fiordland National Park, one of New Zealand’s Great Walks, has earned a reputation as one of the best multi-day hikes on the planet. Measuring 33.2 miles/53.5 kilometers, the trail makes a one-way traverse from giant Lake Te Anau, embraced by vividly green mountains, to Milford Sound, where sheer-walled peaks soar more than 5,000 feet/1,500 meters straight up out of this narrow corridor to the sea.

Sea kayakers in Milford Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Sea kayakers in Milford Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Along the way, you’ll walk through lush rainforest, below scores of ribbon waterfalls plunging hundreds of feet, cross the mountains at 3,786-foot/1,154-meter Mackinnon Pass, and spend nights in basic but comfortable mountain huts.

The Milford Track is also one of the hardest treks in the world to book hut reservations on. Instead (or in addition to trekking the Milford Track), spend a day sea kayaking in Milford Sound, soaking up views of cliffs wearing a thick fur of rainforest; you might even spot bottlenose dolphins and Fiordland crested penguins.

See my stories “Learning to—Love?—the Rain on New Zealand’s Milford Track” and “Photo Gallery: Sea Kayaking New Zealand’s Milford Sound,” and my story about a multi-day sea kayaking trip in Doubtful Sound in Fiordland National Park.

Get my expert e-book “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Famous Milford Track.”
Or get 20% off on both of my e-books to New Zealand’s Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

 

Trekkers above Olavsbu Hut in Norway's Jotunheimen National Park.
Jeff and Jasmine Wilhelm above Olavsbu Hut in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.

Trekking Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park

Jotunheimen—which means “Home of the Giants”—contains the highest European mountains north of the Alps, starkly barren peaks rising to more than 8,000 feet. In this rugged, Arctic-looking landscape, vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers, cliffs and mountains look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe, braided rivers meander down mostly treeless valleys, and reindeer roam wild. My family’s 60-mile (96.6k), hut-to-hut trek across Jotunheimen combined pristine wilderness with the most luxurious huts I’ve ever stayed in, a trail network that allows for flexibility in route options, and side hikes to summits with mind-blowing views of mountains buried in snow and ice, including the highest peak in Norway.

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

Find the right synthetic or down puffy for you. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

A kayaker below the Lamplugh Glacier in Alaska's Glacier Bay National Park.
A kayaker below the Lamplugh Glacier in Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park.

Sea Kayaking Alaska’s Glacier Bay

On a five-day, guided sea kayaking trip in Southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay National Park, my family probed deep into one of the most pristine and largest wildernesses left on Earth. Surrounded by snowy peaks smothered in more than 50 glaciers, some of which explosively calve icebergs into the sea, Glacier Bay is a 65-mile-long fjord that opens a window onto what North America looked like when the last Ice Age drew to a close 10,000 years ago. A short list of the many critters you may see includes humpback whales, orcas, brown bears, Steller sea lions, and birds like black-legged kittiwake, pigeon guillemot, bald eagles, two kinds of puffin. Few trips in America are this wild.

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

Click here now to join The Big Outside and get full access to ALL stories,
including every story linked here, plus a FREE e-book!

 

Trekking the Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia.
Trekking the Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia.

Backpacking Unknown Patagonia: The Dientes Circuit

Billed as the southernmost trek in the world, the 22.7-mile (36.5k) Dientes Circuit around the jagged, rocky peaks of the Dientes de Navarino, or “Teeth of Navarino,” certainly qualifies as one of the most remote: At 55 degrees south latitude, the Dientes, which reach almost 4,000 feet in elevation, lie just 60 miles from the tip of South America and a short flight from the Antarctic Peninsula.

While renowned treks in Patagonia, like those in Torres del Paine (see above), attract thousands of international trekkers every year, you may not see anyone else in four days on the Dientes Circuit—giving you a sense of what Patagonia was like before it became a darling of the international trekkers’ set. That’s not only because of its remoteness: This is a very strenuous hike that demands expert backcountry skills—all part of the challenge and reward of this unique backpacking trip.

See my story “Unknown Patagonia: Backpacking the Dientes Circuit.”

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

A trekker hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track, South Island, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking above Lake Harris toward Harris Saddle on the Routeburn Track, South Island, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-books to trekking the Routeburn Track and Milford Track.

Trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn and Kepler Tracks

Two more of New Zealand’s Great Walks are neighbors of the Milford Track (above) in Fiordland National Park: the world-class, 33.1-kilometer/20.7-mile Routeburn Track, generally done in three days; and the three- to four-day, approximately 37-mile/60-kiloemeter Kepler Track.

A hiker on Mount Luxmore on the Kepler Track in New Zealand's Fiordland National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm on Mount Luxmore on the Kepler Track in New Zealand’s Fiordland National Park.

Both deliver a grand tour of diverse landscapes, from moss-blanketed beech forest to the tussock-carpeted high country, placing them among the most scenic and varied hut treks in a country blessed with a crazy wealth of gorgeous trails. And the Kepler, in particular, presents a relatively mud-, flood-, and hassle-free, hut-to-hut hiking experience—most notably, it’s easier to get hut reservations for the Kepler than the hugely popular Milford and Routeburn. That’s nice in a region where everything from weather to logistics can mess with your adventure plans.

See my stories “Trekking New Zealand’s World-Class Routeburn Track” and “New Zealand’s Best, Uncomplicated Hut Trek: The Kepler Track.” See also my story “Hiking New Zealand’s Hardest Hut Trek, the Dusky Track.”

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Trekking New Zealand’s Routeburn Track.”
Or get 20% off on both of my e-books to New Zealand’s Milford Track and Routeburn Track.

 

A backpacker on the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, Canada.

Backpacking the Rockwall Trail in the Canadian Rockies

On the first day of a 34-mile/55-kilometer backpacking trip on the Rockwall Trail in Canada’s Kootenay National Park, my family walked below one of the tallest waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains, 1,154-foot/352-meter Helmet Falls—and that was merely the opening act of a nearly unbroken, 18-mile-long/30-kilometer row of peaks plastered with glaciers and towering as much as 3,000 feet/900 meters above the trail. Backpackers might think those peaks resemble numerous clones of Yosemite’s El Capitan standing shoulder to shoulder.

Well-known among Canadian backpackers but less so outside their country, the Rockwall Trail—and the Skyline Trail (above)—both deserve to be listed among the world’s greatest treks.

See my stories “Hiking and Backpacking the Canadian Rockies—A Photo Gallery,” “Best of the Canadian Rockies: Backpacking the Rockwall Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

 

Trekkers hiking toward the Thorung La mountain pass on Nepal's Annapurna Circuit.
Trekkers hiking toward the Thorung La mountain pass on Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.

Trekking Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit

The tiny mountain kingdom of Nepal has long held an exalted status in the minds of international trekkers, and the Annapurna Circuit stands beside the trek to Everest base camp as Nepal’s most popular and accessible. Over roughly three weeks, you’ll walk about 150 miles from village to village, below some of the world’s tallest peaks, glaciated giants so unfathomably big that, at times, they can seem drift farther away even as you approach them. You eat and sleep in teahouses while following an ancient trade route over the Thorung La, a mountain pass at 17,769 feet. After three decades of adventures all over the world, this remains one of the most culturally fascinating and beautiful trips I’ve ever taken.

See my story “Himalayan Shangri-La: Trekking Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit.”

I’ve learned a lot traveling the world. See my “10 Tips For Doing Adventure Travel Right.”

A paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Our party’s paddle raft in Cliffside Rapid on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River

Three times now, my family and about 20 good friends have taken one of the classic multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—and arguably, the greatest: a six-day, whitewater rafting and kayaking trip down the Middle Fork Salmon River with a team of top guides from Middle Fork Rapid Transit. Deep in the largest federal wilderness area in the Lower 48, central Idaho’s 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork has some 100 ratable rapids, many of them class III and IV, not to mention beautiful campsites and side hikes, hot springs, and world-class trout fishing. It’s also one of the prettiest rivers to ever carve a twisting canyon through mountains.

See my stories “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” and “Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” at The Big Outside.

See all stories about international adventures and family adventures at The Big Outside.

Let The Big Outside help you find the best adventures.
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How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-decide-where-to-go-backpacking/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-decide-where-to-go-backpacking/#comments Sun, 19 Oct 2025 09:04:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47795 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Have you been disappointed by backpacking trips that were too hot or too cold or too buggy or too crowded, or too hard or long or short, or where permits weren’t available for the hike you really wanted, or where you had sketchy creek or snow crossings or other scary hazards, or you missed the wildflowers or foliage season or didn’t see much wildlife?

If so, this story is going to help you solve those problems.

You can find abundant information online offering advice on how to plan a backpacking trip (including my 12 expert tips)—some of it good and some, frankly, not very thorough or simply clickbait created by sites lacking any expertise in backpacking. But there’s little advice out there on how to choose where to go backpacking—and many backpackers fail to consider key aspects of trips that greatly affect their experience: They follow an essentially backward decision-making process.


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


Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail east toward Turquoise Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt and David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail east toward Turquoise Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

While this may sound esoteric and irrelevant to you, I’ve learned that how you decide where to go greatly affects how well your trip goes—it really does matter. The tips below explain the thought process I follow that make my trips much more enjoyable and will do the same for you.

I’ve developed these trip-planning strategies over more than three decades and countless thousands of miles of backpacking all over the United States and around the world, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and now even longer running this blog.

A backpacker hiking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P., High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail above Helen Lake in Kings Canyon N.P. Click photo to see all stories about the JMT at this blog.

That experience has not only convinced me that much of the success of any outdoors adventure comes down to everything you do before the trip—but it has also refined how I choose each of the numerous multi-day hikes I take every year.

Here’s what I mean by saying many backpackers follow a backward decision-making process: They pick a place they’re eager to explore—say, Yosemite, Glacier, or the Grand Canyon—and the dates that work for them. I do essentially the opposite: choosing from my long list of trip ideas (which is now over 23,000 words) by first considering which of them are best taken during the dates I can go.

A backpacker just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

See my story “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” my All Trips List for a long menu of adventures you can read and learn about at this blog, my expert e-books to numerous five-star backpacking trips, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can give you a personalized plan for any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Click on any photo in this story to read about that trip. 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 is an exclusive benefit of having a paid subscription.

Got questions about my tips or any of your own to offer? Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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 over Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.
A backpacker hiking over Park Creek Pass in North Cascades National Park.

1. Pick the Right Time of Year

This seems obvious and yet many backpackers get this simple step wrong. My advice: Choose either a place appropriate for your dates or dates appropriate for where you want to go.

You can often find information online—such as at the website of the public land of interest to you—about climate and seasonal variables such as:

  • Average high and low temperatures for each month, sometimes at multiple elevations.
  • Average monthly precipitation and times of year when thunderstorms or snowfall occur.
  • The hours of daylight on your planned dates.
  • When snow melts out at higher elevations.
  • When creeks and streams may be dangerous to cross (see my tips on fording streams).
  • When biting insects are thickest.

Plan your next great backpacking trip using my expert e-books.

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.

For instance, in the bigger mountains of the U.S. West, snow normally lingers at altitudes above roughly 8,000 feet until around mid-July, while lower elevations may be snow-free by mid- to late spring. Mosquitoes and other biting insects emerge right after the snow largely melts out and linger for several weeks—as do the wildflowers. Late summer often brings moderate temperatures, dry weather, and few bugs—and increasingly, as climate change worsens, wildfires, widespread smoke, and poor air quality and visibility. Foliage color arrives by early autumn and snow may return anytime between September (infrequently) and November (more lastingly).

In the desert Southwest, prime seasons for backpacking are spring and fall, but even within those seasons are micro-seasons that bring changes: temps reaching the most comfortable range and snow melting out by sometime between late March and early May (varying with elevation) and often growing hot by mid- to late May or early June; and pleasant temperatures returning by late September or early October. Late October and early November bring foliage color—accompanied by short, cooler days and sometimes scarcer water sources.

My expert e-books offer detailed advice about the best times of year for each trip and my Custom Trip Planning can help identify the very best time to go for the experience you’re seeking.

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

Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra. Click photo to view my photos of the most gorgeous backcountry lakes I’ve ever seen.

2. Pick a Trip That’s Right for Your Party

A primary consideration in choosing where to backpack comes down to who your companions will be. An appropriate trip looks very different for a group of experienced, strong backpackers versus relative beginners or a young family.

Choose a trip that not only fits into your schedule—including travel time—but also whose length in days and miles matches the abilities and desires of your party.

The length of a multi-day hike will dictate the cumulative fatigue everyone feels (see my tips on training for a hike and on recovering from a hike) and possibly increase your chances of encountering bad weather or developing problems like blisters (see my tips on avoiding those).

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

 

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The number of days you’re on the trail also dictates how much food weight you must carry—and at typically about two pounds of food per person per day, that adds up, especially if you will carry more than your share of your group’s gear or food weight, for instance, if you’re backpacking with young kids.

See my stories “How to Plan Food for a Backpacking Trip” and “Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping.”

Backpackers admiring a big bear poop in Glacier National Park.
My friends Todd and Mark admiring a big bear poop in Glacier National Park.

Research any logistics specific to a place or trail, like a scarcity of water sources that may require you and others to carry extra water—which, at two pounds, two ounces per liter, gets heavy very rapidly—and whether bears pose a major concern and hard-sided canisters are required for food storage, which also adds weight and bulk to your pack.

Some places are relatively beginner-friendly, like southern Utah’s Coyote Gulch, Washington’s Olympic coast, and even some trails in Yosemite. In others, multi-day hikes tend to be moderately difficult overall but can have strenuous days, including Grand Teton, Glacier, Yosemite, and Zion national parks, Utah’s High Uintas, Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail, and Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Still other destinations present consistently strenuous and rugged hiking, such as Grand Canyon, North Cascades, Sequoia, and Mount Rainier national parks, Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail, and most of the High Sierra, Colorado Rockies, Wind River Range (lead photo at top of story), and New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

See my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

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

A backpacker hiking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park.

3. Is it Still Possible to Get a Permit?

Most national parks and some other public lands (like national forests in the High Sierra) issue a limited number of backcountry permits based on quotas and have systems for both reserving a permit weeks or months in advance of your trip dates and for acquiring a first-come or walk-in permit right before your trip (including Yosemite’s innovative system for reserving a permit two weeks in advance). An advance reservation obviously provides more assurance, while a walk-in permit is riskier and you may not get the itinerary you want.

A tip: When acting far in advance, consider applying for permits and trips in more than one park for the same dates—the cost is relatively low and that improves your chances of securing at least one assured trip.

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A backpacker hiking toward Cramer Divide in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Mae Davis backpacking toward Cramer Divide in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

If you fail to reserve a permit, plan a trip that doesn’t require a permit reservation or where there are no limits on the number of people in the backcountry, as is true in many national forests and federal wilderness areas. You’ll find many options on the All Trips List at The Big Outside, including Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness, New Hampshire’s White Mountains and almost all of New England, Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, and Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness and Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.

See my stories “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” “How to Get a Last-Minute National Park Backcountry Permit,” and “20 Great Backpacking Trips You Can Still Take” when you’re too late to get many permits.

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Looking for the right gear for your backpacking trips? See The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page for categorized menus of gear reviews and expert buying tips.

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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.

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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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Hiking New Zealand’s Epic Tongariro Alpine Crossing https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-classic-tongariro-alpine-crossing/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/hiking-new-zealands-classic-tongariro-alpine-crossing/#respond Tue, 14 Oct 2025 22:47:41 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=68393 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

When we arrive at the Mangatepōpō Road end to start one of New Zealand’s most beloved dayhikes, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, the air remains cool, a bracing wind rips across the almost barren, volcanic landscape, and the cloud ceiling hangs so low you can almost reach up and swipe a hand through the fog’s underbelly. But this is New Zealand, where if you’re going to pass on a hike because of a little inclement weather, you’re going to miss out on a lot of hikes. We—and scores of other hikers all around us—are suited up for the elements and ready to go.

Besides, we’re just happy that the Department of Conservation (DOC), which functions something like America’s National Park Service, opened the Tongariro Alpine Crossing today. It had been closed in recent days because of extreme winds and rain, and I had received an email from our shuttle service yesterday morning warning of the possibility of it getting closed again today. (A follow-up email by the end of the day confirmed that the crossing would open today.)


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


Hikers above Emerald Lakes, along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
Hikers above Emerald Lakes, along the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

It’s late November—late spring here in New Zealand—so strong wind and rain are as common as friendly Kiwis.

My wife, Penny, our 21-year-old daughter, Alex, and I are dayhiking one of the most famous and popular tracks, or trails, in New Zealand: the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, a 19.4-kilometer/12-mile traverse of Tongariro National Park in the central North Island. New Zealand’s first national park, Tongariro was established in 1894—less than two decades after the world’s first national park, Yellowstone, was established in 1872—and is also a dual World Heritage area.

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

With more than 650 meters/2,100 feet of uphill and a long descent of more than 1,100 meters/3,600 feet, it’s a full day of hiking in mountainous terrain. But those basic metrics don’t fully communicate the difficulty, including the steepness for sustained stretches, the treacherously loose rocks in sections—and the way that strong, chilly wind and rain can amplify your fatigue and threaten inadequately prepared hikers with hypothermia.

But the Tongariro Alpine Crossing deserves to be ranked among the world’s great trails for its almost constant views of active, rugged volcanoes, massive craters, and lakes that all but glow with color. Not to be confused with the 44.9-kilometer/27.9-mile Tongariro Northern Circuit, one of New Zealand’s 11 Great Walks, typically done over three to four days with nights in mountain huts, the Tongariro Alpine Crossing enables hikers to see much of Tongariro National Park’s most dramatic scenery in a day.

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Exposed to the Elements

Not long after we set out from the Mangatepōpō Road end, hiking steadily and, at times, steeply uphill, the rain and wind begin slowly growing more intense; by the time we start across the broad and pan-flat South Crater—now fully exposed to the elements in a moonscape where the occasional vegetation consists of moss and lichen and a few scattered plants growing barely above ankle height—the rain flies horizontally on powerful gusts, pelting us. We push forward, leaning into the tempest, completely suited up in rain jackets with hoods up and rain pants.

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Hikers on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
Hikers on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

Somewhere off to our right, the tall and steep-sided, rocky cone of Mount Ngāuruhoe looms above us, and to our left rises another volcano, Mount Tongariro—but right now, it’s all lost in this pea soup. The rain and wind intensify as we make the hard grind up the day’s steepest ascent, about 150 meters/500 vertical feet to the rim of Red Crater, the track’s high point at 1,868 meters/6,129 feet.

And then the rain suddenly fizzles out and stops, although we remain fogged in.

Descending the steep north side of Red Crater, over loose volcanic rocks large and small, I’m taken completely by surprise when my feet fly out from under me and I’m airborne for an instant before landing on my butt (unhurt). Back on my feet quickly and continuing downhill, just minutes later, it happens again—completely surprising me again.

The reason, it occurs to me, is that these loose rocks and scree consist of scoria, a type of volcanic rock fragment that’s very light and often somewhat rounded and more prone to roll underfoot than the rocks in non-volcanic mountain ranges. For the rest of this steep descent, which is only about 90 vertical meters/300 vertical feet, I take an even slower and more cautious pace than I normally take in terrain like this (which I’ve hiked hundreds of times over the years).

And then, something happens that is not unusual in New Zealand: The weather changes abruptly.

Within minutes, the clouds shred into non-threatening, cute little cotton balls floating across the sky. Although the wind continues and still feels cool, the sunshine bathes us in warmth and starts drying out our rain shells. The three aptly named Emerald Lakes, two of them small and the third just a tarn, barely larger than a swimming pool, appear below us, brilliantly green in the sunlight.

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

Emerald Lakes and Blue Lake

Alex, Penny, and I stop at the largest of the Emerald Lakes, which sits beside the track, walking along its shore and taking pictures. Other hikers are doing the same, luxuriating in the sudden warm sunshine and the otherworldly colors of the lake water and the geology. On the lake’s far side, crumbling slopes of white, golden, and black rock appear to be traveling in erosion’s passing lane.

Minutes beyond the Emerald Lakes, we stop at an overlook above the larger Blue Lake, known also by its Māori name Te Wai Whakaata o te Rangihīroa, cradled in a rocky bowl at the foot of the peak Rotopaunga—yet another black cone of crumbling rock. The lake sits on the edge of another pan-flat basin, the Central Crater, encircled by walls of dark, volcanic rock, with Mount Tongariro—now fully visible to us—rising over the far side of that crater.

I’ve hiked all over the U.S. and the world and I’ve personally seen very few treks through volcanic landscapes that compare to Tongariro (although Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail certainly comes to mind).

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A trekker hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding daypack, rain jacket and pants, and fleece hoodie I used on this hike.

See my story about my first hike in Tongariro National Park (several years before the New Zealand Department of Conservation began strongly discouraging hikers from visiting the summits of the park’s volcanoes), plus all stories about trekking in New Zealand, including my stories about hut treks on the Routeburn Track, Milford Track, and Kepler Track, all stories about adventures in New Zealand, and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

These blog posts may also help you prepare for the Tongariro Alpine Crossing or other hikes in New Zealand:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

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The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-grand-teton-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-5-best-backpacking-trips-in-grand-teton-national-park/#comments Sat, 11 Oct 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41708 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Here’s a truth I’ve learned from at least two dozen visits to the Tetons since my first backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail over 30 years ago: That incomparable, jagged skyline of peaks never fails to ignite a sense of awe and joy. Walking for days through these mountains, with their endless fields of wildflowers, long alpine vistas, and hypnotic mountain lakes, creeks, and waterfalls never grows old. I’m pretty sure I could backpack through Grand Teton National Park 20 more times without the experience ever growing ordinary.

While I rank the Teton Crest Trail among the 10 best backpacking trips in America—a list that draws on more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States, including 10 years as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and longer than that running this blog—the truth is, any backpacking excursion into the Tetons will probably hold a cherished place among the prettiest and most memorable multi-day treks of your life. It will very likely feature some of the most scenic backcountry campsites you’ve ever slept in; a couple of Tetons camps populate my personal list of all-time favorite backcountry campsites.


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


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

The five backpacking trips described below, ranging from nearly 20 miles to about 39 miles, represent my picks for the best multi-day hikes in Grand Teton National Park—a place I have dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed extensively. This list includes my favorite itinerary for a Teton Crest Trail hike, the best short (two- or three-day) backpacking trip in the park, and various options that offer different distances, varying levels of solitude, and opportunities to see different areas of the park.

The peak backpacking season in the Tetons generally begins in mid-July, when higher elevations and passes become mostly snow-free, and runs into September. Some high passes, most notably Paintbrush Divide, can remain snow-covered and potentially dangerous into late July, depending on the previous winter and spring’s snowpack and weather in spring and early summer.

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

In early January, the park opens up permit reservations at recreation.gov for backpacking trips from May 1 through Oct. 31, and you can make a reservation up to two days prior to a trip start date. Apply promptly at 8 a.m. Mountain Time the first day reservations open, because many campsites that are available to reserve, especially along the Teton Crest trail, disappear quickly (and the process can feel maddeningly chaotic).

However, the park issues reservations for only about one-third of permits in advance—leaving two-thirds available each night during the hiking season for people seeking walk-in permits, issued no more than one day in advance of starting a trip. High demand makes walk-in permits for camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail and other popular camps hard to get.

See my stories “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit,” “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit” and “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

My popular, expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park” will tell you everything you need to know to plan and pull off either trip.

And I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a successful and memorable backpacking trip in the Tetons. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

If you’ve backpacked in the Tetons or have other thoughts or suggestions about the best backpacking trips there, I’d appreciate you sharing those in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See the “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon near Hurricane Pass along the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Death Canyon to String Lake

Having hiked and backpacked all of the side canyons that access the Teton Crest Trail from the park’s east side as well as some on the west side and the full TCT route starting from its southern terminus, my favorite Teton Crest Trail itinerary (and the one I planned for my most recent TCT hike with three friends going there for the first time) is this nearly 36-mile hike from Death Canyon Trailhead to String Lake Trailhead.

Done in anywhere from a rigorous three days to a more moderate five, this route delivers the complete Tetons experience: miles of hiking open meadows and above treeline with endless panoramas, amazing campsites, one of the highest passes crossed by a trail in the range, wildflowers in abundance, enchanting lakes, creeks, and waterfalls, and likely wildlife sightings. Hike south to north and the scenery gets better every day.

Get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

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

A moose along the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
A moose along the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to read about that trip.

Paintbrush Canyon to Cascade Canyon

The park’s most popular backpacking trip for logical reasons—scenery and access—the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from String Lake offers a highlights reel of Grand Teton National Park condensed into a two- to three-day hike (or a big dayhike or trail run). It’s probably among the most scenic sub-20-mile hikes in the National Park System and great for beginners, young families—we took our kids at ages eight and six—and any backpackers seeking a short outing.

Involving nearly 4,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, the loop crosses one of the highest points reached via trail in the park, 10,720-foot Paintbrush Divide, where the panorama takes in a jagged skyline featuring some of the highest summits in the Tetons. It also passes by beloved Lake Solitude, nestled in a cirque of cliffs, and below the striped cliffs of Paintbrush Canyon and waterfalls and soaring peaks of Cascade Canyon.

Get my e-book to this trip, “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

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A backpacker hiking to Fox Creek Pass, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking to Fox Creek Pass in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

Death Canyon to Static Peak Divide

This 25-mile loop from Death Canyon Trailhead will not take you through the majestic core of the Teton Range below the Grand, Middle, and South Tetons. However, it makes a circuit through some of the nicest terrain in the range, including Death Canyon Shelf—with some of the best backcountry camping along the Teton Crest Trail—Alaska Basin, some magnificent and surprisingly lonely alpine hiking, and one of the highest passes reach by trail in the range, plus the opportunity to reach an 11,000-foot summit.

From Static Peak Divide, with sweeping panorama of Jackson Hole and the southern Tetons, an unmaintained but easy trail leads about 15 minutes uphill to the 11,303-foot summit of Static Peak, where the vistas expand, including a dramatic view across an abyss to 11,938-foot Buck Mountain. Lastly, this loop is logistically simpler than many Teton backpacking trips, with no shuttle required and possibly no permit if you hike it as an overnight in Alaska Basin.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Tetons.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Granite Canyon to String Lake

The 38-mile traverse from Granite Canyon Trailhead to String Lake Trailhead is almost identical to my favorite Teton Crest Trail itinerary (described above) and arguably more tantalizing to some backpackers. It explores another of the cliff-flanked eastern canyons and more of the southern Teton Range—and offers another appealing itinerary option when seeking a permit that’s hard to get.

Granite Canyon compares with Death Canyon for scenery, camping options, and the chance of seeing moose, and this route also brings you past pretty Marion Lake, which sits in a bowl at the base of the cliffs of 10,537-foot Housetop Mountain, and the distinctive spire of Spearhead Peak, in the area where the Teton Crest Trail ascends onto the high plateau that it traverses for numerous miles all the way to Hurricane Pass.

A trip like this goes better with the right gear.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Lake Solitude in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Lake Solitude in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The Full Teton Crest Trail

The Teton Crest Trail’s southern terminus is the Phillips Pass Trailhead, off WY 22 east of Teton Pass. From there, the TCT runs north for about 39 miles to the String Lake Trailhead in Grand Teton National Park. Beginning in the Jedediah Smith Wilderness, the trail passes through the much lonelier southern Teton Range—crossing Phillips Pass at 8,932 feet, the headwaters of Granite Canyon’s Middle and North Forks, Marion Lake, and Spearhead Peak, before reaching Fox Creek Pass, Death Canyon Shelf, and the better-known core of the Tetons farther north.

The southern end of the range lacks the cathedral-like skylines of the Teton core, but the landscape evokes a sense of classic, sprawling Western mountains, and much of this terrain is moose and elk country. Plus, much of the southern range lies outside the park, where no permit is needed.

Get my expert expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

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

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Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-teton-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-teton-crest-trail/#comments Sat, 11 Oct 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=35217 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

As we backpacked up the North Fork of Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park, moments after the path emerged from the forest into a meadow strewn with boulders and still dappled with blooming wildflowers in late August, my friend David turned to look over his shoulder and blurted out, “Oh, wow, look at that view!” Behind us, the sheer north faces of the Grand Teton and Mount Owen towered a vertical mile above us, shooting straight up over the canyon like fireworks (photo above).

By that point on our trip, though, uncontrolled outbursts of awe were occurring several times a day. That’s what it’s like to backpack the Teton Crest Trail.


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


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

Three friends and I backpacked a 36-mile traverse of Grand Teton National Park, mostly on the Teton Crest Trail, in late August—in many ways, an ideal time to hike there. While I’ve backpacked the TCT several times now, it was the first time for all three of them.

Seeing the reactions of these friends—every one of them very experienced backpackers who’ve taken numerous trips with me—to the scenery along this classic trek, reaffirmed my opinion that few multi-day hikes offer so much grandeur almost every step of way like the Teton Crest Trail. But I’ll let the photos in this story make that case.

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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 photo to get my customized help planning your trip.

I count the Teton Crest Trail unquestionably among the top 10 best backpacking trips in America, and two camping areas on it—where my friends and I camped on this most-recent trip—among my list of top 25 favorite backcountry campsites of all time (although, honestly, other spots where I’ve pitched a tent in this park would make almost anyone’s list). After at least two dozen trips into the backcountry of the Tetons, I can’t get enough of these sharply serrated peaks and deep, cliff-flanked canyons, the alpine lakes and icy creeks, campsites with jaw-dropping views, or the explosion of wildflowers in summer.

A Grand Teton National Park backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. The park issues just one-third of available permits in advance, so two-thirds are available first-come, for walk-in backpackers, no more than one day before your trip begins. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit” and “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
Wildflowers along the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.

My expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” tells you all you need to know to plan and take this trip, from how to get a very popular backcountry permit to describing the various route options and pointing out the best places to camp, as well as how to prepare for this trip.

I feel so attached to these mountains that I made a point of taking my kids there as soon as they were both capable of a trip that rugged: When our daughter was six and her brother eight, we spent three days backpacking the nearly 20-mile Paintbrush Canyon-Cascade Canyon loop from the Leigh Lake Trailhead, an adventure that concluded with a close-up sighting of two bull moose in Cascade Canyon. Two summers later, we returned for a longer family backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.

The photos below are from my most-recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.

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

See my feature story about my latest trip, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail, including “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” and “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park.”

See also my popular “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Get full access to all Teton Crest Trail stories and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
plus get a FREE e-book. Join now!

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10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-epic-grand-canyon-backpacking-trips-you-must-do/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-epic-grand-canyon-backpacking-trips-you-must-do/#comments Sat, 04 Oct 2025 09:01:42 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=30238 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

This is, in a way, a story about obsession. Or a love affair. Or both. Those metaphors best describe how the Grand Canyon constantly lures me back when I’m thinking about spring and fall hiking and backpacking trips.

It is that rare kind of natural environment that exists on a scale of its own, like Alaska or the Himalaya. There’s something soul-stirring and hypnotic about its infinite vistas, the deceptive immensity of the canyon walls and stone towers, and the way the foreground and background continually expand and shrink as you ascend and descend elevation gradients of a vertical mile or more—all of which validates enduring the wilting heat and trails that sometimes seem better suited to rattlesnakes and scorpions than bipedal primates.

For backpackers seeking adventure, challenge, and incomparable natural beauty, the canyon stands alone.


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


A backpacker at Ooh-Ah Point on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt at Ooh-Ah Point on the South Kaibab Trail. Click on the photo to see my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

This story will show you, in words and photos, why one or more of these Big Ditch backpacking trips deserves top priority as you’re planning your next trip. Although some of these trips are not for everyone—and some are not a good choice for a first GC backpacking trip—I think this story will help you quickly understand why the Grand Canyon has increasingly become one of my favorite places over more than three decades (and counting) of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a longtime field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

And the time to start planning your Grand Canyon adventure is right now.

Each of the 10 trips described below can be hiked within a week and some in a few days. Each description links to a feature story about that trip at The Big Outside, and those include many photos and my expert tips on planning and pulling them off—including how to acquire one of these hard-to-get permits. (Those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full.)

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Any of these hikes will thrill and amaze you—and just may inspire in you an urge to go back again and again. Whenever I’m looking for a long, remote, incredibly beautiful, wilderness backpacking trip in the Southwest, the Grand Canyon seems to consistently emerge on top. Even though it lies a day’s journey from my home, I’ve been there numerous times for backpacking trips and ultra-dayhikes.

It seems the more I go there, the more I want to go back—in spite of how hard it is (and maybe that’s one of the reasons I keep going back).

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

A Grand Canyon backcountry permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” both of which are updated regularly with detailed information on how to obtain a permit.

See my expert e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these trips or any trip you read about at this blog.

I’d love to hear if you’ve done any of these trips or want to suggest others in the Grand Canyon. Please share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A hiker on the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click on the photo to see my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Grand Canyon Rim to Rim

If there’s an archetypal Grand Canyon hike, this baby is it. Crossing the canyon via the North Kaibab Trail combined with either the South Kaibab (one of prettiest of the 25 best national park dayhikes) or the Bright Angel Trail delivers the goods on epic scenery. You get views that span from both rims all the way down to the Colorado River, the huge vistas of the South Kaibab, the Bright Angel’s panoramas and desert oases (I’ve also see bighorn sheep on that trail), a walk through the narrow, sheer-walled gorge of lower Bright Angel Creek, waterfalls, and airy sections where the North Kaibab clings to cliff faces.

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

Although most GC trails are quite rugged, these three so-called “corridor” trails, while strenuous for their vertical relief, have better footing, more reliable water availability at regular intervals, and much less of the loose terrain, quad-pounding ledge drops, and occasionally scary exposure of other canyon footpaths.

A one-way canyon traverse, typically backpacked in three days (in either direction), is 21 miles with 4,780 feet of descent and 5,761 feet of ascent via the South Kaibab and North Kaibab trails (going south to north), or 23.5 miles with 4,380 feet of descent and 5,761 feet of ascent via the Bright Angel and North Kaibab (also going south to north). Shuttles are available between the rims, and you can also double the trip by backpacking across and back.

Another excellent—and popular—itinerary, especially among first-timers here, is to forego the long ascent to the North Rim, and instead hike 16.5 miles rim to river to rim: down the South Kaibab and up the Bright Angel. Many backpackers take two or three days, with one night at Bright Angel Campground on the Colorado River and a possible second night at Havasupai Gardens Campground along the Bright Angel Trail to break up the long climb back up from the river.

Demand is enormous for a permit for backpacking the corridor trails in spring or fall, with upwards of three-quarters of applications denied. Read my story “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

Do this trip smartly. Get my expert e-book to backpacking the Grand Canyon rim to rim
or my expert e-book to dayhiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

A hiker on the upper South Kaibab Trail in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, hiking the upper South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Plus, growing numbers of uber-bit hikers and runners knock off a rim-to-rim (r2r) or a complete rim-to-rim-to-rim—across and back—(r2r2r) in a day. Consequently, in peak weather of mid-spring and mid-autumn, don’t expect the solitude you can find on some other canyon backpacking trips.

But if you want to take one of the most unique and spectacular treks in the world, without attempting any of the other significantly harder routes, this is the one.

See my stories “How to Hike the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” and “A Grand Ambition, or April Fools? Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all stories about South Rim hikes and South Rim backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

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

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A backpacker on the Tonto Trail above the Colorado River, Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see all of my expert e-books, including “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

South Kaibab to Lipan Point

When a longtime backcountry ranger in the canyon whom I know, who’s hiked every mile of trail in the park, told me this 74-mile route was “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” I’ll admit, I was a little dubious. After all, every hike in the Big Ditch is amazing. Then I backpacked it and found myself concluding: He’s right.

Besides the fact that the South Kaibab is absolutely one of the best hikes in the entire National Park System, this route—which has shorter alternatives—follows one of the of the prettiest and most adventurous “trails” (if it can be called that) in the canyon, the Escalante Route, which involves some tricky route-finding and exposed scrambling. This hike also incorporates the beautiful and surprisingly rigorous Beamer Trail, and another rim-to-river footpath, the Tanner Trail.

Backpackers on the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any of these trips.

While water sources are sporadic, there are three perennial streams—one of them the Colorado River—and you’ll enjoy some of the best backcountry campsites you’ve ever spent a night in, including beaches on the Colorado. And you might get invited to an outstanding dinner by a river party.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

Hermits Rest to Bright Angel

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

Outside the three corridor trails, the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead may be the park’s most popular, for many good reasons. Although it does not go all the way to the Colorado River—unless you take any of a few side trails off this route that descend to the river (each adding several miles round-trip)—this linkup of the Hermit, Tonto, and Bright Angel trails nonetheless offers an experience similar to a rim-to-river-to-rim hike that’s in many ways easier.

The rigorous Hermit Trail—the hardest section of this hike—snakes through one of the dramatic tributary canyons of the Colorado River, below colorful, striated cliffs of the canyon’s Supai and Redwall layers. You’ll follow a 13-mile stretch of the Tonto Trail across the gently rolling Tonto Plateau, where prickly-pear cacti and other wildflowers bloom and the views span from the rims to the river.

That stretch of the Tonto crosses five major tributary canyons of the Colorado River, including passing directly below the tall, slender rock spire and soaring burgundy cliffs in the canyon of Monument Creek, and the mind-boggling heights and three-dimensionality of the Inferno.

One more advantage of this hike: There are three reliable water sources along or a short distance off this route.

Read “One Extraordinary Day: A 25-Mile Dayhike in the Grand Canyon” about dayhiking Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead (a route I’ve also backpacked).

I can help you figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for your group.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

A backpacker on the Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.

South Kaibab to Grandview Point

Like Hermits Rest to Bright Angel, the 29-mile hike from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Grandview Point provides backpackers with a full-immersion experience in the Big Ditch without as much elevation gain and loss as going all the way to the Colorado River. (In fact, this trip offers just one optional side hike to the river—down the South Kaibab Trail.)

Descending the South Kaibab Trail as the light of early morning streams across the Grand Canyon is one of the most sublime hiking experiences in America. And the Grandview Trail offers constantly changing perspectives of the canyon spreading out before you. This hike also traverses a long stretch of the scenic Tonto Plateau, with views reaching to the South and North rims and the river, crossing a handful of tributary canyons like Grapevine Creek, which itself is staggeringly deep and broad. All along this route, some of the canyon’s most distinctive formations, like the towering Zoroaster Temple, seem to grow and shrink as you approach and move away from them.

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A backpacker on the Tonto Trail between the South Kaibab and Grandview trails in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail between the South Kaibab and Grandview trails in the Grand Canyon.

You can combine this hike with the Hermits Rest to Bright Angel hike (above), or partly overlap the two—going from Hermits Rest to South Kaibab or Grandview Point to Bright Angel or doing either in the opposite direction. There are four water sources along this route, but only one is perennial (Grapevine Creek), so it’s better done in spring, when the other three creeks usually have water.

See my story “Dropping Into the Grand Canyon: A Four-Day Hike From Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trail” at The Big Outside.

See the “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop

Accessible for shorter spring and fall seasons than most backpacking trips off the South Rim, the remote, 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim has become a prized destination for in-the-know backpackers and river-rafting parties taking side hikes, primarily for an unusual abundance of a rare element in the canyon: water.

A backpacker beneath Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.
Deer Creek Falls in the Grand Canyon.

The two fast-moving, perennial creeks and one river (in addition to the Colorado River) that backpackers hike along on this trip pour over some of the Grand Canyon’s prettiest waterfalls, course through spectacular narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation. Your first sighting from above of the Thunder River can seem like a mirage, seeing it burst in a—yes—thunderous waterfall from the face of a cliff.

Although the upper parts of this loop are dry and nearly devoid of shade—they can be brutally hot—the vistas reach to the South Rim and for miles up and down the canyon, revealing its majestic breadth and depth.

This isn’t a trip for beginner backpackers or Grand Canyon first-timers: You’ll descend a vertical mile to the Colorado and climb back up again, on often-rugged trails, possibly in heat that pushes the edges of human tolerance.

But backpackers ready to rise to the challenge will explore one of the most unique corners of the Grand Canyon.

See my story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop.”

 

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

See all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-permit-to-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Sat, 04 Oct 2025 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=48711 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

First-time backpackers in the Grand Canyon quickly absorb two lessons about this one-of-a-kind place. Foremost, the canyon’s infinite vistas and deceptive scale, the beauty of desert oases and wildflower blooms, the peacefulness and quietude of some of the best wilderness campsites you will ever enjoy—all of these qualities will hook you forever.

And you learn how difficult it can be to get a permit for backpacking there.

In fact, so many people attempt to reserve a Grand Canyon backcountry permit that a high percentage of them fail every year—including up to 75 percent of people seeking nights at any or all of the three most popular backcountry campgrounds, Havasupai Gardens (formerly Indian Garden), Bright Angel, and Cottonwood campgrounds along the popular Bright Angel and North Kaibab corridor 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 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 Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

This story explains the somewhat complex, multi-step process for obtaining a Grand Canyon backcountry permit reservation or getting a walk-in permit and shares strategies I have used to secure permits for several multi-day hikes in the Big Ditch—which I’ve revisited many times over more than three decades of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Since 2024, Grand Canyon National Park has issued backcountry permit reservations through a monthly early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337 conducted four months in advance of the month you want to hike. See more details on how that works below.

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

I can help you figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for your group.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

Backpackers on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next trip.

Decide Where You Want to Hike

First step: Research your route in advance, including how far you will hike each day and where you’d like to camp. A Grand Canyon permit requires specifying a camp location for each night, identified by the location name (such as a creek) and either a specific campground code or backcountry camping zone code shown on the interactive map at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/upload/useAreaMap.pdf.

A campsite near Royal Arch in the Grand Canyon.
A campsite near Royal Arch in the Grand Canyon.

Keep in mind that many of the canyon’s trails are rugged and feature significant elevation gain and loss; many people find their hiking speed slower here than in other places, especially anytime you have to carry extra water weight, and hot days can force you to hike very early and late and hunker down in shade during the heat of the day. Plan daily distances that make sense for your group.

Know where to find water sources, which are scarce, and some are seasonal.

Find descriptions of the park’s Backcountry Trails and Use Areas, including water sources, at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/campsite-information.htm.

See all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside (which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my planning tips for each trip) and check out my expert e-books to some of America’s best backpacking trips, including “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Those contain detailed hiking itineraries, expert planning and gear advice, on-the-ground knowledge, tips specific to getting a permit, and myriad other details relevant to taking a trip into the canyon.

Want my expert help custom planning your trip to ensure it’s as good as it can be? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you.

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

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

When and How to Get a Permit

Since 2024, Grand Canyon National Park has issued about 80 percent of backcountry permits through a monthly, randomized early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337.

One important detail remains unchanged under the new permit system: For the best chances of obtaining a permit reservation—especially for camps on any corridor trail (the Bright Angel or South or North Kaibab trails)—be ready to begin the permit process four months prior to the month in which you want to start a trip.

Enter the early-access lottery anytime during a two-week period that ends on the first of the month four months in advance of the month you’d like to hike—for example, between mid-November and Dec. 1 for a trip anytime in April and between mid-May and June 1 for October. See the chart showing dates to enter the lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337 and nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/backcountry-permit.htm.

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

Backpackers hiking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Pam Solon and David Gordon backpacking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

The lottery only determines who gets awarded an early-access time to make a permit reservation; you won’t include any hiking itinerary details in your lottery entry. Every individual can enter only once per monthly lottery period, but all members of a party can enter it and see who obtains the best timeslot—and if multiple group members obtain a timeslot, all of them could try to reserve a permit.

Held on the 2nd of every month, the lottery awards up to 750 applicants a date and time over the next couple of weeks when they can log in to their recreation.gov account and attempt to reserve one permit for a specific itinerary with designated campsites each night.

Each timeslot includes no more than 15 applicants and there are five timeslots per day (8am, 10am, noon, 2pm, and 4pm Mountain Standard Time; Arizona does not switch to Daylight Savings Time) over each early-access period.

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

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

People with earlier lottery timeslots will obviously see more camping availability than those who draw a later time. You can check availability prior to your assigned date and time—a wise thing to do, to know what’s already not available, saving you time when you begin the application—but you cannot make a reservation until your timeslot. You can make a permit reservation anytime after your timeslot—but that only reduces your chances of success.

Key detail: The park expects that most of the 750 applicants awarded a lottery timeslot will get a permit—although popular camps and dates will definitely get reserved quickly.

Tip: The park has more backcountry campsites for “small” groups of up to six people than “large” groups of seven to 11 people. Keeping your group to no more than six increases your chances of obtaining a permit.

David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in Grand Canyon National Park.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in Grand Canyon National Park.

When you log in to make a permit reservation, recreation.gov shows backcountry campsite availability and processes reservations in real time, meaning that, if you succeed in assembling an itinerary with camps every night, you will immediately confirm and pay for a permit reservation. Under the previous system, where rangers manually processed thousands of faxed applications, applicants had to wait up to a month to learn whether they got a reservation.

The park designates some areas only suitable for backpackers with previous Grand Canyon backpacking experience, due to the difficulty of those routes. Those are categorized at recreation.gov under the Starting Areas “Requires Prev GC Experience” and “Requires Adv GC Experience or Unusual.” When selecting some of those options, you will be directed to call the park to speak with a ranger about booking that itinerary. See more details about which trails are recommended for second Grand Canyon backpacking trips under the Need to Know tab at recreation.gov/permits/4675337, and trail descriptions and more information about use areas and management zones at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/campsite-information.htm.

The fee is $10 per permit plus $15 per person per night below the rim and $4 per person per night for backcountry areas above the rim. The fee for entering an early-access lottery is $10 (every time you enter a lottery) and that is applied to the permit cost if you succeed in making a reservation. Refunds are granted for partial or full permit cancellations made in recreation.gov before you print the backcountry permit (through recreation.gov) and at least 30 days before the permit start date.

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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.

Second and Third Chances to Get a Permit

There’s a second phase of the permit process that creates another earlier access opportunity. Lottery applicants who are not among the 750 awarded a timeslot can apply for a reservation before they are opened to the public, from the 20th of the month or shortly before it until the end of the month.

Finally, on the first day of the subsequent month—for example, Jan. 1 for April start dates and July 1 for October dates—reservations will open for the public to check availability and reserve any remaining backcountry campsite spaces.

Given the sky-high demand for permits during the peak seasons of March through May and mid-September through mid-November—and the fact that the park issues 80 percent of available permits through reservations, a higher percentage than most parks—the early-access lottery will unquestionably offer the best chance of scoring a backcountry permit.

The lottery also eliminates the frantic scramble for permits that occurs with reservation systems that open to everyone at the same time on one day. In parks with that type of system, virtually all backcountry campsites get vacuumed up within minutes for the entire year, leaving countless people frustrated over seeing their chosen campsites suddenly become unavailable.

Find more information at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/backcountry-permit-questions.htm.

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Wildflowers along the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon.
Wildflowers along the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

Plan Alternative Itineraries and Dates

As I suggest in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” if you want to backpack in the Grand Canyon during its peak seasons of spring and fall, begin your permit application with at least two itinerary options and a range of starting dates, in case your first itinerary and date choice are unavailable. Consider starting your hike midweek instead of on a weekend and selecting a route that’s less popular, remote, or difficult than your first or second choice.

Under the Grand Canyon’s previous permit system, some 75 percent of people who applied for a permit to backpack some combination the Bright Angel and South and North Kaibab trails were denied; it’s hard to imagine demand for those trails changing.

But you will find it easier to get a permit for the 29-mile hike from the South Kaibab Trailhead to Grandview Point, the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, or any much more rugged and remote trip, like the 15-mile hike from New Hance Trailhead to Grandview Point, the 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, the Clear Creek Trail or the off-trail Utah Flats Route, or some of the itineraries possible along the route I write about in my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

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

 

Try For a Walk-in Permit

Along the Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in Grand Canyon National Park.
Along the Tonto Trail at Horn Creek in Grand Canyon National Park.

You didn’t make a permit reservation and you’re trying to plan a last-minute backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon? Although not easy to obtain, the park does set aside about 20 percent of available backcountry campsites for walk-in permits and issues a limited number of walk-in permits specifically for camping at Havasupai Gardens, Bright Angel, and Cottonwood campgrounds along the Bright Angel and North Kaibab corridor trails.

Note that the park doesn’t issue walk-in permits that include all three of those backcountry campgrounds. A walk-in permit on the North Rim gives you priority access to Cottonwood Campground but you will likely not be able to obtain a permit for Havasupai Gardens. Backpackers obtaining a permit on the South Rim will have priority access to Havasupai Gardens and likely not be able to obtain a permit for Cottonwood. Permits issued from either rim allow access to Bright Angel Campground.

That means that if you want to attempt a rim-to-rim hike over two or three days, you’ll have to get a walk-in permit that includes Bright Angel campground and/or Cottonwood and may need to possess the stamina (and a light pack) for at least one big day hiking from Bright Angel to either the South Rim or the North Rim.

Walk-in permits are issued only in person, no more than one day in advance, at both the South Rim (open year-round) and the North Rim (open May 15 to Oct. 31) Backcountry Information Center (BIC). The hours for both are 8 a.m. to noon and 1-5 p.m. Mountain Standard Time, including holidays. You might not obtain a last-minute permit the first time you visit a Backcountry Information Center; you may have to return the next day. Use the wait list to guarantee your position in line.

And there may be more than 20 percent of backcountry campsites available at any given time due to canceled permit reservations. Cancellations must be made at least 30 days before the permit date to get a refund, hopefully resulting in fewer permit holders canceling at the last minute and giving permit seekers expanded opportunity to claim cancelled camps and dates. Some 10 percent or more of permit reservations get canceled in a given year, according to these park statistics.

See my e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside, and “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

See also “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips”  and all stories with expert backpacking and outdoor skills tips at The Big Outside.

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Backpacking the Maze in Canyonlands—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-maze-in-canyonlands/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-maze-in-canyonlands/#respond Fri, 03 Oct 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=51949 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

With our first steps on the descent from Maze Overlook into the labyrinth of mostly dry desert canyons that comprise one of the greatest geological oddities in the National Park System—the Maze in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park—we had to remove and pass our backpacks over a ledge drop of several feet. But that was nothing compared to what lay ahead. Following a wildly circuitous trail marked by cairns but otherwise unobvious and not visible on the slickrock, we passed below redrock cliffs and towers, traversed the sloping rims of giant bowls of rippled stone, and several more times passed our packs to scramble through tight crevices and downclimb a ladder of shallow footsteps chiseled into a sandstone cliff face.

Taking nearly three hours to descend just a mile and 500 vertical feet, we reached the sandy bottom of the South Fork of Horse Canyon—and began searching for the one natural spring that we hoped would sustain us for the next three days.

Three friends and I took a five-day backpacking trip into the Maze in the first week of March, when we had warm sunshine much of the time and temps in the 40s and 50s most days, with nights in the teens and 20s. But most critically, we found water in a place where the few sources can go dry by later in spring.

And the date to apply for a permit to backpack there in spring is Nov. 10.


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


Hikers on the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon, Todd Arndt, and Jeff Wilhelm hiking the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

The trip presented us with surprises nearly every day. Mornings delivered beautiful sunrises setting fire to redrock cliffs and ice in our water bottles. Almost every night, the brilliant streak of the Milky Way spilled across the ink-black sky, a sight so clear and bright it felt almost alarming.

From a base camp for two nights near the first spring we found, surrounded by towering walls of desert varnish, we dayhiked a nine-mile loop that would prove more adventurous and scenic than I think any of us expected—even after the descent from Maze Overlook.

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A backpacker at a campsite in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm at our second camp in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Following the Chimney Route past the Harvest Scene pictographs, we walked down a canyon that grew steeper and more rugged as we followed a cairned route zigzagging up ledges on a canyon wall. In spots, rocks stacked by trail builders act as step ladders, enabling us to clamber over the smooth lip of a high ledge or a pour over carved by water. That route brought us to the slender tower of Chimney Rock, which looks like hardened, dark-brown mud.

From Chimney Rock, we followed the Pete’s Mesa Route along a high, broad ridge, with a constant panorama of towers and side canyons choked with fallen rocks tumbling away to either side of us. The route eventually rolled abruptly off the tableland and we scrambled down short, vertical drops, using more step ladders of stacked rocks, reaching the bottom of another tight, anonymous side canyon and walking down it and back to our tents.

We saw one other person that entire day and only a handful of people in five days.

The gallery below features some of my photos from backpacking the Maze District in Canyonlands. Scroll below the gallery for the link to my story about this trip, which includes my expert tips on how to take it yourself, including how to obtain a backcountry permit.

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

See my feature story about this trip “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze,” which, like many stories about trips at The Big Outside, includes my detailed tips on planning it yourself and requires a paid membership to read in full.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this trip or any you read about at this blog.

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

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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.

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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.

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Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-grand-canyon-tonto-west-to-boucher-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-grand-canyon-tonto-west-to-boucher-trail/#comments Sun, 21 Sep 2025 20:27:59 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=68085 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A thin, hazy overcast keeps the sun from frying my longtime friend and adventure partner David Ports and me as we descend the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail—a trail I’ve now hiked more times than I can immediately recall. And yet, watching how the marching, broken clouds cause the light to shift across the broad expanse of canyon visible to us, seeming to repaint and reshape the landscape every few minutes, it still feels fresh and thrilling to me.

Before long, though, as often happens in this canyon, the sun emerges to begin doing what the clouds had protected us from: frying us—figuratively speaking, of course.

It’s the first morning of our four-day, late-March backpacking trip from the South Kaibab to Hermits Rest, finishing via the Boucher Trail (pronounced BOO-shay), a notoriously steep route connecting the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon to the upper part of the Hermit Trail.


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Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
My wife, Penny, and Annie Black backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

And I’ll admit that it feels a little repetitive and almost like an inside joke to use words like “notoriously steep” to describe the Boucher, because “steep” should be considered an assumed descriptor for at least portions of any footpath that descends from either the South or North Rim into the canyon’s interior—which typically involve at least 3,000 feet and often more than 4,000 feet of vertical relief over several miles.

The park website’s own ominous descriptions of trails reflect this truth, from the New Hance Trail (“may be the most difficult established trail on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon”) and Tanner Trail (“steep” and “one of the most difficult and demanding developed trails in the park”), to the Hermit Trail (“the upper section of the Hermit Trail is steep and sustained”), Bill Hall Trail (“quite steep and includes a 15-foot scramble”), and the Royal Arch Loop (“considered by many to be the most difficult of the established south side hikes”), to list just a handful of examples. (Note: Links in this story to many other stories at this blog require a paid subscription to read in full.)

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Backpackers hiking up the Boucher Trail in Grand Canyon National Park.
Annie Black and my wife, Penny, backpacking up the Boucher Trail in Grand Canyon National Park.

Still, we’ll discover on this trip’s last day that the Boucher is, indeed, even steeper than all of those trails (all of which I’ve backpacked). More precisely, the park’s description of it warns that “the trail is being slowly reclaimed by erosion—steep, narrow, and covered in a layer of ball bearing-like pebbles. Take your time!”

But while the hike ahead of us will feel challenging and leave us weary at the end of some days, we have a group of six who are ready for it—including a couple of Grand Canyon backpacking newbies who have the fitness and attitude for the difficulty. Besides David, who’s hiked in this canyon a few times, and me, that includes my wife, Penny, experienced in the GC and on countless other trips; Penny’s great friend since college, Annie Black, a first-time backpacker here but with much experience elsewhere; our 22-year-old daughter, Alex, herself with more multi-day hikes on her résumé than she can remember, going back to age five, including twice in this canyon (first time at age seven); and her good friend from college, Harper Meyer, on her first trip here and first with (most of) my family. Harper will meet and exceed our qualifications for backpacking partners: fit, fun, interesting, and badass.

The four women have started our hike by descending the Bright Angel Trail, the most direct route for backpacking west on the Tonto Trail toward the Hermit and Boucher. David and I will rendezvous with them at Havasupai Gardens. He and I have also been up and down the B.A. several times each and chose the South Kaibab because, well, it’s certainly one of the very best trails in the entire National Park System, and we will traverse the only piece of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail that I have not yet walked: the section that wriggles for about 4.5 miles between the South Kaibab and Bright Angel.

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Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail west through Monument Creek Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Our group backpacking the Tonto Trail west through Monument Creek Canyon in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

At the Tipoff, where the South Kaibab crosses the Tonto Trail, 4.4 miles and more than 3,200 feet below the trailhead where we started out two hours ago (and still more than two trail miles and 1,500 feet above the Colorado River), David and I turn west onto the Tonto—and within minutes, as I’ve seen happen so many times when hiking one of the park’s three corridor trails (South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel), we’ve left behind a popular trail where we passed dozens of dayhikers and backpackers to find ourselves on a path with long views and, for most of the next couple of hours, not another person in sight.

Like other sections of the Tonto, here it mostly rolls over the Tonto Plateau, dropping slightly to cross the lush, tree-lined canyon of spring-fed Pipe Creek and then reversing that slight descent on the other side. We gaze up at tall cliffs to one side and, in the other direction, out over the Grand Canyon’s chaotic topography, our viewshed spanning the Colorado River to the distant North Rim.

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

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Horn Creek in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip or any trip you read about at this blog.

At Havasupai Gardens, we find the rest of our party waiting for us and all set out to hike another hour or more to our first camp at Horn Creek. To all of us, coming from northern states, the afternoon temperature feels hot: It’s in the low 80s Fahrenheit, a bit unusual for late March. But the Tonto Trail continues dealing us a generous hand of easy, nearly flat, and fast walking past spiky plants, the wildflowers not yet in bloom just a week into spring.

At Horn Creek, we have the established tent sites and thin shade of small cottonwoods all to ourselves. When the sun drops behind the canyon rim, the air calms and feels comfortably warm. We sit around trading stories until everyone is ready for sleep. I lay my bag and air mat out atop a large boulder at the edge of the creek bed that I remember sleeping on with Penny on a mild spring night like this one 26 years ago. With no moon, the sky becomes a silent blizzard of stars.

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Horn Creek to Monument Creek and Granite Rapids

The sun already feels warm as we file out of camp in pairs around 9 a.m. Except for sitting in the patchy shade of boulders a couple of times today—and the extended break we’ll take in the deep shade of canyon walls at Monument Creek—the six of us will get no respite from the sun’s heat until it sets behind the canyon rim tonight.

The sun at mid-morning in late March remains low enough to throw both intense light and long, heavy shadows in almost equal distribution across the canyon. A breeze tantalizes us with its cooling effect on open bends in the trail around ridges tumbling off the South Rim, but abandons us as we walk along the lee sides of those ridges, where we feel every degree of the solar heat. 

An hour out, as David and I sit in the hard shade of a large rock, first Harper and Alex appear over the saddle between tributary canyons, joined within minutes by Annie and Penny. After a break huddled close together in that shrinking shadow, we all depart together but soon spread out, paired up according to our paces. In this very capable group of family and friends, nobody needs anyone to act as guide. But we always establish the next place where we’ll stop and regroup.

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Contact Grand Canyon National Park, nps.gov/grca. See trail descriptions, including water sources, at nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/campsite-information.htm.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

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

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, sleeping bag, down jacket, air mattress, and stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

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Backpacking Glacier National Park—a Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-backpacking-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/featured-photo-gallery-backpacking-glacier-national-park/#comments Sat, 20 Sep 2025 09:00:42 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6623 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

If you have ever backpacked in Glacier National Park, you know you want to return. If you haven’t yet, then isn’t it time? One of America’s flagship national parks, it’s a must-see destination for backpackers because of the eye-popping scenery, remoteness, and an extremely rare variety of megafauna—including mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose, and black and grizzly bears—as the photo gallery below from my numerous trips in Glacier shows.

And it’s not too early to start planning a backpacking trip in Glacier for next summer.


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


A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail above Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.

There are many good reasons I rank Glacier as one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” a list I base on having backpacked all over the country for more than three decades, including 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

On every multi-day hike I’ve taken there—such as the 65-mile route I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier—I have marveled at an ocean of mountains spreading out before us, soaring cliffs, some of the park’s 760 lakes, sightings of bighorn sheep, mountain goats, and bears (yes, including grizzlies)—and enjoyed a surprising degree of solitude even while hitting many of the park’s highlights.

See my expert e-books to two outstanding backpacking trips in Glacier
and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan every detail of your Glacier trip.

 

A backpacker hiking the Dawson Pass Trail above Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail above Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

My advice: Start planning your Glacier adventure months in advance. Backcountry campsites can be reserved in advance starting March 15 for groups of one to eight people (although having a group of more than four gets much more complicated) and March 1 for groups of nine to 12. Permits for about 40 percent of backcountry campsites in Glacier are issued on a first-come basis no more than a day before a trip’s start date—but that’s a hard permit to get because of the high demand and backpackers on a multi-day hike may claim some of those walk-in sites farther in advance. 

Glacier holds two 24-hour lotteries for early-access times to reserve a backcountry permit, on March 1 for large groups of nine to 12 people and on March 15 for standard groups of one to eight people. Standard group lottery winners will get a date and time when they can apply for a permit reservation. Large-group lottery winners will receive special instructions for applying for a permit reservation. Glacier makes 70 percent of backcountry campsites available for reservations and 30 percent of campsites available for walk-in permits no more than one day in advance during the backpacking season.

Click any photo in the gallery to scroll through it. Scroll below the gallery for links to stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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Read 5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside (many of which require a paid subscription to read in full, including expert tips on planning those trips), And find more info at nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/backcountry-reservations.htm.

See also my expert e-books to two outstanding backpacking trips in Glacier and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can plan every detail of a Glacier trip customized to your preferences.

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Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-mount-rainiers-wonderland-trail-a-photo-gallery/#comments Sat, 13 Sep 2025 09:05:47 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6538 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

On the first afternoon of a five-day, late-summer backpacking trip covering much of the 93-mile Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, two friends and I were making a long ascent through meadows bursting with lupine when we spotted two mountain goats staring at us from rocks partly hidden by bushes—and within seconds, we counted nine goats. Not much later, the morning fog finally lifted, revealing Mount Rainier in all its glory, a vast mountainside of ice and snow rising nearly 8,000 feet above us. Crossing endless wildflower meadows in warm sunshine, a light breeze, and just about perfect hiking temperatures, we reached Panhandle Gap at 6,750 feet—the highest point on the Wonderland—with its expansive view of The Mountain. Below us, at least 18 mountain goats grazed in a flat meadow carpeted in green grass.

And that anecdote encapsulates scenes that occurred daily on the Wonderland Trail.

The Wonderland Trail certainly belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—and I have hiked most of the best (some of them multiple times) over more than three decades, including many years running this blog and previously as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years. The Wonderland possesses virtually all of the qualities that make for a great multi-day hike—including repeated views, from all sides, of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, 14,410-foot Mount Rainier.


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


A backpacker descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt descending from Panhandle Gap on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

Check out the photo gallery below from backpacking trips I’ve taken on the Wonderland Trail and my story about the 77-mile, late-summer hike I took with two friends, “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.” Like many stories at The Big Outside, including most stories about trips, that one requires a paid subscription to read in full.

For as special as it is, the Wonderland ranks among the hardest backpacking permits to get in the country. See How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit;” and get my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier” to learn everything you need to know to plan and take this classic trip.

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack part or all of the Wonderland Trail or for any trip you read about at this blog.

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A backpacker below the Tahoma Glacier on Emerald Ridge, on the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Wonderland Trail on Emerald Ridge, below the Tahoma Glacier, Mount Rainier National Park.

If you’re looking for a beautiful introductory backpacking trip at Mount Rainier National Park, you could hardly do better than the three-day, 22-mile hike from Mowich Lake to Sunrise, much of it on the Wonderland Trail. Crossing the northern tier of the park, you’ll enjoy some of the best wildflower displays you’ve ever seen in Spray Park and Berkeley Park, get a close-up look at the massive Carbon Glacier, and gaze up awestruck at Rainier’s ice- and snow-clad north face from spots like Mystic Lake. See my story about taking that trip with my family when our kids were young, “Wildflowers, Waterfalls, and Slugs at Mt. Rainier.”

If you’re more interested in seeing the best parts of the Wonderland on dayhikes, see “The Best Hikes in Mount Rainier National Park.”

If you have backpacked the Wonderland or have other questions or suggestions about it, please share them in the comments section below. I try to respond to all comments.

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

 

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

 

 

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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.

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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.

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

A tarn near Helen Lake, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
A tarn near Helen Lake, along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

The High Sierra

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

Every time I return to explore another area of California’s High Sierra—as I did again most recently in August 2022, backpacking about 130 miles in nine days, mostly on the John Muir Trail through Kings Canyon National Park and the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses—I’m reminded of just how magnificent and vast this mountain range is.

Spanning three iconic national parks—Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Yosemite—and several national forests and wilderness areas, with thousands of miles of trails and alpine lakes, the Sierra offers endless opportunities for backpacking trips of any length and enough adventures to fill multiple lifetimes.

My own many backcountry travels in the Sierra have included several backpacking trips and dayhikes in Yosemite, where the beauty never ends, even after you’ve hit all the best-known corners; hiking a 40-mile loop with my family in Sequoia, crossing passes up to 11,630 feet and marveling over a landscape the camera loved; climbing the Lower 48’s highest peak, Mount Whitney, with my son; and thru-hiking the JMT. All of those and other trips have given me a good base of knowledge about the Sierra—and only whetted my appetite for more.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my stories about thru-hiking the JMT and climbing Mount Whitney, my expert e-books to three stellar backpacking trips in Yosemite, plus all stories about backpacking the JMT and backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm descending toward Granite Creek on the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Wonderland Trail.

The Cascade Range

Stretching 700 miles from northern California through Oregon and Washington into southern British Columbia, the Cascade Range—with the notable exception of Mount Rainier—does not reach the heights of the Sierra. But the range is nearly twice as long and harbors some of the finest backpacking trails in the country, both famous and relatively obscure.

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

The 93-mile Wonderland Trail (lead photo at top of story) around Washington’s 14,410-foot Mount Rainier belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—for the countless, jarring views of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, numerous waterfalls and cascades, raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and sightings of mountain goats, marmots, and black bears.

See my stories about my backpacking trip on what I consider the best sections of the Wonderland and “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

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

The 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood rivals the Wonderland for wildflowers, waterfalls, and scenery, including frequent views of 11,239-foot Mount Hood. The Timberline also serves up challenges like potentially edgy creek fords—and it requires less than half the time of hiking the entire Wonderland, with no permit complications. See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

Check out these three other very worthy Cascades backpacking trips:

• The stunning and adventurous, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.
• A 44-mile loop in the sprawling Pasayten Wilderness, combining the Pacific Crest Trail and more-remote and lonely trails with equally great scenery.
• And an 80-mile hike, with shorter variations, that delivers a stellar tour of North Cascades National Park.

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

A backpacker descending the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Southern Utah

Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.
Backpackers in the narrows of Paria Canyon.

The national parks and other wildlands of southern Utah protect some of the best dayhikes and backpacking trips in America—period. But among all the multi-day hikes at the bottom of Utah, four stand head and shoulders above the rest: the Needles and Maze districts of Canyonlands National Park, Paria Canyon, and Zion’s Narrows.

In the more user-friendly Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, stratified cliffs stretch for miles and trails zigzag across waves of slickrock slabs below multi-colored sandstone candlesticks rising 300 feet tall. Across the Green River, in the Maze District, trails lead from overlooks of a vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons to circuitous routes through canyons that could only be called the Maze. With very rugged hiking through a hard-to-reach corner of the Southwest where water sources often dry up seasonally, the Maze is unquestionably hard—and a holy grail for serious Southwest backpackers.

Famous among backpackers for its towering walls of orange-red sandstone painted wildly with desert varnish and illuminated by reflected sunlight, hanging gardens where springs pour from rock, and campsites on sandy benches shaded by cottonwood trees, Paria Canyon is a must-do adventure made more, well, “interesting” by pockets of quicksand. Hike it top to bottom or combined with its 15-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch—which gets so tight that you must take off your pack and squeeze through sideways.

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

The Narrows of Zion National Park certainly ranks among America’s top 10 backpacking trips and the best in the Southwest. Much of the magic lies in seeing it change as you literally walk deeper into the earth, splashing down the river through deeply shaded, tight passages and seeing springs gush from solid rock, creating lush desert oases. Backpack the 14-mile route from top to bottom, spending a night in the canyon to savor the solitude of an evening below walls that soar 1,000 feet tall and a slice of black sky bursting with stars.

See my stories “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze,” “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

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

A hiker at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.
Todd Arndt at Pitamakan Pass in Glacier National Park.

Glacier National Park

Few wild lands inspire feelings of awe as often and as intensely as Glacier. Besides almost constant views of mountains unlike any in America, on many multi-day hikes in Glacier you will see rivers of ice pouring off of craggy mountains and cliffs, some of the more than 760 lakes, and often mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose—possibly even a few grizzly and black bears: I’ve seen bears on every backpacking trip I’ve taken there.

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

Those hikes have included what I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier as well as a 94-mile, north-to-south traverse of the park, combining the primary Continental Divide Trail route through Glacier and my hand-picked variations off it to hit what I believe comprise the park’s finest areas.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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

Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.
Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon

If every American should visit Yellowstone National Park—and every American should—those who long to explore its unique and rich backcountry should embark on the park’s best backpacking trip, through Bechler Canyon. Hiking for miles along the Bechler River Trail, beside a five-star trout stream, you’ll pass several thunderous waterfalls—including 45-foot Iris Falls and Colonnade Falls, where the Bechler River plunges 35 feet over an upper falls and another 67 feet over a second drop.

The trip features bracing river fords—which pose little risk beyond chattering teeth (a friend and I made our trip’s last ford in strong, frigid wind and wet snow falling in late September)—possible sightings of bison, bears and other wildlife; the opportunity to explore Yellowstone’s largest backcountry geyser basin near the shore of one of the park’s biggest backcountry lakes; and the icing on the cake: soaking in a natural hot springs-fed pool called Mr. Bubble.

See my story “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon” and all stories about Yellowstone National Park at The Big Outside.

Any trip goes better with the right gear. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Backpackers on the Escalante Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The Grand Canyon

What can be said about the Grand Canyon that hasn’t already been said a thousand times? What words can measure up to the scale and majesty of this place—its infinite vistas, the deceptive immensity of the canyon walls and stone towers, the intimate side canyons where waterfalls pour through green gardens in the desert?

A backpacker on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports backpacking the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

In this landscape of incomparable scenery, multi-day hikes vary from beginner-friendly to notoriously strenuous and challenging. Having ticked off some of the canyon’s best multi-day hikes—South Kaibab to Lipan Point, including the Escalante Route and Beamer Trail, Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, Grandview Point to South Kaibab Trailhead, the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, the New Hance Trail to Grandview Point, the Royal Arch Loop, the canyon’s Gems Route, and the Utah Flats Route and Clear Creek Trail—and hiked and run rim-to-rim-to-rim multiple times in a day, I’m still scheming my next trip there.

The canyon has no peers. Every backpacker should go there.

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

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

A hiker above the Middle Fork Salmon River in Idaho's Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.
Lisa Fenton hiking the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, part of the Idaho Wilderness Trail, in Idaho’s Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.

The Idaho Wilderness

Anyone following my blog for very long knows my affection for Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—my backyard wilderness. But central Idaho harbors nearly four million more acres of almost-contiguous wilderness beyond the 217,000 acres in the Sawtooths: the 1.3-million acre Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, which is larger than many national parks, including Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Glacier; and the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness (“the Frank”), largest in the Lower 48 and bigger than Yellowstone.

If this vast realm of mountains and canyons—divided by just one rural highway and two remote dirt roads—were contained within one national park, it would be America’s third-largest.

Several years ago, I asked the Idaho Conservation League to help me create a long-distance backpacking trail through the state’s three signature wilderness areas. The result is the 296-mile-long Idaho Wilderness Trail, which crosses mountain passes over 9,000 feet and meanders below dramatic spires from the Bighorn Crags in the Frank to the Sawtooths. It follows three designated wild and scenic rivers, the Middle Fork of the Salmon, Main Salmon, and the Selway, and traces the shores of innumerable alpine lakes.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

 

Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Morning light at Middle Cramer Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

It also traverses pristine lands that are home to mountain goats and bighorn sheep, elk and moose, black bears, a population of wolves estimated to be at least seven times larger than that in Yellowstone—and that protect some of the nation’s best remaining habitat in the Lower 48 for restoring wild salmon.

Perhaps most uniquely, the IWT offers the kind of solitude you simply cannot find on most long-distance trails. In fact, many backpackers have never even heard of the wilderness areas the trail traverses.

See my stories “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside.

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

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

The Tetons

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

This list would not feel complete without Wyoming’s iconic Teton Range. Fairly beginner-friendly in terms of difficulty and navigation, a place where you may come upon a marmot, moose, elk, or black or grizzly bear, and so constantly picturesque from the campsites to the high passes and vast fields of wildflowers that it almost shocks the senses, these razor peaks never fail to dazzle.

I’ve returned to the Tetons more than 20 times over the past three-plus decades, most recently backpacking—again—my favorite variation of the Teton Crest Trail, universally considered one of the best backpacking trips in America. Two of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites lie along the TCT.

While the Teton Crest Trail captures the imagination of most backpackers, any multi-day hike in the Tetons will rank among the best hikes you’ve ever done. Want proof? Check out “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “10 Great, Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside, and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park,” which tells you everything you need to know to plan and pull off that trip—including how to get one of the most coveted and difficult-to-reserve backcountry permits in the National Park System.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.
Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

Rocky Mountain National Park

The Colorado Rockies, with 58 peaks that rise higher than 14,000 feet and another whopping 637 that stand between 13,000 and 13,999 feet, have drawn hikers and mountain climbers like mice to peanut butter for decades. But for many, the Colorado Rockies reach their scenic apex in Rocky Mountain National Park.

While not nearly as large as other Western parks like Glacier or Yosemite, Rocky nonetheless offers some excellent and relatively beginner-friendly options for multi-day hikes. I’ve backpacked there on both sides of the Continental Divide, including taking my kids when they were young on a short, three-day hike in Wild Basin, in the park’s southeast corner, south of the park’s tallest and most famous mountain, 14,259-foot Longs Peak.

We camped our first night beside a small creek where the kids played for hours, and our second night a short walk from the shore of lovely Ouzel Lake, nestled in ponderosa pine forest at just over 10,000 feet, below a striking wall of 12,000- and 13,000-foot peaks.

See my story about backpacking with my young kids in Rocky Mountain National Park.

Scroll through the All Trips List for a menu of stories at The Big Outside.

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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.


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


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

I’m not sure how many times I’ve walked a trail or stood at an overlook somewhere in Capitol Reef’s backcountry as the setting sun painted the multi-colored cliffs and towering stone beehives, pyramids, and castles with shifting, vivid evening light that rendered the landscape deeper, broader, more powerful with each passing minute. The sunsets here are crazy gorgeous.

From broad canyons with soaring walls to narrow slots, short and easy hikes ideal for young kids to moderate-distance trails that most hikers would love and some very challenging outings—like my family’s descent of a slot canyon that required four rappels, an adventure our kids loved when they were 11 and nine; and backpacking a mostly off-trail traverse along the spine of the park’s signature geologic feature, the Waterpocket Fold—I have witnessed the variety and striking natural wonder of this underappreciated gem of Utah’s canyon country and concluded it’s just as nice as Utah’s other four parks. But not as crowded.

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail (also shown in lead photo at top of story), in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park.

Not among the ranks of our giant wilderness parks— at just over 240,000 acres, Capitol Reef could fit inside the Grand Canyon five times and Yellowstone nine times—it’s nonetheless the second largest of Utah’s Big 5, smaller only than Canyonlands (which is large enough to be geographically divided into four named districts) and nearly equals the area of Zion, Bryce, and Arches combined.

There’s plenty to explore in Capitol Reef. And this story will serve as your guide to doing just that.

A hiker near the Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.
My wife, Penny, hiking near the Frying Pan Trail, Capitol Reef National Park.

Spring and fall are the peak hiking seasons in Capitol Reef, though its higher elevations often ensure relatively comfortable temperatures extending into June and returning earlier in September than in lower hiking destinations like Zion Canyon. Be aware that some narrow canyons in the park pose flash-flood danger. Know in advance—you can inquire at the visitor center—whether you’re entering a narrow canyon and whether rain is in the forecast.

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

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

 

A hiker on the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, in southern Utah.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Navajo Knobs Trail (also shown in lead photo at top of story), in Utah’s Capitol Reef National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Navajo Knobs Trail

I’ll state this up front: If you take one moderate-length dayhike in Capitol Reef, make it this one. There are few dayhikes in the entire National Park System, never mind in Utah’s parks, that compare with the Navajo Knobs Trail.

This 9.4-mile, out-and-back hike, with 1,620 feet of elevation gain and loss, starts at the same trailhead as the immensely popular Hickman Bridge Trail (below) but soon splits from it—and sees very light hiker traffic beyond that junction. The trail ascends to an overlook above Hickman Natural Bridge and then winds upward for 2.3 miles to the Rim Overlook (4.6 miles round-trip with 1,100 feet of uphill and downhill), with a sweeping view from 1,000 feet above the Fremont River Valley of the cliffs and the chaotically rumpled topography of the Waterpocket Fold and the Henry Mountains in the distance.

Continuing generally west past the Rim Overlook, the Navajo Knobs Trail meanders along the canyon rim, around dry draws and below enormous cliffs and towers, with continuously expanding panoramas of Capitol Reef and distinctive, giant formations like Pectols Pyramid, The Castle, and Fern’s Nipple.

At 4.7 miles from the trailhead, the trail concludes with some easy scrambling to the tiny summit of one of the pinnacles named the Navajo Knobs, at 6,979 feet, worth the effort for the prospect it offers of the varied and fascinating geology and topography of Capitol Reef National Park. But the Navajo Knobs Trail offers a five-star hike, however far you venture out before turning back.

The Navajo Knobs Trail starts at the Hickman Bridge Trailhead, on the north side of UT 24, two miles east of the park visitor center. The trailhead has a small parking lot that usually fills up, with motorists parking where possible along the highway; get there early for better parking access and to beat the heat on a hot day.

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

 

Hickman Natural Bridge seen from the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.
Hickman Natural Bridge seen from the Navajo Knobs Trail in Capitol Reef National Park, Utah.

Hickman Bridge

Immensely popular for great scenery starting right at the trailhead and continuing every step of the way as well as for its short, easy distance, the Hickman Bridge Trail loops around the base of the natural sandstone bridge, which spans 133 feet and rises 125 feet high. At less than two miles out-and-back with 400 feet of elevation gain and loss, it takes only about 90 minutes, great for families with young kids and adults not interested in longer hikes. It splits off the Navajo Knobs Trail (above) at a trail junction just a quarter-mile from the trailhead.

The Hickman Bridge Trailhead is on the north side of UT 24, two miles east of the park visitor center and has a small parking lot that usually fills up, with vehicles parking where possible along the highway.

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

 

A family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My family backpacking up Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

Chimney Rock Loop and Chimney Rock Canyon to Spring Canyon

Rising 300 feet above UT 24, Chimney Rock is an unmistakable natural spire visible to travelers along the highway. But most of them drive past without experiencing the far superior scenery on the relatively easy, 3.6-mile Chimney Rock Loop, which climbs about 800 feet onto the mesa above Chimney Rock, offering a bird’s-eye view of the Fremont River Valley and the sheer redrock cliffs that rise above it. Most hikers make the lollipop loop counterclockwise, getting most of the uphill done at the front end.

While the loop hike is relatively popular, far fewer hikers venture beyond it to explore farther down Chimney Rock Canyon to Spring Canyon, where tall, deeply red and tan walls rise high overhead and boulders flank the trail in many places. Following Chimney Rock Canyon’s trail down to its confluence with Spring Canyon adds three miles out-and-back and minimal down and up to the loop hike—and you can turn around at any point or explore up or down Spring Canyon.

Hikers looking for a longer and more adventurous outing can continue downstream in lower Spring Canyon—reaching the perennial spring not too far below the Chimney Rock Canyon junction—to the canyon’s mouth at the Fremont River, exploring that canyon’s ever-changing contours and fascinating geology. From the Chimney Rock Trailhead, it’s about a nine-mile hike (slightly longer if you add the side trip on the Chimney Rock Loop) down Chimney Rock Canyon and lower Spring Canyon to the Fremont River, which you must ford to reach UT 24, about two miles east of the Hickman Bridge and Cohab Canyon trailheads. Be prepared for a long day with a lot of sun exposure and look at the river where you’ll have to ford it before committing to the full canyon descent to make sure it’s low enough to ford safely.

The Chimney Rock Trailhead is on UT 24, three miles west of the park visitor center. The lot often fills in spring and fall so arrive early.

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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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Mountain Lakes of the High Sierra—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-high-sierra-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-high-sierra-a-photo-gallery/#comments Sun, 17 Aug 2025 09:07:45 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=54549 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

It seems a fool’s wager to guess how many mountain lakes exist in the High Sierra, the range that reaches heights over 14,000 feet and spans some 200 miles through eastern California from Lake Tahoe to south of Sequoia National Park, including Yosemite and Kings Canyon national parks and several national forest wilderness areas. Some estimates place the number of named glacial lakes at around a thousand—but that omits the constellation of lakes and tarns identified by their elevation only or that remain completely anonymous. It’s a safe bet the total reaches into the many thousands.

Backpack virtually anywhere in the High Sierra—which comprises one of the largest contiguous blocks of wilderness in the Lower 48—and you’re bound to pass by countless shimmering, watery gems and pitch a tent near some of the prettiest you’ve ever seen. This story shares images of many of the finest I’ve seen on numerous backpacking trips all over the High Sierra, in all of the parks, the major wilderness areas, and on the John Muir Trail 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.


Backpackers hiking the John Muir Trail past Evolution Lake in Kings Canyon National Park.
David Ports and Marco Garofalo backpacking the John Muir Trail past Evolution Lake in Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to read more about the JMT.

I’m a big fan of other American mountain ranges that are speckled with beautiful lakes, such as the Wind River Range, the Tetons, the Cascades (especially the North Cascades), and Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. See my stories “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” and “Photo Gallery: 41 Gorgeous Backcountry Lakes.”

Still, almost none compare with the High Sierra for sheer numbers of freshwater bodies or the splendor of the “Range of Light.”

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A backpacker hiking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.

The High Sierra national parks and forests all begin accepting reservations for wilderness permits months ahead of a trip starting date—including for the John Muir Trail—and competition is fierce for popular areas and trails. But some also set aside a percentage of permits for release a week or two ahead of a trip starting date. See my stories “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit” and “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.”

The photo gallery below includes some well-known lakes and others that are remote and obscure; you may have never heard of some of them. All are only reached by hiking or riding a horse for miles into the wilderness. Click on the gallery to open it and use right and left arrow keys to scroll through it. Scroll past the gallery for links to stories about the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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See all stories at The Big Outside about backpacking in the High Sierra, Yosemite, Sequoia, and Kings Canyon national parks, in the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, and on the John Muir Trail. Most of those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips and information on planning each hike. See also my expert e-books to multi-day hikes in Yosemite and other parks.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the High Sierra, including the John Muir Trail, Yosemite, Sequoia, and Kings Canyon national parks and the national forest wilderness areas. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

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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.

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
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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.

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.

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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.


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


A hiker on the Fimmvorduhals Trail above Iceland's Skógá River.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Fimmvorduhals Trail above Iceland’s Skógá River.

Capping off a nearly three-week family trip to Iceland that included trekking hut-to-hut on the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails, we spent a week driving the Ring Road and taking many of the best dayhikes and walks along it. This story describes the hikes and short walks we took, listed in the order we hiked them when driving the Ring Road clockwise from Reykjavik.

This article includes Iceland’s second- and third-tallest waterfalls, the highest-volume waterfall in Europe, and a trail that passes more than two dozen eye-popping waterfalls; both the deepest and the longest fjords in Iceland and the longest river canyon; probably Iceland’s most famous glacial lagoon; a great dayhike to waterfalls and overlooks high above glaciers in Iceland’s largest national park; and in a more casual vein, a walk along a black-sand beach. (Like many stories at The Big Outside, reading this entire story and other stories linked below requires a paid subscription to this blog.)

The Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon, along the Ring Road in southeast Iceland.
The Jokulsarlon Glacier Lagoon, along the Ring Road in southeast Iceland.

With each hike, we mapped the driving route on a smartphone, which worked fine even on remote dirt roads off the Ring Road. Although some interior roads require high-clearance, 4WD vehicles, all of the roads mentioned below are fine for standard cars.

Please share your own experiences on any hikes along Iceland’s Ring Road or questions about them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Want to take one of the world’s great hut treks?
See my story “A Family Hikes Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

 

Glymur Waterfall

3.8 miles/6.1km, 1,180 feet/360 meters up and down.

At 650 feet/198 meters tall, Iceland’s second-highest waterfall, Glymur, thunders into a deep and narrow chasm located at the head of the deepest fjord in Iceland, Hvalfjörður. The first view of the falls one gets when hiking the trail up that canyon will stop you in your tracks and the overlooks only keep getting better as you climb higher.

Iceland's second-tallest waterfall,, Glymur, at the head of the fjord Hvalfjörður.
Iceland’s second-tallest waterfall,, Glymur, at the head of the fjord Hvalfjörður (also shown in lead photo at top of story).

Sometimes hyperbolically described as a “well-kept secret,” the three- to four-hour out-and-back or loop hike (the latter requires fording the wide, shallow, and frigid river well above the waterfall) rarely offers any real solitude: Arrive at the trailhead early to beat the crowds because the large parking lot often fills by mid-morning. But the steep and rugged trail, a bit of exposure, and a river crossing on a log (or fording it) not far into the hike—in addition to the optional ford to make it a loop hike—makes it long and hard enough to dissuade the masses of tourists that frequent Iceland’s most famous and accessible waterfalls.

Hikers at an overlook of Iceland's second-tallest waterfall, Glymur, at the head the country's deepest fjord, Hvalfjordur.
Hikers at an overlook of Iceland’s second-tallest waterfall, Glymur, at the head the country’s deepest fjord, Hvalfjordur.

Reach the trailhead on a 90-minute drive north from Reykjavik and follow the well-signed trail up the canyon, with stunning views from below and above Glymur itself, which does not come into view until you get close to it. The drive along the shore of Hvalfjörður is beautiful and feels quite remote, despite its proximity to Reykjavik.

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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.


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 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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15 Awesome Fall Backpacking Trips https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-awesome-fall-backpacking-trips/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/10-awesome-fall-backpacking-trips/#comments Mon, 04 Aug 2025 09:00:03 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=20463 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The imminent end of summer always feels a little melancholy. After all, it marks the close of the prime season for getting into the mountains. But it also signals the beginning of a time of year when many mountain ranges become less crowded just as they’re hitting a sweet zone in terms of temperatures, the lack of bugs, and foliage color. Autumn also stands out as an ideal season for many Southwest hikes, with moderate temperatures and even some stunning color.

From Yosemite to Yellowstone, Grand Canyon to Grand Teton, the Great Smokies to the White Mountains and hikes that may not be on your radar, like the North Cascades (lead photo, above), Ruby Crest Trail, and several great ones in the Southwest, this story describes 15 backpacking trips that hit a nice season or their prime season sometime between mid-September through November—all of them standouts among the innumerable trips I’ve taken over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor at Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


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

Click on links below to read the feature-length stories about these trips, which contain numerous photos. While much of those individual stories is free for anyone to read, reading them in full, including my tips on planning those trips, is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside. See also my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Don’t stay home and lament the end of summer—get out and make the most of autumn, an ideal time of year in the backcountry.

Please share your questions or suggestions for fall backpacking trips in the comments section at the bottom. I try to respond to all comments. Click any photo to read about that trip.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness

“Ara-what?” Yea, that was my reaction when I first heard about this place from a friend—whose tip I wisely followed. (Thanks, John.) Five of us backpacked into Aravaipa for three days, dayhiking from a base camp to explore this lushly green, 12-mile-long defile between redrock walls that reach up to 600 feet tall.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpacking out to the West Trailhead on our last day in Aravaipa Canyon.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous public lands, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous Southwest oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing tall cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro cacti grow in giant armies on the rims overhead. With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, no water scarcity typical of Southwest desert backpacking trips, abundant shade, the low elevation and southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a relatively casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—but fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

See my story “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon.”

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A backpacker hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

The High Sierra

Like Yosemite (below), demand for wilderness permits throughout the High Sierra, especially in Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, grows fierce during the summer. But most backpackers fail to realize that the real peak season for exploring the incomparable High Sierra begins in late August—when the wilting afternoon heat and ravenous mosquitoes of early to mid-summer start to abate—and often continues through September and into October.

Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park, High Sierra, California.
Sunrise reflection in a tarn above Helen Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

And the options are virtually unlimited in this contiguous wilderness spreading over nearly three million acres—an ocean of jagged peaks rising as high as 14,000 feet and a constellation of shimmering alpine lakes—from weekend trips to a week or longer, including five-star section hikes of the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail or variations off them into less-well-known corners of the Sierra. After backpacking many hundreds of miles throughout the Sierra over more than three decades, I have yet to run out of great hikes to do there.

See all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking the John Muir and Ansel Adams Wildernesses,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

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

North Cascades National Park

Larch trees reflected in Rainbow Lake, in Washington's North Cascades.
Larch trees reflected in Rainbow Lake, in Washington’s North Cascades.

In the last week of September, with huckleberries ripe and tasty and the larch trees blazing yellow with fall color (lead photo at top of story), a friend and I took an 80-mile hike through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex, a sprawling swath of heavily glaciated mountains and thickly forested valleys. Our grand tour from Easy Pass Trailhead to Bridge Creek Trailhead took us through virgin forests of giant cedars, hemlocks, and Douglas firs, and over four passes, including Park Creek Pass, where waterfalls and glaciers pour off cliffs and jagged, snowy peaks.

We enjoyed five sunny, glorious early-fall days; but of course, snow can fall in these mountains in September, so watch the forecast. North Cascades has long been one of my favorite parks (it has one of the most inspiring backcountry campsites I’ve ever slept in). But not many backpackers know this place: It’s one of America’s least-visited national parks. That’s good if you like to have a beautiful wild place to yourself.

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

I can help you plan a backpacking trip of almost any length in the North Cascades. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

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Backpackers hiking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Mark and Pam Solon backpacking below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Owl and Fish Canyons

Like other Southwest canyon country backpacking trips, the approximately 17-mile loop through Owl and Fish Canyons in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument features tall, red cliffs, towers, and natural arches (Nevills Arch spans 140 feet); walking up or down rippled slickrock slabs; plus flowering cacti and other prickly desert flora in spring and the greenery of cottonwoods.

A backpacker hiking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
My wife, Penny, backpacking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Unlike other multi-day hikes in the Southwest, Owl and Fish have a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water, creating an unexpected desert oasis—and enabling backpackers to avoid carrying an onerous burden of extra water. The hike also involves quite rugged terrain in parts of both canyons—scrambling, steep sections of loose rocks, and a bit of exposure. Hiking in one of the least-populated parts of the country, you might see the darkest night skies of your life: Sleeping out without tents, friends and I awakened after moonset to a Milky Way glowing with a rare luminescence against a coal-black sky riddled with stars.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about Southwest backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker above Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking above Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail in northern Nevada’s Ruby Mountains.

Ruby Crest Trail

Maybe like me, you’ve had Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail in your sights for several years. When I finally made it there, I wondered why I’d waited so long.

Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.
Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.

The four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail goes from a high-desert landscape speckled with granite monoliths to aspen and conifer forests and alpine terrain high above treeline, with constant views of the craggy Ruby Mountains. We passed some stunning mountain lakes—one of which ranks among the prettiest backcountry lakes and best backcountry campsites I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy.

While my family backpacked the Ruby Crest Trail in mid-July, when wildflowers bloom and moderate temperatures prevail, late summer and early fall bring even greater solitude to a wilderness that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to many parks and mountain ranges. If you’re trying to pull together a last-minute trip, the Ruby Crest Trail also offers the convenience of requiring no permit reservation.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

A backpacker above Crack-in-the-Wall, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Cyndi Hayes backpacking above Crack-in-the-Wall and Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

Coyote Gulch

A hiker in Coyote Gulch in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.
Cyndi Hayes hiking in Coyote Gulch in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, Utah.

From one of the trailheads, you begin the roughly 15-mile hike through Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, by crossing ancient dunes hardened to rock to stand atop a cliff overlooking redrock towers and cliffs, including massive Stevens Arch, which spans 220 feet across and 160 feet tall. From that clifftop, you scramble down to squeeze through a tight, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall—which is quite fun and not as hard as you might think.

Once in Coyote Gulch, you’ll often hike directly in the mostly shallow but energetic, perennial stream that nurtures lots of greenery, while hiking below some classic features of Southwest canyons: a natural bridge, one of the region’s most distinctive natural arches—and one deeply overhung cliff with amazing echo acoustics that delighted the kids when my family and another spent three days exploring this canyon. With relatively few hazards associated with Southwest canyons, Coyote Gulch represents one of the Southwest’s most beginner-friendly backpacking trips while earning five stars for scenery.

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

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Iris Falls on the Bechler River, Yellowstone National Park.
Iris Falls on the Bechler River, Yellowstone National Park.

Yellowstone National Park

Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone.
Colonnade Falls on the Bechler River in Yellowstone.

Imagine this: You’re partway through a wilderness backpacking trip when you reach a natural hot spring-fed pool in the backcountry… and soak for hours. That’s what awaits you in Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon, where the famous Mr. Bubble forms a wide, hot pool at a perfect temperature for soaking.

A friend and I enjoyed a long soak in Mr. Bubble on a five-day, roughly 55-mile hike through Bechler Canyon. We also saw thunderous waterfalls and cascades along the Bechler River Trail, which also, in sections, is a quiet, tree-lined waterway with world-class trout fishing. We saw a black bear, heard elk bugling, and explored the largest backcountry geyser basin in the park—which we had almost entirely to ourselves.

September and early October are the best months to backpack in this corner of Yellowstone—after the notorious summer mosquito season, with frequently pleasant weather, when the multiple, cold fords of the Bechler get a bit lower.

See my story about that trip “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon” at The Big Outside.

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A backpacker descending Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow Loop

The 22-mile Death Hollow Loop in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument begins with the Boulder Mail Trail’s wildly meandering, up-and-down route across steep-walled canyons and over a slickrock plateau of rippling Navajo Sandstone. That first day culminates at an overlook at the rim of Death Hollow that steals your breath away, right before the trail abruptly plunges to that Escalante River tributary.

A backpacker hiking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

On the second day’s sometimes narrow and constantly surprising descent of Death Hollow, you’ll hike in cold water ranging from ankle- to thigh-deep—provided you successfully avoid slipping into the deeper pools—while encountering a succession of terrain obstacles. (Full disclosure: The poison ivy is insane.) Then you’ll ascend the upper Escalante River canyon between soaring walls of red, brown, and cream-colored rock painted with desert varnish.

The Death Hollow Loop poses significant challenges to take seriously. But at every turn, you will stumble upon scenes as pretty as you’ll find in any canyon in the Southwest. This adventure will blow your mind.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop.”

Time for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight packs.

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

Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Unquestionably one of the East’s premier backpacking destinations, the Great Smokies have two peak seasons: spring, when about 1,600 species of flowering plants—more than found in any other national park—come into bloom; and fall, when dry air and moderate temperatures settle in, insects have mostly disappeared, and the forest paints itself in the brilliant hues of autumn foliage.

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

While you’ve probably seen many photos of the classic vistas from Great Smokies summits of overlapping rows of blue, wooded ridges fading to a distant horizon, I’ve found that much of the park’s magic resides in its rocky streams tumbling through cascades, and a diverse forest where you may hear only the sound of birds.

On a 34-mile, October hike in the park, beginning near Fontana Lake and traversing a stretch of the Appalachian Trail, I enjoyed a grand tour of this half-million-acre park, including 6,643-foot Clingmans Dome and the park’s highest bald, 5,920-foot Andrews Bald. I also found a surprising degree of solitude, even in the very popular fall hiking season.

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

Get the right puffy jacket to keep you warm in fall. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

A backpacker hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River, Yosemite National Park.
Mark Fenton hiking at dawn above the Lyell Fork of the Merced River in Yosemite.

Yosemite National Park

Want to know the hardest thing about backpacking in Yosemite? Getting the permit. Well, okay, the hiking itself can be tough at times. But the competition for wilderness permits in this flagship park is stiff, especially for popular trailheads in and around Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows. That’s one reason why backpackers in the know go after Labor Day. Another reason is that while early-season snowstorms occasionally slam the High Sierra in autumn, nice weather often lasts through September—my favorite time in the High Sierra—and sometimes into October.

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

With less demand in late summer and autumn, you can often score a last-minute permit for a five-star hike of almost any distance, hitting top Yosemite summits like Clouds Rest and Mount Hoffmann, and the incomparable Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, plus remote areas like Red Peak Pass, the highest pass reached by trail in Yosemite.

The park issues 40 percent of wilderness permits online from seven days to three days before the trip start date at recreation.gov/permits/445859. That enables backpackers who didn’t apply months ago to plan a trip about a week out and arrive at the park with the assurance of having a permit reservation. And outside the park’s popular core area between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows, a permit is much easier to get.

Then the only hard aspect of the hike will be… you got it: the hike.

See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” and “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I’ve helped numerous readers of my blog figure out how and where they can get a last-minute, walk-in wilderness permit in Yosemite, and then laid out the route for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page.


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A backpacker on the Grand Canyon's South Kaibab Trail.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail. Click photo for my e-book “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Grand Canyon National Park

You already know that spring and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking in the Grand Canyon. But while weather can be unstable in either season, in spring you’re aiming for a window between when snow and ice melt off the rims in April and when the scorching temps hit the inner canyon in May. In fall, though, you’ll enjoy dry trails, a surprising amount of color in the sparse desert vegetation, and pleasant temperatures often lasting into November (which was when I backpacked there with my 10-year-old daughter).

A backpacker above Royal Arch Canyon on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
Kris Wagner backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop.

Backpacking permits for the corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—are in high demand. Sure, grab those campsites if available; but if not, I recommend the 29-mile hike from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead, or the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead—or even combining or overlapping them. Both feature sublime campsites, stretches of flatter hiking along the Tonto Trail with views reaching from the Colorado River to the South and North rims, and crossings of deep side canyons with flaming-red walls shooting straight up into the sky.

And backpackers ready for a bigger canyon route should see my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” a trip that is described in this e-book.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” or scroll down to Grand Canyon on the All National Park Trips page for a menu of all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon. Click photo for “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Grand Teton National Park

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

Like Yosemite and Grand Canyon, Grand Teton is a park where securing a backcountry permit reservation requires being on top of the process months in advance, applying the minute reservations open in January; most reservable backcountry camping gets booked for the entire summer typically within minutes. But the park also sets aside about two-thirds of available backcountry campsites for walk-in permits, issued up to a day in advance of a starting multi-day hike. While demand is huge for those during July and August, as with other parks, it tails off steadily after Labor Day.

The combination of relatively high elevations and a northerly latitude brings a slightly higher probability that snow will fly in the Tetons in late summer or early fall. But beautiful summer weather, with pleasant days and crisp nights, can extend into late September, a season when you’ll see aspens turn golden and hear rutting elk bugling. And fewer backpackers show up at park offices seeking a permit—you can walk in, grab one, and go.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

See also my bestselling, expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

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

Zion National Park

Here’s what I’ve discovered about Zion in numerous visits since my first three decades ago: The more time you spend there, the more you discover there is to do—so you need to keep coming back. But exploring Zion faces seasonal limitations, especially for its two premier backpacking trips.

A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.
A view along the West Rim Trail in Zion Canyon, Zion National Park.

The North Fork of the Virgin River often runs too high in spring to make the overnight descent of The Narrows; and while much of it is shaded and cool even on summer’s hottest days, the top and bottom are exposed to the broiling sun. And he approximately 40-mile, north-south traverse of the park from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon crosses high plateaus that often remain snow-covered into May, with one creek crossing that can be challenging in the high water of spring.

But September and October offer prime conditions for these hikes—and the cottonwood trees turn golden in October. I even backpacked The Narrows with a forecast for ideal weather in early November.

See my stories “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery.”

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

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

 

A hiker at Zeacliff, overlooking the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H.
Mark Fenton at Zeacliff, overlooking the Pemigewasset Wilderness, White Mountains, N.H.

White Mountains

If ever there were mountains that screamed to be explored in fall, these are those. New Hampshire’s rocky and steep White Mountains are where I wore out my first several pairs of hiking boots, and I still return every year for their awe-inspiring brand of suffering. While the fall colors that usually peak in early October are beautiful throughout the Whites, my top two picks for fall backpacking trips are a 32-mile loop around the Pemigewasset Wilderness and a 24-mile traverse from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch, mostly on the Appalachian Trail.

A hiker on Bondcliff, on the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire's White Mountains.
Mark Fenton on Bondcliff, on the Pemi Loop in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The 32-mile Pemi Loop from the Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway (NH 112) crosses eight official 4,000-foot summits, including the alpine traverse of Franconia Ridge—with its constant panorama encompassing most of the Whites—and a walk along the rocky crest of remote Bondcliff, in the heart of the Pemigewasset. Crawford to Franconia overlaps some of the Pemi Loop’s highlights, while adding killer views of Crawford and Zealand notches. (Tip: Definitely take the short side trip to the overlook at Zeacliff, photo above.) And you can add on the summits of Bond, Bondcliff, and West Bond by tacking on an out-and-back side trip that adds several miles.

See “The Best Hikes in the White Mountains,” “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” and “Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains,” about dayhiking the Pemi Loop.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

 

A backpacker on the Timberline Trail around Oregon's Mount Hood.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood.

Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail

A multi-day hike with views around almost every bend of a towering volcano draped in snow and ice, where you pass through forests of ancient, big trees—sounds like the classic Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, right? Actually, it’s the 41-mile Timberline Trail looping Oregon’s 11,239-foot Mount Hood, and it competes with the better-known Wonderland for scenic splendor, waterfalls, and wildflower meadows, while delivering a higher degree of excitement and challenge with its full-value creek crossings. Although the wildflowers are past bloom in September, the creek crossings become reassuringly easier, the crowds thinner, the air crisper, and the views no less stunning.

Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite, Timberline Trail, Mount Hood, Oregon.
Sunrise at Cooper Spur campsite on the Timberline Trail, Mount Hood, Oregon.

Granted, the year’s first snowfall can certainly happen at Hood in September or October. That said, late summer and autumn deliver many days of glorious weather in the Pacific Northwest, and the Timberline is less than half the distance of the Wonderland, making it easier to knock off with a decent weather window. Plus, unlike the Wonderland, the Timberline involves no permit hoops to jump through. If the forecast promises a string of three to five reasonably nice days, aim your compass for the Timberline Trail.

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

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

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Backpacking 150 Miles Through Wildest Yosemite https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-150-miles-through-wildest-yosemite/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-150-miles-through-wildest-yosemite/#comments Sun, 03 Aug 2025 09:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=21985 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In early evening on a bluebird September day, deep in northern Yosemite National Park, my friend Todd Arndt and I—with legs a little weary—reached our fourth pass on a 23-mile day, the second day of a four-day, 87-mile hike. Only a quad-melting, 1,500-foot descent stood between us and soothing our feet in the cool sand and cold water at Benson Lake (possibly the most unbelievable mountain lake I’ve ever seen).

We hiked past quiet tarns where a few backpackers were camped. And it struck me that they were the first people Todd and I had seen all day. That’s not an observation one expects to make in Yosemite. But we were exploring the “other Yosemite”—not the overcrowded park, but its most remote backcountry, on one of the best multi-day hikes I’ve ever taken.


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.


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

There’s a back story here. After several visits to Yosemite over the past three decades, backpacking, dayhiking, and climbing—some of those to write stories for this blog and Backpacker magazine, where I was Northwest Editor for 10 years—I had become kind of obsessed with the fact that I had still not explored the park’s two most expansive swaths of wilderness: the Clark Range and Merced River headwaters south of Tuolumne Meadows, and even vaster northern Yosemite.

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 So I set out to finally fill in that glaring omission in my backpacking résumé, concocting an ambitious plan to make a 152-mile grand tour of Yosemite’s most remote backcountry in one week, divided into two legs, resupplying between them.

First came a three-day, 65-mile loop south of Tuolumne Meadows, including two of Yosemite’s most thrilling summits, Clouds Rest and Half Dome, plus walking through the Clark Range and tagging the highest pass reached by trail in the park, 11,500-foot Red Peak Pass.

That was to be immediately followed by a four-day, nearly 87-mile walk through the biggest and most remote chunk of wilderness on the Yosemite map: a circuit north of Tuolumne Meadows through a vast realm of deep canyons like the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River—which is sort of like Yosemite Valley, but twice as long, with most of the people and all of the buildings and cars removed. We crossed passes at over 10,000 feet below peaks rising to over 12,000 feet, and stood atop a peak often described as having the best summit view in Yosemite.

See “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.”

Smoke from wildfires sent three friends and I home after completing the 65-mile hike. So Todd and I returned to Yosemite a year later and knocked off the 87-miler.

Scroll through the photo gallery and watch the videos below and you’ll see why that 152-mile grand tour of Yosemite’s most remote areas ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.” Below the gallery, find links to my feature stories about both of these backpacking trips, videos about each one, and links to my expert e-books that will help you plan and successfully pull off either trip.

And my Custom Trip Planning page explains how I can help you plan your trip.

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

See my blog’s feature stories “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about the 65-mile first leg of that grand tour of Yosemite, and “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” about the 87-mile second leg. Both stories have many photos, videos, and details on planning each hike—in however many days you’d like to take (most backpackers would probably take six to eight days on them). Like most stories at The Big Outside, a paid subscription is required to read these two stories in full, including some basic trip-planning information.

I can help you plan a great backpacking trip in Yosemite
or any trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

Looking northeast from Mule Pass in Yosemite National Park.
Looking northeast from Mule Pass in northern Yosemite. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

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

Want to take either of these amazing trips? My expert e-books tell you everything you need to know (in much deeper detail than the feature stories) to plan and successfully pull off either trip, including multiple hiking itineraries. “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite” describes the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne and “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite” describes the 87-mile hike north of Tuolumne.

Click here now for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

 

 

 Click here now for my e-book “Backpacking Wild, Uncrowded Northern Yosemite.”

 

I’ve also helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Yosemite—including readers planning a last-minute trip without having a permit reservation. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

See all stories about backpacking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside.

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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.


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


Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to see all the photos from this blog that are available for purchase, including this one, at my Outdoor Photography page.

Some lakes in the Sawtooths, like Alice and Sawtooth lakes, are well known. Others are more remote and obscure; you may have never seen a photo of some of these. All are only reached by hiking or riding a horse for miles into the wilderness. Seeing these incredible places requires time and effort.

When you consider the beauty and the sheer numbers of clear, high mountain lakes tucked in granite basins ringed by soaring cliffs and jagged peaks, I just think Idaho’s Sawtooths are up there with the best. I rank the Sawtooths among the 10 best backpacking trips in America.

Click on the photo gallery to open it and use right and left arrow keys to scroll through it. Find links below the gallery to stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

If you think I’ve overlooked an outstanding lake in the Sawtooths, or if you believe you know of a range with prettier mountain lakes, please suggest it in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside. Most stories about trips at The Big Outside require a paid subscription to read in full, including my expert tips on how to plan and take those trips.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

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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?
See my story “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon.”

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

North Rim Trail, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

The North Rim Trail along the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River (lead photo at top of story) is arguably the park’s most scenic walk and one of the best national park dayhikes in the country, with constant views into the deep canyon, including thunderous, 308-foot-tall Lower Yellowstone Falls. Various points of road access allow you to choose a hiking distance, but the entire trail is relatively flat and under five miles end to end, including all the side paths along it. While most visitors park at each lot along the road and take a short walk to each canyon overlook, hiking the entire trail certainly delivers a far better experience, including the chance to see wildlife and few people along parts of the trail.

Do not pass up the side trail that descends a steep 600 feet in 0.3 mile to the very brink of Lower Yellowstone Falls, where only a railing separates you from the river hurling itself over the cliff. Make sure to also walk out to the overlooks of 129-foot Crystal Falls and 109-foot Upper Yellowstone Falls. Start at the Wapiti Lake Trailhead, located on South Rim Drive just past the Chittenden Bridge over the Yellowstone River. Hiking the entire trail out-and-back is 8.2 miles; the side paths add more than a mile.

Fairy Falls

The Fairy Falls Trail, in the Midway Geyser Basin, leads to 197-foot Fairy Falls, one of the park’s nicest, passing views of the park’s biggest and most colorful hot spring, Grand Prismatic Spring. There are a couple ways to get there, both relatively flat, easy hikes. The shorter route, five miles round-trip, begins a mile south of Midway Geyser Basin, where you cross a steel bridge. The longer route of eight miles round-trip begins at the parking area at the end of Fountain Flat Drive. From the falls, you can continue 0.6 mile one-way to Spray and Imperial geysers, and then double back.

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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.

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

Lone Star Geyser

The Lone Star Geyser Trail, which begins near Kepler Cascades, just south of Old Faithful, is an almost five-mile round-trip hike to Lone Star Geyser, which is several feet tall and erupts about every three hours. Go early in the morning to avoid the crowds and give yourself time to sit and wait for the geyser to blow.

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, Yellowstone National Park.
Along the Blacktail Deer Creek Trail in Yellowstone National Park.

Blacktail Deer Creek Trail

The Blacktail Deer Creek Trail, which begins about 6.7 miles east of Mammoth on the Grand Loop Road, winds north across gently rolling grasslands and meadows with long views of partly forested hills and a good chance of seeing a bison herd. The trail drops more than 1,000 feet in 3.7 miles to the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River, where, for a longer outing, you can hike either upriver or downriver along a trail through conifer forest, with views of the cliffs rising above the meandering river. But the first few miles of the Blacktail Deer Creek Trail are fairly easy, before it begins descending more steeply into the canyon, and you can turn back at any point.

See all stories about Yellowstone National Park and all stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

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Mountain Lakes of the Wind River Range—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-wind-river-range-a-photo-gallery/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/mountain-lakes-of-the-wind-river-range-a-photo-gallery/#comments Fri, 18 Jul 2025 09:00:14 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=59578 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We followed the Doubletop Mountain Trail as it rolled over open plateau country above 10,000 feet in the Wind River Range, crossing one gorgeous lake basin after another where wildflowers still carpeted the ground in the week before Labor Day. In the distance, peaks along the Continental Divide soared to over 13,000 feet, jabbing at the underbellies of clouds. Turning onto the Highline Trail, we reached an unnamed tarn in late afternoon and walked beyond it to a flat, broad bench overlooking a meadow and lake below a pair of huge towers, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. It was a serendipitous find to make our home for the night.

But the real magic arrived the next morning, when nature served up a perfect stew of conditions—calm air, dappled light, still water, and a stunning backdrop—to create a scene that validates carrying all the weight on your back for days (and makes for a pretty good photo, above).


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


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

I first began exploring Wyoming’s Wind River Range about 30 years ago and have returned many times since, drawn back again and again by its almost bottomless well of adventure potential. In that time, I’ve learned about the many reasons to walk for days through the Winds, which exist in the deep shadow of Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks just a couple of hours to the north—a state of relative anonymity that many backpackers celebrate. Its lack of national park status and sheer vastness enable a high degree of solitude for backpackers willing to make the considerable effort (and take the time) to explore more deeply into the range, which extends for nearly 100 miles north to south.

And few mountain ranges match the grandiosity of the Wind River Range. The Colorado Rockies and High Sierra reach greater heights and I would include both among the handful of ranges—certainly the Tetons and the Teton Crest Trail as well as Yosemite and the High Sierra, Glacier, the North Cascades, and the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier—that project the breathtaking grandeur of the soaring, jagged peaks of the Winds, where some 40 summits top 13,000 feet, including Wyoming’s highest, 13,804-foot Gannett Peak.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

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

Plus, much of the Wind River Range lies within federally designated wilderness, meaning no visitor centers, no motors, no roads crossing the range anywhere.

But it’s the lakes that will steal your heart. With the notable exception of the High Sierra, no mountain range in America harbors as many beautiful alpine lakes and tarns as the Wind River Range. Backpacking there, you will hike past several every day where you will wish you were camping.

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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.

I’ve carried a pack through many mountain ranges across the country over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. But there are just a handful of places I return to again and again as much as I do the Winds, which I count among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.” I think these photos of many of my favorite Wind River Range lakes might persuade you to explore these mountains.

But be forewarned: It can be habit-forming.

Click on the photo gallery to view each photo enlarged and scroll below the gallery to links to stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

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See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Wind River Range,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup,” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside. Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

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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.”

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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.

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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

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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Backpacking Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-white-cloud-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-idahos-white-cloud-mountains/#respond Thu, 10 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19328 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Picture a chain of peaks rising to over 11,000 feet, some composed of chalk-like rock that looks, from a distance, like snow. Scores of crystal-clear lakes above 9,000 feet ripple in the breeze and creeks run with trout and salmon. Mountain goats, elk, bighorn sheep, black bears, even gray wolves roam this wilderness. And backpackers find the kind of solitude you can’t find in many wild lands.

That’s the White Cloud Mountains of central Idaho. Put this relatively new American wilderness on your radar—and get there before every other backpacker discovers how gorgeous and quiet it still is, as you’ll see in the photos below from the backpacking trips and long dayhikes I’ve taken in the White Clouds, including to Quiet Lake, below the range’s highest peak, 11,815-foot Castle Peak (lead photo, above).


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Hikers on Trail 47 near 10,000-foot Castle Divide in the White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.
Scott White and Chip Roser on Trail 47 near 10,000-foot Castle Divide on a 28-mile dayhike in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

After countless backpacking and hiking trips across the country over the past four decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I find myself drawn more and more to those places off the beaten path.

The White Clouds are that kind of place, less well-known but similar to the neighboring Sawtooth Mountains, which I rank among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

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See all stories about the White Clouds at The Big Outside, including “Exploring a Wilderness Hopeful: Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains” and “Head in the Clouds: Hiking in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.”

I’ve helped many readers plan memorable backpacking trips. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan every detail of a multi-day hike in the White Clouds or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

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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.


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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.

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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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Backpacking a CDT Sampler in Colorado’s Weminuche Wilderness https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-a-cdt-sampler-in-colorados-weminuche-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-a-cdt-sampler-in-colorados-weminuche-wilderness/#respond Tue, 08 Jul 2025 17:01:41 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=67638 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Warm, summer-like temperatures and mostly sunny skies greet us as we start hiking up the Williams Creek Trail in southwestern Colorado’s San Juan Mountains. Even in mid-September, the southern Rocky Mountains sun remains intense here, at over 9,000 feet. Its surprising warmth (compared to the northern Rockies) reminds me of days on the John Muir Trail or in Yosemite in August. But ominous clouds trot across the sky, some of them ripening to the color of a plum ready for picking, and the forecast calls for possible thunderstorms today and tomorrow.

In other words, it’s a pretty typical summer day in the Colorado Rockies.

We chat briefly with two guys hunting elk—the only people we’ll see all day. Otherwise, we have the very quiet forest, creek canyons, and meadows to ourselves on our long climb of almost 3,000 feet in over eight miles to sprawling meadows along the Middle Fork Piedra River. We find a patch of open ground and pitch our tent a short walk from the “river”—here just a lively little creek inches deep at the end of summer.


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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.

My wife, Penny, and I have come to Colorado’s San Juan Mountains to backpack a four-day loop of just over 30 miles, including a section of the Continental Divide Trail in the Weminuche Wilderness, along which we’ll often be hiking and camping at just under or over 12,000 feet. And at this time of year, although summer continues to hang on in the southern Rockies, we will see very few other backpackers, and most of them solitary CDT thru-hikers hurrying southbound to finish before the mountain winter sets in.

The temperature drops quickly—a reminder that it is, after all, September—as the sun gives us a nice light show in the final minutes of our first day out here. At some point in the dark, early-morning hours of our literally frosty, starry night, I awaken, pull on a fleece hoodie, and burrow deeply inside my sleeping bag, happy that I brought a very warm 15-degree bag. In the morning, we find ice crystals in our water bottles.

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The Continental Divide Trail in the Weminuche Wilderness

On our second morning, we hit the trail while the valley bottom remains in the long shadow of a ridge and Penny and I both remain in warm layers. But before long, we reach the welcome sunshine in the vast meadows at the head of this valley. We stride across the Middle Fork Piedra River with a single rock hop—and find no visible trail on the other side. It has disappeared.

Fortunately, I have our route on a GPS app, so we follow its invisible course until relocating a visible path zigzagging uphill in the thin conifer forest growing at around 11,000 feet—something you don’t really see in the northern Rockies. At the CDT junction, we find a small and rather hidden sign nailed to a tree that reads “Indian Creek Trail” (the intermittent path we just hiked up). Nothing indicating that we’ve reached one of the country’s three major long trails. But the CDT is a mostly good trail here, obvious and only occasionally overgrown by a small conifer’s branches crowding over it.

Hiking uphill at over 11,000 feet slows us down and feels hard to people who live much lower than this. The trail gains the ridge crest, which we follow while buffeted by strong gusts, with views of grassy meadows, green valleys, and mountain ridges on both sides. 

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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 in the Weminuche Wilderness, San Juan Mountains, Colorado. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

When a thunderstorm strikes abruptly—our only warnings of its fast approach were two peels of thunder, minutes apart, the second startling us and sounding like a missile detonating just overhead—we’re ready in our rain shells, with rain covers on our packs. Pelted by rain and hail, we walk around the headwall of a small cirque, below bands of cliffs and above lush greenery that cascades down the valley below us.

At the other side of the cirque, we see tiny Cherokee Lake, like an inviting eye at 11,600 feet below heavily eroded and fluted, mud-brown cliffs. After just a few minutes of considering our options, the prospect of continuing in this weather holds no appeal and we walk off the trail down to an obviously previously used campsite, large enough for one tent, maybe 300 feet from the lake.

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Cherokee Lake along the Continental Divide Trail in the Weminuche Wilderness, San Juan Mountains, Colorado.
Cherokee Lake along the Continental Divide Trail in the Weminuche Wilderness, Colorado. Click photo to see more photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

We pitch our tent in the storm, keeping the interior dry, get our gear inside, and hunker down to wait for the waves of showers to pass. Then we emerge to sunshine and enjoy a period of calm by the lake, having dinner and admiring the lake’s mirror image of the cliffs and the few, scrawny conifers along one shore. But after the sun turns in for the night, the wind kicks up again. Gusts perhaps as high as 40 miles per hour buffet the tent all night.

On the CDT this afternoon, Penny had said to me, “I can’t believe, on this trail, we’ve seen no one.” Indeed, we saw no other people all day, only one tent in the upper meadows of the Middle Fork Piedra River, its occupants apparently still inside when we passed by in early morning. Of course, it is the middle of the week in the middle of September, with some nights dropping below freezing in the mountains. That tends to dissuade a lot of backpackers.

During the night, well after the half-moon set, I step outside to the sight of a black sky alive with stars and the faint skein of the Milky Way.

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Our Only Company: CDT Thru-Hikers

The chilly, early-morning wind continues blowing hard as we hit the trail on our third morning, again suited up for warmth. After a short uphill slog that impresses us with how hard it feels at this elevation, we stroll around the edge of a green, grassy meadow littered with rocks, perhaps a mile long and a half-mile across. We see elk scat everywhere along the trail, as we did in last night’s camp. Unfortunately, we are, of course, too late in summer for Colorado’s famous blooms of mountain wildflowers.

The Continental Divide Trail may mean different things to different people, but it’s nothing if not a highlights tour of the Rockies, including here in Colorado. We cross meadows that almost look as if they were designed by a landscape architect; traverse narrow footpaths across the face of rock walls; and pass through notches in ridges to an entirely new, sweeping canvas of mountains, meadows, cliffs, and now and then, even up this high, a lake or two.

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A backpacker hiking the Continental Divide Trail north toward Cherokee Lake in the Weminuche Wilderness, San Juan Mountains, Colorado.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Continental Divide Trail north toward Cherokee Lake in the Weminuche Wilderness, Colorado. Click photo to join and get access to ALL stories at The Big Outside.

The Rockies show many different faces over their span of North America—differing from Colorado to Wyoming’s Wind River Range and Tetons, Idaho’s Sawtooths and White Clouds, and Montana’s Glacier National Park, to name just a handful of places. But in Colorado, the Rockies look like the child who grew up to be the biggest person in a family of big people.

These mountains dwarf all others in the continental U.S. (with the exception of the High Sierra, which also have a definitive look all their own; and you can point to Mount Rainier, of course, but most of the Cascade Range doesn’t exceed 9,000 feet). They project immensity and boundlessness, defying any hopes for seeing more than a tiny corner of them from any high point even on the CDT in the Colorado Rockies. Their highest elevations on trails reduce you to panting if you try to drink water while walking at an easy pace even on flat ground. They make your legs feel like you’ve already hiked 33 miles that day rather than just three.

As we walk downhill toward a pass on the CDT, in search of a campsite for our last night, a backpacker motors up the trail in our direction—by her strong pace, lean frame, and light pack, obviously a thru-hiker, and a rare CDT southbounder. As she gets within conversation distance, she smiles and says, “wow, people!” I laugh and tell her she’s the first person we’ve seen in two days. In her twenties, I’m guessing, she’s from Estonia and, indeed, thru-hiking the CDT. She hiked the PCT a few years ago, so she’s got chops. She’s only covered 20 miles so far today, a light day compared to her usual 25, due to a sore foot. We chat a bit and wish her well. Looks like she’s got everything under control.

See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “10 Tips for Taking Kids on Their First Backpacking Trip.”

 

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, sleeping bag, rain jacket, down jacket, fleece hoodie, stove, and headlamp I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be” and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

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How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-last-minute-national-park-backcountry-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-last-minute-national-park-backcountry-permit/#comments Sat, 05 Jul 2025 09:01:45 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23629 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

You really want to backpack in Yosemite, Glacier, Grand Teton, Rocky Mountain, Mount Rainier, Grand Canyon, or another hugely popular national park this year—but you didn’t apply to reserve a wilderness permit months ago? Well, you just may be in luck: Most parks have a system for getting a last-minute permit. It requires jumping through some hoops, understanding the system’s ins and outs, good timing, patience, and a bit of luck, but many backpackers get permits without a reservation every year.

This article shares the tricks I’ve learned from numerous backpacking trips to major national parks over more than three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. These tricks have helped me get a last-minute, or walk-in backcountry permit even in very popular national parks like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Glacier, Zion, Grand Canyon, and others.

Follow these tips and you just might go backpacking in a classic national park this year.


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


A backpacker in the Narrows in Zion National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.

Most parks offer walk-in, or first-come backcountry or wilderness permits, which is simply a permit that you obtain, without a reservation, based on availability, often no more than a day in advance of starting a multi-day hike—but sometimes a bit further in advance, such as in Yosemite, which issues walk-in permits up to seven days in advance.

The number of walk-in permits varies between parks, and availability is affected by advance permit reservations. But in general, parks set aside anywhere from 20 percent (in Grand Canyon), 30 percent (in Glacier), or one-third (in Mount Rainier) to 40 percent (in Yosemite), half (in Zion), and even two-thirds (in Grand Teton) of available permits or campsites to be issued, in most cases, no more than a day in advance.

For starters, go to any park’s website and find out its procedure for obtaining a walk-in permit—especially where and when to do so. Demand for permits typically varies between different areas in the most popular parks—meaning that you may find permits available but perhaps not for the trip you had in mind; so it helps to familiarize yourself with different areas of the park’s backcountry and arrive there with options in mind.

Beyond that first step, four strategies are key to snagging a walk-in backcountry permit. Share your thoughts or questions about my tips—or offer your own tips—in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Click any photo to read about that trip.

Don’t like the uncertainty of trying for a walk-in permit? I’ve helped many readers of my blog secure a backcountry permit reservation during the summer backpacking season, even after they had tried and failed. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you do that.

Wondering where you can still go now without needing a permit reservation?
See “20 Great Backpacking Trips You Can Still Take in 2025.”

A backpacker and mountain goats near Lincoln Pass in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood encountering mountain goats near Lincoln Pass in Glacier National Park.

#1 Go When Most People Don’t

Early or mid-July through Labor Day is the peak hiking season in most mountain ranges. Naturally, summer is when competition for walk-in permits is stiffest.

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.

After Labor Day, though, the number of people seeking backcountry permits drops off dramatically in many parks, especially in the higher mountains of the West—partly because the summer vacation season has ended for many people, and partly because snow can fall in September.

But I’ve backpacked (and dayhiked) many times in September and even October in Western parks, including Yosemite, Glacier, Grand Teton, North Cascades, Mount Rainier, Olympic, and Yellowstone, in glorious, late-summer weather, with sunny, mild days and nights in the 30s to 40s Fahrenheit—although you should prepare for lows below freezing—and seen surprisingly few people on the trails, considering how pleasant it often is out there then.

I’ve long been in the habit of planning a roughly weeklong backpacking trip in the mountains for every September—it’s my favorite month because the weather is often good, bugs are generally gone, and permits are easier to get.

Backpacking in September or October certainly makes it even more imperative that you prepare for any weather, and accept the chance that a severe storm could force you to cancel your plans—or to simply go somewhere else. Still, in my experience, even when planning far enough in advance to book flights to a distant park—and thus, too early to know what to expect for weather—my September trips have had great weather most of the time.

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

#2 Go Where Most People Don’t

In many popular national parks, a few trails, trailheads, and areas attract the vast bulk of demand by backpackers. Examples include Yosemite’s core between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows (including Half Dome and the northernmost section of the John Muir Trail); the Teton Crest Trail and Cascade and Paintbrush canyons in Grand Teton; the Highline Trail and Northern Loop in Glacier; the Narrows in Zion; the Wonderland Trail at Mount Rainier; the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia; the High Divide-Seven Lakes Loop in Olympic; and the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab, North Kaibab, and Bright Angel trails.

But in those same parks, vast areas—sometimes more remote and difficult to reach, but sometimes simply not as well known—receive far less demand, making it easier to secure a permit for them (whether walk-in or advance). With a park that provides current availability of backcountry campsites online, you can see which areas are the most popular, and avoid them, or at least have alternate hiking itineraries ready if you don’t get a popular hike (see tip no. 3).

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Looking northeast from Mule Pass in Yosemite National Park.
Looking northeast from Mule Pass in remote northern Yosemite.

See my All National Park Trips page for a lengthy list of stories, many of them about backpacking trips that are less well-known. A few of my favorites include:

• In Yosemite, the vast wilderness north of Tuolumne Meadows (see my e-book to that trip) and another hike I wrote about in my story “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”
• The Southern Olympic Coast.
• Bowman Lake to Kintla Lake and other options in Glacier.
The Northern Loop at Mount Rainier.
• A 40-mile loop from the Mineral King area in Sequoia.
• The Kolob Canyons in Zion.
The Maze District in Canyonlands.
• The Royal Arch Loop, the Gems Route, the Clear Creek Trail and Utah Flats Route, and the New Hance Trail to Grandview Point in the Grand Canyon.
Spring Canyon in Capitol Reef.

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

 

A family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.
My family backpacking Chimney Rock Canyon in Capitol Reef National Park.

Along those lines, there are national parks like North Cascades and Capitol Reef, many parks in the Midwest, and nearly every park in Alaska, where backpacker demand remains so low that walk-in permits are easy to obtain. These parks have scenery just as beautiful as the flagship parks at the top of your list. If you don’t have flexibility in your vacation dates and don’t want to risk having to wait more than a day for a walk-in permit, go to one of these parks for an adventure just as memorable as any other.

See my stories “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips” and “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking.”

Not sure how to plan a trip? Don’t have time?
Click here now to get my expert help planning your next trip.

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

#3 Keep Your Group Small

None of us wants to leave out our favorite backpacking partners, but the hard truth is that the larger your group, the harder it will be to get a permit, whether a walk-in a day in advance or a permit reservation months in advance. This simple statistical reality is based on availability—there are a limited number of backcountry campsites available for walk-in permits, and some of those sites may only have space for two or four people. Plus, many parks define backpacking parties larger than six or seven people as “groups” that require a larger campsite, and so-called group sites are often far less numerous than standard backcountry campsites.

Keep your party to four or less, and you will significantly improve your chances of getting a last-minute backcountry permit—possibly even for a popular route like the trip I consider the best first backpacking trip in Yosemite.

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

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.

#4 Get in Line Early

In most parks, a walk-in permit is exactly what it sounds like: You show up, get in line, and see what’s available when you reach the front of the line. At any popular park, that line usually starts forming a few hours before the backcountry center opens. Get up really early and be first in line. Dress warmly and bring a book, a hot drink, food, a folding chair, and a headlamp, and make sure you know in advance where to go so you don’t wander around in the dark.

However, Yosemite National Park more recently launched what I think is a very good model for managing last-minute permits, issuing 40 percent of all daily trailhead quotas for walk-in, or first-come wilderness permits seven days in advance of the date you want to start hiking. See “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now.”

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See a menu of all gear reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

#5 Have a Few Trip Options Ready

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

Come prepared with multiple hiking-itinerary options—you may not get your first choice. That can be as simple as reversing your route or having alternative campsite options for some nights, but should include, if possible, alternative routes. Ask a backcountry ranger’s advice on where to go—that person may point you to a great hike that you hadn’t considered and which is available for your dates.

Be prepared to start hiking either that day or the next day; or, if nothing’s available, to return early the next morning to get in line again for a permit starting the following day (although you can usually start your trip by the next day, except in parks with the highest demand for popular hikes, like Grand Canyon and Zion).

One Final Tip

Next year, plan months in advance. Mark your calendar now to remind yourself. See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit” for my top insights, based on many trips in major parks over more than three decades. Try to make a reservation as soon as a park starts accepting them, or with parks that run lotteries for permits, enter them for one or more parks.

With luck, you’ll get at least one permit, and if you get more than one, well, that’s the kind of problem a lot of people would like to have.

See a menu of all stories sharing backcountry 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; if you don’t have a subscription, you can purchase 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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Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-book!

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Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-ruby-crest-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-ruby-crest-trail/#comments Fri, 04 Jul 2025 09:00:44 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=40742 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Under a hot sun, but with a nice breeze keeping us cool, on our second day backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, we made the slow, 1,700-foot climb from the North Fork of Smith Creek to a pass at over 10,000 feet. It was a grind and my family spread out along the trail. But reaching the pass, we all stopped and smiled, mesmerized by a breathtaking view of the small basin that cradles Overland Lake and the mountains extending for miles beyond it (photo above).

Although our trip’s first two days had already been very scenic from the first steps, that pass heralded the upcoming character and magnificence of the Ruby Crest Trail, which does largely hew to the crest of this very alpine mountain range. I had long had the Ruby Crest Trail on my radar, but it exceeded expectations, with almost constant, long vistas and some mountain lakes that are among the prettiest I’ve seen in more than three decades of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.


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


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

My family backpacked a four-day, approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail, from Harrison Pass to Lamoille Canyon, in mid-July—a perfect time of year in the Rubies, with wildflowers blooming, moderate daytime temperatures and comfortably cool nights, and not as many mosquitoes as you’d see in many mountain ranges in July. But like many Western mountain ranges, the Rubies can be backpacked from sometime in July, when the highest sections of trail become mostly snow-free, well into September and, more rarely, in October.

If you are looking for a trip to take this summer, the Ruby Crest Trail offers easy logistics, with no permit reservation required and a relatively short shuttle between the north and south trailheads. And I can help you plan a trip on the Ruby Crest Trail. See my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

And it’s a beautiful hike. But I’ll let the photos below make that case.

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

In many respects, the Ruby Crest Trail compares favorably with some trips on my list of the top 10 best backpacking trips in America. And our campsite by Overland Lake in the Rubies earned a place on my list of top 25 favorite backcountry campsites of all time.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough,” at The Big Outside.

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Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-high-uintas-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-high-uintas-wilderness/#respond Wed, 02 Jul 2025 09:05:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=53977 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Early on the third morning of a six-day hike through Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, I walked to the shore of the Fourth Chain Lake at 10,900 feet, where we had camped. Its waters sat absolutely still, offering up a perfect, inverted reflection of the mountains. By that afternoon, we reached 11,700-foot Trail Rider Pass, our second high pass of the day, with a view that took the edge off our weariness. Behind us, the valley of Lake Atwood, which we had hiked up, stretched for miles; ahead lay our destination, Painter Basin (photo above), an expansive, almost barren plateau at 11,000 feet below the highest peak in Utah, Kings Peak.

In those first three days of hiking, we encountered a grand total of two other people—and a whole lot of majestic scenery.


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


Teenage girls backpacking in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My daughter, Alex, her friend, Adele, and my wife, Penny, backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

On that trip, my family backpacked a six-day, nearly 50-mile loop through the High Uintas Wilderness—and “High” fits this place like a favorite, old sweater. Nearly all of our walk remained above 9,000 feet and at least half of it over 10,000 feet, including three passes over 11,000 and 12,000 feet. That’s higher than many multi-day hikes in the West, including much of Yosemite and the Teton Crest Trail, and it compares with (and provides good preparation for) backpacking the John Muir Trail and Wind River Range. On top of that, we summited 13,528-foot Kings Peak, Utah’s highest.

I returned to the High Uintas with my 24-year-old son during an unusual window of largely good weather in early October 2024. We backpacked nearly 60 miles, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail, enjoying great camps, vast lake basins and 12,000-foot alpine passes, brilliant sunsets, night skies streaked with the glow of the Milky Way. Perhaps most uniquely, we enjoyed a degree of remoteness and solitude that feels like discovering buried treasure.

There are many reasons to explore the Uintas—which span nearly 60 miles in northeastern Utah, one of the rare U.S. mountain ranges that extend east-west—and I think the photos in this story might help persuade you.

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A backpacker at Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking over Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The Uinta Mountains are home to an estimated 2,000 lakes, all of Utah’s peaks over 13,000 feet, and more than half of the state’s 12,000-footers. Outside popular destinations like Kings Peak, many trails and summits see little traffic, even though many pose no greater challenge than non-technical, off-trail hiking. Do some research and you’ll discover peaks where years pass between summit visitors.

For backpackers and mountain climbers willing to put in the effort, in the High Uintas Wilderness—Utah’s largest wilderness area at over 450,000 acres—solitude is as plentiful as the wildflowers.

See my stories “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” and “Big Scenery, No Crowds: 10 Top Backpacking Trips for Solitude.” Those stories, like most stories about trips at The Big Outside, require a paid subscription to read in full, including my tips on planning those trips yourself.

I’ve helped many readers plan a great backpacking trip in the High Uintas and elsewhere.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

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How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-last-minute-yosemite-wilderness-permit-now/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-a-last-minute-yosemite-wilderness-permit-now/#comments Tue, 01 Jul 2025 09:00:34 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47276 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

You just decided you’d like to backpack in Yosemite this year and realized you’re months late in reserving a wilderness permit. What now? As it happens, one positive outcome of the pandemic was Yosemite National Park revising its procedure for obtaining a first-come or walk-in backpacking permit, making it possible to reserve one just a week in advance—meaning you no longer have to risk traveling to the park, standing in line and hoping for Lady Luck to smile (or frown) on you. Here’s how you can still grab a last-minute permit for backpacking in Yosemite this year.

Little wonder that the nation’s third national park, designated in 1890, sees enormous demand for wilderness permits and that most available permits get claimed months in advance. Unquestionably one of the 10 best backpacking destinations in America, its sprawling backcountry abounds in classic High Sierra scenery: high passes overlooking a sea of rocky peaks, meadows alive with wildflowers, and too many stunning mountain lakes, creeks, and waterfalls to count.


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 over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park.
Backpackers hiking over Clouds Rest in Yosemite National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

After numerous trips in Yosemite since my first more than three decades ago—many of them during the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—my biggest lesson has been that every time I believe I’ve seen the best that Yosemite has to offer, I take another trip and discover how much more natural beauty this park possesses.

See my expert e-books to three great backpacking trips in Yosemite and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a Yosemite trip or any trip you read about at The Big Outside. I’ve helped many readers of my blog navigate Yosemite’s permit process to find currently available permits for great multi-day hikes.

Please share your questions or suggestions in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A backpacker hiking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Burro Pass above Matterhorn Canyon, Yosemite National Park. Click photo to read about this trip.

Yosemite’s Wilderness Permit System

First of all—and keep this in mind for future trips—the best way to get a Yosemite wilderness permit for any backpacking trip in the park is by applying for one through the weekly lottery at recreation.gov/permits/445859 up to 24 weeks (168 days) in advance. The park makes 60 percent of permit reservations available on that timetable.

The most competition for permits—whether reserved or walk-in—centers on Yosemite’s core between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows, including Half Dome and the northernmost section of the John Muir Trail.

But a permit for other areas of the park is much easier to get, including the biggest block of wilderness in Yosemite, north of Tuolumne Meadows, and another large chunk of backcountry in the park’s southeast corner, south of Tuolumne and east of Yosemite Valley.

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

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

How to Get a Walk-in Yosemite Wilderness Permit

Yosemite sets aside the other 40 percent of daily trailhead quotas for walk-in, or first-come wilderness permits, made available at recreation.gov/permits/445859 at 7 a.m. Pacific Time seven days in advance of the date you want to start hiking. Popular trailheads usually fill within minutes, so be ready to make a reservation at 7 a.m. You can reserve a permit up to three days ahead of a start date—but most permits will be gone by then.

While getting a permit remains a challenge a week in advance, the system at least enables backpackers who didn’t apply months earlier to plan a trip about a week out and arrive at the park with the assurance of having a permit reservation. Many wilderness parks issue walk-in permits only in person no more than a day in advance of starting a trip—meaning you can travel there and not get what you want.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Yosemite.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite National Park.
The Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to this trip.

The park makes any unreserved permits available to obtain first-come, in person at wilderness centers only on the start date of the trip—but there are typically very few, if any, unused permits available. Show up at a wilderness center between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m. Find more information at nps.gov/yose/planyourvisit/wildpermits.htm, where the park warns: “Do not arrive at Yosemite expecting to get a walk-up wilderness permit. While any unreserved permits will be available in person at wilderness centers on the start date of the trip, few, if any, unused permits will be available.”

See all of this blog’s stories about backpacking in Yosemite, including “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite,” “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” plus my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

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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.”
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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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5 Reasons You Must Backpack the Wind River Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-wind-river-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-the-wind-river-range/#comments Tue, 24 Jun 2025 09:00:10 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=46400 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

On a cool early morning in August while backpacking the Wind River High Route a few summers ago, I hiked in the shadow of tall mountains to Jackass Pass at 10,790 feet—a spot I’ve stood on at least a few times before, overlooking the incomparable Cirque of the Towers in the Winds—and affirmed a truth about that patch of rocks and dirt: It still had the power to take my breath away and make my heart speed up a little bit (although the climb to the pass may have had something to do with that).

It was a comfort to see that the effect the Wind River Range has on me had not changed.

Despite lying just south of two of America’s most beloved national parks—Grand Teton and Yellowstone—Wyoming’s Wind River Range exists in a sort of odd state of exalted partial anonymity. Backpackers who go there almost invariably leave feeling they have discovered a mountain paradise (because they have). Yet, the Winds remain off the radar of many people who enjoy putting on a backpack and walking for days through mountains.


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

After several backpacking trips in the Winds, I find myself drawn back ever more strongly. I’m hoping to return again this summer—but in a sense, I’m always planning my next trip in the Winds. And I’ve hiked through many mountain ranges across the country over more than three decades of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. I rank the Winds among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

This story will attempt to convey the many good reasons every avid backpacker should hike in the Wind River Range. Give it a read, I think you’ll be convinced. Click any photo to read about that trip. Please share your thoughts on this article—or your favorite Wind River Range hikes—in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a very enjoyable backpacking trip in the Winds. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can do that for you.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

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. 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.

1. Well, There’s the Mountains and Lakes…

Outside the High Sierra and Colorado Rockies, no mountain range in the Lower 48 matches the majestic heights of the Winds. Stretching for almost 100 miles from north to south and spanning more than 7,000 square miles, the Winds are home to about 40 peaks rising above 13,000 feet, including Wyoming’s highest, 13,804-foot Gannett Peak.

And besides the High Sierra, there may be no mountain range in the country with as many lovely alpine lakes and tarns as the Wind River Range—you will lose count of the lakes you hike past and regret not camping beside.

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

Plus, much of the Wind River Range lies within federally designated wilderness, enjoying all the protections conveyed on those lands: no motors, no visitor centers, no roads crossing the range anywhere. Unlike national park gateway towns like Springdale, Utah (Zion), Jackson, Wyoming (Grand Teton), and Bar Harbor, Maine (Acadia), the handful of small towns that ring the range remain uncrowded places with a feel of authenticity, where you can feast on a great dinner or breakfast pre- or post-trip and grab lodging without busting your travel budget or wading through herds of drive-by tourists.

As many seasoned backpackers know, if you’re looking for a remote and inspiring adventure in the best of the Rocky Mountains, arguably nothing beats the Winds.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Wind River Range.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Click photo to get my help planning your trip.

2. No Permit Complications

With many marquis national parks and trails—Yosemite, Glacier, Grand Canyon, Mount Rainier, Zion, the John Muir Trail, Teton Crest Trail, and Wonderland Trail and others—you must plan and reserve a backcountry permit months in advance of your trip. And there’s no guarantee you’ll get it. (Learn some smart strategies for success at that in my “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”)

Not so in the Wind River Range—just show up, throw your pack on, and start hiking. You still must figure out when and where exactly to go and perhaps corral some backpacking partners, but there are no bureaucratic hoops to jump through.

That’s very appealing for backpackers who don’t always plan their trips months in advance or who struck out getting a permit somewhere else—or who find themselves changing plans due to wildfires, a common summer occurrence these days.

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A backpacker hiking the Doubletop Mountain Trail, Wind River Range WY.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Doubletop Mountain Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

3. The Solitude

While there’s no permit system to limit the numbers of backpackers wandering the Winds—and a few areas are popular—the vastness of the range and difficulty of exploring deeply into it (see below) creates natural limitations on human density there. You will often see numerous vehicles parked at popular trailheads like Elkhart Park and Big Sandy, but people spread out in this backcountry once you’re more than a day’s hike from a trailhead. I’ve walked trails in the Winds many times seeing very few other backpackers.

The Winds also lie quite far from big cities and major airports, a major factor limiting the numbers of people; and in much of the range, the Continental Divide—nexus of the best scenery in the Winds—lies many miles from the nearest trailhead. Backpacking in the Winds demands a real commitment of time and effort.

The off-trail hiking opportunities are abundant (for people with the skills for that) and virtually guarantee hours and days of solitude—as I’ve experienced on various trips there, including backpacking the 96-mile Wind River High Route, two-thirds of which is off-trail, and on a cross-country section of a loop hike through Titcomb Basin. My companions and I encountered other backpackers when following trails—though usually relatively few of them—but seeing other people when crossing remote passes and valleys where no trail exists were so rare they became a surprising pleasure.

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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.

And you can stay entirely on trail and still enjoy a high degree of solitude, as my wife, a friend, and I did in late summer 2022 on a five-day, 43-mile loop through an area of the Winds I had mostly not seen before. We enjoyed one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had—to ourselves (as was true of every camp on that trip)—crossed four high passes and walked past countless gorgeous lakes. And I think the total amount of time we spent with other people within sight amounted to under two hours… over five days.

And a friend and I had a similar experience of long stretches of solitude mixed with some busier trails on a four-day, 41-mile loop in August 2023 that crossed four passes on the Continental Divide, traversed the popular Cirque of the Towers, and featured beautiful camps by lakes every night—a route I subsequently dubbed the best backpacking trip in the Winds.

Plus, the Winds have a short peak season—generally mid-July to early or mid-September—and you’ll see fewer people by pushing the boundaries of that season with a good weather window (among my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking”), remaining mindful that snow can fall in September.

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

A backpacker hiking to Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking to Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range. Click photo to read about the best backpacking trip in the Winds.

4. It’s Not Easy… And That’s Good

Besides their location far from big cities and major airports, another major factor limiting the numbers of people backpacking in the Winds is the simple difficulty of hiking there. You will walk miles of rugged wilderness trails to reach the prime goods, above 10,000 feet much of the time and crossing passes usually well over 11,000 feet, all of which ratchets up the strenuousness and amplifies fatigue.

You’ll feel like you’ve earned your lakeside campsites and lonely sunsets in the Winds. And having to earn your wilderness helps keep the less-committed away.

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

Backpackers hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Backpackers hiking to Titcomb Basin in Wyoming’s Wind River Range. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

5. You Will Fall in Love With the Winds

The Wind River Range creates its own gravitational pull. Backpackers who go once find themselves returning over and over. I’ve met backpackers who’ve been numerous times and hardly go anywhere else—and I can’t blame them. The Winds offer an overt promise of a beautiful experience that’s quite unique in the country and deliver on that promise every time.

Personally, as someone who prefers seeing new places rather than returning repeatedly to one or two places, I’ve still found myself going back again and again to certain special parks and wilderness areas that never grow ordinary: Yosemite. The Tetons. The Grand Canyon. Glacier. And there are others.

I place the Wind River Range in that elite company. Each time I return reminds me why I do and inspires me to plan the next trip.

And I know I’ll never be disappointed.

See my stories “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,” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside. Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to this blog.

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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.

 

Save yourself a lot of time.
Get my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

 

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

Rainbow Lake, North Cascades National Park Complex

After a relentless, seven-mile-long, 3,500-foot uphill slog to Rainbow Pass in the Lake Chelan National Recreation Area, a friend and I descended to a wonderful, wooded campsite on the shore of Rainbow Lake. We stuffed fistfuls of huckleberries into our mouths, then walked down to the lakeshore, where the setting sun was setting larch trees—their needles turned golden in late September—afire. It seemed a fitting final night of an 80-mile trek through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex.

See my story about that trip, “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” and all of my stories about the North Cascades.

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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.”

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

 

A backpacker hiking to Island Lake in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Todd Arndt backpacking to Island Lake in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Island Lake, Wind River Range

As I mentioned above, few mountain ranges in America are as blessed with gorgeous backcountry lakes as Wyoming’s Winds. That makes it hard to pick out just one or two as favorites, but Island Lake deserves a shout out as much as any and more than most. Two friends and I hiked past it on a three-day, 41-mile loop from the Elkhart Park Trailhead to Titcomb Basin and over Knapsack Col in the Winds—and if we didn’t already have our hearts set on spending that night in Titcomb, we could have easily pitched our tents by Island for the night.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and check out all of my stories about the Winds at The Big Outside.

Don’t let red tape foil your plans.
See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, in the Evolution Basin along the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.

Wanda Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail that I made with some friends featured many unforgettable moments and a lifetime’s worth of stunning scenery—and aching feet—but few moments as quietly lovely as the early morning that we hiked along the shore of Wanda Lake. We were climbing toward 11,955-foot Muir Pass when we reached this uppermost lake in the Evolution Basin, a high valley scoured from granite by long-ago glaciers and studded with lakes. As my friend Todd walked along the lakeshore, I captured perhaps my best image from that entire trip.

See my story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” See also all of my stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail.

Ready for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and the best ultralight backpacks.

May Lake in Yosemite National Park.
May Lake in Yosemite National Park. Click photo for my e-guide “The Prettiest, Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

May Lake, Yosemite National Park

A friend and I reached May Lake on the last afternoon of one of my top 10 best-ever backpacking trips, a weeklong, 151-mile tour of the most remote areas of Yosemite. We arrived as the sun dipped toward the western horizon, casting beautiful, low-angle light across the lake, which sits at the base of craggy, 10,845-foot Mount Hoffman. But you can visit May on an easy dayhike of 2.5 miles round-trip. Bonus: There’s a High Sierra Camp on May’s shore that’s a good base camp for hiking the area, including the steep jaunt up Hoffman, which has arguably the nicest summit view in Yosemite.

See more photos, a video, and trip-planning tips in my story about the 87-mile second leg of that 151-tour of Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite, Part 2: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the 65-mile first leg of that adventure, “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” (including May Lake and Mount Hoffmann) at The Big Outside.

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

Quiet Lake in Idaho's White Cloud Mountains.
Quiet Lake in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains.

Quiet Lake, White Cloud Mountains

A longtime backcountry ranger in Idaho’s Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA) got my attention when he told me that Quiet Lake was his favorite in the White Clouds, which are part of both the SNRA and one of America’s newest wilderness areas. He wasn’t overhyping it. When I backpacked to Quiet Lake with my son, following a partly off-trail route that was moderately strenuous and not too difficult to navigate, we hit the summit of a nearly 11,000-foot peak with an amazing panorama of the White Clouds, traversed a barren, rocky basin with four alpine lakes, and pitched our tent by the shore of Quiet, below the soaring north face of 11,815-foot Castle Peak, highest in the White Clouds. And we didn’t see another person the entire time. If you need a bit of peace and quiet—not to mention breathtaking natural beauty—go here.

See my “Photo Gallery: A Father-Son Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains,” and all stories
about Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains
at The Big Outside.

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and my expert tips in “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Wilderness, Montana. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog.

Lake Sylvan, Beartooth Wilderness

Quite by accident, two friends and I saved the best campsite for our last night on a five-day August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness. We pitched our tents a short walk from the shore of Lake Sylvan, tucked into a cirque below the cliffs of Sylvan Peak, which rises to nearly 12,000 feet. That night capped a trip where we enjoyed complete solitude at two of our four camps and for several hours each day while hiking below jagged peaks, seeing small glaciers at the heads of glacially carved cirques, to one pass at around 11,000 feet, and across the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet.

See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

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

 

A backpacker hiking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Minaret Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

The relentlessly steep trail brought us to stunning Iceberg Lake at almost 9,800 feet and continued, even more strenuously, upward over talus and scree to Cecile Lake, at 10,260 feet at the feet of the 11,000- and 12,000-foot High Sierra spires known as the Minarets, lined up like chipped and broken bowling pins. With the “trail” terminating there, we found our way across more talus and down a steep gully to Minaret Lake—arguably the prettiest among several lakes we’d already seen that day. We found a spot for our tents amid conifer trees a short walk from the lakeshore and enjoyed a sunset and sunrise that ranked among the best of several great ones on that trip.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.
Ouzel Lake in Wild Basin, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park

Tucked into the ponderosa pine forest at around 10,000 feet, in the park’s Wild Basin area, Ouzel is reached on a moderate hike of less than five miles and 1,500 vertical from the Wild Basin Trailhead. Although it gets some dayhikers, you can have a protected campsite in the trees there all to yourself, as my family did on a three-day, early-September backpacking trip. My kids, then 10 and seven, played and fished for hours in the shallow waters near our camp and the lake’s outlet creek.

See my story “The 5 Rules About Kids I Broke While Backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park.”

Want to take your family backpacking? See these expert e-books:
The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park
The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite
The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

Early morning at Mirror Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness.
Early morning at Mirror Lake in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Mirror Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Early on the clear and calm, third morning of a 40-mile family backpacking trip in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, I left our campsite and walked down to the shore of this lake, anticipating the scene I’d capture in pixels. Mirror Lake, in the popular Lakes Basin, earns its moniker, offering up a flawless reflection of its conifer- and granite-rimmed shore and the cliffs of 9,572-foot Eagle Cap Peak high above it. Our hike made a long loop through some less-visited areas of the wilderness, but you can reach Mirror Lake on weekend-length hikes, too.

See my story “Learning the Hard Way: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness,” and all of my stories about backpacking in Oregon at The Big Outside.

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See all of my reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

A backpacker on the Shannon Pass Trail above Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton backpacking past Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Peak Lake, Wind River Range

As I’ve written elsewhere at this blog, take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. I have now backpacked past Peak Lake on separate 41-mile and 43-mile loop hikes in the Winds (which overlapped by just several miles of trail that did not grow dull on the return visit). Shimmering at the bottom of a tiny bowl, surrounded by peaks resembling giant incisors, Peak Lake can be reached from a few different directions—none of them short walks, which helps keep this jaw-dropping little basin in the Winds relatively quiet. Both times I’ve walked past it, the only company I had was my two companions.

See my stories “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Read all of this story and ALL stories at The Big Outside,
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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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How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail-without-a-permit/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-backpack-the-teton-crest-trail-without-a-permit/#comments Mon, 16 Jun 2025 09:05:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=47074 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

So you just got the inspired idea to backpack the Teton Crest Trail and discovered you’re months late to reserve a backcountry permit. You’ve probably also learned that it’s possible to get a walk-in backcountry permit for Grand Teton National Park—but competition for those is high, especially for the camping zones along the TCT.

So you’re wondering: Is it possible to backpack the Teton Crest Trail without a permit? In a word, the answer is: yes. It’s somewhat complicated and not easy, but this story explains how to do 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.


Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
Backpackers on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo for my expert e-book to backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

The Teton Crest Trail deservedly sees sky-high demand for backcountry permits. It’s unquestionably one of the 10 best backpacking trips in America, incredibly scenic virtually every step from start to finish, featuring high passes with sweeping vistas, endless meadows bursting with wildflowers, beautiful lakes, creeks, and waterfalls, a good chance of seeing wildlife like elk and moose—and some of the best campsites you will ever pitch a tent in.

I’ve taken at least two dozen trips in the Tetons and several on the Teton Crest Trail over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

See my story about my most-recent TCT trip, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including some of my tips and information on planning a TCT backpacking trip. For much more information on planning this trip, get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail, North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to see all stories at The Big Outside about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

I’ve also helped many readers plan a backpacking trip in the Tetons and elsewhere, answering all of their questions and customizing an itinerary ideal for them—whether helping them navigate applying for a backcountry permit reservation in advance or obtaining a walk-in permit. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn more.

Please share any thoughts, questions, or your own tips in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments. Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading all of it—including my key tips on the strategy for backpacking the Teton Crest Trail without a permit—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.

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

A backpacker on the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.
David Gordon backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park. Click photo to read about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.

It’s Probably Too Late to Reserve a Permit

In Grand Teton, for trips between May 1 and Oct. 31, permit reservations opened at recreation.gov at 8 a.m. Mountain Time on Jan. 7, 2025, and can be made up to two days before your trip start date. But most reservable backcountry camping, including camping zones along the Teton Crest Trail, get booked up within minutes after the system starts accepting reservations.

Given the huge demand for reservations and the fact that they get booked up so quickly, there’s effectively just one day every year when you can reserve a permit for backpacking the Teton Crest Trail. Once reservations close in May, the only option left is a walk-in permit.

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A backpacker above the South Fork Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton N.P.
Todd Arndt above the Schoolroom Glacier and the South Fork Cascade Canyon on the Teton Crest Trail. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

You Can Get a Walk-In Permit

Like virtually all national parks, Grand Teton National Park has a walk-in or first-come backcountry permit option that allows you to grab a last-minute permit, without a reservation, based on availability, no more than a day in advance of starting a multi-day hike in the park’s backcountry. Grand Teton National Park sets aside two-thirds of backcountry campsites for walk-in permits—a higher portion than most major parks.

Getting a walk-in permit isn’t impossible—numerous backpackers get one every summer. But it requires some flexibility in your schedule and a willingness to accept whatever camping zones have availability when you arrive at a park backcountry desk to speak to a ranger. Plan to arrive hours before the backcountry desk opens (they’re located in park visitor centers) to get a spot near the front of the line that inevitably forms in the wee hours. You might not get the itinerary you want.

See my story “How to Get a Last-Minute, National Park Backcountry Permit.”

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

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

How to Backpack the TCT Without a Permit

To backpack the Teton Crest Trail legally without a permit you must camp every night outside Grand Teton National Park. And don’t poach backcountry camping in the park without a permit. Backcountry rangers patrol and getting caught risks a penalty and I can tell you from personal experience (long ago), it’s embarrassing.

Fortunately, the TCT wanders in and out of park boundaries and signs along trails clearly indicate when you’re crossing a park boundary. The challenge is that you must be able to hike at least one big day to link up campsites outside the park, particularly through the TCT’s northern stretch—which harbors the most glorious hiking on the trail.

Here’s how to do that.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A bull moose seen from the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton N.P.
A bull moose seen from the Teton Crest Trail in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton N.P.

Grand Teton National Park requires storing food in a hard-sided bear canister; although you’re not subject to park regulations when camping outside the park, a canister still offers the best protection. See my favorite bear canister in my review of essential backpacking gear accessories.

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

And see all stories about backcountry skills at The Big Outside.

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Big Scenery, No Crowds: 12 Top Backpacking Trips For Solitude https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-wilderness-no-crowds-top-5-backpacking-trips-for-scenery-and-solitude/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/big-wilderness-no-crowds-top-5-backpacking-trips-for-scenery-and-solitude/#comments Mon, 09 Jun 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=19448 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We all want our wilderness backpacking trips to have two sometimes conflicting qualities: mind-blowing scenery, but also few other people around. A high degree of solitude somehow makes the backcountry feel bigger and wilder and the views more breathtaking. However unrealistic the notion may be, we like to believe we have some stunning corner of nature to ourselves. But in the real world, if you head out into popular mountains in July or August or in canyon country in spring or fall, you’ll probably have company—maybe more than you prefer.

Not on these trips, though.

From lonely corners of the majestic High Sierra (including, believe it or not, Yosemite), the North Cascades region, and Utah’s High Uintas and Maze District of Canyonlands, to the Wind River Range, Idaho’s beloved Sawtooths, the Eagle Cap Wilderness and a pair of rugged and remote adventures in the Grand Canyon, here are 12 multi-day hikes where you’re guaranteed to enjoy a degree of solitude—at least on long stretches of the trip—that’s equal to the scenery. All of these trips meet several of my “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”


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


Teenage girls backpacking in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My daughter, Alex, her friend, Adele, and my wife, Penny, backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

They also happen to be some favorite trips among countless wilderness walks I’ve taken over more than three decades (and counting) of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Each trip described below has a link to a full story about it, with many photos and often a video. Reading those stories in full, including key trip-planning details and tips, as well as this entire story, is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Please tell me what you think of these trips—or add your own suggestions—in the comments at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

And I can help you plan any of them or any trip you read about at this blog. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

A hiker on Liberty Cap in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
Jasmine Wilhelm taking an evening hike on Liberty Cap in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.

Glacier Peak Wilderness

The five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness has earned a reputation for spiciness—which keeps the crowds down. The reason is the off-trail route over 7,100-foot Spider Gap, which holds snow all summer and can be hazardous, depending on the firmness of the snow.

But for backpackers with the skills to manage that pass—which isn’t terribly steep or dangerous when done in soft-snow conditions, as my family did when our kids were 12 and 10—the rewards include five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it, some of the best backcountry campsites you’ll ever have (or perhaps hike past), and unforgettable wildflower displays and panoramas like you get from Liberty Cap, a short side hike from Buck Creek Pass (photo above).

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in Washington at The Big Outside.

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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.
Mark Fenton backpacking the West Fork Trail above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

Beartooth Wilderness

On a five-day, peak-of-summer, mid-August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness, two friends and I walked for miles and hours a day—most of the trip—without any other people in sight. At two of our four campsites, there was not another person within miles—including near a lake less than five miles from the trailhead where we started and finished the trip, in a cirque below the cliffs and slopes of a striking, nearly 12,000-foot peak.

And our route reminded me in many ways of backpacking in a Northern Rockies neighbor of the Beartooths, Glacier National Park: We hiked long stretches through alpine terrain with views of soaring cliffs, jagged peaks, and small glaciers at the heads of dramatic, glacially carved cirques. In contrast to Glacier, though, the Beartooths reach higher elevations. We hiked to one stunning pass at over 11,000 feet and crossed the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet—and, yea, saw no one at either spot.

See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

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

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail toward Topaz Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

The Gems Route, Grand Canyon

For three days of a six-day hike from the Grand Canyon’s South Bass Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead, five friends and I saw no one. Backpacking much of the Gems Route—named for several tributary canyons, including Ruby, Turquoise, Sapphire, Agate, and Topaz—we had amazing camps every night entirely to ourselves, with a vivid Milky Way glowing overhead.

The route traverses the longest segment of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail with no bailout path the South Rim: the 29 miles from Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek, described by the park’s website as the Tonto’s “most difficult and potentially dangerous” leg for the lack of perennial water. (We twice carried six to eight liters of water—up to about 17 pounds each.)

But every day was a walk through a majestic landscape constantly reshaped by shifting light, with views reaching from the river to both rims. And these tributary canyons of the Colorado might, by themselves, be national parks in most other states.

See my story “‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Southern Sawtooth Mountains

I’ve dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed numerous times in Idaho’s glorious Sawtooths, peaks that look to me like a love child of the High Sierra and the Tetons (if somewhat smaller); and with the exception of a few popular spots, I wouldn’t describe them as crowded. But for solitude and scenery that justifies my “love child” claim, I recommend diving deep into the range’s interior. 

On a 57-mile trip from the Queens River Trailhead, penetrating an area that’s a solid two days’ walk from the nearest roads, a friend and I saw some of the prettiest and loneliest mountain lakes of the dozens that grace the Sawtooths, and lonely valleys framed by endless rows of jagged peaks.

See my story “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

Click here now for my e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail over Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail over Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

High Uintas Wilderness

The first hint at the solitude we’d enjoy on a nearly 50-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas (including an optional eight-mile dayhike of Kings Peak, highest in Utah) came at the trailhead, where there were a grand total of two cars. We didn’t see another person until the second evening in camp, on a pretty mountain lake we had to ourselves, when two hikers passed by and one remarked, “Well, there are other people out here!” Our third day passed without encountering another human and we had a campsite for two nights in an 11,000-foot basin ringed by 13,000-foot peaks with no one in sight.

And during an unusual window of good weather in early October 2024, my 24-year-old son and I backpacked nearly 60 miles, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail, enjoying 12,000-foot alpine passes and vast lake basins, great camps with stunning sunsets, night skies with the Milky Way glowing brilliantly—and a degree of solitude found only when hiking deep into big wilderness.

See my stories “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

A backpacker in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.
Todd Arndt in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park.

Northern Yosemite

Yosemite exceeds expectations in many ways, including that its reputation for crowds simply doesn’t square with the reality of backpacking throughout most of the park. On an 87-mile trek through northern Yosemite (shorter variations are possible), a friend and I crossed three remote, 10,000-foot passes; wandered through rock gardens in canyons beneath 12,000-foot peaks; camped on a lake’s sandy beach that looked like it was transplanted from southern California; hiked up a canyon resembling Yosemite Valley but twice as long and without the roads, buildings, and crowds; and stood on a summit known for “the best 360 in Yosemite.”

And every day, we walked for hours without seeing another person. When you’re ready to explore as deeply into the Yosemite backcountry as a person can wander, head north of Tuolumne Meadows into the park’s biggest, loneliest wilderness.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” my e-book to that trip, “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” plus “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside—including my story about another trip that offered a surprising amount of solitude, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

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

See all stories about backpacking at The Big Outside, including “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites.”

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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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The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-wind-river-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-10-best-backpacking-trips-in-the-wind-river-range/#comments Mon, 02 Jun 2025 09:52:22 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=63443 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

It’s hard to frame the experience of walking for days through Wyoming’s Wind River Range in words. The usual superlatives seem inadequate for describing a constant parade of sharp-edged, granite peaks soaring to over 12,000 and 13,000 feet, all reflected in thousands of crystalline alpine lakes. But here’s a truth I’ve learned about the Winds from many trips personally and helping numerous people plan trips there: Backpackers who explore it always leave there feeling they have discovered a very special place—and they want to return, often again and again.

I feel that way after numerous backpacking and climbing trips in the Winds over nearly four decades, including 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. Having had the good fortune of backpacking all over the country, I unquestionably rank the Winds among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

In a very real sense, I’m always planning my next trip in the Winds.


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 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.

The options for five-star, multi-day hikes are almost endless in a range that stretches for 100 miles along the Continental Divide, has more than 1,300 named lakes (and at least twice that many lakes total), and spans more than two million acres—virtually identical in size to its much more famous neighbor to the north, Yellowstone National Park. Three spots where I’ve camped in the Winds grace my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites—and virtually any camp in these mountains would make any backpacker’s all-time list—and several days rank among my most scenic days of hiking ever.

Seeking solitude? With some effort and smart planning, you sure can find it. I have many times backpacked into parts of the Wind River Range, both on and off-trail, and reached areas where we’d encounter just a handful of other people per day—sometimes just a day’s walk from a popular trailhead.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Wind River Range.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

A backpacker hiking the Shadow Lake Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking the Shadow Lake Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at this blog.

This story describes 10 backpacking trips all over the Wind River Range that I have personally taken or are slight variations of trips I’ve taken and shares many photos from these trips (which often tell the story better than words). These trips hit well-known and incomparable spots like the Cirque of the Towers, Titcomb Basin, and sections of the Continental Divide Trail in the Winds, as well as trails and passes you may have never heard of.

These trips range in length from just under 30 miles to nearly 100 miles—with most of them falling into that sweet range for many backpackers of around 30 to 45 miles—and from beginner friendly to serious adventures in remote areas. Many trails in the Winds lie between 10,000 and 11,000 feet and passes crossed by trails generally rise to nearly or well over 11,000 feet.

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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. 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.

Each trip described below has a link to a story about it or that area of the Winds. Reading those stories in full, including key trip-planning details and tips, as well as this entire story, requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your trip in the Wind River Range or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

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

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

 

A backpacker just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser just north of Jackass Pass in the Cirque of the Towers. in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

The Best Backpacking Trip in the Winds

It’s a tough call to choose one best backpacking trip in the Winds. But after numerous trips all over the range, I’m sliding my stack of chips onto this 41-mile route from Big Sandy Campground, where there’s hardly a moment where you’re not blown away by the scenery. It crosses four high passes on the Continental Divide and meanders past a steady parade of jaw-dropping mountains and lakes you’ll want to camp beside. The trip reaches its climax in the disorientingly vertiginous Cirque of the Towers.

Yes, you will likely encounter at least a few dozen other backpackers on the first and last days. But you’ll also find abundant solitude: A friend and I counted just six other backpackers on our second day. The route also offers opportunities to lengthen the hike, exploring a spectacular cirque and scrambling to the summit of a 12,000-foot peak. And unlike the Wind River High Route, it also presents a reasonable challenge and distance for most backpackers. (Note that camping is prohibited within a half-mile of Lonesome Lake.)

See “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside.

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

 

Backpackers watching sunset at a campsite in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Backpackers watching sunset at a camp in Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range.

Titcomb and Indian Basins

After hiking a very full day to reach a campsite in a grassy meadow between the two largest Titcomb Lakes, at about 10,500 feet in Titcomb Basin, two friends and I watched the alpenglow paint the 13,000-footers above us golden. On a separate trip to Indian Basin, several of us summitted a 12,000-foot peak and a pair of 13ers on the Continental Divide, Fremont and Jackson peaks.

This pair of lakes basins sit on the west and south sides of 13,745-foot Fremont Peak, Titcomb at around 10,500 feet and Indian at over 11,000 feet. Camping by lakes in either basin, you’ll gaze up at a towering row of peaks on the Divide. Either Titcomb or Indian can be reached on an out-and-back hike of about 28 miles round-trip (to around the middle of either basin) from the Pole Creek Trailhead at Elkhart Park, outside Pinedale. They lie just a few trail miles apart, meaning you could explore or even camp in both on a trip of two to four days.

See my story “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin.”

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

 

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.

The Wind River High Route

This high traverse of the entire range really deserves to be called the best backpacking trip in the Winds. But at 96 miles, two-thirds of it off-trail and the vast bulk of it very difficult and fraught with hazards like the threat of rockfall, crossing 10 named alpine passes ranging from nearly 11,000 to nearly 13,000 feet—only one of them on a trail—the high route simply lies beyond the skill set, stamina, and interest of 99 percent of backpackers.

But for those with the chops for a rugged, physically and mentally strenuous, navigationally challenging, high-intensity adventure, it’s also arguably, mile-for-mile, the most jaw-dropping trek through any mountain range in America. While the Cirque of the Towers and Titcomb Basin draw most backpacker attention in the Winds, the WRHR crosses numerous, virtually anonymous high basins just as spectacular as those two.

And needless to say, solitude comes with the territory on the high route. Just show up with your A game.

See my story “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route.”

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

 

A backpacker above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Hailey Pass-Washakie Pass Circuit

Overlapping the 41-mile route that I dubbed “the best backpacking trip in the Winds” (above), this 35-mile lollipop loop from Big Sandy differs in that it bypasses the very steep, loose, unmaintained route over Texas Pass—and thus, foregoes crossing the Cirque of the Towers—sticking to maintained trails and crossing just two passes, both topping 11,000 feet, Hailey and Washakie.

It also visits numerous lakes, offering a campsite by a lovely lake potentially every night. The ascents to and descents beyond both Hailey and Washakie passes offer classic Wind River Range vistas of peaks stretching to far horizons. You can lengthen this hike with side trips to more cirques where soaring cliffs envelope lakes and even scramble one or more 12,000-foot peaks along the way. Plus, while the trails are busy within a half-day’s walk of Big Sandy, there’s plenty of solitude east of the Divide. If you want the best backpacking trip in the Winds that doesn’t require a steep, hard climb up loose scree, this is your adventure.

All of this route is described in my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup.”

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

 

A backpacker above the Cutthroat Lakes on the Doubletop Mountain Trail in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser above the Cutthroat Lakes on the Doubletop Mountain Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Doubletop Mountain-Highline-New Fork Trails Loop

This 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at the New Fork Lakes also illustrates how finding solitude in the Winds does not have to come at the expense of the splendor these mountains are known for.

It links up the Doubletop Mountain and Highline/Continental Divide trails to traverse classic Wind River Range high, alpine plateau backcountry, passing many lakes and delivering sweeping views reaching to the Continental Divide. It crosses four passes—none of them presenting a very long or arduous ascent—and explores secluded lake basins that feel like hidden Shangri-las. It also entails less than a mile of moderately difficult scrambling through large boulders on a trail in a narrow canyon.

And if we had added up the total minutes that we were within sight of other people over five days of bluebird weather in the week before Labor Day—arguably the best week of the year to hike in the Winds—it was probably less than two hours.

See my story “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range.”

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.

 

See “5 Reasons You Must Backpack 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,” and all stories about backpacking in the Winds at The Big Outside. Like most stories about trips at this blog, reading those in full requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

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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Backpacking the Wind River Range—a Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-wind-river-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-wind-river-range/#comments Wed, 28 May 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=45743 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In late afternoon, near the end of a day of backpacking some 14 miles—mostly above 10,000 feet—two friends and I walked into Titcomb Basin, deep in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, mouths gaping open. Forming a horseshoe embracing this alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, mountains soared more than 3,000 feet above the windblown Titcomb Lakes, including the second-highest in the Winds, 13,745-foot Fremont Peak, on the Continental Divide.

But by that point on the first day of our 39-mile backpacking trip, my companions were fully smitten by the Winds—as I have been since my first trip there more than 30 years ago.

Our three-day, mid-September hike from Elkhart Park, on the west side of the Winds, took us on an up-and-down tour past several dozen lakes (we were tempted to camp at most of them) and over three 12,000-foot passes, one of which, Knapsack Col, we reached via an off-trail route that added a spicy flavor to our trip.


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


A backpacker overlooking the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.
Justin Glass overlooking the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range.

After several jaw-dropping backpacking and climbing trips and one very long, east-west dayhike across the range, I’ve gotten to know the Winds well enough to rank these mountains among the top 10 best backpacking trips in America, a list that draws from my more than three decades of backpacking, including formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog.

Every time I return to the Winds—as I did in each of the past four summers, including backpacking the 96-mile Wind River High Route in 2020 (photo above), this beautiful, five-day loop in 2022 (photo below), and a four-day hike I consider the best backpacking trip in the Winds in 2023—I tend to ask myself the same question again and again: “Why don’t I just come here all the time?”

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

Backpackers hiking past the tarn overlooking Mount Oeneis and Sky Pilot Peak, on the Highline Trail in the Wind River Range.
Chip Roser and Penny Beach backpacking past a tarn below Mount Oeneis and Sky Pilot Peak, on the Highline Trail in the Wind River Range.

With sheer-walled mountains rising to over 12,000 and 13,000 feet, numerous passes over 11,000 and 12.000 feet, and a constellation of trout-filled lakes that offer some of the most scenic campsites you will find anywhere (not to mention some very fine trout fishing), I think you would fall in love with the Winds as quickly as I did.

If you are looking for a trip to take this summer with no permit reservation required, the Wind River Range has numerous trailheads to access various parts of it. And I can help you plan a trip in the Winds (as I have done for many readers of my blog). See my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

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

As many time as I’ve walked through the Wind River Range, there remains much I want to explore there. I’m already planning my next trip.

See my stories “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,“ “A Walk in the Winds: A One-Day, 27-Mile Traverse of the Wind River Range,” and all stories about the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#comments Tue, 20 May 2025 09:00:21 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=45354 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Chances are that, by now, you’ve heard of Idaho’s Sawtooths—having typed that name into a search box may be the reason you’ve landed on this story. Maybe you’ve been intrigued at what you’ve heard or images you’ve seen from Idaho’s best-known mountain range. Perhaps you’ve even been there and the experience has only amplified your curiosity to see more of this range.

As someone who’s had the good fortune of having backpacked all over the country and in many other countries over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog, I rank the Sawtooths among the 10 best backpacking trips in America.


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


Backpackers on Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho's Sawtooths.
Backpackers on Trail 154 to Cramer Divide in Idaho’s Sawtooths.

I’ve wandered around the Sawtooths at least a couple dozen times over more than two decades, including numerous backpacking trips, dayhikes, peak scrambles, rock climbing, and backcountry skiing. While there remain peaks on my list to climb, a few trails to hike, and many lakes to leap into (or just sit beside), the Sawtooths have become my backyard mountains. I feel at home there.

This story presents the five reasons I think every backpacker should take a multi-day hike through the Sawtooths—spotlighting the characteristics of a trip there that make this place unique. I believe this argument may persuade you to go (if, somehow, the photos don’t do it).

See my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains” to learn all you need to know to plan and pull off a five-day, 36-mile Sawtooths hike through the core of the Sawtooths, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan every detail of a multi-day hike there.

Please share your thoughts or experiences there in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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Backpackers on Trail 95 above Twin Lakes in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, and Mae Davis backpacking above Twin Lakes in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

1. It’s Not That Hard

Having backpacked all over the country and in many other countries, I recognize how friendly the Sawtooths are to relatively inexperienced backpackers, starting with generally well-maintained and well-marked trails that rarely get very steep, having been constructed for pack animals like horses and llamas.

Elevations remain moderate. Most passes crossed by trails rise just over 9,000 feet, a height that most people acclimate to quickly. And as with many interior West mountain ranges, summer brings stable weather and blessedly few mosquitoes after July.

See the best of the Sawtooths using my
expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains!

Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Dawn light on Baron Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

2. These Peaks Will Kind of Blow You Away

For years after moving to Idaho in 1998, with each trip I took into a new corner of the Sawtooths, I’d discover a spot that I was convinced was prettier than anyplace I’d been previously in this range. That happened to me several times, until I’d covered a fair bit of the Sawtooths and settled on the general conclusion that these peaks and mountain lakes are as beautiful as almost any range I’ve been in—certainly in the American West.

The Sawtooths look like a little sibling of the High Sierra or Tetons for their serrated skylines and mountain lakes that compare in beauty (if not in numbers) with the Sierra and Wind River Range.

A total of 57 summits top 10,000 feet in the Sawtooth Mountains, and nearly 400 trout-filled alpine lakes, many sitting well over 8,000 feet, shimmer in high bowls sculpted by long-ago glaciers. The range lies protected within the 756,000-acre Sawtooth National Recreation Area, which encompasses the equally beautiful White Cloud Mountains across the Sawtooth/Salmon River Valley, and most of the range is designated wilderness.

In other words: There’s plenty of space to wander around.

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

Rock Slide Lake in Idaho's southern Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake in the remote interior of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to read about this trip.

3. Yes, You Can Find Solitude

A backpacker hiking below El Capitan in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Jan Roser backpacking below El Capitan in the Sawtooth Mountains.

As happened in many—if not most—backcountry areas across the country, the pandemic summer of 2020 brought a big leap in the numbers of backpackers in the Sawtooths. Friends and readers of The Big Outside reported to me about seeing more people than expected or more than they’d seen on any previous trip there. To some extent, that has continued since.

Still, those reports and my personal experience point to a certain reality that’s long been true in many backcountry areas: Most backpacker use is heavily concentrated around weekends in August and at a few popular lakes within a day’s hike of popular trailheads. Hike midweek during the peak summer season or after Labor Day, or venture into lesser-known areas more than a day’s hike into the mountains, and you can often find a surprising degree of solitude.

Some readers who purchase my custom trip planning tell me they prefer to get away from the crowds—and are willing to compromise a bit on mountain splendor for solitude. But that’s not necessary in the Sawtooths, as one reader who I helped plan a trip there discovered. After it, he emailed me describing his shock at how few people he saw and posted this comment at my Custom Trip Planning page: “Just back from an amazing 5-day trip in the Sawtooth Mountains. Michael took the time to understand my priorities, goals, and comfort level and crafted a route that was clearly tailored uniquely to me. Most important, Michael’s itinerary was significantly different from—and better than—anything I would have come up with on my own.”

See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

A backpacker above the Redfish Valley of Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Kade Aldrich above the Redfish Valley in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

4. No Red Tape

Unlike in national parks and more popular national forest wildernesses (in the High Sierra and elsewhere), no permit reservation is required for backcountry camping in the Sawtooths. You show up, fill out a permit at a self-service trailhead kiosk, and hit the trail.

That’s very appealing for backpackers who don’t always plan their trips months in advance in order to apply for a permit reservation; or who may have done that but struck out getting a permit somewhere else; or who find themselves changing plans due to wildfires—a regular summer occurrence these days—or another reason.

And the Sawtooths represent a pretty darn good consolation prize if your first trip fell through.

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

A young girl hiker at Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, at Imogene Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your next backpacking trip.

5. There’s a Lot to See

A network of almost 350 miles of trails presents myriad opportunities for exploring the Sawtooth Wilderness on backpacking trips ranging from easy to ambitious—from the relatively accessible trails we hiked on the two trips described in this story, to more remote footpaths deeper in the wilderness, such as the 57-mile hike a friend and I took that I wrote about in this story.

A hiker below Thompson Peak in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
My wife, Penny, hiking below Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

See all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside, including these:

The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit
Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes
The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths
Going After Goals: Backpacking Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains
Roof of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Hiking Thompson Peak

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

The Big Outside helps you find the best adventures.
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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.


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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
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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).

Click here now to get more than 20% off on my expert e-books to three great world treks:
The Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Milford Track, and Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails!

 

A trekker hiking the Routeburn Track from Harris Saddle toward Lake Mackenzie in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, hiking the Routeburn Track from Harris Saddle toward Lake Mackenzie in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book to the Routeburn Track.

The track leads us below and then above one thick and raucous waterfall; across the valley, a tributary stream splits into multiple braids that pour over at least a dozen distinct drops. Wildflowers with giant white petals and a bright, golden pistil bloom beside the trail. The track ascends to the top of cliffs that we walk along, high above Lake Harris, as low clouds partly shroud the peaks encircling the lake.

Turning a corner, we cross the wide flat of the pass and, now in heavier showers, duck inside the Harris Saddle shelter, which is welcoming and, best of all, dry. We snack, drink, and linger for a while before pushing on. Outside the hut, the fog thickens to obliterate everything beyond about 30 meters/100 feet; we’re not tempted to hike the side path to the top of Conical Hill, at 1,515 meters/4,970 feet, expecting we wouldn’t see anything, anyway. But after maybe 30 minutes of walking through this pea soup, the overcast lifts to give us sweeping views of the Hollyford Face, the Darran Mountains, and the bush line below us.

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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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Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories about trekking in New Zealand, all stories about adventures in New Zealand, and all stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, rain jacket and pants, fleece hoodie, sleeping bag, trekking poles, and headlamp I used on this trip.

See all stories about New Zealand adventures, “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking,” “5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking,” “7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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The Grand Canyon’s Best Backpacking Trips—A Photo Gallery https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Mon, 12 May 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=16188 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

I returned to the Grand Canyon yet again in April, my eighth backpacking trip there in the past 16 years. Any psychologist, behavioral scientist, or criminologist would describe that as an established pattern of behavior. I confess: I can’t get enough of that place. This time, six of us, family and friends, spent four days hiking about 36 miles from the Bright Angel Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead off the South Rim, including a trail with a reputation as one of the canyon’s most difficult: the Boucher (photos in the gallery, below). Hiking more than nine miles and about 4,000 feet up it on our last day (and you would not want to hike down it), we found it matched its reputation as strenuous, with sections of scrambling over rockslide debris and a lot of steep uphill.

But it also matched its reputation for beauty, with incomparably Grand Canyon-scale vistas from the moment you step onto the trail, culminating with a long traverse on the rim of The Esplanade, overlooking a huge swath of the canyon (and seeing one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past). Plus, we traversed an excellent section of the Tonto Trail, including the stretch between Hermit Canyon and Boucher Canyon that sees much less human traffic (photo above).

And as usual in the canyon, superlatives seem to fall far short of describing this latest adventure there.


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


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

Looking for exceptional beauty? Well, the Grand Canyon always delivers on that. But as I’ve learned from numerous multi-day hikes and long dayhikes there over the years, while running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for many years, including hiking rim-to-rim-to-rim a few times (see links to my stories about those trips below the photo gallery), each trip exhibits its own character. And this latest one proved just as unique for its distinctive side canyons, relatively abundant water, and outstanding camps on the Tonto Trail and at a beach on the Colorado River.

Watch for my upcoming story about backpacking from Bright Angel to Hermit via the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Every trip in the canyon delivers mind-blowing scenery, wonderful campsites, and sometimes more challenge and strenuousness than many people anticipate. But I’ve also found that each trip differs more from others than you might guess.

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

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

The popular “corridor” trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—while tough, are nonetheless the kindest to backpackers and dayhikers and constantly serve up vistas that inspire wonderment. The remote Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the North Rim goes from the bone-dry Esplanade to some of the best waterfalls and perennial streams in the entire Grand Canyon. The remote and adventurous Royal Arch Loop explores a tributary canyon with sometimes puzzling obstacles to scramble over and around and shockingly lush desert oases; it also requires one short rappel.

And the “best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” from the South Kaibab Trailhead to the Tanner Trailhead, basically throws every ingredient of a consummate multi-day canyon hike into the pot: the never-grows-mundane majesty of two rim-to-river trails, the South Kaibab and Tanner; the unique perspective of the Tonto Trail; side canyons that are vast and magnificent by themselves; the blessed relief of campsites by perennial creeks and to-die-for camps by the Colorado River; spicy route-finding and scrambling on the Escalante Route; and the surprising variety, beauty, and remoteness of the Beamer Trail.

If you’re thinking about taking any of these Grand Canyon backpacking trips this fall—an ideal time to visit—you should be looking into a backcountry permit right now for a trip anytime in October, because available permits for popular trails and campsites get claimed very quickly.

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon.”

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A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

In the words of John Wesley Powell: “You cannot see the Grand Canyon in one view, as if it were a changeless spectacle from which a curtain might be lifted, but to see it, you have to toil from month to month through its labyrinths.”

You may not have months free to toil through the Grand Canyon’s labyrinths, but a few days or a week can give you a pretty good sampler of the place.

My gallery of photos below includes images from all of the backpacking trips and long dayhikes (routes normally done as backpacking trips) that I’ve taken in the Grand Canyon. See links below the gallery to my stories about those trips at The Big Outside.

I’ve helped many people figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for them.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

See my story “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” or scroll down to Grand Canyon on my All National Park Trips page for a menu of all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

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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.

Do you want to backpack in Glacier? See The Big Outside’s E-Books page for a menu of all expert e-books available at this blog, including to two five-star trips in Glacier.

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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.

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

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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.

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

Mountain goats near the Wonderland Trail, Mount Rainier National Park.
Mountain goats in Mount Rainier National Park.

Comet Falls, Van Trump Park, and Mildred Point

Comet Falls: about four miles/6.4k, 900 feet/274m up and down
Van Trump Park: about 5.5 miles/8.9k, 2,000 feet/610m up and down
Mildred Point: 6.2 miles/10k, about 2,700 feet/823m up and down

This tough hike offers the options of going only to 392-foot/120m Comet Falls, one of the park’s highest, continuing to the wildflower meadows and sweeping views of Van Trump Park, or going all the way to Mildred Point, with its unobstructed panorama of Rainier.

The trail ascends steadily through the tight gorge of Van Trump Creek, which roars and plunges over several small waterfalls and cascades, including the triple drop of Bloucher Falls at 1.6 miles/2.6k. At just under two miles/3.2k, a side trail leads a short distance toward the base of Comet Falls. From there, the trail turns very steep for the next 0.8 mile/1.3k to a junction with the Rampart Ridge Trail. A half-mile/0.8k spur trail leads to the right to wildflower-carpeted Van Trump Park, with views of the Van Trump Glaciers and Mounts Adams and St. Helens and common sightings of mountains goats, marmots, and pikas.

From that junction, the Rampart Ridge Trail swings southwest and descends about 200 feet/61m in about a half-mile/0.8k to a junction with a rugged, difficult spur trail that climbs through wildflower meadows for 500 feet/152m in 0.4 mile/0.6k to Mildred Point, at around 5,900 feet/1798m, overlooking the stark canyon sliced into Rainier’s flanks by Kautz Creek, the glaciers on Rainier’s south side, and the summit cone.

The hike begins at the Comet Falls Trailhead at 3,600 feet/1097m on the Longmire-Paradise Road, 10.2 miles/16.4k from the Nisqually entrance and five miles west of the Stevens Canyon Road junction.

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

A lenticular cloud spinning above Mount Rainier.
A lenticular cloud spinning above Mount Rainier.

Glacier Basin

6 miles/9.7k, 1,600 feet/488m both uphill and downhill

This relatively easy, out-and-back hike begins at White River campground at 4,300 feet/1311m, where you’re serenaded by the constant roar of the glacial silt-laden White River. The Glacier Basin Trail—which is also the approach hike for climbers taking the Emmons Glacier route up Mount Rainier—makes a moderate ascent up the valley of the Inter Fork to Glacier Basin camp at 5,900 feet/1798m, amid a landscape torn up by the receding Inter Glacier.

Sightings of marmots and even black bears are common along this popular trail, especially if you get out early, ahead of the crowds of dayhikers. If you really want to leave the hordes behind, make a loop up to the Burroughs Mountain Trail—a burly ascent of nearly 2,000 feet/610m—to the five-star perspective of Rainier from a high point around 7,400 feet/2256m, then descend past Sunrise camp and Shadow Lake to the Wonderland Trail back to White River campground.

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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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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.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

A hiker in the Northern Presidential Range in New Hampshire's White Mountains.
Mark Fenton hiking the Northern Presidential Range in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The Presidential Range Traverse

20 miles, 8,500 feet of uphill and downhill

The Presidential Range—which has seven summits higher than 5,000 feet—is one of the very best continuous alpine trail hikes in the country. That’s right: in the country. Walking north to south, the traverse involves about 20 miles and 8,500 feet of uphill and downhill if you hit all nine summits along the way, from Mount Madison to Mount Pierce, including the Northeast’s highest, 6,288-foot Mount Washington.

The traverse has many possible trail combinations and distances. Starting from the north, the most commonly hikes routes up are probably the Airline directly to the AMC’s Madison Spring Hut, where you can hike out-and-back to tag 5,366-foot Mount Madison in about 30 minutes; or the Valley Way to the Watson Path directly to Madison’s summit. But the Osgood Trail, reached via the Great Gulf Trail, ascends a long, open ridge with great views of the Great Gulf and Northern Presidentials, while the Howker Ridge Trail—the least-traveled of all of these—ascends a rugged ridge up Madison that feels more remote.

A hiker enjoying the view at dusk from Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.
David Ports enjoying the view at dusk from Mount Monroe in the Presidential Range, N.H.

The traverse follows the Gulfside Trail, with detours to the summits of Mounts Adams, Jefferson, and another that’s not an official summit but has a great view of the Great Gulf, Mount Clay, as well as the top of Washington. From there, follow the Crawford Path south to Crawford Notch, with shorter side trips to tag Mounts Monroe, Eisenhower, and Pierce. Continuing south to 4,052-foot Mount Jackson, which has views of Crawford Notch, before descending to the notch adds more than two miles but is well worth it—as is continuing on the Appalachian Trail over ledges atop the Webster Cliffs overlooking the notch.

The AMC has three huts in the Presidentials situated a moderate day’s hike apart: Madison Spring, Lakes of the Clouds, and Mitzpah Spring, enabling traverse variations of two to four days. Backpacking the Presidentials is complicated by the prohibition against camping in the alpine zone and considerable distance separating the four possible spots to spend a night at the north end of the range—Valley Way tentsite, Crag Camp, Gray Knob cabin, and The Perch shelter—and the Nauman tentsite near Mitzpah Spring Hut.

A teenage boy hiking over Mount Madison in the Northern Presidential Range, N.H.
My son, Nate, hiking over Mount Madison in the Northern Presidential Range, N.H.

Dayhiking it—known as the Presidential Range Death March—has been something of a regional test piece for decades, probably since not long after Eugene Cook and George Sargent, of Randolph, N.H., became the first to hike it in a day on Sept. 27, 1882. And before puffing up your chest too much over accomplishing the Death March, consider that Cook and Sargent hiked 24 miles and 10,000 vertical feet over the Presidentials to Crawford Notch, had dinner, and walked the Jefferson Notch Road 18.5 miles back to Randolph that evening.

See my story “Step Onto Rock. Repeat 50,000 Times: A Presidential Range ‘Death March’” and “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

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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.”

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

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5 Reasons You Must Backpack in the Grand Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/5-reasons-you-must-backpack-in-the-grand-canyon/#comments Sun, 20 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41503 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The Grand Canyon’s appeal to backpackers may seem elusive. It’s hard, it’s dry, it’s often quite hot with little respite from the blazing sun. But while those aspects of hiking there are rarely out of mind, when I recall backpacking in the canyon, I conjure mental images of waterfalls, creeks, and intimate side canyons sheltering perennial streams that nurture lush oases in the desert. I think of wildflowers carpeting the ground for as far as the eye can see. I recall campsites on beaches by the Colorado River and on promontories overlooking a wide expanse of the canyon.

And, of course, I picture the endless vistas stretching for miles in every direction, where impossibly immense stone towers loom thousands of feet above an unfathomably vertiginous and complex landscape.

After several backpacking trips in the Big Ditch, I find that the more I go there, the more I need to go back again. This place really hooks you (see reason no. 5, below). And my perspective is shaped by more than three decades of backpacking all over the United States, including formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. I’ve taken many of the best multi-day hikes out there—some of them multiple times.


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


A backpacker on the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
David Ports backpacking the Tonto Trail on the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop. Click photo to read about that trip.

See my lists of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 10 Best National Park Backpacking Trips,” and “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest”—and yes, the Grand Canyon is on all three lists.

As I increasingly seek a certain type of experience in the wilderness—one with more solitude, challenge, and even a few surprises, above and beyond inspiring scenery—I feel drawn back to the canyon time and time again.

While it seems an act of hubris to attempt to fully communicate the many compelling reasons why every backpacker should explore the Grand Canyon, I will attempt to do so here. But there is no better proof than personal experience: Go there yourself and discover the canyon’s many elusive truths.

A hiker on the Grand Canyon's North Kaibab Trail.
David Ports hiking the Grand Canyon’s North Kaibab Trail. Click photo to read about hiking the canyon rim to rim.

Grand Canyon Backpacking Permits

Keep in mind that a Grand Canyon backpacking permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Grand Canyon National Park issues backcountry permits through a monthly, early-access lottery at recreation.gov/permits/4675337. Apply during a two-week period that ends on the first of the month four months in advance of the month you’d like to hike—for example, between Nov. 16 and Dec. 1 for a trip anytime in April and between May 16 and June 1 for October. See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in the Grand Canyon” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Check out my e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can put together a completely customized plan for you to backpack in the Grand Canyon.

Please share your thoughts on this article—or your favorite GC hikes—in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

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

5 Reasons to Backpack the Grand Canyon

1. It’s Truly Like No Other Place

If you’re a person who reserves judgment until you see hard data, the Grand Canyon’s metrics speak to a physical scale not replicated in many places in nature. A World Heritage Site, the national park covers over 1.2 million acres and the canyon stretches for 277 miles along the Colorado River. It carves 6,000 feet into the earth at its deepest point and measures 18 miles from rim to rim at its widest. An estimated 64 tributary rivers and creeks flow into the Colorado River the Grand Canyon.

Its rock preserves a record spanning three of the four eras of geological time, and its elevation range spans five of the seven life zones and three of North America’s four types of desert. The oldest exposed rock in the canyon dates back two billion years—roughly half the age of the planet.

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A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about”The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

From either rim, the canyon boggles the mind. Hike down into it and you will frequently see for dozens of miles in any direction—little vegetation below the forested rims means nearly constant, sweeping panoramas of one of the world’s greatest natural wonders—and yet glimpse only a fraction of the whole.

As you hike mile after mile, the canyon seems to morph, with distant towers of rock appearing tiny initially, swelling as you approach them until they become so massive that you gape, almost unable to tear your gaze away; and then they slowly shrink and disappear into the larger landscape as you put them farther behind you. The Grand Canyon refines your sense of the vastness and grandeur of our world.

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

A backpacker at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Jeff Wilhelm at a waterfall on the Deer Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

2. No Two Trips are the Same

Backpackers with the impression that any multi-day hike into the canyon will basically resemble any other—that the canyon offers a fairly uniform experience regardless of where you go—have much to learn about this place.

After several backpacking trips and long dayhikes in the canyon, I would say each of those hikes features the vast panoramas that one associates with a place of such verticality, depth, breadth, and dearth of vegetation that might otherwise obstruct views. And there are always long stretches of sunbaked hiking and stark, waterless desert, as well as strenuous sections of trail.

But the differences far outnumber the similarities. Narrow, almost hidden side canyons surprise and delight with their anomalous oases of greenery. Waterfalls plunge from great heights, pour wide streams into narrow gorges, or burst explosively from the face of a sheer cliff. Wildflowers erupt profusely from the desiccated ground, painting color onto a seer landscape. Sandy beaches offer idyllic campsites beside the Colorado River, where all night you listen to the steady drone of rapids and look up at an inky sky riddled with stars.

The more you hike in the Grand Canyon, the more you realize how little you have seen.

I can help you figure out the best Grand Canyon backpacking trip for your group.
Click here to learn about my Custom Trip Planning.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail above Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

3. Unique Solitude

As in many major national parks, Grand Canyon’s management limits the number of backcountry permits issued to backpackers each day, and virtually all available permits get claimed during the peak seasons of March through May and September into November. Still, on all but the three popular corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—backpackers can often enjoy hours of hiking with few encounters with other people.

During peak seasons on long stretches of the Escalante Route and Beamer and Tanner trails—on what is arguably the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon—as well as the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Royal Arch Loop, Clear Creek Trail and Utah Flats Route, and even on sections of the popular and relatively accessible Tonto Trail, I’ve seen very few other backpackers (and occasional boating parties on the Colorado River). For three full days backpacking the Tonto Trail between Bass Canyon and Boucher Creek, on what’s known as the Gems Route, five friends and I saw no other people.

Want deeper solitude? Follow tip no. 2 (“Go outside the peak season”) in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking” and hike into the canyon between December and February—when the number of backcountry permits issued plummets. Sure, days are short and cold in December but lengthening by February—and you will need traction devices on your boots, like the Kahtoola Microspikes or Kahtoola KTS Hiking Crampon for snow and ice on the upper sections of trails descending off the South Rim (North Rim trailheads are inaccessible in winter).

But average winter temperatures in the inner canyon are similar to late summer and early fall in many mountain ranges, with highs in the 50s and 60s and lows in the 40s and 30s Fahrenheit. And snow at the rims only enhances the canyon’s beauty and sense of adventure.

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A hiker on the Tonto Trail by Monument Creek in the Grand Canyon.
David Ports hiking the Tonto Trail by Monument Creek in the Grand Canyon.

4. It’s Not Easy… And Yes, That’s Good

Backpackers on the Grand Canyon's Royal Arch Loop.
Backpackers on the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop. Click photo to read about that trip.

Truth is that any hike down into the canyon is strenuous. South Rim trails descend nearly a vertical mile within anywhere from seven to 9.5 miles from the trailhead to the Colorado River, a steep trail gradient of well over 600 feet per mile. Consider the park’s friendliest and most well-constructed trail, the Bright Angel: It has a very moderate trail gradient of 463 feet per mile over its 9.5 miles from trailhead to river—but it drops 637 feet per mile over the first 4.8 miles from the trailhead to the first possible camping at Havasupai Gardens.

Beyond the park’s three popular corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—backpackers will find rim-to-river trails that may redefine their notions of rugged, rocky, and strenuous paths. Quad-melting ledge drops off a foot or two are common. The scarcity of water and need to haul extra water weight often amplifies the difficulty of hiking here.

But for backpackers seeking a uniquely rugged and raw adventure, particularly fit, experienced desert backpackers capable of handling harder footpaths like the Escalante Route, Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, Royal Arch Loop, and certainly the Utah Flats Route, few places in the Lower 48—and arguably, none—offer the blend of excitement, challenge, surprises, and beauty of a long walk through the Grand Canyon.

Few destinations in the Southwest also offer the rare opportunity for extended backpacking trips—over 50 miles—especially on trails that are glorious every step of the way.

Hike the Grand Canyon rim to rim!
Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon's Escalante Route.
Backpackers and wildflowers along the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route. Click photo for my e-book”The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

5. Because It Will Hook You

Its big vistas never grow mundane. Its rugged topography never relents in the challenges posed to backpackers on virtually any trail. Its surprises never cease.

The heat may wilt you some days. The wind may pummel your tent loudly some nights. The stretches between water sources may force you to haul an unwieldy load of liquid nourishment on your back. The route may present you with obstacles that give even the most experienced backpacker pause enough for the words to slip out: “Can this be the route?”

And at the end of some long day on the trail, or the end of your trip, the difficulties will pale compared to the memories of the many transformative moments. That’s when you will realize that the time to return to the Grand Canyon has already arrived.

I’ve helped many readers plan unforgettable backpacking and hiking trips.
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A backpacker on the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to get expert custom trip planning for your next adventure.

In myriad ways, small and large, subtle and conspicuous, the Grand Canyon burrows into your heart and takes up permanent residence there.

Grand Canyon Backpacking Season

Lastly, the only time of year when it’s all but impossible to backpack in the GC is summer, because of dangerously high heat. Think about that: The only time you can’t go there is the very season you want to be in the mountains, anyway. Thus, for nine months of the year when you can’t go to the mountains, you can backpack in the Grand Canyon.

That seems like a productive way to spend your off-season time.

See my story See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do” and scroll down to Arizona on my All Trips List for a menu of all of my stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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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.


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


A trekker hiking the Milford Track toward Mackinnon Pass in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
Cat Serio hiking the Milford Track toward Mackinnon Pass in Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

My wife, Penny, our daughter, Alex, our good friend Cat Serio and I have come to Fiordland to spend four days walking one of the most famous and popular multi-day, hut-to-hut treks in the world, the Milford Track.

Measuring 33.2 miles/53.5 kilometers, the trail makes a one-way traverse beginning at Lake Te Anau, rising through rainforest—what Kiwis call “the bush”—to cross the mountains at 3,786-foot/1,154-meter Mackinnon Pass. The track then makes a long descent back into rainforest to finish at sea level in Milford Sound—also known as Piopiotahi, the name given to it by New Zealand’s native Maori people—where sheer-walled peaks soar 4,000 to 5,000 feet (1,200 to 1,500 meters) or more straight up out of this narrow corridor to the sea.

After a 75-minute boat cruise across Lake Te Anau, where steep and intensely green mountains erupt from the water’s edge in almost every direction, we hike the flat, wide first section of the Milford Track through lush rainforest along the Clinton River for not much more than an hour to Clinton Hut, set within a clearing in the virtually impenetrable bush that fills the valley. On all sides, rainforest clings to mountainsides rising steeply to pinnacled ridges and peaks. Here and there, “slips,” or landslides triggered by often unceasing, occasionally heavy rainfall, scar the valley walls.

Yesterday, we weren’t sure we’d make it here.

A trekker hiking the Milford Track up the Clinton River Valley to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My daughter, Alex, hiking the Milford Track up the Clinton River Valley to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand. Click photo for my expert e-book to trekking the Milford Track.

I had received an email from the New Zealand Department of Conservation (DOC)—sort of New Zealand’s equivalent of the U.S. National Park Service, managing the parks as well as hut bookings—warning of the possibility of our Milford reservations being canceled due to the forecast calling for 80 millimeters (over three inches) of rain. When I spoke with a ranger at the DOC visitor center in the little town of Te Anau, on the edge of Fiordland, he said that if the forecast reached 100 millimeters by morning on the day we were to start the Milford, the DOC would close the entire track for the day because of concerns over dangerous flooding. The result: All trekkers on it must layover a second night at their current hut—creating a backup that would necessitate canceling the trips for all hikers slated to start the Milford that day.

We entertained mental images of hiking through rain that heavy—“heevee roin,” as Kiwis pronounce it—reassuring ourselves… repeatedly… that we have very good rain jackets and pants. Then we got lucky, although we weren’t initially certain this represented a stroke of “good” luck: The DOC decided to keep the Milford Track open. Game on.

Instead of drenching rain while walking to the first hut, we enjoy moments of sunshine interspersed with clouds. The notoriously ravenous sandflies aren’t too thick, but they cluster in little clouds around our heads trying to feed anytime we stop moving or if we hang out on the hut’s outside deck. (Everyone sharing our bunkroom opens and closes the door quickly when entering and exiting to minimize insect invaders.)

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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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and “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes.”

 

Trekkers hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.
My wife, Penny, and Cat Serio hiking the Milford Track to Mintauro Hut, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand.

Before long, we emerge above the bush line—the distinctive margin where the forest abruptly ends and gives way to alpine terrain—to views of the head of the Clinton River Valley from high above the valley bottom, looking out over its green, fortress-like mountainsides scored by countless tall ribbons of falling water. Gray clouds verging on black swirl around the clifftops. The scale of it feels overwhelming and thrilling.

As we near the pass, the wind starts to pick up—and just minutes farther up the trail, it really gathers steam.

As Cat and I crest the expansive, rolling, and wide-open terrain of the pass and commence a long, winding alpine traverse across it, the wind, squeezed through this natural funnel in the mountains, buffets us, the strongest gusts nearly knocking us over. Bullets of horizontal rain pelt our cheeks, the only part of our faces not shielded by our hoods.

With the fusillade of rain and wind pounding us on one side, we hustle as fast as we can over the wet rocks and puddled trail to duck inside the small Mackinnon Pass Shelter, where we catch up to Penny and Alex. With numerous, dripping wet rain jackets hanging from hooks in the mud room and as many trekkers crowded onto the benches or stand inside the one small main room, fog hangs as thickly in here as outside these walls. We recognize everyone and are getting to know some because we’re all on the same hut schedule, like all Milford trekkers.

Luxuriating in this respite from the wind and rain, we linger for close to an hour, boiling water for hot drinks on one of the gas cookers. There’s no hope of drying anything we’re wearing or truly warming up; we stay only long enough to feel less cold, but leave before our body core temps start dropping. We must move for heat.

We step back out into the wind and driving rain. Shifting curtains of fog reveal the contours of Mackinnon Pass: huge, vertiginous walls of rock and rainforest with yet more long ribbons of water pouring down them, all bloated to exaggerated dimensions by the incessant rain. Across from us, one waterfall freefalls for hundreds of feet; another gets squeezed through a constriction in rock, creating a gigantic waterspout bursting from the cliff face. 

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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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The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, rain jacket and pants, sleeping bag, fleece hoodie, trekking poles, and headlamp I used on this trip.

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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.


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


A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.
A hot spring in Midway Geyser Basin, Yellowstone National Park.

This article will list my expert tips—based on numerous trips to Yellowstone over more than three decades—for a tour of the park’s top features that can be seen on short walks, with a few tips for longer excursions thrown in. See also “The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone.”

I’ll order my suggestions below in a way that makes sense if you’re driving through the park. Please share your questions, comments, or suggestions about Yellowstone in the comments section at the bottom of this story; I try to respond to all comments.

A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.
A hiker watching sunrise at Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park.

Mammoth Hot Springs

Entering Yellowstone through the North Entrance (via Livingston), begin your visit at Mammoth first. The walk around Mammoth Hot Springs is easy, gorgeous, and engaging for kids.

At grade-school age, my children were fascinated by the steam billowing from the springs and all the leaves, sticks, and other vegetative matter that had fallen into the hot water and become crystallized. And there are usually elk grazing right in Mammoth village and around the hot springs.

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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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The 30 Nicest Backcountry Campsites I’ve Hiked Past https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-12-nicest-backcountry-campsites-ive-hiked-past/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-12-nicest-backcountry-campsites-ive-hiked-past/#comments Sun, 06 Apr 2025 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=8431 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

It is one of those unfortunate inevitabilities of life, like death and taxes: Occasionally on backpacking trips you will hike past one of the most sublime patches of wilderness real estate you have ever laid eyes on, a spot so idyllic you can already see your tent pitched there and you standing outside it, warm mug in your hands, watching a glorious sunset. But it’s early and your plan entails hiking farther before you stop for the day—not camping there. Or your permit isn’t for that site. Or even worse, you are looking for a campsite, but someone else has already occupied this little corner of Heaven.

Disappointment is an awfully large pill to swallow, especially if you know you may never get back to that place. Then again, you might make a note on your map and return there someday. Goals are a powerful motivator.

My recently updated story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” has photos and descriptions of the best spots in the wilderness where I’ve ever spent a night over the past three-plus decades, including many years running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for 10 years. So it seems fitting to spotlight the best camps I never had but wish I did—all of them places potentially awaiting your tent.

Just make sure you get there before someone else grabs it.


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


This list grows every year—an inevitable outcome of backpacking frequently—giving you more ideas for trips to take. The descriptions below include links to stories at The Big Outside about those trips, with more images and information about planning them. Those stories about trips, and many other stories at this blog, require a paid subscription to read in full, although you don’t need a subscription to purchase any of my E-books or my Custom Trip Planning.

Please share your questions or suggestions about these campsites or others in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

A mother and young daughter backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, and daughter, Alex, backpacking the High Sierra Trail above Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park.

Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park

Granted, there are a lot of great campsites in the High Sierra. But some really do stand out even from the many extraordinary sites—in fact, two of our camps on this Sequoia trip made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

After a morning hike along a stretch of the High Sierra Trail that traverses hundreds of feet above the cliff-flanked canyon of the Middle Fork Kaweah River, we reached the largest of the Hamilton Lakes, nestled in a bowl of granite at 8,235 feet, just in time for a long lunch break. Everyone took a swim in the invigorating water, but mostly we just soaked up the panorama of jagged peaks rising to over 12,000 feet that surround the lake.

See my story about that 40-mile, family backpacking trip, “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” with lots of photos and a video, and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail.

Alaska Basin, Teton Crest Trail

A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite in Alaska Basin on the Teton Crest Trail.

There’s hardly a bad place to pitch a tent (legally) in all of Grand Teton National Park—and certainly not even a mediocre spot along the Teton Crest Trail. In fact, my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites includes two along the TCT. But simply because I’ve always been successful at getting my desired campsites on my backcountry permit, I have always hiked through the one area along the TCT that lies outside the national park and doesn’t require a permit for camping: Alaska Basin.

But I’ve hiked through it enough times to realize what I’m missing. The two campsites shown in these photos happen to be perfect perches we passed that lie just off the TCT in the basin. Both have broad, flat areas of clean granite with amazing 360-degree panoramas of the mountains and cliffs surrounding Alaska Basin. That’s why I’ve recommended Alaska Basin as a campsite depending on the type of hiking itinerary people are seeking when I provide custom trip planning for the TCT.

See my story about my most-recent trip on the TCT, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Get my Teton Crest Trail e-book or my custom trip planning for the TCT.

The large ledge below Yuma Point, just off the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.
The large ledge below Yuma Point, just off the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

Yuma Point, Grand Canyon

Campsites below Yuma Point, along the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Campsites below Yuma Point, along the Boucher Trail in the Grand Canyon.

On the last, hard but stunningly pretty day of a 40-mile hike from the South Kaibab to the Hermit trailhead, our group of six family and friends ascended the often steep and difficult Boucher Trail—yet another tortured footpath that illustrates why the words “hard but stunningly pretty” describe so many trails in the Big Ditch. After a long uphill grind, we reached the long, level bench the Boucher Trail follows below Yuma Point, at just over 5,400 feet, and saw immediately why in-the-know GC backpackers consider it one of the very best campsites in the canyon.

Several spacious, obviously pre-used camps on dirt sit right behind a large, flat rock ledge at the brink of cliffs overlooking a huge swath of the canyon from more than 3,000 feet above the Colorado River. Yes, I sure did imagine laying my pad and bag out on that ledge, gazing up at a night sky crazy with stars and then watching the sunrise light up the canyon. Those camps lie a short walk off the Boucher Trail 5.2 miles from the Hermit Trailhead, at 6,640 feet—and that’s about the only relatively “easy” way to get there. One drawback: Yuma Point lies right below the Dragon Corridor, where the sky is filled with a daily invasion of constant sightseeing overflights between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.

See “Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

 

A backpacker in Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Death Hollow, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

I’d read on some websites that viable campsites were non-existent in Death Hollow, in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. And looking at the contour lines of this deep and generally narrow cleavage in the slickrock plateau, it did seem like a bad bet to assume one would find good camps in there. Turned out, that was wrong.

On the middle day of a three-day hike on the 22-mile Death Hollow Loop, two friends and I backpacked down the dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, frequently walking in the creek amid small cascades and weaving our way around deep, calm pools and other obstacles and hazards—and bushwhacking through thickets of poison ivy that stood taller than us. And we passed a handful of camps where we’d have been happy to spend a night on one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, where each of our three days presented different terrain and scenery, a sort of three-in-one wilderness adventure in landscapes that repeatedly made me to pause and just gape.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop” at The Big Outside.

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

Liberty Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

On the last afternoon of my family’s backpacking trip on Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail, a steady uphill climb deposited us at the edge of Liberty Lake, a cobalt eye tucked tightly within a shoreline of granite slabs, patches of evergreen forest, and a talus mountainside. We followed the trail around and above the lake, where we stood on a ledge overlooking the lake and the long chain of the Ruby Mountains stretching into the distance (lead photo at top of story). Although camping there didn’t fit neatly into our four-day itinerary, it was easy to see why other backpackers had set up camp nearby.

Liberty Lake was not the only highlight of an approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail. We enjoyed a campsite on another beautiful alpine lake, wildflowers in bloom, relatively few other backpackers, and long stretches of hiking above 10,000 feet, traversing an almost treeless alpine zone for miles.

See my story about my family’s trip, “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough,” at The Big Outside.

Get a full wilderness experience.
See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

 

A young girl hiker at Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My daughter, Alex, at Imogene Lake in the Sawtooth Mountains.

Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Returning to Imogene Lake again for the first time in some years, on a weekend backpacking trip with my then-11-year-old daughter, I was reminded just how gorgeous this sprawling water body is. On calm days—like we had on that visit—the water reflects an Impressionist painting-like panorama of pine forest and rocky peaks.

I was actually planning to finally atone for my sin of having hiked past Imogene on at least two or three previous occasions by setting up camp here with my daughter. But we got a late start on a Friday and rolled in to Hell Roaring Lake—four miles below Imogene—after dark. So we just dayhiked to Imogene. I’ll camp there yet—I swear. Meanwhile, Hell Roaring is a pretty nice spot, too, and close enough to visit Imogene on a morning hike.

See my story “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” about father-son and father-daughter backpacking trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths, and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths, including in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

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A campsite below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
A campsite below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Below Nevills Arch, Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument

Consider this a shining example of “if we’d just hiked a little while longer, and started early enough to beat the party that got there first, we’d have camped here.” On the second morning of our three-day loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, we walked through the amphitheater where striking Nevills Arch presides over a sort of royal court of tall, red cliffs and pinnacles that resemble melted candles—and right past the lone campsite on flat, packed dirt that sits within the warm embrace of that amphitheater.

Having camped (at a pretty nice spot, anyway) just an easy 30-minute or shorter walk farther up Owl Canyon, it was a little painful seeing how close we’d come to enjoying this camp—although the small group who’d camped there were still packing up as we strolled past it. One of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, the two- to three-day Owl-Fish loop offers an unusual combination of qualities: short distance, incredible scenery (and night skies), solitude, rugged hiking and scrambling, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

A backpacker hiking past Elbow Lake on the Highline Trail in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
My wife, Penny, backpacking past Elbow Lake on the Highline Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Elbow Lake, Wind River Range

In the week before Labor Day 2022, a prime time to be in the mountains, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I backpacked a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, mostly exploring an area of the Winds I had not seen before. But we also walked a stretch of the Highline Trail (part of the Continental Divide Trail) which I had hiked previously (on this trip), reminding me not only how nice that trail is but that I’ve now hiked past Elbow Lake twice without laying out my sleeping bag there.

I rank that day among the prettiest I’ve ever hiked in the Winds—and that’s saying a lot. We started out from one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had, overlooking the lower of the Twin Lakes, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak, and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis, following the Highline Trail past several alpine lakes and tarns to sprawling Elbow Lake—embraced by granite slabs and grassy earth where you can’t help but picture your tent pitched. From there, we continued to a pair of high passes and more spectacular lakes.

And as happened throughout that trip, we passed fewer than 10 people all day.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside. National forest and wilderness managers require camping at least 200 feet from any lake or trail in the Winds.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

A backpacker hiking to Iceberg Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
David Ports backpacking to Iceberg Lake, below the Minarets in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Iceberg Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Two companions and I walked one of the finest sections of the John Muir Trail on a nine-day, north-south trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, exploring high lakes basins and crossing passes at 11,000 to 12,000 feet. But one highlight came early in that trip, when we detoured off the JMT to hike below the row of jagged spires called the Minarets in the Ansel Adams.

On the steep uphill hike from Ediza Lake—itself a nice spot to pitch a tent—we reached Iceberg Lake, tucked into a compact bowl at 9,774 feet right at the foot of sheer rock walls that rise to sharp points. Not far from the lakeshore, we saw some perfect little patches of dirt for tents. The Minarets can be visited on a weekend or three- to four-day hike that will give you a great sampler of the central High Sierra.

See photos and read about this area in my story “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and check out “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker at Dead Horse Lake on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at Dead Horse Lake on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Dead Horse Lake, Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness

In an unusual window of warm and mostly clear weather in early October, my 24-year-old son, Nate, and I backpacked nearly 60 miles through Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—which blew us away. We had some great camps, but one we sadly walked past was beside Dead Horse Lake, at around 10,900 feet at the head of a lake-filled basin tucked inside a ragged horseshoe of castle-like peaks between Red Knob Pass, at 12,000 feet, and Dead Horse Pass, at 11,600 feet.

Getting there isn’t easy from any direction—which typically ensures more solitude—and neither is getting out. Hiking southbound from the lake on the Uinta Highline, we climbed below tall cliffs and sheer buttresses soaring several hundred feet above us, the trail tilting steeply upward, weaving through huge boulders, and frequently consisting of no more than a goat path of boot prints across sliding scree. At Dead Horse Pass, I told Nate, “I think I know what killed the horse.”

Still, the High Uintas, and especially the Uinta Highline Trail, deserve more attention from serious backpackers than they get: This place is a big, majestic wilderness with 13,000-foot peaks and over 1,000 mountain lakes. Go there.

See my story “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and all stories about backpacking in Utah’s High Uintas at The Big Outside.

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The Narrows, Zion National Park

Second morning in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Second morning in Zion’s Narrows.

Rather than pick one of the campsites in Zion’s Narrows that a friend and I hiked past—we stayed in campsite one, which made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites—I have to give all of the 11 other designated campsites in The Narrows a collective spot on this list.

On the second day of an overnight, top-to-bottom backpacking trip of The Narrows, we checked out campsites two through 12, and I eventually gave up on the idea of picking a favorite. Each one sits within sight and earshot of the burbling river, below sheer, multi-colored walls rising hundreds of feet to a ribbon of sky overhead. Some may have a little more space or some other appeal; but given the location, any one of them guarantees you an incomparable night.

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

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

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

Indian Ridge, Yosemite National Park

On our first night in the backcountry during a four-day, 45-mile hike in Yosemite, a friend and I carried water up onto Indian Ridge, on Yosemite Valley’s North Rim, and found a great campsite a short walk from an unnamed dome overlooking a panorama that took in Half Dome and distant mountains to the south. We watched a sunset linger until the final light of day dripped from the sky.

But not long after hitting the trail the next morning, we saw where we wished we had camped. A little farther down Indian Ridge, the terrain opens up and flat spots abound just off the trail—where we saw no other backpackers. We had a much closer and more spectacular view looking directly at the huge Northwest Face of Half Dome just across the deep gulf of the Valley. Park regulations require camping at least a half-mile from the North Rim of Yosemite Valley—which is easy to achieve and have plenty of spots to choose from on Indian Ridge—and more significantly, you have to carry water up there.

But I don’t know of another spot in the backcountry where you can camp with that kind of view of Yosemite Valley.

See my feature story about that trip, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
and “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.
Elizabeth Lake in Glacier National Park.

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

I first included Elizabeth Lake on this list after backpacking Glacier’s magnificent Northern Loop, which I describe how to plan and hike in my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.” But since then, I’ve returned to Glacier to make a comparably awe-inspiring, 90-mile, north-south traverse of the park, mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, but with some variations I built into the route to show friends who accompanied me what I consider some the finest scenery in Glacier (described in this e-book).

And on our first night of that more-recent trip, we camped at Elizabeth Lake—and I got the photo above early the next morning, as the calm, chill air turned the lake into a mirror reflecting the surrounding, jagged peaks. So technically, I’ve now hiked past Elizabeth (twice, actually) and camped there, but I decided it still belongs on this list so that you don’t risk passing up a chance to spend a night there.

See my stories about backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop and Gunsight Pass Trail and about traversing the park mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, and my most recent hike in Glacier, a weeklong traverse mostly on the CDT with an itinerary and camps that varied from the first CDT trip.

Glacier ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

A campsite beneath a huge undercut near Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Utah.
A campsite beneath a huge undercut near Jacob Hamblin Arch in Coyote Gulch, Utah.

Jacob Hamblin Arch, Coyote Gulch

I had fully intended for our group of two families to spend our second night backpacking Coyote Gulch right beneath Jacob Hamblin Arch; I remembered, from a trip there years earlier, that it’s a magical spot to layover and watch the light shift.

But when our group reached Coyote Natural Bridge that afternoon, the kids were ready to call it a day; and it being about an hour (at a family pace) downstream from Jacob Hamblin, and not a bad place at all to pitch tents on the broad, sandy beach below the bridge (it was formerly on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), I quickly gave up on the idea of reaching the arch. I also knew the arch is a popular spot, so all available sites could be snapped up by the time we got there. It turned out they weren’t, and a prime campsite, on the upstream side looking right up at the arch, was actually empty when we got there the next morning. Oh, well.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch and dayhiking slot canyons and trails in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and neighboring Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks for more photos, videos, and detailed trip-planning information.

After Coyote Gulch, hike the rest of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

A backpacker on the Shannon Pass Trail above Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Mark Fenton backpacking past Peak Lake, Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Island Lake and Peak Lake, Wind River Range

Island Lake, in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Island Lake in the Wind River Range.

Take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. When two friends and I backpacked a roughly 41-mile loop in the Winds, I deliberately planned a route that included a night in Titcomb Basin, where lakes shimmer below the soaring granite walls of 13,000-foot peaks. But we inevitably hiked past countless, pretty lakes that presented alluring campsites.

Two of the most memorable were Island Lake, where we stopped for lunch en route to Titcomb, and Peak Lake, which nestles in a tiny bowl below peaks that resemble incisors, and which we reached after hiking cross-country from Titcomb over Knapsack Col and down a lonely valley to reach the Shannon Pass Trail. On a trip where a shocking number of lakes feel like one of the prettiest spots on the planet, these two have burned lasting images in memory.

See my story about that trip, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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A campsite in trees on the beach beside Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.
A campsite in trees on the beach beside Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.

By the Colorado River at Hance Rapids, Grand Canyon

While I have camped on the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River (it’s on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), more recently, I backpacked past that beach on a six-day trip that I concluded—after several trips in the Big Ditch—is “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” As we left that beach, we walked past a spacious (and empty!) campsite fully enclosed by trees that cast substantial shade.

Anyone who’s hiked in the canyon understands the value of shade—especially in a campsite. We had many miles to go that day, so we didn’t stop. But the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River has long been on my radar (since I took this three-day hike) as a spot to plan spending a night when hiking through this corner of the canyon. This shady site will be the first place I check for occupants the next time I plan to bed down on that beach.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids, and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” and a trip easier for first-timers, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

A backpacker hiking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

Marie Lake, John Muir Trail

Marie Lake, John Muir Trail.
Marie Lake, John Muir Trail.

It was the fourth morning of our seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail through California’s High Sierra, from Yosemite National Park to Mount Whitney. Three friends and I were climbing toward Selden Pass in the John Muir Wilderness and not even thinking about taking a break yet; we wouldn’t stop for the night until hours later.

Below us, Marie Lake lay still in a bowl of granite ledges with trees dotting the landscape, rocky islands in the lake, and an infinite selection of places around the lake to temporarily call home.

This was one of the most painful times I’ve hiked past a beautiful backcountry camp.

And in August 2022, I did it again when two companions and I backpacked past Marie Lake—although only after enjoying a nice swim and lunch there—on a nine-day trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning your JMT thru-hike?

I’ve helped many readers plan all the details of this classic trip, including getting a very hard-to-get permit, figuring out how many days to take, and finding the best campsites. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you. 

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

A backpacker enjoying the dawn light at a campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser enjoying the dawn light at our campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

A backpacker above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

It sure seems like I keep walking past really nice campsites in the Winds—maybe I just need to spend more time there. On an August trip with my son a few summers back, we aborted a planned four-day loop crossing the Continental Divide twice and finishing through the Cirque of the Towers—because the weather was so bad, with almost continuous rain and virtually no views of the mountains and no sign it would improve. But we did hike from one camp to visit Pyramid Lake and saw enough of its surroundings to know I wanted to return.

Now I’m happy to call this a success story because I did get back to this part of the Winds in August 2023, on a four-day, nearly 41-mile hike crossing four high passes, when a friend and I spent our first backcountry night a short walk from the shore of Pyramid Lake. At nearly 10,600 feet, the lake nestles in a rocky basin at the foot of 11,978-foot Pyramid Peak (which we scrambled up on that trip), 12,454-foot Mount Hooker, and 12,185-foot Tower Peak. (The lake is also a short, cross-country hike from the valley of the East Fork River on the Wind River High Route, which I write about in this story about the Wind River High Route).

See my story about that August 2023 trip, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

A waterfall and swimming hole in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River.

Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park

On day three of a four-day, 87-mile, backpacking trip in the remote, northern reaches of Yosemite with my friend Todd, we reached one of that trek’s scenic highlights: the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River. With granite walls soaring hundreds of feet above a crystal-clear river that tumbles over innumerable waterfalls, massive boulders, and a beautiful bed of cobblestones, the canyon bears a striking resemblance to the park’s iconic feature, Yosemite Valley—except that it’s twice as long and has no roads or buildings and few people.

Todd and I actually spent a pleasant night in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, initially sleeping under the stars on a big granite slab by the river, then quickly pitching our tarp in the woods when rain started falling after dark. But we didn’t score one of the several primo campsites we saw in the canyon, either because we walked past them before we were ready to stop for the night, or someone else already occupied them. To grab one of the campsites that sit near any of the waterfalls and great swimming holes, I suggest trying to reach the mid-canyon stretch by early afternoon, before most other backpackers.

See many more images, a video, and trip-planning trips in my story about that backpacking trip in northern Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and all of my stories about Yosemite at The Big Outside, including “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about a 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne Meadows
and the 87-mile hike through northern Yosemite (which includes shorter options).

 

Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.
Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness

As we hiked past the second-highest of a string of five lakes that sit above 8,000 feet on the east side of the Sawtooths, the glassy waters of a calm early morning offered a perfect reflection of the incisor summit ridge of Mount Heyburn high above us. It was early on a long day my friend Chip Roser and I would spend climbing Heyburn, and would ultimately be one of the day’s finest moments. A rough, sometimes-obscure use trail leads to the Bench Lakes from Trail 101 above Redfish Lake. The highest of the Bench Lakes, at over 8,600 feet, is the most alpine of them and has campsites right at the foot of Heyburn.

See all stories about the Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Photo Gallery: Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Campsite at Toltec Beach on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Campsite at Toltec Beach on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

Toltec Beach, Royal Arch Loop, Grand Canyon

As with the Tetons, there’s not likely a bad campsite in the GC—or at least none that I’ve found. But when three friends and I reached Toltec Beach, beside the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s very rugged, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, around lunchtime on our second day, we all made a vow to return there. The river offered an area to cool ourselves in the water, there was a tree casting nice shade onto the sand, and the views, of course, were epic.

The Royal Arch Loop makes a top-to-bottom-and-back-up circuit of the canyon—going from a words-can’t-do-it-justice panorama at the rim to dipping your toes in the Colorado. It delivers a highlights reel of just about every type of physical feature that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens nurtured by a vibrant stream, a high solitude quotient, and one drop-dead gorgeous campsite after another.

See my story about that trip “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside


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A hiker passing Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
David Ports hiking past Snowdrift Lake during a 20-mile dayhike through the Tetons.

Snowdrift Lake, Grand Teton National Park

I’ve had the pleasure of gazing upon the emerald waters of this alpine lake four times now—and I actually did once pitch a tent on a slope above the lake, but never in the site at the lake’s eastern end. A long, oval, often wind-battered gem parked at the head of Avalanche Canyon, just a few hundred feet below 10,680-foot Avalanche Divide and the long cliff band named The Wall, Snowdrift is not reached by any official park trail.

But there is an unofficial, unmarked, rough, and strenuous user trail that climbs up Avalanche Canyon; it branches west off the Valley Trail just north of Taggart Lake. It’s a hard trail to carry a pack up, and not much easier to carry a pack down (and finding the easy, safe way through the cliffs below Snowdrift Lake is trickier going downhill than uphill; I’ve done it in both directions). The easiest access to Snowdrift is hiking the good trail from South Fork Cascade Canyon up to Avalanche Divide, then hiking cross-country, over easy terrain, down to the east end of Snowdrift. The campsite is exposed, so don’t go if it’s windy or in bad weather.

See all of my stories about Grand Teton National Park, including this story that describes how to hike to Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon.

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

A campsite in Phelps Basin, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
A campsite in Phelps Basin, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Phelps Basin and Spider Gap route, Glacier Peak Wilderness

Above Spider Meadow, Glacier Peak Wilderness
Above Spider Meadow, Glacier Peak Wilderness.

On the first afternoon of a spectacular, five-day family hike of the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness—among my favorite wild lands—we camped in a spacious, established site in the woods above Spider Meadow and minutes below Phelps Basin. Two other parties had already grabbed the available sites in Phelps Basin (photo above), as I discovered, to my dismay, when we took an evening stroll up there.

The next morning, we carried our packs up the trail to Spider Gap, passing more campers perched on the bench atop a steep wall of earth high above Spider Meadow (photo at right). Whenever I get back there again, it will be exceedingly difficult to choose between these two spots.

See my story, with lots of images, about our five-day, family-backpacking trip in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Get my expert help planning your backpacking or hiking trip and 33% off a one-year subscription. Click here now to buy a premium subscription!

Arrowhead Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness, Idaho.

Arrowhead Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Since my first of now many trips into Idaho’s Sawtooths, I’ve often marveled at how these toothy, granite peaks remind me of the High Sierra—without the crowds of hikers found in parts of the Sierra. My friend Jeff Wilhelm and I hiked past Arrowhead Lake on the second morning of a four-day trip and immediately agreed we needed to return with fishing poles and stay longer. I snapped this photo when Jeff walked out onto the granite spit jutting into the lake.

See my story about that backpacking in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and my story “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

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

A backpacker in the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.
Kristian Blaich backpacking up the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.

The Wind River High Route

Michael Lanza of The Big Outside in the Alpine Lakes Valley on the Wind River High Route.
Me in the Alpine Lakes Valley on the Wind River High Route.

When three friends and I set out on a seven-day, 96-mile traverse of the Wind River High Route—65 miles of which is off-trail, including nine of 10 named alpine passes between roughly 11,000 and 13,000 feet—we expected to be dazzled by one of the very best wilderness treks any of us had ever taken. And it exceeded expectations.

Inevitably, we hiked past many spots we’d love to have set up camp for the night. But two spots, in particular, stood out for me. One was in the valley of the East Fork River, where we hiked below a long chain of towering cliffs and soaked in frigid pools between cascades that tumbled over granite slabs in the shallow river. The second spot was in the long valley of the Alpine Lakes—one of the most starkly beautiful places I’ve ever seen. High above one of those lakes, we crossed a wide, grassy shelf sprinkled with rocks that looked like a little piece of the Scottish Highlands transported to the Wyoming mountains. It pained me to not stop there.

Read my story about that trip, “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route.”

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Backpackers relaxing in the shaded campsite at Hance Creek in the Grand Canyon.
Relaxing in the shaded campsite at Hance Creek in the Grand Canyon.

Hance Creek, Grand Canyon

This is another success story. The camping area on Hance Creek, on the east side of Horseshoe Mesa, earned a spot on this list when I backpacked past it with my then-10-year-old daughter on this three-day hike. That’s my justification for keeping it on this list—even though I’m happy to report that I’ve since returned and spent a night there (photo above) on a six-day trip that I’ve described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Not to be confused with the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River—which is several trail miles from and a couple thousand feet below the camping area at Hance Creek—the camping zone at Hance Creek is flanked by sheer, vibrantly red walls that by late afternoon cast a long, blessed shadow to give us relief from the sun.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

A hiker above Scoop Lake in the Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.
Scott White hiking above Scoop Lake in the Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains, Idaho.

Upper Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains

On a 28-mile, one-day loop hike through the heart of one of the most scenic Western mountain ranges that most hikers have never heard of, Idaho’s White Clouds, two friends and I scrambled off-trail up a very steep headwall, passed through a notch in a row of pinnacles, then picked up a trail and descended into the valley of a string of pearls known as the Boulder Chain Lakes. While we would run into backpackers camped at the lower lakes, we saw no one at three of the highest and most remote of the chain, Headwall Lake, Scoop Lake, and Hummock Lake, perched amid copses of conifers beneath peaks of unbelievably white rock that give these mountains their name.

Read my story about a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, with more photos and trip-planning info.

That White Clouds hike is featured in “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

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

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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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Tent Flap With A View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tent-flap-with-a-view-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tent-flap-with-a-view-25-favorite-backcountry-campsites/#comments Sun, 23 Mar 2025 09:00:52 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=4587 By Michael Lanza

An unforgettable campsite can define a backcountry trip. Sometimes that perfect spot where you spend a night forges the memory that remains the most vivid long after you’ve gone home. A photo of that camp can send recollections of the entire adventure rushing back to you—it does for me. I’ve been very fortunate to have pitched a tent in many great backcountry campsites over more than three decades of backpacking all over the U.S. I’ve distilled the list of my favorite spots down to these 25.

I update this list every year and it becomes a little more difficult almost every time. This year, I’ve added fresh photos from a couple of places I revisited in 2024: Painter Basin in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness and the Grand Canyon, where I backpacked most of the Gems Route, which includes the most remote stretch of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail. 

Below my top 25 list you’ll find a second list—now just as long—of campsites that were previously in my top 25. Each campsite photo below includes a short description of that trip, and most have a link to an existing story at The Big Outside.

In some cases, the photos from these places show the view a few steps from our tent, rather than the site itself.


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


I share a brief anecdote with each photo because, for me, each campsite isn’t merely a beautiful scene: it is a story and a memory. Because that’s what camping in the wilderness is all about.

I’d love to read your thoughts about any of these places or your suggestions for campsites that belong on my list; I’m always looking for trip ideas. Share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Sweet dreams.

A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.
David Ports at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.

Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park

A backpacker at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.
David Ports at Sahale Glacier Camp in North Cascades National Park.

We slogged up Sahale Arm into a cold, wind-driven rain, unable to see more than a hundred feet in any direction. But as my friend David Ports and I reached Sahale Glacier Camp (lead photo at top of story), the rain and wind abated and the clouds dropped below us, giving us a view of the earth falling away into a bottomless abyss a few steps from our tent door. A mountain goat strolled past our camp.

Perched at the top of Sahale Arm and the toe of the Sahale Glacier, at 7,686 feet, the highest designated campsite in Washington’s North Cascades National Park overlooks what appears to be a boundless, wind-whipped sea of sharpened peaks smothered in snow and ice, among them Johannesburg, Baker, Shuksan, Glacier Peak, and in the far distance, Mount Rainier.

See my story “Exploring the ‘American Alps:’ The North Cascades” and all stories about backpacking in North Cascades National Park at The Big Outside.

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A campsite by Royal Arch on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite by Royal Arch on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to read about that trip.

Beside Royal Arch, Grand Canyon National Park

Royal Arch campsite, Grand Canyon.
Royal Arch campsite, Grand Canyon.

Backpacking the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, the most remote and arguably the most rugged and lonely established South Rim hike in the Big Ditch, three friends and I put in a monster first day to reach the campsite beside Royal Arch—and was it ever worth the effort. We descended Royal Arch Canyon, which involves slow, strenuous, and exposed scrambling in spots—but is also lush with hanging gardens growing along its vibrant creek, which plunges through several crystal-clear pools—until we came into view of the arch, the Grand Canyon’s largest natural bridge (it’s water carved, so technically a bridge, not an arch).

We passed beneath the tall, thick arch (which provided ample shelter during dinnertime rain showers) and walked just beyond it to a flat ledge more than large enough for our two tents, directly beneath a towering sandstone pinnacle. Just steps beyond our ledge loomed a vertical, 200-foot pour-off dropping into the lower section of Royal Arch Canyon—a reminder not to wander far from the tents after dark. Come morning, dawn light would set the red walls of that lower canyon ablaze. For the four of us, all longtime backcountry explorers, this was an all-time best campsite.

See my story “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop” with lots of photos, a video, and information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
and “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips.”

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

Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Wind-driven rain and hail pounded us as we backpacked the John Muir Trail through the Evolution Basin on the eighth day of a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park in California’s High Sierra, mostly on the JMT. The rain tapered before we crossed 11,955-foot Muir Pass in early evening, but gray-black storm clouds still threatened. A little while later, we pitched our tents on the only tiny patches of rock-free, flat ground we found above Helen Lake, at around 11,600 feet, drawing the curtain on an 18-mile day with over 5,000 feet of uphill and downhill. There have been few days when I’ve walked that far through grander wilderness.

The storm passed, granting us a dry, calm evening. The setting sun cast soft alpenglow upon a peak behind us and burnished the clouds hovering over the western horizon a dark burgundy. But the real payoff came the next morning, when the rising sun ignited the rocky faces of peaks across Helen Lake. The lake and a tiny tarn—more like a big puddle—near our camp offered razor-sharp reflections of our surroundings. Despite the weather that chased us there and our rocky tent sites, Helen Lake burned itself into memory for all three of us as an inspirational spot.

In fact, as always happens when I backpack through the High Sierra, we had a few truly glorious campsites on that August 2022 hike, including at Thousand Island Lake and Minaret Lake. See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana.
Dawn light hitting No Name Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana.

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

With two of the six camps on my reserved permit closed due to bear activity when two friends and I arrived at Glacier National Park in the second week of September 2023, we had to scramble to create a new permit based on backcountry campground availability—and ended up with an itinerary very similar to a hike I’d done in Glacier five years before (see this story). But in Glacier, there are no consolation prizes, only trails that awe every time you walk them.

We backpacked a seven-day, north-south traverse of the park, mostly combining the primary and alternate routes of the Continental Divide Trail from the Belly River Valley to Two Medicine, hiking through the Ptarmigan Tunnel and finishing with the Dawson Pass Trail’s alpine traverse overlooking the peaks in the park’s remote heart. But unlike last time, we spent our final night at No Name Lake, where a calm morning brought the kind of lake reflection you want to frame for a wall at home (as I did). Another surprise treat on that trip was beautiful evening and morning light at Morning Star Lake—which would have made this list if not for the serendipitous light at No Name.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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

The Narrows, Zion National Park

It was one of the most glaring omissions in my resume as a backpacker: I had never hiked The Narrows of the Virgin River in southern Utah’s Zion National Park. (I actually had a permit to do it in October 2013, when Congress shut down the federal government, closing all the national parks and temporarily crushing my hopes of finally ticking off that classic hike.)

Campsite one in The Narrows, Zion National Park.
Campsite one in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

Then an unexpected opportunity arose: I had a window for a four-day trip in early November and saw an unusually good forecast for southern Utah. I broached the idea of backpacking The Narrows to my friend, David Gordon, he leapt at the chance, and we got a last-minute permit for a very popular trip at a time of year when there are far fewer people either competing for a permit or dayhiking from the bottom.

I shot this photo and video of David at our campsite, Narrows no. 1, in early evening; the slot on the left side of the photo is The Narrows—we had emerged from that slot, hiking downstream, just an hour or so earlier.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

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

A backpacker at a campsite along the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, in Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunrise at a campsite on Death Canyon Shelf.

Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park

A backpacker at a campsite on the Teton Crest Trail on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.
A campsite on Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park.

I could rattle off a list of gorgeous campsites in Wyoming’s Tetons, a park I’ve visited well over 20 times and never get tired of. But I decided to include just the two camping zones I consider the best places to bed down in the Tetons backcountry and can be reached by trail: Death Canyon Shelf (above and at right) and the North Fork of Cascade Canyon (below).

I’ve camped a few times in different spots on Death Canyon Shelf, a broad, three-mile-long bench at about 9,500 feet. With the earth dropping away abruptly into Death Canyon on one side, cliffs rising some 500 feet on the other side, and views across the jagged peaks and canyons of the Tetons—reaching all the way to the Grand Teton—there are few spots with such sweeping and dramatic panoramas. I’ve watched moose in Death Canyon through binoculars from the cliff tops and deer grazing around our campsite, was awakened one night by a bull elk outside our tent—and have usually caught a spectacular sunset followed by an equally glorious sunrise.

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

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

North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park

Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.
Watching the sunset from a campsite in the North Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park.

On my most-recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, in August 2019, three friends and I started up the North Fork of Cascade Canyon on our second afternoon—having already enjoyed two days of a constant stream of breathtaking scenery. Where the trail emerges from forest into boulder-strewn meadows with a first, sweeping view of the canyon, my friend David looked over his shoulder and exclaimed, “Wow!” He was gazing down the canyon at the sheer north face of the Grand Teton rising several thousand feet above us (photo above).

We found a campsite in a copse of pine trees with a ledge that afforded an unimpeded view down the canyon as the setting down turned the Grand golden and then ruby red (photo at left). Getting an early start the next morning, we passed a massive bull moose strolling across a meadow on our way to Lake Solitude—which we had to ourselves at a time of day when its still waters offered a perfect mirror image of the surrounding cliffs and peaks. And the eye candy just kept getting better as we hiked the TCT high up a canyon wall to Paintbrush Divide at 10,700 feet.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail” and “American Classic: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail. Visit my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan yours.

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

A campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.
Our campsite at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park

It almost seems unfair to compare other places to the High Sierra, Wyoming’s Teton Range and Wind River Range, Glacier National Park, or the Grand Canyon; those destinations dominate this list in part because I keep returning to them, but I think the photos speak for themselves. On a six-day, family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park, we camped at two alpine lakes that deserved placement on this list: Precipice Lake and Columbine Lake (see Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites below these 25 favorites).

Precipice wasn’t even part of the planned itinerary; we intended to go beyond it, over Kaweah Gap, to camp in the Nine Lakes Basin. But when we reached Precipice in late afternoon on our third day, we decided within minutes to stop for the night. Cliffs of clean, white granite with black streaks ring much of the compact lake’s shoreline. The mouth of the outlet creek provides an excellent pool for a chilling dip. Granite ledges above the lake have flat areas for tents or to just lay out bags and sleep under the stars (as my 12-year-old son and I did). The evening alpenglow on the cliffs reflected in the lake and on 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak towering above Precipice, put the icing on the cake.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range

The views kept getting better with every mile on the first day of a three-day, 41-mile loop that two friends and I backpacked from the Elkhart Park Trailhead in Wyoming’s Wind River Range in mid-September. But as we entered the long, alpine valley called Titcomb Basin to find a campsite for the night, craning our necks at the cliffs and peaks towering overhead, we immediately realized it was one of the prettiest backcountry spots any of us had ever seen.

A campsite in the South Fork Bull Lake Creek Valley on the Wind River High Route..
Our campsite in the South Fork Bull Lake Creek Valley on the Wind River High Route..

An alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, Titcomb Basin sits below mountains on the Continental Divide that soar more than 3,000 feet above the Titcomb Lakes in the valley, the highest of which is 13,745-foot Fremont Peak. In fact, high peaks flank the valley on three sides like a long, narrow horseshoe. The only easy way in and out is via the trail entering the mouth of the basin. The next day, we hiked an off-trail route over Knapsack Col at about 12,200 feet, at the upper end of Titcomb, descending another trailless alpine valley speckled with wildflowers. 

Every time I return to the Winds, it feels like a reminder that I need to get there more often. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a mediocre campsite in the Winds, including the six nights I spent in August 2020 on the 96-mile Wind River High Route.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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

Alice Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Alice Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. Click photo for my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

In the last week of June—not yet summer in the mountains—my son, Nate, and I backpacked with two friends to one of the gems of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness: Alice Lake. While the ground was mostly dry and snow-free in the valleys, we had a frigid ford of a creek running knee-deep and fast with snowmelt, and then encountered up to three feet of snow still on the ground for the last hour or so to Alice Lake, which sits at 8,598 feet below an eye-catching row of granite pinnacles. We found Alice still partly frozen over. But the calm of late afternoon and then the next morning served up a glassy reflection of the snowy peaks beyond that illustrates why this area is a favorite among Sawtooths aficionados.

I’d been to Alice Lake a few times before, as had Nate, on his first wilderness backpacking trip—and one of the first of our annual “Boy Trips”—when he was six years old. In fact, on this recent visit, I recognized and pointed out to Nate the campsite where, seven years earlier, I hurriedly threw up our tent just before a violent thunderstorm rolled in. This time, we just spent one night out there, early enough in the season that we had a chilly night and no mosquitoes. Alice Lake has become popular and is usually overcrowded on summer weekends; plan to be there on a weeknight or pick another spot.

See my stories “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes”  “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at this blog, plus my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Lastly, don’t miss two more photos from Sawtooths campsites that I’ve had to bump to my list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites (see below)—which tells you something about the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth Mountains.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

A backpacker at a campsite in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Jeff Wilhelm at our second camp in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Below the Chocolate Drops, Maze District, Canyonlands National Park

After an arduous descent with some exposed scrambling off Maze Overlook, on a five-day, roughly 46-mile, early March backpacking trip in the Maze District of southern Utah’s Canyonlands, three friends and I followed occasional cairns down the South Fork of Horse Canyon. After some searching, we located our quarry—a small but clear pool perhaps four inches deep, one of the few springs we would find flowing in The Maze.

Our packs newly laden with many pounds of water, we hiked about a half-mile beyond the spring into the mouth of a canyon traversed by the Maze’s Chimney Route. Turning onto a sandy footpath, we walked up a short, dead-end side canyon and found soft, flat ground for our tents, surrounded on three sides by tall cliffs of desert varnish. Rising above the canyon rim behind our camp, one of the Chocolate Drops—distinctive stone towers, visible for miles in every direction, colored a darker shade of brown than most of the surrounding landscape—seemed to peer down at us curiously.

We spent two nights in that wonderful, secluded campsite, dayhiking a nearly nine-mile loop from it that linked up two thrilling and improbably circuitous routes through the Maze, and marveling at how the simultaneously warm and cool light of March days constantly transformed our campsite’s canyon walls.

See my story about that trip, “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze” and all stories about Canyonlands National Park at this blog.

Hike all of the “10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

A backpacker at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.
Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake on the John Muir Trail in Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Evolution Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The first time I walked up to the shore of Evolution Lake, on my thru-hike of the John Muir Trail, I couldn’t see the lake. Arriving there after dark, we laid out our sleeping pads and bags on granite slabs under the stars and quickly nodded off. Catching our first glimpse of our environs at first light the next morning actually made it more magical, because we got to watch daylight slowly reveal this magnificent alpine valley to us.

A backpacker passing Wanda Lake on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park.
Todd Arndt passing Wanda Lake, along the John Muir Trail in the Evolution Basin, Kings Canyon National Park.

The second time I walked up to Evolution Lake, on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the High Sierra in August 2022, my two companions and I arrived on a beautiful morning—and that’s a place that will make you turn in a circle and gape. At 10,852 feet, surrounded by soaring cliffs that rise to tall peaks on all sides, including the 13,000-footers Mounts Mendel and Darwin and the 12,329-foot Hermit, it’s the lowest lake in the Evolution Basin and has the most protected camping. While we were moving on—commencing one of the JMT’s sections that earn it the nickname “America’s most beautiful trail” (a day that concluded at Helen Lake, described in the writeup above)—part of me wished we were spending the night there. I’ve also felt that way both times I’ve backpacked past Wanda Lake in the upper end of Evolution Basin.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking the JMT at The Big Outside.

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

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

The chilly September air pinched our faces as we took the first steps from our campsite on Elizabeth Lake, on our second morning backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier. The still, glassy water captured a razor-sharp, upside-down reflection of the jagged mountains flanking it. Then we heard the sound: a high-pitched, nasal whine that built into something like a shriek, the note suspended for several seconds before it was abruptly cut off. It was an elk somewhere in the forest nearby, bugling an invitation to prospective mates.

The campsite at the head of Elizabeth Lake, tucked into the forest just a minute’s walk from the lakeshore beach, not only graced us with that elk bugle, but we also saw our first two bears of the trip while hiking along the lake that morning. While we would hear elk bugling almost every morning and evening on that trip, and more bears as well as mountain goats, bighorn sheep, and moose, Elizabeth Lake awed us with its morning reflection of mountains and set the tone for a consummate Glacier experience that turned into one of my all-time best backpacking trips.

See my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” about that 94-mile backpacking trip. Click here to get my downloadable e-guide that will tell you everything you need to know to plan and take that trip (including some shorter variations of it), and click here for my e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Glacier.

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Backpackers camped in the backcountry of Wyoming's Wind River Range.
My wife, Penny, at our camp off the Highline Trail in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

Along the Highline Trail, Wind River Range

Backpacking one of the premier long footpaths in the Winds, the Highline Trail, on a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I reached an unnamed, small tarn beside the trail late one afternoon and the view stopped us in our tracks. We walked around the tarn and a few hundred feet beyond it to a flat area on a low rise.

We pitched our tents overlooking grassy meadows littered with glacial-erratic boulders that sloped languidly down to the lower of the Twin Lakes. Beyond that lake, the far side of the valley shot upward to a pair of behemoths reaching for the clouds: 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. Culminating a day when the miles we hiked—10—again exceeded the number of other people we saw, it felt like we’d found an appropriate home for the night.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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

A campsite at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
Our campsite at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Overland Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

My family reached Overland Lake in late afternoon on day two of a four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains. Immediately—and literally—the three teenagers (including a friend of our daughter’s) staked out their tents turf on the flat top of rocky ledges just a few steps (but several feet) above the wind-whipped waters of the lake.

Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.
Morning light on Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail.

Although the wind blew all that night—and my wife and I pitched our tent in a more protected spot amid trees about 25 feet behind their tents—we all enjoyed eating and hanging out on that ledge while the evening sun poured alpenglow onto the west-facing peaks and cliffs above Overland Lake.

For several years, I’d been hankering to hike the Ruby Crest and explore a wilderness area that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to marquis parks and mountain ranges around the West. We saw wildflowers blooming and incredible terrain, as well as relatively few mosquitoes… or other backpackers. Overland is a logical stop for Ruby Crest Trail backpackers, sitting at the southern end of a 12-mile day that stays high above treeline, with sweeping views.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

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

A backpacker at a campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at our campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the upper right background, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Painter Basin, High Uintas Wilderness

On the third afternoon of a six-day, roughly 58-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, we reached our second 11,000-foot pass of the day—Trail Rider Pass at 11,700 feet—and paused to catch the breath stolen away by both the climb and the view of an imposing row of 13,000-foot peaks, including 13,528-foot summit of Kings Peak, Utah’s highest.

A campsite in Painter Basin below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right), High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Our campsite in Painter Basin below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right), High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Then we descended through switchbacks into an alpine garden of rocks and creeks called Painter Basin, where we pitched our tents at around 11,000 feet in the long shadow of Kings Peak. The sun dipped behind Kings, igniting the tall, billowing clouds that filled the sky in a wide arc overhead—a beautiful evening that foreshadowed a night sky riddled with stars. The next day, we dayhiked some 10 miles and 2,500 vertical feet to the crown of Utah, a fun and scenic day.

I returned to Painter Basin in early October 2024 (going on short notice with an unusually good weather window) with my son on the first night of a four-day, roughly 60-mile traverse mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—and Painter graced us with lovely dawn light on those big peaks. Much of both trips occurred between 10,000 and 12,000 feet and delivered a considerable degree of solitude and beauty.

See my stories “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness” and all stories that feature the High Uintas Wilderness at The Big Outside.

Get a full wilderness experience.
See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.
Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park.

Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park

For one of the trips for my book about taking our kids on wilderness adventures in national parks facing threats from climate change, we took a five-day sea kayaking trip in southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay, where cliffs shoot straight up out of the sea and razor peaks smothered in ice and snow rise thousands of feet overhead. We watched bald eagles and other birds flying overhead, harbor seals popping up out of the water near our boats, Stellar sea lions honking and carrying on while sprawled on the rocks of South Marble Island, and brown bears roaming rocky beaches looking for food.

We spent two nights at this campsite near the mouth of Johns Hopkins Inlet. From there, we kayaked up the inlet to within about a quarter-mile of the mile-wide snout of the Johns Hopkins Glacier; a thousand or more seals occupied floating icebergs or swam around the inlet. Throughout the evenings and mornings in camp, we listened to that massive glacier calve another bus-size chunk of itself into the sea every 20 or 30 minutes, with an explosive sound the native Tlingits called “white thunder.”

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”


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A campsite at night by the Colorado River at Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite at night by the Colorado River at Hance Rapids in the Grand Canyon.

Beside Hance Rapids, Colorado River, Grand Canyon National Park

The first day of a three-day backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon with my 10-year-old daughter, Alex, and two other families was a tough one: descending nearly 5,000 vertical feet in 6.5 miles on the rugged New Hance Trail. By the time we reached our campsites beside the Colorado River, everyone was whipped. But sometimes it takes a hard day of hiking to reach a magical spot, and this lonely corner on the floor of the Big Ditch is a pretty good place to rest tired legs.

Backpackers at a campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Dawn light above our campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

Our front porch offered a view of redrock cliffs just across the river. The gravelly drone of Hance Rapids drowned out all other noise. Night fell like a black curtain to reveal a sky riddled with far more bullet holes than all the road signs in Arizona combined (and these holes glowed). Morning brought a sharp chill to the air—it was November—and the slow, patient unfolding of dawn light descending (kind of like very tired backpackers) from the South Rim a vertical mile above us to the mid-canyon geologic layers and, finally, bathing our campsite in warmth. We left there completely rejuvenated.

See my story “A Matter of Perspective: A Father-Daughter Hike in the Grand Canyon” for more images, a video, and tips on planning this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside . See also my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” about a trip where the beach at Hance Rapids is a potential campsite, and get my expert e-book also titled “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” to find out all you need to know to plan and pull off that amazing multi-day hike.

So many spots where I’ve camped in the Grand Canyon would make most people’s list of best camps ever. But I’d be remiss to not mention that every one of our camps for five nights on the GC’s Gems Route—the most remote section of the Tonto Trail and one of the canyon’s most remote trips—featured breathtaking views and a shocking amount of solitude. See my story “Let’s Talk Water: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems.”

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

A backpacker enjoying the dawn light at a campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser enjoying the dawn light at our campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

After several multi-day hikes all over the Winds, I’ve gotten to know those mountains well and slept in so many beautiful spots that it’s hard to select just a few among them for this story. But after hiking to Pyramid Lake once before, I fulfilled my vow then to return, pitching my tent there on the first night of a four-day loop from Big Sandy in August 2023.

A backpackers' campsite near Arrowhead Lake in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range.
Our campsite near Arrowhead Lake in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range.

A friend and I camped in a meadow an appropriate distance from the lakeshore, where we enjoyed a sunset that set clouds aglow and a dawn that made the peaks surrounding the lake appear to glow. That proved to be a portentous start to our 41-mile hike, which crossed four high passes, featured camps near gorgeous lakes each night—Washakie and Arrowhead followed Pyramid—and delivered the kind of solitude one can find in the Winds when you’re prepared to work for it.

I’m willing to go out on a limb and call it the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

 

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

Thousand Island Lake, John Muir Trail, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Few backcountry campsites launch a backpacking trip as beautifully as the first evening my two adventure partners and I spent on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, mostly on the John Muir Trail. From our camp above the shore of Thousand Island Lake (shown in lead photo at top of story), we watched a sunset that blazed furiously, igniting tiers of billowing clouds drifting past in what seemed like an endless light show with multiple, unexpected encores.

As has happened, I think, every time I’ve backpacked through the High Sierra, that adventure granted us the gift of more than a few really nice camps, including Helen Lake (above) and Minaret Lake. John Muir dubbed the High Sierra the “Range of Light” and the moniker has stuck because of the way those mountains seem to cling tightly to and refuse to release the abundant sunlight they receive. Stir a fast-moving cloudscape into a sunset like we had at Thousand Island Lake and you get a scene to remember forever.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

A campsite on the Dome Glacier in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.
Our campsite on the Dome Glacier in the Glacier Peak Wilderness.

Dome Glacier, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

The first four nights of camping on the Ptarmigan Traverse in Washington’s North Cascades are in the alpine zone with 360-degree views of some of the most severely vertiginous and heavily glaciated and snow-covered peaks in the Lower 48. With clear skies, any of those camps might among the most memorable you’ve ever had. But besides White Rock Lakes (scroll down to the list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites, below), my other favorite campsite on the Ptarmigan was on the Dome Glacier, base camp for our climb of Dome Peak. Throughout a clear evening, with a sea of clouds filling the valleys below us, we looked south to the white pyramid of the volcano Glacier Peak, glowing above the clouds in the dusk light.

Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

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

High camp at 12,000 feet below California's Mount Whitney.
High camp at 12,000 feet below California’s Mount Whitney.

Below the East Face of Mount Whitney

In frigid blasts of wind raking the snow-covered mountainside in April, our party crested a steep slope to find ourselves facing one of the most-photographed and unforgettable mountain vistas in America: the East Face of California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, highest peak in the Lower 48. On a flat pan of snow at 12,000 feet below that jagged skyline, we pitched our high camp, from which we made a successful ascent of Whitney’s Mountaineers Route the next day.

Spending two clear, starry nights in that camp, we saw the East Face in the varying light of all times of day, from dawn to sunset, dusk to dark. When I mentioned to one of our climbing partners that Whitney’s East Face was the only place I’ve seen that conjures mental images of the peaks of Torres del Paine National Park in Chilean Patagonia, this man—who’s also been to Patagonia—told me that he’d been thinking the same thing.

See my story about that trip, “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of California’s Mount Whitney.”

A backpacker at Toleak Point on the coast of Olympic National Park.
A backpacker at Toleak Point on the coast of Olympic National Park.

Toleak Point, Olympic National Park

On my family’s second day of backpacking the southern Olympic coast, we had already marveled at a massive boulder in the intertidal zone on the beach that was wallpapered with hundreds of mussels, sea anemones, and vividly orange or purple starfish. We had also climbed down an 80-foot cliff on a rope ladder that was missing several rungs at its bottom.

Late that afternoon, we found a spot for our tents on the beach at Toleak Point, where dozens of the rock pinnacles called sea stacks rise out of the ocean just offshore. As the kids played in a tide pool, a sea otter emerged from the pool’s other end and flopped across the beach to plunge into the ocean. A seal cavorted in the waves near us. When I went to explore the sea stacks exposed at low tide, a great blue heron lifted off of one and soared away over the beach like a winged dinosaur. Another of the trips my family took for my book, this three-day hike on Washington’s Olympic coast is still remembered by our kids, as well as my wife and me, as one of our all-time favorite trips.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” with more photos, a video, and my tips on how to pull off this trip.

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Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park.
Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park.

Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park

Our weeklong backpacking trip had featured too many wildlife sightings to count—including bighorn sheep and numerous mountain goats, not to mention that we had an impending date with a sow grizzly bear and her two cubs. The scenery blew us away every day. I would have forgiven Lake Ellen Wilson, our final night’s campsite, for being anticlimactic.

But upon arriving there, we soaked tired feet in the lake’s cold, emerald-colored waters, a 20-second walk from our campsite, gazing around at a basin ringed by thousand-foot cliffs with several waterfalls pouring off of them. Then we laid down on the sun-warmed pebbles on the beach, which felt like a heated bed with built-in massage. For my friend Jerry Hapgood and me, dropping off into an afternoon nap on them was the default setting. It turned out to be our best campsite of the trip.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” about backpacking my modified and expanded version of Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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

Big Spring camp in Paria Canyon.
Big Spring camp in Paria Canyon.

Big Spring, Paria Canyon, Vermilion Cliffs National Monument

I’d known that Paria Canyon could hold some surprises. But our two-family party found a little more adventure than we’d anticipated—which became evident when the other dad in our group, Vince, plunged hip-deep into quicksand on our first afternoon. But he managed, with considerable effort, to extricate himself; and by the next day, the kids had figured out how to identify shallow quicksand that they could stomp around in, howling with laughter. (Before the trip was over, Vince’s wife, Cat, and I would also take a quicksand dip.) We hiked for five days, mostly in the cold but usually ankle-deep Paria River, through a canyon that ranged from narrow with sheer walls to a big, open chasm between distant cliffs. While every campsite was really nice, the one at Big Spring (above), on our second night, took first prize.

Paria, which straddles the Utah-Arizona border and enters the Colorado River at Lees Ferry (where we finished our hike), at the beginning of the Grand Canyon, is unquestionably one of the great, multi-day canyon hikes of the Southwest—partly explaining why it’s so difficult to snag a permit to backpack it. But the permit system also preserves an unusual degree of solitude and a unique wilderness experience: We saw very few other people over five days, and spent much of that time on our own. (The BLM allows 20 people to start backpacking the Paria daily; we grabbed nine spots.)

See my story “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” with my tips on how to plan this trip.

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Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites

As I visit new places, I occasionally add new campsites to the list above, and have to remove some great spots from the list (to keep it to 25, a somewhat random but sensible number). But bumping a site from my list doesn’t diminish its attraction, of course. So I will keep those former favorites in the list below, to give you even more ideas and goals for future adventures.

A campsite at Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.
Our campsite at Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.

Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness

On the second day of a five-day, 44-mile family hike through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness, we ascended a long finger of snow and crossed the pass that represents the crux of this trip in terms of technical difficulty, Spider Gap, at 7,100 feet. From there, we descended snow into the head of a valley sculpted and scoured by ice just a geologic moment ago, the Upper Lyman Lakes basin.

The Lyman Glacier poured down the cliffs of 8,459-foot Chiwawa Mountain into the vividly emerald waters of the uppermost lake. Barren, snow-speckled peaks and cliffs ringed the valley on three sides. A creek leapt from the lake’s far shore, crashing over stones and a small waterfall, below which some of us took a frigid and very brief bath. Wildflowers sprung hopefully from the few, shallow patches of soil. We pitched our tents on a grassy knoll near a copse of conifer trees, with an unobstructed view of that entire basin. And we spent most of the evening watching the shifting light across the mountains until sunset lit the clouds afire, watching a pair of bucks and a few doe wander through our campsites, and, well, swatting mosquitoes. (It was late July in the North Cascades, after all.)

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop.”

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

Benson Lake in Yosemite National Park.

Benson Lake, Yosemite National Park

At dusk on the second day of a four-day, 86-mile backpacking tour of northern Yosemite—the park’s biggest swath of wilderness—my friend Todd Arndt and I strolled up to perhaps the most unlikely sight deep in the mountains: a sprawling, sandy beach that looks like it got lost on its way to Southern California. After hiking almost 23 miles that day, the trip’s longest, wiggling our toes in the cool sand and standing in the icy lake water in our bare feet reduced us to cooing babies.

A longtime backcountry ranger in Yosemite had told me that I’d find the park’s best backcountry beach at Benson Lake—but I never would have imagined such a vast expanse of fine sand deep in the mountains. It was one of many surprisingly gorgeous backcountry secrets I discovered over seven days of backpacking 151 miles through Yosemite’s most remote corners.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the three-day, 65-mile first leg of that weeklong odyssey, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows.”

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

A campsite at Tanner Beach in the Grand Canyon.
Our campsite at Tanner Beach in the Grand Canyon.

Tanner Beach, Grand Canyon National Park

A longtime backcountry ranger who has hiked every named trail in the Grand Canyon wrote an email to me recommending that I try a route off the South Rim—only a section of which I’d hiked before—that he described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” Given the source of that endorsement, how could I not do it? So two friends and I backpacked a six-day, 74-mile, point-to-point traverse that took us down to campsites on the Colorado River and, of course, back up to the rim.

That hike showed us many diverse personalities of the canyon, from one of its most scenic and popular trails, the South Kaibab, to one of its most remote and primitive paths, the Escalante Route. We experienced some of the highest levels of solitude I’ve ever had on Grand Canyon trails—hiking for hours without encountering another person, and having little company at three of our four campsites. But we also spent a fun evening at a campsite with a very friendly rafting party that graciously fed us well.

And our last campsite, shaded by a rock ledge at Tanner Beach, turned out to be the best camp on the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon. I think you’ll see why when you read my story about that beautiful hike—titled, appropriately, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Click here now for my e-book of the same title, which will tell you everything you need to know to plan and execute that trip.

See all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside and my e-book to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

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A backpacker hiking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking above Columbine Lake in Sequoia National Park.

Columbine Lake, Sequoia National Park

Whichever direction you approach this lake from, you will pay for the privilege of a night here with significant toil. Filling a stone basin at nearly 11,000 feet, below the distinctive spire of Sawtooth Peak and an arc of snaggle-toothed mountains, Columbine is reached either via a 600-foot hump up through dozens of switchbacks from Lost Canyon; or a much harder 1,200-foot scramble, sans maintained trail, up a steep mountainside of sliding scree from Monarch Lakes to 11,630-foot Sawtooth Gap, where a primitive but better path leads down to Columbine. (We took the former and descended from Sawtooth Gap to Monarch Lakes—and were glad we did not carry backpacks up that route.)

Once there, though, your effort is (mostly) forgotten. We explored the granite ledges on the northshore of the lake, where crevices and small bowls in the granite hold tinypockets of water and you sometimes have to scramble on all fours over short, vertical walls. Alpenglow painted the peaks a salmon hue in the evening–of course—and sunrise cast an unbelievable pallet of orange, yellow, and reds onto a curlicue sculpture of clouds hovering just above one jagged ridge nearby. While not easy on the legs, Columbine Lake is very easy on the eyes.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” about this six-day backpacking trip, which included Precipice and Columbine lakes, with many more photos, a video, and information for planning this trip yourself. As of 2021, Sequoia National Park prohibits camping within 100 feet of Columbine’s lakeshore, to help protect the lake from use impacts.

Middle Fork Rapid Transit rafts on Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River.
Our rafts parked at Whitie Cox camp on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River.

Whitie Cox Camp, Middle Fork Salmon River, ID

Boy, it’s hard to pick one campsite that outdoes all others on the Middle Fork of the Salmon—they’re all pretty darn nice, often on large beaches in a canyon flanked by cliffs and mountainsides of pine forest, rocky crags, and golden grasses rising to summits 3,000 feet overhead. But for me, one stands out, and my family has, just by coincidence, camped there on both of our six-day rafting and kayaking trips down the Middle Fork.

In July 2019, on our second Middle Fork trip, joined by 20 good friends that included families with teens and young adults, we once again spent our second of five nights on the river at Whitie Cox camp. Just above a sweeping bend in the river, the camp has views up and down the canyon and a sprawling beach where the group sat in a large circle of folding chairs and talked and laughed for hours. After dark, some of us laid out our pads and bags on the sand and slept under the stars to the sound of the river softly murmuring past. In early morning, several of us hiked nearly a thousand feet up a ridge to an amazing vista up and down the canyon.

The Middle Fork, deep in central Idaho’s sprawling, 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, is rightly known as one of the great multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—if not the greatest—for its mix of breathtaking scenery, frequent rapids up to class III and IV, numerous hiking opportunities, hot springs, world-class trout fishing… and beautiful campsites.

See my story about that most-recent trip on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River, and my story about my family’s first trip down the Middle Fork when our kids were four years younger.

See also my story about my involvement helping to create a new long-distance trail through the vast wilderness areas of central Idaho, which includes the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail.”

Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier.
Camp Schurman on Mount Rainier.

Camp Schurman, Mount Rainier National Park

Camp Schurman sits at 9,460 feet, on the very tip of Steamboat Prow, a cleaver of busted volcanic rock and dust. Two massive glaciers, the Emmons and Winthrop, part around this stone prow in a way that illustrates how frozen water behaves much the same as its liquid form. More than four square miles of moving ice, thousands of years old, and stretching over nearly 9,000 feet of elevation, the Emmons is the largest glacier in the Lower 48; the Winthrop isn’t much smaller. When two friends and I set off to climb the Emmons in early August a few years ago, with much of the snow melted off the glaciers, they displayed heavy scarring: huge, frighteningly beautiful crevasses as plentiful as waves on a storm-tossed ocean.

A two-foot-high, oval, stone wall shielded our tentsite from the irrepressible, bone-chilling wind. Standing outside our tent, I was struck by the mind-boggling scale of Mt. Rainier. Looking up at the mountain, I couldn’t fit it all within my peripheral vision. And yet, I knew I was looking at a tiny fraction of Rainier—which made me feel both very small and very fortunate for just being there.

Getting There From White River Campground at 4,400 feet, five miles past the White River ranger station (get a climbing permit there), hike the Glacier Basin Trail 3.2 miles to Glacier Basin Camp, at 6,000 feet. Follow a climbers’ trail up into the basin, reaching the Inter Glacier (good training ground for new climbers) at around 6,800 feet. Climb to Curtis Camp on the ridge north of Mt. Ruth, then descend off the ridge onto the Emmons Glacier and continue to Camp Schurman at 9,460 feet.

Map/Guidebook Trails Illustrated Mt. Rainier no. 217, $11.95, (800) 962-1643, natgeomaps.com. Mt. Rainier—A Climbing Guide, by Mike Gauthier, $18.95, mountaineersbooks.org.

Contact Mt. Rainier National Park, nps.gov/mora.

Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness.
Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness.

Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness

On the second night of a three-day, 32-mile, partly cross-country traverse of the John Muir Wilderness from North Lake Trailhead to Mosquito Flat Trailhead in the High Sierra, we pitched our tents in Granite Park, an aptly named high valley speckled with scores of alpine lakes and tarns and encircled by an arc of 12,000- and 13,000-foot spires of barren, golden stone. In the evening, the sinking sun painted the peaks, lakes, and granitic landscape in a shifting, vivid light that was absolutely captivating. We couldn’t tear our eyes from the light show that went on for a few hours. When the last alpenglow faded away, night brought a sky riddled with stars.

In the morning, we set out early and I got the above shot of my friend Jason Kauffman passing a lake minutes from our campsite.

See my story and more photos about backpacking a 32-mile, partly off-trail traverse in the John Muir Wilderness for information on how to pull off this trip.

On a hike above "Kid Rock" campsite, Stillwater Canyon, Green River, Canyonlands.
On a hike above “Kid Rock” campsite, Stillwater Canyon, Green River, Canyonlands.

“Kid Rock” campsite, Green River, Canyonlands National Park

We made up the name for this campsite; it doesn’t have a name that I’m aware of, though it is an established and large campsite on the Green River in Stillwater Canyon, seven miles above the confluence with the Colorado River. We gave it that name because, minutes after we landed, the eight kids in our five-family crew—ranging in age from four to 12—immediately planted their figurative flag on this boulder at the edge of the campsite and christened it “Kid Rock.” We all now remember that site by the name the kids gave that boulder.

Really, there are many special campsites along this lazy stretch of the Green, which passes through a canyon of soaring redrock cliffs and spires. But besides being spacious and scenic, this one sits at the bottom of a trail that climbs about three miles uphill to White Crack, one of the most spectacular campgrounds on the White Rim.

See my story about floating for five days down the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Rock Slide Lake in Idaho's southern Sawtooth Mountains.
Rock Slide Lake in the remote interior of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains

Having lived in Idaho since 1998, I have explored much of the state’s best-known mountain range, the Sawtooths. But it took me 13 years to finally backpack into the deep interior of the southern Sawtooths, an area speckled with mountain lakes that lies a solid two days’ hike from the nearest roads in any direction.

So when my friend Jeff Wilhelm and I carved out four glorious September days to finally explore this area, we found deep, clear lakes filled with lunker trout, ringed by jagged peaks, and trails that don’t receive many boot prints. Walking through the bright, airy forest there, filled with granite outcroppings, reminded me of the High Sierra—without all the people. We used Rock Slide Lake as a base camp for two nights to give us a day to explore with daypacks, and spent hours on its shore, marveling at the dawn and sunset light there.

See my story about a four-day, 57-mile in the southern Sawtooth Wilderness for more photos and information for planning this trip.

Compromise Camp on the Green River in Whirlpool Canyon, Dinosaur National Monument.

Green River, Dinosaur National Monument

Long shadows leaned over the steadily sliding river as we pulled into our first campsite on a four-day rafting trip on the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument, which straddles the Utah-Colorado border. From the floor of Lodore Canyon, we gazed up at burgundy cliffs soaring a thousand feet overhead. One friend said to me, “This is probably the nicest campsite I’ve ever seen.” But what was truly amazing was that the second night’s campsite was better than our first—and the third night’s site was even more breathtaking than the first two. For that reason—and because many campsites on the banks of the Green in Dinosaur are equally beautiful—I’m simply lumping all of them together for this list.

See my story about that trip, “Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore.”

Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch.
Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch.

Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, UT

My memory of my wife’s and my first backpacking trip in Coyote Gulch 16 years earlier was cloudy when we returned recently with our 12- and 10-year-old kids and another family. Sometimes revisiting a place doesn’t measure up to a fond recollection of it; not so with Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Escalante River canyons. It was more scenic even than I remembered. Soaring, red rock walls tower along its length. A steady creek pours over several short waterfalls, its year-round flow keeping the canyon bottom lushly green. And then there are features like Jacob Hamblin Arch and Coyote Natural Bridge.

My plan had been for us to spend our second night at one of the campsites below Jacob Hamblin; but the team was a little too pooped by the time we reached Coyote Natural Bridge to push on more than an hour farther. It turned out to be serendipitous, because we had the sandy beach area around the bridge to ourselves (whereas the campsites at Hamblin are popular). The kids played for hours in the creek and some adults took an evening hike while the others laid down on the warm sand with a book.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch (and hiking slot canyons in the Escalante and at Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks), with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tiger Key, Ten Thousand Islands, Everglades National Park.
Tiger Key, Everglades.

Tiger Key, Everglades National Park, FL

Songbirds chattered and flitted among the trees along the shore. Cormorants and brown pelicans skimmed the water’s surface. Egrets glided overhead. In one secluded cove in Tiger Key, an outermost island of the Ten Thousand Islands in Florida’s Everglades, we sat in our canoes and watched 10 brilliantly pink roseate spoonbills perched in a tree, watching us. In a small bay, we sat rapt while a dolphin swam wide circles around our canoe for about 20 minutes. Every evening, we stood in the warm beach sand watching the blazing red orb of the sun slowly sink into the Gulf of Mexico.

Another of the trips I took my family on for my book, paddling the Everglades was one of the most magical for all of us—for the scenery, the exotic birds, and the unique experience of having a wilderness beach all to ourselves.

See my story about kayaking the East River and canoeing and wilderness camping in the Ten Thousand Islands of Everglades National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness.
White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness.

White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

It was the third day of our six-day trip on arguably America’s premier mountain haute route. A multi-day walk along a high mountain crest, the Ptarmigan Traverse crosses six glaciers and stays high above treeline until the fifth day. We camped by lonely alpine lakes—one of which was still completely frozen and snow-covered in mid-August—below jagged summits in possibly the most vertiginous mountains in the country.

My climbing partners Stefan Kinnestrand and Wes Cooper and I ascended two of those glaciers, the LeConte and the South Cascade, in whiteout conditions on that third day, navigating by GPS while watching very carefully for crevasses. Then we scrambled from another pass down a precarious slope of loose rock so steep that a slip might have concluded with a tumble of several hundred feet right to the bottom. Most of the ground surrounding the White Rock Lakes remained snow-covered that August day, and the lakes were still almost completely frozen. When the fog finally lifted, we got a view across the deep valley of the West Fork of Agnes Creek to the Dana Glacier and Chikamin Glacier pouring off a ridge connecting several rocky peaks and spires. I’ll eventually post a story and more photos from the Ptarmigan Traverse.

Getting There Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.
Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park.

Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park

Southern Utah’s Capitol Reef has scenery to match its siblings in the National Park System—but when it comes to crowds, this place ain’t no Zion or Yosemite. In the visitor center at the outset of a three-day, family backpacking trip, a ranger told me that we were the only party getting a permit to backpack into Spring Canyon that day.

We hiked below towering, burgundy cliffs with patches of white and orange and black water-stain streaks, passing enormous boulders piled up below the cliffs. More than four hours after setting out from the Chimney Rock Trailhead, we pitched the tent on a grassy bench in Spring Canyon, beneath cliffs topped by domes and spires soaring hundreds of feet overhead. Staying there for two nights, with a day of exploring in between, we saw no other people. If that kind of solitude is rare in the backcountry of many national parks, it’s especially unusual in a spot reached with relatively little effort.

See my story about dayhiking, slot canyoneering, and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Patagonia.
Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Patagonia.

Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia

The 35-mile Dientes Circuit through the Dientes de Navarino (“Teeth of Navarino”) on Isla Navarino (Navarino Island), at the southern tip of South America, is chock full of ends-of-the-Earth moments and beautiful campsites. With my friend Jeff Wilhelm and 22-year-old Puerto Williams-based trekking guide Maurice van de Maele, I hiked for four days through a wild, wind-battered landscape of incisor-like rock towers and alpine lakes that gets visited by just a handful of people every year.

About halfway through the trip, the Antarctic wind blew us through Paso Ventarron (Ventarron Pass) as the late-day light pierced clouds above the Lagunas Chevallay. We descended the rocky trail to camp beside the large, unnamed lake shown at the head of the valley in the photo above.

See my story about trekking the Dientes Circuit, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

East Fork Owyhee River.
East Fork Owyhee River.

East Fork Owyhee River

Guiding our kayaks between tight canyon walls on Deep Creek, we didn’t see the confluence until we practically fell into it, the swift waters spitting us out into a deeper, wider channel: southwest Idaho’s East Fork Owyhee River. The four of us immediately landed and dragged our boats up onto a spacious beach on river right, tired and wet. I felt chilled in my wetsuit from a day that had seen us spend eight hours or more paddling through rain, snow, hail, and wind.

Perhaps a football field’s distance downriver, the East Fork made a sharp left turn and plunged into unseen quarters between sheer rhyolite walls. As evening descended, those cliffs became a study in contrasting light—some in dark shadow, some edged with sunlight, and the white rock of the farthest one glowing as if lit by some internal power source. Though just one of many scenes of staggering natural beauty from an eight-day, 82-mile adventure on the upper Owyhee River system, from Deep Creek to Three Forks, that one has stuck with me.

See my story about kayaking the upper Owyhee River, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Little Frazier Lake in Oregon's Eagle Cap Wilderness.
Little Frazier Lake in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness.

Little Frazier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Sometimes the destinations closest to home are the ones you neglect for too long. That was the case for my family with northeastern Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, just a half-day’s drive for us, but a place we had not yet backpacked in (with the exception of one disastrous attempt, when our son was a toddler, that was aborted due to a nasty stomach virus. But I have skied the backcountry of Norway Basin in the Eagle Cap with friends.) So last summer, we finally took a five-day, 41-mile loop in the southeastern corner of this 350,000-acre wilderness.

We hiked up broad, U-shaped valleys and camped by boisterous streams and lakes that offered mirror reflections of dawn light and alpenglow on rocky, 9,000-foot peaks. I made the side hike up 9,572-foot Eagle Cap for its 360-degree panorama overlooking much of the range; the kids played in streams and had the treat of one of the most spectacular thunderstorms of their lives on our second afternoon. Our third campsite, at Little Frazier Lake, sat near the lake’s outlet creek, where my son worked for hours rearranging rocks; my daughter and I scrambled high up some nearby ledges. And in the morning, the lake offered up a perfect reflection of the stone basin cradling it. I will eventually post a story, with more photos, about this trip.

See my story about this five-day, family backpacking trip in the Eagle Cap, including more photos and a video, for information on planning this trip.

A backpackers' campsite in an unnamed canyon on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.
Our campsite in an unnamed canyon on the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef National Park.

Unnamed Canyon, Beehive Traverse, Capitol Reef National Park

An hour into a three-day, cross-country traverse of the Waterpocket Fold formation in Capitol Reef, my friend David Gordon and I had already taken our first wrong turn, seen a bighorn sheep, and I’d dislodged a boulder that nearly crushed David. (We were off-route.) The incidents were omens for the days to follow, navigating our way through a maze of canyons, cliffs, domes, and towers, where it was not unusual to spend 20 minutes or more hemmed in by seemingly impassable cliffs before finding the narrow ledge or the break in the wall of rock that indicated the direction of our route.

My friend, local guide Steve Howe, spent many seasons working out this cross-country hike, which begins at Grand Wash and zigzags south a very circuitous 17 miles to Capitol Gorge. He calls it the Beehive Traverse, for the type of sandstone towers encountered along the way. He shared a map and GPS data with David and me to let us attempt it ourselves; very few people have hiked the route before us, and most of them were guided by Steve. On our second night, we camped in this unnamed canyon below flying buttresses of golden sandstone.

See my story, with lots of photos and a video, about backpacking the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef.

Great Sand Dunes National Park.
Great Sand Dunes National Park.

On the Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park

Not long into our first day backpacking across the massive sand dunes of this park—which tower several hundred feet tall—I was already convinced that carrying a pack loaded with food and gear for three days as well as two gallons of water up giant dunes was not a brilliant plan. Our group of editors from Backpacker Magazine marched a few miles over the rolling, sometimes steep dunes until we found a relatively flat spot to pitch our tents. Then the magic show began.

It was November, and the light of late afternoon and early evening transformed the shifting, mountainous dunes into three-dimensional works of abstract art. I wandered a wide perimeter around our camp in the evening and early morning, shooting photos of frost on multi-colored dunes that often came to a peak as sharp as on the roof of a house. At times, sand avalanching downhill under our boots made an eerie sound, a phenomenon known as “singing.” I decided the dunes more than made up for the effort expended getting there.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking at Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes for information on how to pull off this trip.

A young boy fishing at Lake 8522, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.
My son, Nate, fishing at Lake 8522, Sawtooth Mountains, Idaho.

Lake 8522, Sawtooth Wilderness, ID

We backpacked the Alpine Creek Trail in Idaho’s Sawtooths less than three miles up a sunbaked valley flanked by cliffs to where it ends abruptly in ponderosa pine forest. A steep headwall loomed above us, 500 vertical feet or taller, capped by rocky ledges—a daunting obstacle that would logically turn away most hikers. But I had been told that the basin of unnamed lakes just beyond the pass at the top of this earthen wall was worth the effort of reaching it. So my son, Nate, almost 11 at the time, and I, joined by his buddy, another Nate, and that kid’s dad, Doug Shinneman, clawed and high-stepped our way up a faint, very steep user trail, grabbing branches and slipping in mud, and scrambling up exposed ledges.

At the top, we saw that I’d gotten good advice. A cool forest embraces one side of the blue-green waters of Lake 8522; a granite cliff juts straight out of the water on the other side. We found a spot in the woods for our tents and spent the next couple of days fishing, exploring the higher lakes in the basin, and taking in some sunrises and sunsets that kept my camera busy.

Getting There From ID 75, about 20 miles south of Stanley and 40 miles north of Ketchum, turn west onto Alturas Lake Road and follow it about seven miles to its end at the Alpine Creek Trailhead. Hike the Alpine Creek Trail roughly 2.5 miles to where the maintained trail terminates. Follow a faint, very steep and rough user trail that climbs almost straight uphill several hundred feet, with some scrambling, to a pass that leads into a lakes basin. Lake 8522 is a short walk beyond the pass. This area has some user trails and established campsites, but is not managed like official trails; minimize your impact.

Map Earthwalk Press “Sawtooth Wilderness,” $9.95, (800) 742-2677, omnimap.com.

Contact Sawtooth National Forest Stanley Ranger District, (208) 774-3000, fs.usda.gov/sawtooth.

Hall Arm, Doubtful Sound, Fiordlands National Park, New Zealand.
Hall Arm, Doubtful Sound, Fiordlands National Park, New Zealand.

Doubtful Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand

It was a typical summer day in Doubtful Sound: alternating spells of light mist and steady rain punctuating brief periods without precipitation. The shifting gray overcast delivered about 10 minutes of sunshine the entire day. But the air was warm and the water flat, its dark surface as clear as a just-cleaned mirror. Tendrils of ghost-like clouds floated around granite cliffs that rose straight out of the sea up to 4,000 feet high; and the cliffs wore long coats of thick rainforest that seemed to defy gravity.

Our small group pitched our tents behind a rocky beach, in the forest of podocarp trees and punga tree ferns. After a mild night of periodic showers, we woke and walked to the beach to see the water still and glassy, reflecting the sea cliffs and misty clouds.

See my story about sea kayaking Doubtful Sound, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.
Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon National Park

If there’s a bad campsite in the Grand Canyon, I haven’t found it yet. But my favorite (so far) is this spot just off the Tonto Trail, on the plateau between Lonetree Canyon and Cremation Creek. We camped here on the last night of a four-day, late-March family backpacking trip from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead (another trip my family took for a chapter of my book).

While we were exposed to the wind—which can blow pretty hard—and had to carry water to that camp, those were small tithes for a 360-degree panorama reaching from the South Rim to the North Rim, with countless named temples and buttes within view, most prominently the Zoroaster Temple (visible in the background of the photo above). While the kids played with rocks in the dirt and my wife read, I walked around with my camera, finding an amazing background in every direction.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking in the Grand Canyon for information on how to pull off this trip.

Indian Basin, Wind River Range.
Indian Basin, Wind River Range.

Indian Basin, Wind River Range

Six friends, 500 pounds of gear and food for a week, one horsepacker to haul our stuff the 15 miles from the trailhead to Indian Basin—and plenty of alcohol, which figures prominently in this adventure tale. We had grand ambitions for several rock and snow climbs of peaks along the Continental Divide that week. We didn’t plan on daily, cold morning showers or the violent afternoon thunderstorms that would dump a couple inches of hail in 30 minutes and threaten to blow our tents to Iowa.

Though we never tied into a rope all week, we did tag a few walk-and-scramble-up summits, including 13,745-foot Fremont Peak in cold wind and fog, and 13,517-foot Jackson Peak. Mostly, though, we huddled in all of our clothes under a tarp in camp, plowing through our alcohol supply and laughing uproariously over things I barely recall. I got the above shot during one of the rare moments of glorious sunshine that made us optimistic about climbing—until the next storm cell drove us back into our tents.

Getting There The Elkhart Park trailhead is 14.5 miles from Pinedale. From US 191 (Pine Street), in Pinedale, turn north onto Fremont Lake/Half Moon Lake Road. In three miles, bear right on Skyline Drive. A short distance beyond a viewpoint overlooking the high peaks, bear right at a fork to parking for the Pole Creek Trail. Follow the Pole Creek, Seneca Lake, Highline (for just a quarter-mile), and Indian Basin trails about 15 miles to Indian Basin.

Map Earthwalk Press “North Wind River Range,” $9.95, omnimap.com.

Contact Bridger National Forest Pinedale Ranger District, (307) 739-5500, fs.usda.gov/btnf.

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains.
Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains.

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains

A fresh September snowfall had just blanketed the Seven Devils, which rise to over 9,000 feet and form the east rim of Hells Canyon in west-central Idaho. My friend Geoff Sears and I started our three-day hike in thick fog, at first catching only glimpses of the craggy peaks.

But the weather slowly cleared through the afternoon, as we leapfrogged surviving segments of a long-abandoned, faint trail leading to Dog Lake, where we put our tent up in a small basin that rarely sees human visitors. That evening and the next morning, under blue skies with no wind, the lake offered up a sharp reflection of the snow-plastered cliffs of black rock.

See my story about another backpacking trip in Hells Canyon.

Getting There From US 95, a mile south of Riggins, Idaho, turn west onto Squaw Creek Road (CR 517). Drive 16.5 miles to Windy Saddle Trailhead, a half-mile before Seven Devils Campground. Hike south on Boise Trail 101 for 7.4 miles. Just after crossing Dog Creek, turn west and look for traces of the faint trail leading about 1.3 miles to Dog Lake; you’ll be mostly bushwhacking through semi-open forest with some blowdowns obstructing the way.

Map The Hells Canyon National Recreation Area map, Hells Canyon NRA website (below).

Contact Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, Riggins ranger district, (208) 628-3916, fs.usda.gov/detail/wallowa-whitman/recreation/?cid=stelprdb5238987.

Above our campsite on Mount Baker.
Above our campsite on Mount Baker.

Mount Baker, WA

It was a wretched campsite, actually. We’d had no intention of staying there, but weather left us without a better choice than to endure an interminable night on that cold ground of sharp stones. The wind-tortured, 9,000-foot saddle separating the Coleman and Deming glaciers on Mount Baker in Washington’s North Cascades was simply where we ended up when Plan A—camping on the summit—crashed in the sea of ambitious dreams. My wife, Penny, and I were climbing our first Pacific Northwest volcano years ago with our friend Larry Gies, through thick fog that reduced visibility to less than 100 feet at times. By late afternoon, we gave up on reaching the summit, pinned our tents to the ground, and dove inside.

But two hours later, a mountain fairy granted us one of those rare, magical events that occur when least expected: Sunshine lit our tents. We stepped outside to see the cloud ceiling below us. We tagged the mountaintop as the setting sun strafed that sea of clouds with red and orange light. You can’t distinguish our tents in the photo above, but they’re in the saddle below us—that miserable, serendipitous spot.

Getting There From I-5 north of Bellingham, follow WA 542 for 33.8 miles. One mile past Glacier, turn right onto Glacier Creek FS Road 39, and continue eight miles to parking for Mt. Baker (Heliotrope Ridge) Trail 677. The trail ends after two miles, at 4,800 feet; continue on the climbers’ trail up the Hogsback to a tenting area at 6,000 feet on the edge of the Coleman Glacier.

Map Green Trails Mt. Baker no. 13, greentrailsmaps.com.

Contact Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest outdoor recreation information, fs.usda.gov/mbs.

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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
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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.

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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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Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-high-and-mighty-beartooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-high-and-mighty-beartooth-mountains/#respond Wed, 12 Mar 2025 15:34:59 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=66589 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

“Big bull moose,” David calls to us over his shoulder, “just ahead of us.” Mark and I scan the forest, but we don’t catch even a glimpse of the moose—or for that matter, see David through the dense trees and brush, although he’s not more than 20 feet ahead of us. Then David, too, loses sight of the moose. Just a few hours into our first day backpacking in Montana’s Beartooth Mountains and moments after we started hiking off-trail, we’ve had our first close wildlife encounter—and two-thirds of us missed it.

Still, in a way, that moose foreshadows the surprises ahead of us for the rest of this day and the next four days in these mountains.

My friends David Gordon, Mark Fenton, and I plan to hike almost 50 miles over five days through the Beartooths, within the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, a nearly 944,000-acre jumble of high, wild country encompassing the Absaroka and Beartooth Mountains, hugging the northeast corner of Yellowstone National Park along the Montana-Wyoming border.


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


Backpackers hiking off-trail above Lake Mary in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
David Gordon and Mark Fenton backpacking off-trail above Lake Mary in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

Tall and rugged even when compared to other ranges in the Rocky Mountains, the Beartooth Mountains are most uniquely characterized by high, rolling plateaus—the range possesses the largest contiguous area of land over 10,000 feet in the U.S. outside Alaska. It also has 28 peaks rising to over 12,000 feet, including Montana’s highest, 12,799-foot Granite Peak, hundreds of trout-filled alpine lakes, and deep, glacier-carved canyons with remnant patches of ancient ice still hanging on in high, northern aspects at the head of some canyons. Like other mountain ranges in the Northern Rockies, in addition to moose (like the one two of us almost saw), mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, bald eagles, marmots, pikas, lynx, gray wolves, black bears, and grizzlies all roam these mountains and canyons.

Despite its proximity to Yellowstone and covering an area nearly as large as Glacier National Park—and having about as many miles of trails as Glacier, roughly 700—the Absaroka-Beartooth exists in relative anonymity compared to its much more famous neighbors. That’s a good thing for backpackers.

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 Spread Creek Trail across the Red Lodge Creek Plateau in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
David Gordon backpacking the Spread Creek Trail across the Red Lodge Creek Plateau in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

But of particular relevance to humans carrying all they need to survive for several days out here, these mountains are known for severe relief separating the creeks tumbling down canyon bottoms from passes that top 11,000 feet. Hiking gets hard out here.

This first morning on the trail introduced us to that stark topographical truth about the Beartooths. After a seven-mile, roughly 3,000-foot grind up the Spread Creek Trail, with steadily expanding views of the valley far below us where we’d begun this hike just a couple hours earlier, and the mountains and plateau beyond it, we reached Crow Lake, at 9,069 feet, nestled in pine forest at the foot of the cliffs of 11,936-foot Sylvan Peak.

We followed a use trail around the lake’s east shore—a pretty good path until it wasn’t—to the point where it abruptly disappeared into a boggy meadow beside the lake’s inlet creek. After tanking up on water, we struck out off-trail toward the alpine cirque above Crow Lake, navigating with a GPS app as the dense forest blocked any view of the terrain ahead.

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A backpacker hiking to Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.
David Gordon backpacking to Lake Sylvan in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip or any trip you read about at my blog.

Now, not long after the brief moose encounter, we confront a slope of talus rearing up before us and begin stepping, scrambling, and hopping from one large boulder to the next, occasionally pushing through spiky picket fences of small trees stubbornly sprouting from narrow gaps between the boulders. Sweating through this granite cornfield maze, then hiking up steep, grassy slopes, we eventually land in the gentler terrain at the upper end of the glacial cirque above Crow Lake.

As the sun dips lower and our damp base layers begin to dry out, we reach a patch of grassy meadow a short walk from two tiny, shallow, but clear tarns—and just in time because dark clouds have been quickly massing overhead. Several deep and foreboding rumbles of thunder prompt us to swiftly pitch tents to spend the night here—saving the crossing of an unnamed, 10,000-foot pass ahead of us for morning.

The storm amounts to no more than a couple of passing, light showers. Then we watch the sky rapidly changing colors as the clouds break up, the show lasting well beyond sunset. After night falls and we retreat to our tents, strong winds begin stampeding through our camp, making sleep difficult for a few hours.

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Lake Mary to Sundance Pass

In the calm and crisp morning air of mid-August in the mountains, under the kind of ultra-blue Northern Rockies sky that can make anyone feel good about their world, we hike off-trail uphill over not-very-steep talus and across a treeless tundra of grass, scattered wildflowers, and lichen-stained rocks that comprise the upper cirque above Crow Lake. Cliffs loom over one side of the cirque; above them sprawls the rolling East Rosebud Plateau at well over 11,000 feet. On a shoulder at about 10,400 feet, just above an unnamed pass, we stop for a few minutes to take a big gulp of the 360 of mountains and plateau land stretching for miles in every direction.

Then we descend moderately steep slopes of grass and rocks to the partly forested shore of pretty little Lake Mary, at almost 10,000 feet—wishing we’d come this far yesterday and camped here. At the lake’s southern end, we pick up a trail descending into the magnificent canyon of the West Fork of Rock Creek, then walk the trail up that canyon, watching the creek shape-shift from calm pools to chortling swiftwater and yowling whitewater. On both sides, cliff bands and forested canyon walls rise to unseen high lakes and 12,000-foot peaks looming over plateaus.

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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 above the West Fork Rock Creek toward Sundance Pass (also shown in lead photo at top of story) in the Beartooth Mountains, Montana.

Several miles up the canyon, we cross a wooden hiker and stock footbridge over the West Fork of Rock Creek and commence a deceptively long ascent, through more than 50 switchbacks (lead photo at top of story), toward Sundance Pass, at just over 11,000 feet. With every other switchback, we’re looking at the head of the West Fork’s canyon, enclosed tightly within a horseshoe formed by the rock walls and remnant glaciers of the 11,000-footer Medicine Mountain and a pair of 12,000-footers, Castle and Sundance mountains.

As we near the pass, dark gray clouds and brief volleys of raindrops hint at potentially worse weather to come; we quicken our pace, hoping to get over the pass before any such weather arrives.

At Sundance Pass, the wind slams us hard, but thunderstorms don’t appear imminent. We hunker down in the lee of boulders to eat and chug water and take in our first look down the other side of the pass at the steep-walled canyon of the Lake Fork of Rock Creek and September Morn Lake—our planned camp for tonight. A sub-ridge on the canyon’s north wall, above September Morn Lake, obstructs our view of the off-trail route we plan to hike steeply some 2,000 feet uphill to cross the Silver Run Plateau tomorrow. But however you slice it, that wall looks steep and rough.

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Then we have the kind of conversation that sometimes arises in the backcountry, contemplating various possible scenarios if we continue on this itinerary—including that thunderstorms have threatened by early afternoon on both of our days so far out here and, on our original plan, we could be navigating off-trail across several miles of high plateau at that time tomorrow.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, sleeping bag, insulated jacket, air mattress, ultralight stove and pot, and headlamp I used on this trip. Plus, I used these trekking poles and a friend who’s a longtime, avid backpacker and dayhiker used these poles.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories about backpacking in Montana at The Big Outside.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group (such as an entirely on-trail route)? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Please join me and many other lovers of this wilderness in supporting trail maintenance and other vital stewardship of the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness by donating to the Absaroka Beartooth Wilderness Foundation, abwilderness.org.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.


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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.

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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.

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.

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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.

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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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Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-and-sandbagging-utahs-uinta-highline-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-and-sandbagging-utahs-uinta-highline-trail/#respond Tue, 19 Nov 2024 13:43:01 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=65744 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The strongest signal that late afternoon has begun its inexorably precipitous October slide into a freezing evening comes as my son, Nate, and I step from almost-warm sunshine into the deep shade of a peak whose shadow tops out at over 13,000 feet in eastern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness. The wind cranks up in volume as we continue upward, wearing shell jackets with hoods up, wool hats, and gloves while carrying full backpacks uphill at a lung-busting elevation—and still feeling just marginally warm enough.

Crossing Gunsight Pass at 11,880 feet, Nate and I confer and quickly agree on modifying our goal for today: We’re not heading up to Anderson Pass and Utah’s highest mountain, Kings Peak at 13,528 feet, in the waning daylight, recognizing that we’d ultimately finish this day by headlamp, hunting around in the dark for a decent campsite in the valley on the other side of and far below Kings.

Instead, we take the trail dropping into Painter Basin, finding a camp for our first night in grass and scattered rocks on a nearly treeless plateau practically at the toe of Kings Peak, just as the mountain’s long, pyramidal shadow advances over the basin. Some three miles across at its widest point, Painter is one of the many vast, stark, high basins that define this range as much as its nearly two dozen summits over 13,000 feet.

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Red Knob Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

It will prove a wise decision on a trip where we’d already collaborated in sandbagging ourselves—without yet fully realizing how badly. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

We’ve come to backpack about 58 miles, from the Henrys Fork Trailhead—the shortest approach to Kings Peak—to the western terminus of the Uinta Highline Trail at Hayden Pass on the Mirror Lake Highway/UT 150. I’d backpacked in the High Uintas and hiked up Kings before, with my wife and daughter and a friend of our daughter’s (on this trip); but Nate had recently decided that, after living in Utah for five years (since beginning college there), he needed to finally account for the glaring omission of the state’s high point from his outdoor resume.

And we’ve both had a growing interest in the Uinta Highline Trail, which traverses the range for more than 100 miles, mostly over 10,000 feet, with eight named passes—four each exceeding 11,000 and 12,000 feet. On our four-day hike, we’ll cross seven passes, just one of them (Gunsight) not on the Uinta Highline Trail, ranging from just over 11,200 feet to the trail’s high point, Anderson Pass at around 12,700 feet. And we intend to tag Kings Peak.


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


A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west toward Dead Horse Pass in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

One key fact about our plans: We’ve come in the first week of October, normally beyond the peak season for hiking in many Western mountain ranges because of the real prospect of snow falling or, at the least, cold rain, as well as sub-freezing temperatures at night and possibly during the days. But we saw a forecast for days of dry, unseasonably mild weather and decided to jump on it.

And as much as the forecast, we were excited about the prospect of yet another father-son adventure together—a countless number of which he, now 24, and I have shared since he was too young to remember our earliest, little-kid-appropriate trips.

More than either of us expected, we would end up, in almost equal parts, as awed by the majesty of the Uinta Highline Trail, and the High Uintas in general, as humbled by how tough it is.

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Anderson Pass, Kings Peak, Tungsten Pass, and Porcupine Pass

We awaken before the sun reaches us at 7 a.m., at 11,400 feet in Painter Basin, to find ice crystals in water bottles and heavy frost coating everything, including sleeping bags—as will happen on all three clear, dry, cold nights we’re out here, sleeping under the stars. (We pitched the tent we brought only the first night, just in case.) Cocooned inside our fat bags, we feel none of the dampness or cold, even though the heat coming off our bags melts the frost on the shells of our bags. (See the Gear I Used section below.) We eat a hot breakfast while gazing up at a wall of 13,000-foot peaks, including Kings, burnished golden by the rising sun.

The chilly morning air provides a balanced counterpoint to the warm sun and cool breeze once we start hiking west on the Uinta Highline Trail, climbing steadily over a moonscape of rocky ground almost devoid of vegetation. Ninety minutes after leaving our camp, we drop our packs at Anderson Pass, at 12,700 feet, and after a bite, start up the mountain’s standard route, the rocky north ridge of Kings.

We’ve seen no one since yesterday afternoon on the Henrys Fork Trail, a warm, sunny Sunday, where we ran into several hunters hiking out because they’ve seen no elk (too warm) and backpackers and a few dayhikers returning from Kings Peak. So, of course, minutes after I tell Nate, “We might join a short list of people who’ve had Kings Peak to themselves,” we see two guys descending toward us; they reached the summit and are heading back to the Henrys Fork Trailhead. Like everyone else we’ve spoken with in our first 24 hours out here, they have no intention of continuing west on the Uinta Highline Trail. In our sample population of survey respondents, we were the only ones with that plan.

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A backpacker at a campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, at our campsite in Painter Basin, with Kings Peak in the distance, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

Not surprisingly, given that it’s early October, we’ll enjoy a rare degree of solitude on most of our four days out here. Indeed, for the rest of today—a day we’ll hike about 12 miles and cross three passes, in addition to scrambling Kings—we will run into just two other pairs of backpackers, one couple and two men that could be father and son, both heading east on the Highline in the sprawling basin of Yellowstone Creek. Both say we’re the first people they’ve seen.

While a chilling wind scours Anderson Pass and the north ridge of Kings as we ascend it, we step onto the summit in mild, dead calm air. It feels like early September. So, we linger a while on the roof of Utah, drinking up the 360 of towering peaks and creek basins you could drop a small city into.

Some two hours later, a couple miles west of Anderson Pass on the Highline Trail, the sun feels so hot that we stop to zip off pant legs to convert to shorts and strip down to a single light top each. When clouds block the sun, though, it feels much cooler, and strong gusts of icy wind hit us intermittently.

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A hiker on the summit of Kings Peak, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, on the summit of Kings Peak, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

“The air temp is about 50 and when the wind blows, it feels like 35,” I tell Nate. He finishes my thought: “In the sun, it feels like 70.” It’s that time of year in the mountains: We’ll stop several times today to add or strip off layers, cycling between tolerating too many layers for the sun or not wearing enough for the wind and clouds.

But by later that afternoon, those periods of sunshine feel like a distant memory. Clouds lock arms and march across the sky and cold wind buffets us without pausing to catch its breath. Squalls erupt suddenly, pelting us with graupel as we approach Tungsten Pass, at 11,400 feet—which must be the easiest on the entire Uinta Highline Trail, sitting not very many steps uphill from the basins to either side of it.

We walk across Garfield Basin, yet another vast valley of more than two dozen scattered alpine lakes, sprawling grassy meadows, and conifer forest below around 11,000 feet. Beyond a windblown cluster of tiny lakes and tarns in the upper end of the basin, we climb through switchbacks to Porcupine Pass at 12,200 feet—our third today, in addition to hiking Kings Peak—just as the sun pierces the dark armor of the overcast, throwing brilliant yellow light onto the clouds, the cliffs embracing the basin ahead of us and the lakes far below where we stand. (See lead photo at the top of this story.)

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A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Anderson Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west of Anderson Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The scene stops us cold. Nate mutters, “Wow, that’s amazing,” or something like that. Even as the colder wind and the temperature dropping faster than the sun herald the rapid approach of another freezing night—and we can clearly see the several hundred vertical feet and perhaps as much as two miles of hiking between this pass and a prospective camp—we can’t help but linger for several minutes, clicking cameras and just quietly watching one of those moments that sear themselves into the memories from a trip.

Nate races ahead in search of a camp and I follow as quickly as I can. A little while later, not long before sunset, I join him at a patch of level dirt near a small creek several hundred feet off the trail, at around 11,500 feet in the nearly flat plateau at the upper end of this basin. There are no trees, boulders, or even rises or hollows in the terrain to temper the wind.

We lay out our pads and bags to sleep under a night sky liberally salted with twinkling specks from tiny to beaming, amid and around the wide smear of the galaxy. We count several shooting stars before nodding off.

I spotlight the High Uintas as an alternate to the Wind River Range in my story
America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

 

Red Knob Pass and Dead Horse Pass

Another morning of ice in water bottles and bags wet from the overnight frost greets us when we rise shortly after 6 a.m., as the first light appears in the eastern sky. It feels colder than yesterday. Nate and I pack up hurriedly and throw down a hot breakfast, fingers numbed, eager to get moving for the warmth it’ll bring and because we have many miles to walk today.

We hike for about an hour in the deep and frigid shade of a ridge that rises to well over 12,000 feet. The wind amplifies the cold, but walking quickly, we soon warm up enough to shed our shells and warm hats; once we enter the direct sun, it feels almost balmy again.

The shade and bright sunlight meet along a high-contrast divide splicing the basin ahead of us, a snaking line moving patiently, the shade retreating at the sun’s pace. The sun’s low angle seems to make every angle in the landscape more visible, giving our eyes a superpower to see everything more clearly—every knob and twist in every ridge, every draw and hollow and creek bottom, all the throw rugs of conifer forest strewn across the basins, every subtle variation in the color spectrum of nature.

The world reveals itself to us in the morning and evening light of the low sun. I love getting on the trail this early.

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and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

 

A backpacker hiking the Uinta Highline Trail west across Center Park toward Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Nate backpacking the Uinta Highline Trail west across Center Park toward Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

The High Uintas, the highest of the few mountain ranges in the contiguous 48 states with an east-west orientation, span about 150 miles end to end, but are also broad enough to demand significant time and effort to reach the remote, upper ends of these high basins on foot. The most direct north-south trails across the range often measure about 40 miles.

And therein lies an immutable truth about finding solitude: Hike deeper into the backcountry and you’ll get beyond where most people are go, for no more simple reason than that carrying a backpack that far is both hard and time-consuming. (See my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”) We see more signs of trail maintenance, like fresh cuts on blown-down trees (along those occasional stretches of the Uinta Highline in forest), than signs of people. Throughout this day, we will not see another person.

For several miles west of Porcupine Pass, we hike across this gently undulating, high basin, framed by continuous rows of mountains muscling into the sky. The Uinta Highline Trail grows faint and even disappears for long stretches—clearly not receiving enough human traffic to even beat a visible footpath into this dirt and grass. But cairns nearly as tall as an adult, rockpiles visible from a distance, help us stay on course.

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A backpacker looking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
My son, Nate, looking west from Porcupine Pass on the Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

We climb through several switchbacks to another of the Uinta Highline Trail’s best passes, Red Knob, at 12,000 feet, overlooking the lake-filled basin of West Fork Blacks Fork Creek, nearly enclosed within a ragged horseshoe of severe, castle-like peaks. A few hundred yards in the distance, a lone mountain goat meanders along the barren, rocky ridge rising above the west side of the pass.

Ninety minutes later, after descending into and hiking up that basin, we reach the shore of windblown Dead Horse Lake, at around 10,900 feet, one of well over a thousand lakes in the High Uintas. The clouds thicken and the wind bares its teeth. The tall, foreboding cliffs and sheer buttresses that soar several hundred feet tall above the lake hint at the grueling ascent to Dead Horse Pass that lies ahead of us.

Beyond the lake, the trail immediately tilts sharply upward and weaves through blocks of talus, some easily weighing a ton or more. Then it grows even steeper and frequently consists of no more than a goat path of boot prints across sliding scree. I glance to my downhill side a few times just to mentally estimate how long a tumble might result from a slip of a foot.

A slow, steady grind brings us to Dead Horse Pass, at 11,600 feet. I tell Nate, “I think I know what killed the horse.”

 

The wind and downward arc of the air temperature puts an exclamation point on the fact that it’s 5 p.m. and daylight grows short. We take just a few minutes to drink and snack while looking back over the sea of peaks surrounding and beyond the basin of West Fork Blacks Fork Creek, and then turn around for our first look at the basin of Rock Creek ahead of us, several miles across. Then we hustle downhill, reaching Ledge Lake in under an hour, boiling water for dinner and laying out pads and bags for one last night under this megalopolis of stars.

In camp, Nate scrolls his phone screen surveying our route map, and says, “Oh, no.” I ask what that’s about and he says we have farther to walk tomorrow, our last day, than we both expected: 15 miles. And I respond with genuine surprise: “What?!”


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A backpacker enjoying the alpenglow from a campsite near the Uinta Highline Trail in Yellowstone Creek basin west of Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.
Nate enjoying the alpenglow from our campsite near the Uinta Highline Trail in Yellowstone Creek basin west of Porcupine Pass, High Uintas Wilderness, Utah.

See all stories about Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning the details of this trip, including an itinerary appropriate for your group? See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, sleeping bag, synthetic insulated jacket, rain jacket, fleece hoodie, trekking poles, air mattress, stove, headlamp, and zip-off, soft-shell hiking pants I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

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Paria Canyon—A Top 5 Southwest Backpacking Trip https://thebigoutsideblog.com/take-a-top-5-southwest-backpacking-trip-paria-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/take-a-top-5-southwest-backpacking-trip-paria-canyon/#respond Wed, 06 Nov 2024 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=26036 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Walls of searing, orange-red sandstone towered hundreds of feet overhead in a chasm at times no more than a dozen strides across. A shallow river flowed like very thin chocolate milk down the canyon, spanning it from wall to wall in spots. And the spectacle had only just begun: We were mere hours into the first day of one of the most continually stunning, multi-day canyon hikes in the Southwest: Paria Canyon.

Over five days in early spring, my family and another backpacked the 38-mile length of Paria Canyon, which straddles the border of Utah and Arizona and joins the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon.


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


A backpacker in the Paria Canyon narrows.
My son, Nate, backpacking the Paria Canyon narrows.

Lying within the 112,500-acre Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness, Paria Canyon has become famous among backpackers for its soaring walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and campsites on sandy benches shaded by cottonwood trees.

Its tributary, Buckskin Gulch, is one of the longest, if not the longest continuous slot canyon in the Southwest.

That’s why Paria Canyon deserves to be called one of “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest” and, many experienced Southwest backpackers would agree, one of the top five.

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Spring and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking Paria Canyon; my family did it in the last week of March. This is a popular hike, and the time to apply for a backcountry permit reservation is around the corner if you want to backpack Paria Canyon next spring. Permits are issued to only 20 people per day, so apply for a permit reservation as soon as they become available, which is after 12 p.m. on the first of the month, three months in advance, for example, on Jan. 1 for a trip anytime in April.

View the photo gallery below for a sampling of the breathtaking scenery of Paria Canyon. Then click the link below the gallery to read my feature story about this classic trip.

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Read my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” which have many more photos, a video, and information on planning the trip. As with most stories about trips at The Big Outside, reading that entire story requires a paid subscription, which gives you full access to ALL stories at my blog.

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‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems https://thebigoutsideblog.com/lets-talk-water-backpacking-the-grand-canyons-gems/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/lets-talk-water-backpacking-the-grand-canyons-gems/#comments Mon, 12 Aug 2024 19:08:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=64257 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The April sun seems to dangle just over our heads like a giant grow light—or perhaps a very, very big and hot interrogation lamp—as we hike down the Grand Canyon’s South Bass Trail, a steep path littered with enough ankle-rolling stones to keep pulling our eyes from the unfathomable expanse of canyon beyond us back to the unstable ground at our feet. We all lumber under packs heavier than any of us usually has any reason to carry: Including more than 10 pounds of water and 11 pounds of food, mine tips the scales at around 40 pounds. Everyone else hauls a similar load.

And we will carry them thousands of feet downhill on this unkind-to-ankles footpath, eventually to search for today’s lone, uncertain source of water that we may or may not find, so that we can refill the bladders and bottles we’ve sucked empty in this desert heat, allowing us to again shoulder ungainly burdens and continue walking what will total over 14 hot miles before we set our packs down for the night.

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.

Some backpacking trips begin with a baptism of fire in the form of a very hard first day. (The five friends with me here have shared many such days with me and they have the markers of trauma survivors to prove it.) And some trips dish out an opening day that feels like it’s about as hard as it could possibly get until you remember that the original plan included three possible scenarios for how this day could go down, and the one you ended up with—through smart planning and a little sheer luck—was actually the middle scenario: neither the hardest nor the easiest (though even that was certainly more like “least very difficult” than “easy”).

Example: today. I’ll explain in due time.

In other words, this is a glass-half-full story—or at least, I prefer seeing it that way—an apropos metaphor given that water is so scarce in this part of the Grand Canyon that, if circumstances turned dark and we chanced upon a glass half full, we just might fight to the death over it.


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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.

My friends Todd Arndt, Mark Fenton, David Ports, and Pam and Mark Solon and I are backpacking for six days from the South Bass Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead off the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, a distance of about 60 miles, most of that following a stretch of the Tonto Trail often informally called the Gems Route for the names of several tributary canyons along it, including five that we’ll cross: Ruby, Turquoise, Sapphire, Agate, and Topaz. (The western end of the Tonto Trail and Gems Route, which we will not reach on this trip, lies in Garnet Canyon, along another very remote and adventurous multi-day hike that David and I took several years ago, the Royal Arch Loop.)

The Gems Route happens to overlap with the longest, by far, segment of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail with no bailout trail to the South Rim: the 29 unmaintained miles from Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek. The only ways out are humping 3,500 vertical feet up either the hard South Bass Trail or the infamously even-harder Boucher Trail.

Dice up the Tonto Trail—which follows a mid-canyon plateau, never approaching the South Rim—into sections delineated by trails that connect it to the South Rim and then walk those sections and you will see similarities, for sure, like the vibrantly kaleidoscopic carpets of wildflowers in spring and vistas stretching from the Colorado River to both rims.

But you’ll also discover that those cross-sections differ in three consequential ways: scenery, water access, and degree of remoteness and solitude.

The Tonto Trail’s ‘Most Difficult and Potentially Dangerous’ Section

The park’s website describes Bass to Boucher as the Tonto’s “most difficult and potentially dangerous” leg for the lack of perennial water sources. The only creeks are seasonal; at some point each spring, they dry up like the mouth of a severely dehydrated human shortly before the liver, kidneys, and brain shut down.

The most recent intel we have on water in the creeks that lie ahead of us is a ranger’s field report from more than a week ago. While it offers reasons for optimism, we don’t know with any certainty what we’ll find.

Given all of this, a reasonable, clear-eyed person might logically ask: “Why the hell would you…??” And that just might be the kind of question for which, if you’re asking it, you may never receive a satisfying answer.

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A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

But for backpackers of a certain mindset (present company included), the notion of backpacking the most remote and lonely section of the Tonto Trail triggers an elevated level of excitement that helps one accept the prospect of carrying a pack laden with 10 or more pounds of water. Possibly day after day—or day after very hot day. With no one to blame but yourself. (Although, among this collection of dear friends and trusted backcountry partners, each gifted with a robust sense of humor and little to no inhibition, in a pinch, blaming me appears to bring them some cathartic benefit.)

Plus, several GC backpacking trips have ingrained in me the lesson that, contrary to the seeming ubiquity of the incomprehensible vastness splayed out before one’s eyes when looking out over the Grand Canyon from either of its rims, every one of my trips has possessed a character all its own—reflecting the canyon’s complex diversity, both subtle and substantial. I know that I can return here again and again and have an experience that delivers surprises, wonder, awe, and moments seared into memory—all of those emotional rewards that draw us to special places in nature.

I fully expect all of those rewards this week.

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The Tonto Trail, Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek

After carrying our overloaded packs for seven miles along the road to the South Bass Trailhead and descending that trail for 3,400 feet and nearly five miles—with a short break for lunch in a meager patch of shade falling off a boulder—we reach the lower of two junctions with the Tonto Trail. There, we drop our packs beside the trail, collect all of our empty bladders and bottles, and set out walking downhill in search of a spot called Bass Tanks, where water may exist in the real world or only in our hopes.

Not quite a mile farther down the South Bass Trail, we discover the answer to our question: a series of broad potholes filled with shallow pools of water in the otherwise dry creek bed. So we spend about 90 minutes in the hot sun, in a terrain depression that feels like a solar collector, filtering (and drinking) water to leave there carrying enough to get through tonight, tomorrow, and the next morning—just in case we don’t come upon water again until almost two days from now. We each leave there with seven to eight liters—up to about 17 pounds of water on our backs.

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Backpackers hiking down the South Bass Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton and David Ports backpacking down the South Bass Trail in the Grand Canyon.

And although we’re almost rapturous over finding water at Bass Tanks, its quality—vaguely brown in color and rich in insect protein—spawns one of a few running jokes birthed on this trip: We’ll rate every water source we come upon on our newly conceived Bass Tanks Scale, as in, “Bass Tanks was a two or three, but Sapphire and Slate are possibly sevens, Boucher is an eight, and Hermit’s a solid nine!”

To explain my earlier reference to the three possible scenarios for how our first day could have gone down, I know an experienced backpacker who hiked this same route we’re following a year ago this month and, because the road to the South Bass Trailhead was still impassably mucky for any vehicle, he started by backpacking more than 20 hot and uninteresting miles along an old dirt road just to reach the trailhead—carrying water for two days. Fortunately, we didn’t have to do that.

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A backpacker overlooking the Colorado River on the Tonto Trail east of Bass Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton overlooking the Colorado River on the Tonto Trail east of Bass Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

Also, because I know a guy who knows someone who knows two young guys working jobs on the South Rim who were happy to pocket some extra cash shuttling us most of the way to the trailhead, we also avoided almost five hours of shuttling our two cars between our start and finish points. But we didn’t have four-wheel-drive vehicles for the last seven miles of road to the South Bass Trailhead, so we had to walk that—giving us the middle of three possible distance scenarios that we could have faced today.

Further working in our favor, we’ve arrived in the second week of April, a time when the stars normally align as closely as they ever do for this hike: Snow has melted off the South Rim, allowing the dirt road to the South Bass Trailhead to get as passable as it gets, while seasonal springs and creeks along this part of the Tonto often haven’t dried up yet and public enemy number one in the Grand Canyon—Mr. Heat—has not yet started bubbling up to the oppressive daytime highs that can appear in April and more commonly by May.

But Mr. Heat throws a wicked curve, and the canyon is his home field, so it surprised no one in this group of seasoned canyon hikers to see the forecast promising increasingly hotter days this week.

The Grand Scenic Divide

Not far east of Bass Canyon on the Tonto Trail, we finally call it a day at an obviously pre-used camp on a broad point on a long ridge named the Grand Scenic Divide. Not far beyond our camp, the ground tilts sharply downward, plunging a thousand feet to the Colorado River. Tired but not wasted by the day, we pitch tents, fire up stoves, eat dinners, and then sit around while the evening sun takes its sweet time gently basting the far side of the canyon with golden light that intensifies any color on which it settles.

Across the river, colossal rock monoliths stand in a disorderly row, separated by deep and wide chasms. Just within our view without turning our heads lie several named features: two each of temples, castles, and side canyons and at least one amphitheater, all of which would dwarf the world’s tallest skyscrapers—and that’s just within our infinitesimally tiny fragment of the entire Grand Canyon.

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A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail west of Hermit Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

Soon, a sound begins to rise from us, quickly building in volume and enthusiasm into a cascade of old memories and tales of recent adventures; of fatigue and relief that the day wasn’t even harder; of sore feet and shoulders and all of us having to stop hiking more than once today to extract some lance-like cactus needle that had penetrated a shoe to pierce flesh, leaving a few with wounds trickling blood.

We all slide chin-deep into the hot bath water of unbreakable friendships and an oceanic appreciation for the gift of sharing such an indelibly beautiful place with such good, good people.

Then we dive eagerly into yet another conversation about how to plan the next day’s water—a theme destined to resurface repeatedly all week. Someone will suddenly say, “Let’s talk water,” prompting all to drop everything else to focus full attention on our shared obsession with finding enough of it to survive. Which seems legit and spotlights how having to carry 10 to 20 pounds of this critical natural resource at times grants this topic authority to cut the line ahead of all other questions on your mind.

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Serpentine Canyon to Ruby Canyon

Prickly pear cacti flowers along the Tonto Trail west of Sapphire Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Prickly pear cacti flowers along the Tonto Trail west of Sapphire Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

In glorious early-morning light that seems to make the immense landscape surrounding us even taller and deeper, we leave our camp on the Grand Scenic Divide shortly after 7 a.m., taking advantage of cooler temperatures.

Already, this most-remote section of the Tonto Trail reveals evidence of how little human traffic it receives. Cacti and other malevolent desert vegetation overgrow the trail in many places; we step over or around prickly pear cacti—many of them with luminously red or yellow flowers bursting open—and unavoidably plow through brush that soon leaves our shins so scratched they resemble a four-year-old child’s Etch-a-Sketch art.

At the rim of Ruby Canyon, I stop to slowly pan my eyes up and down it, always astonished by the size of these side canyons. We read and hear mostly about the Grand Canyon’s depth (over a mile), width (up to 18 miles), and length (277 miles). But the sense of its breadth and scale attributes just as much to some 64 tributary canyons of the Colorado within the Grand Canyon—any one of which would be the most beautiful canyon in at least 40 other states.

I turn to Todd, who’s stopped beside me, and say, “When you first get to one of these side canyons and think you’re at it, you’re not really at it yet.” “Really true,” Todd says with a nod. He and I have hiked around enough of these tributary canyons in The Big Ditch to understand that the spot directly across it from where you stand may lie only a quarter-mile away as the raven flies, but you might walk three or five trail miles to get there. And that long walk is often slowed by the need to hike carefully down and up steep canyon walls of crumbling earth and ledges of shattered rock.

A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail into Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail into Serpentine Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

If every land mass on Earth resembled the Grand Canyon, we bipedal primates might never have evolved.

We arrive at Ruby Canyon at lunchtime to the happy sight of clear water in shallow potholes and a small but steady flow upstream from the trail crossing, convincing us to make our home for the night in the empty tent sites on a shelf above the creek bed. In late afternoon, Todd, David, Fenton and I explore more than a mile up the shaded canyon, below burnt umber cliffs soaring hundreds of feet overhead, immersing ourselves within the enormity of the relatively small world of this obscure and remote chasm, one of dozens of tributary canyons within the far larger world of the Grand Canyon.

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Ruby Canyon to Sapphire Canyon

In the darkness of early morning, before anyone has risen, I’m awakened by the sound of wind and light showers that last about an hour; when daylight arrives, we’ll see a dusting of snow on cliffs just below the South Rim, before it melts. Yes, it does occasionally rain and snow in the Grand Canyon. The shower cools the air and leaves a merciful breeze in its wake that accompanies us on the steep climb out of Ruby Canyon, the Tonto Trail again weaving up through a maze of ledges and cacti to the plateau.

Backpackers at a campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Dawn light above our campsite in Ruby Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.

About an hour past Ruby, David and I stop to enjoy the view from a rock ledge at the brink of the void more than a thousand feet above the brown Colorado. The morning light conducts its daily ritual of marching like a vast army of ants over the landscape. Since my first hike in the canyon more than three decades ago, I’ve always been hypnotized by how, as the sun inches across the sky, shadows appear unpredictably across terrain so vertiginous and multi-dimensional that the moving light plays tricks on the eyes, constantly appearing to rearrange the landscape in a shell game with topography.

If you blindfolded yourself and sat down for an hour or two, then pulled off the blindfold, you might understandably wonder, “How did I get here?”

At Turquoise Creek, we find pools but no longer the flowing water that a ranger reported 10 days ago. We’d planned to camp here tonight but decide to push on a few miles to Sapphire Creek because we know today will be the coolest day of the week and we’re facing hotter days ahead.

At Sapphire, we find what, out here, feels like a desert oasis: a small but flowing creek and several large pools along it, the deepest nearly a foot. We all lie down in cool but not frigid downstream pools. The wind kicks up and we watch another sunset paint the canyon in a steadily shifting lightscape for a couple of hours.

In the two days since turning off the South Bass Trail, we’ve seen no other people out here.

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Sapphire Canyon to Topaz Canyon

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a desert night as calm and serene as last night,” Mark Solon says to me after we rise with first light at around 5 a.m. on our fourth morning, everyone eager to start hiking before that hothead Mr. Heat crashes our party. Sleeping under the stars, we saw yet another vivid star show after the moon set, the Milky Way looking almost like a puddle of spilt milk streaked across the sky.

Leaving Sapphire Canyon, the Tonto Trail winds upward, throwing mysteries at us as we try to discern the route in places where it disappears on the ground. Where the trail scales the canyon walls, we find small cairns often enough to stay on course. But on the Tonto Plateau, where cairns lie farther apart and the path grows faint or just evaporates, we occasionally lose it. Then our phone-based digital maps steer us back on course.

If the Tonto Trail could be said to have a mind, you can learn to read its mind and understand where it will lead—quickly discerning, for starters, that if you turn up or down a dry wash, you are going the wrong way. On the plateau (as opposed to when zigzagging up and down canyon walls), the trail almost always meanders along or close to a contour, finding the path of least resistance. Still, we learn not to assume that it will never choose a path of maximum resistance because, now and then, that assumption sets you up for maximum disappointment.

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Backpackers hiking the Tonto Trail east of Sapphire Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon.
Mark Fenton, David, and Todd backpacking the Tonto Trail east of Sapphire Canyon, along the Gems Route in the Grand Canyon. Click photo to see all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

At Slate Creek, we find pools up to several inches deep of the clearest water we’ve seen so far by walking just minutes upstream from the trail crossing. We huddle, eating lunch and chugging water, in a patch of “hard shade” below a rock ledge that’s three to four feet wide when we arrive in mid-morning and shrinks to nothing as the sun reaches its apex directly overhead at midday.

Driven off by Mr. Heat, we hike another few miles, carrying extra water to camp out on the Tonto Plateau again. We first stop at flat spots that have obviously been used by backpackers, but by late afternoon move on a half-mile farther to flat ground that’s already in shade hours sooner than our first spot will be.

In early evening, two backpackers pass by heading in the opposite direction and we exchange waves and a little trail beta with the first people we’ve seen in three days. Another calm, mild night of a dense Milky Way settles in.

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Topaz Canyon to Monument Canyon

The morning light flits from the top layers of one gargantuan rock wall to the next in its ritual of the ages, slowly bringing the canyon’s complex geology to life again, as we depart camp in staggered starts beneath a sky achingly blue with downy wisps of high clouds, everyone hiking before 7 a.m. to get a head start on the heat.

As it does along much of its length, the Tonto Trail repeatedly brings us near the brink of the cliffs that drop a vertical quarter-mile to the Colorado, which glows in the low-angle sunlight between the black walls of the canyon’s Inner Gorge. We descend into and cross Topaz Canyon, then start walking upstream along Boucher Creek, a perennial waterway lined with greenery, with some of the clearest water we’ve seen. We pass campsites flanked by near cliffs that must keep this canyon bottom in shade for hours a day—prime Grand Canyon real estate.

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A backpacker hiking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Tonto Trail in Monument Canyon in the Grand Canyon.

We part ways with Mark Fenton and David, who are hiking out today via the steep and rough Boucher Trail, while the Solons, Todd, and I will continue to Monument Creek for our final backcountry night.

Passing one backpacker on the Tonto between Boucher and Hermit, we reach perennial Hermit Creek, the largest on our route, which nurtures a lush garden at the bottom of its steep-walled, narrow canyon. We walk several minutes downstream to the four-foot waterfall pouring between two boulders into a pool probably chest-deep and 15 feet across—possibly one of the Grand Canyon’s finest swimming holes.

 

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” and “5 Questions to Ask Before Trying a New Outdoors Adventure,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-southern-utahs-owl-and-fish-canyons/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-southern-utahs-owl-and-fish-canyons/#respond Mon, 01 Jul 2024 13:52:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=63707 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The wind blows a steady warning blast heralding the meaner gusts forecast for tonight as we begin backpacking down the rugged “trail,” such as it is, into Owl Canyon, in the Cedar Mesa area of southern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument. In the first week of May, the four of us wear pants and shell jackets over a couple of top layers—it feels that chilly.

Beginning in a dry draw on the nearly flat desert plateau, the route soon reaches the canyon rim and plunges downward. We scramble on all fours around and between boulders and step cautiously down the steep canyon wall of sand and broken rocks. For long stretches, we take short steps inching down slickrock slabs, scoping out the lowest-angle stone ramps to avoid slipping—although the usual consequence would be no worse than a hard landing on our asses.


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 in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
My wife, Penny, backpacking in upper Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Before long, we drop far enough below the canyon rim to escape most of the wind; the air suddenly feels more calm, though still cool. We all shed our jackets and resume the rocky, wildly circuitous descent, weaving around flash-flood debris that fills much of the narrow canyon bottom. Tangled knots of crushed and unrecognizable vegetation wrapped around standing tree trunks, boulders bigger than a car, and creek banks eroded 10 feet or more above the creek bed, indicating the high-water mark, all speak to the impressively powerful ferocity of periodic flash floods that rip down the upper section of this canyon, where now we see no sign of water, not even cracked mud.

My wife, Penny, our friends Pam and Mark Solon, and I are backpacking the Owl and Fish canyons loop in Cedar Mesa in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument.

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Backpackers in a camp in Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Our camp in Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

Located in one of the least-populated parts of the country—the trailhead lies more than 40 road miles from the closest town, Blanding—the loop is about 15 to 17 miles (I explain the discrepancy in the Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story, which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to view) and as shockingly scenic as it is adventurous. Over three days, we’ll hike below tall, red cliffs, towers, and natural arches, over rippled slickrock slabs, around pour-offs and seasonal waterfalls, amid flowering cacti and other prickly desert flora and the greenery of cottonwoods and other vegetation flourishing in the lower reaches of both canyons, nurtured by a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water that creates an unexpected desert oasis.

Up to 700 feet deep, these canyons are reminiscent of better-known places in southern Utah like the Needles and Maze districts of Canyonlands National Park, Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks, and the canyons of the Escalante River. And yet, Owl and Fish attract a fraction of the attention of southern Utah’s popular hiking destinations and considerably less demand for a backcountry permit (details in the Take This Trip section of this story, below). Owl and Fish lie within the Fish Creek Canyon Wilderness Study Area (or WSA), which means these canyons possess wilderness characteristics, making them eligible for wilderness designation by Congress and permanent protections.

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A backpacker in Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Mark Solon backpacking in Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

We follow the trail through the complex topography in the belly of Owl Canyon, where small, shallow pools and the flowing creek have appeared. The route takes a nearly mile-long detour up and back down a dry tributary canyon to avoid a big pour-off—and to a small pond at the base of that pour-off’s trickling cascade. Not far beyond that, we stop at an established campsite just upstream from a horseshoe bend, at about 5,200 feet.

Evening fusillades of spitting rain usher us into our tents before dark. Dusk brings calm air and a silence broken only by the chatter of birds amid the abundant trees around our camp. But the wind has not yet turned in for the night. It kicks up again as I’m starting to doze off and blows with fury. Like flash floods of air, tree- and tent-rattling gusts stampede through our camp for a couple of hours.

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Nevills Arch

The temperature hovers around 40 degrees Fahrenheit when we emerge from our tents a bit after 6 a.m. on our second day. It’s still cool when we begin hiking soon after 8 a.m., layered up in jackets with hoods up and gloved hands in the wind—which, fortunately, has greatly diminished since last night—and the deep, chilly shade of canyon walls. I like hiking in these conditions: You can dress for this and not break a sweat.

Wildflowers below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
Wildflowers below Nevills Arch in lower Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

Before long, we reach the stone amphitheater that houses Nevills Arch with perfect timing, just as the sun begins peering over the cliff tops, firing yellow laser beams through gaps in those walls in a way that seems to infuse them with a light of their own even as they cast long, heavy shadows.

While Nevills commands center stage—spanning 140 feet, perched high above the canyon bottom—its supporting cast hardly fades into the background. On both sides of the arch rises a rampart of cliffs and towers with bulbous crowns balanced improbably atop slender necks of crumbling stone. Cacti and other desert flowers brighten the brown earth. After hiking closer for a good look at Nevills, we follow the trail across the outer edge of the amphitheater, watching the arch and towers all seem to shape-shift, looking like completely different formations from every angle.

Beyond Nevills, where Owl Canyon broadens, and with the sun climbing higher, we lose all shade; we can feel the sun’s heat, but the air remains cool and breezy. At the sun-bathed and dry confluence of the two canyons, we turn up Fish.

Less than two miles upstream of the confluence, we begin passing frequent, large pools of water and a clear, flowing creek. Like the middle stretch of Owl, Fish shows off groves of mature cottonwood trees, their leaves electrified in the sunshine, the greenery a striking contrast against the deep burgundy of canyon walls replete with detached towers, rippled slickrock, and an array of sculptured and weathered rock.

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

About halfway up Fish Canyon, we settle into an established camp on a bench above big, shallow pools in the creek. Although the map indicates a natural arch located somewhere across the canyon, Mark, Pam, and I walk up and down the canyon but fail to find it. The sun feels intense until the moment it slips behind the canyon wall, but the temperature never gets uncomfortably hot.

After sunset, the wind dies and alpenglow lights up the cliffs above us. Sleeping out under the stars, we’ll all awaken during the dark night, after moonset, to a Milky Way glowing with a rare luminescence against a coal-black sky riddled with stars—a sight you’ll only enjoy in a few remote parts of the Lower 48 with skies as dark as this corner of southeastern Utah.

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Fish Canyon

After a calm and clear night, we’re up boiling water for breakfast soon after 6 a.m. and packing up our gear. Mark and Pam roll out of camp by around 7 a.m., facing a long day’s drive home; Penny and I get on the trail before 8 a.m.

The morning light inches slowly down the faces of Fish Canyon’s cliffs and towers as Penny and I hike up a cool, breezy, shaded canyon bottom. At first, we’re mostly following the cairned route up the creek or alongside it, sometimes crossing over between the two banks, in gentle terrain.

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A backpacker hiking up Fish Canyon in Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.
My wife, Penny, backpacking up Fish Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument, Utah.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, sleeping bag, down jacket, ultralight wind shell, trekking poles, stove, zip-off soft-shell pants, and air mattress (I used this one and my wife used this one) I used on this trip.

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The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trip-in-the-wind-river-range-yup/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trip-in-the-wind-river-range-yup/#comments Fri, 03 May 2024 13:10:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=63044 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

As my friend Chip Roser and I reach Pyramid Lake, in a magnificent stone bowl at 10,571 feet in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, nestled below its namesake peak and the attention-grabbing, soaring face of the 12,000-footer Mount Hooker, the overcast grows increasingly darker. We both look up at the sky, probably sharing the same thought: wondering when the thunderstorms and strong winds the forecast had warned of would finally catch us out here; and hoping to stay dry at least until getting our tents up—and with luck, until after we’ve eaten dinner.

But the rain and wind never materialize—not today, anyway. Instead, although dark-bellied clouds continue shuffling past overhead, the air turns dead calm, temperatures remain mild, and we watch the dappled sunlight dance around the horseshoe of cliffs, spires, and rocky peaks surrounding our camp.


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A backpacker above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking above Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

We had arrived this morning at Big Sandy Campground, trailhead for the disorientingly vertiginous and chronically popular Cirque of the Towers, to the sight of more cars and trucks parked there than I think I’ve seen since the first time I laid eyes on the Cirque—and felt the electric thrill of seeing that jagged skyline of peaks hit me like a shock wave—30 years ago this very month (possibly even in the same week or on the same date, which I no longer remember, except that it was August). Along the last half-mile of road before the parking lot, determined drivers had corkscrewed vehicles into every roadside nook and cranny. In truth, though, Big Sandy has been growing increasingly popular for many years and open spaces in the dirt parking lot for the campground and trailhead have long been a rare find in summer.

Plus, we arrived on the Sunday beginning the third week of August. To come here on this day and not expect to see this place jammed with vehicles is akin to expecting hours of solitude each day on the Tour du Mont Blanc in August or going to St. Peter’s Cathedral in the Vatican and not expecting to find a line. (The cathedral metaphor rings with a sense of aptness for a hike in the Winds.)

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

A backpacker above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Our first day on the trail met the expectations set at the parking lot: By the end of our several hours of hiking to Pyramid Lake, we probably passed 50 or 60 people, most within the first few hours. But I feel happy for every one of them and I’m not surprised they would choose this relatively easy valley trail that passes a series of heart-stopping lakes below huge granite walls, all of them a campsite to die for. As a woman in one of the pods of backpackers we passed astutely observed to us, “You just camp at whatever one you feel like stopping at, they’re all gorgeous.”

But I know that we can keep walking deeper into the Wind River Range and reach areas where solitude comes with the territory—and the effort. And we will accomplish that by our second morning on this trip.

I’ve returned yet again to the Wind River Range—the fourth straight summer I’ve backpacked in these mountains, despite the fact that they lie several hours of driving from my home—building on my personal history of at least eight backpacking and climbing trips here (my best estimate; I’ve lost track) going back three decades.

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A backpacker enjoying the dawn light at a campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser enjoying the dawn light at our campsite by Pyramid Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Chip and I will explore an area of the Winds he has not yet seen and fill in some blank spots in my mental map of the southern Winds—all while I grapple with the question of whether the route we have undertaken deserves the title of “the best backpacking trip in the Wind River Range,” a claim that feels fraught with the potential to invite ardent disagreement in a range where any multi-day hike would rank among the best on almost any backpacker’s personal life list.

We will spend four days—wishing we had planned just one more—on a meandering route that will cross four passes on the Continental Divide and bring us past numerous mountain lakes, each of them pretty enough to want to camp at, though we’ll have to choose just three.

During that night at our camp a short walk from the shore of Pyramid Lake, I step out of my tent and see the sky virtually pulsating with millions of specks of light, some constellations I can identify and many that I can’t, and the Milky Way glowing across the heavens.

There’s not a breath of wind, the temperature feels no lower than 50 degrees Fahrenheit, and it’s so quiet that I suspect two people could conduct a conversation from opposite sides of this lake at normal speaking volume.

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Pyramid Peak, Hailey Pass, and Washakie Lake

As Chip and I descend off Pyramid Peak toward 11,160-foot Hailey Pass, the wind that began blowing hard this morning and seemed eager to hurl us off the peak’s summit just a half-hour ago, now dials up its speed as this river of fast-moving air squeezes through the pass. The strong wind is hard to walk in; gusts literally shove me hard enough several times to nearly send me stumbling off the trail. The wind’s force hardly abates after we cross the pass and descend through countless short switchbacks, stepping cautiously on this steep trail down a slope of loose, sliding scree and pebbles.

Even once we reach the flatter terrain of the valley, the wind still pummels us. We stop to chat for a few minutes with a couple on their way up to Hailey and I tell them, “Trim your sails before you go up there.”

We arose on our second morning as the predawn sun was igniting the broken clouds over Pyramid Lake. We started hiking at 8 a.m., taking an off-trail route from the lake to Hailey Pass that’s more direct than backtracking down the Pyramid Peak Trail to the Hailey Pass Trail—a route that also positioned us to scramble to the 12,030-foot summit of Pyramid Peak, earning its hawk’s-eye view of the valley we hiked up yesterday and of the long arc of the Continental Divide stretching for miles to the north and south.

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

 

A backpacker hiking the Washakie Pass Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking the Washakie Pass Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Beyond Hailey Pass, on the east side of the Divide, we follow the Bears Ears Trail, gawking at one towering granite cliff and monolith after another, an alpine rock climber’s paradise. The trail climbs a few hundred feet above long Grave Lake, which sparkles in the bright sunshine, then drops to the lakeshore, passing through forest and meadows and crossing a sandy beach. We walk up the gentle and very pretty valley of the South Fork Wind River and then turn onto the Washakie Pass Trail.

At Washakie Lake, at 10,365 feet, we find an established campsite near the lake’s west end, more than the required 200 feet from the lake. We encountered just five other backpackers during our seven hours of hiking from Pyramid Lake today; several more arrive to camp near Washakie Lake, but the abundant space here keeps everyone beyond earshot and mostly out of sight of one another. Some trees help to partially break the wind, which blows hard throughout the evening: We hear great cannonballs of air fired from somewhere high above us that slowly build in volume until each one tears through our camp with an awful roar, violently shaking our solo tents (which hold up) and sometimes waking us.

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Washakie Pass, Texas Pass, and the Cirque of the Towers

Even after a night of ferocious gusts that made sleep an elusive quarry, the wind gains ferocity, swirling and buffeting us from all sides as we depart Washakie Lake early on our third morning and climb toward the highest point of our trip, 11,611-foot Washakie Pass. At times, we’re both hit by blasts of air and stumble before catching ourselves.

Wearing pants, two base layers and shell jackets against the wind under a gray sky, Chip and I joke about how we might get lifted off the ground at the pass and deposited right back at Washakie Lake to start this climb all over again. But we avoid that fate, walking into a headwind to cross the Divide back to the west side, descending through alpine meadows dotted with wildflowers and boulders almost in competing numbers. At the Hailey Pass Trail junction, 1,200 feet lower than Washakie Pass and back in the valley where we began yesterday, the wind has all but disappeared, the sun shines warmly, and we strip down to shorts and T-shirts.

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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.

After rock hopping over Washakie Creek, we start up the Shadow Lake Trail through a broad, nearly flat valley where the creek bounds playfully over rocks and small cascades and flows smoothly through bends, moving like a dancer on a stage: In the Wind River Range, the mountains and lakes play the leading roles and draw the most attention, but the creeks and rivers play critical supporting roles. Up the valley, the “back side” of the Cirque of the Towers displays a long wall of teeth snarling at the sky.

The maintained trail terminates near Shadow Lake, where we pick up a good use trail up to Billy’s Lake at over 10,600 feet. The trail traces Billy’s lakeshore and continues up this narrow alpine valley walled by granite. Chip says, “This may be the prettiest valley we’ve seen.”


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We follow the faint path past Barren Lake and turn a corner to overlook Texas Lake and the horseshoe of cliffs and talus slopes that comprise the head of this basin. Above the lake, a dauntingly steep slope of talus and scree—basically, a very slow rockslide of busted-up stone—rises to Texas Pass. We can see perhaps 10 people at various points on their climb up that rockpile.

Occasional cairns and a visible, if faint path pounded into the loose rocks by other backpackers leads us upward to Texas Pass, at over 11,400 feet, our second 11,000-foot pass today. After last night’s weather and then watching clouds race across the sky all day, we had feared we would see little of the Cirque of the Towers when we finally got here. But our timing proves serendipitous: An unobstructed view of that famous skyline of granite monoliths, arrayed in a long, unbroken arc, unfurls before us.

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A backpacker hiking the Shadow Lake Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser backpacking the Shadow Lake Trail in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

I’ve hiked through the Cirque at least a few times since that first visit 30 years ago, most recently, prior to today, on the Wind River High Route, when three friends and I entered via the common route over Jackass Pass, now visible across the Cirque from us, and exited the Cirque hiking off-trail over New York Pass, which lies barely more than a half-mile as the crow flies southwest of Texas Pass but a slightly greater distance if you’re tracing the wriggling Divide.

And while repeated visits have, for me, reduced the voltage of that initial electric thrill of seeing the Cirque, this new and different prospect resurrects some of that feeling I had that first time walking over Jackass.

A good friend who has hiked in countless incredible landscapes, many of them with me over nearly a quarter-century, backpacked over Texas Pass just a year ago and subsequently wrote to me calling it “the best view I’ve ever had from a pass.” Perhaps he was guilty of recency bias, but not of unwarranted hyperbole: This view of the Cirque and the walk down into it from Texas Pass just might deserve recognition as the best overlook of one of the most soul-stirring mountain vistas in America.

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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 learn how I can help you plan this trip.

An unmaintained but surprisingly good dirt path, steep at times but much less so than the ascent to Texas Pass from Texas Lake, leads down to Lonesome Lake. Minutes after we reach the lake, the sky once again suddenly darkens, swiftly followed by thunder and lightning. The rain comes so lightly at first that we assume it might amount to nothing. But when the gray veil obliterates the peaks from sight, I suggest to Chip that we get a tent up fast.

Seconds after we finish hurriedly pitching it, the rain begins pounding our thin walls; we can barely hear one another over the drumming downpour. But the tent keeps us warm and dry while we wait about 30 minutes for the thunderstorm to pass. Then we quickly pack up the tent and resume hiking. The clouds give way—mostly—to blue sky and warm sunshine as we climb, repeatedly turning around to take in the panorama. Not long after we took temporary refuge in a tent, we walk over Jackass Pass at 10,760 feet, making our third crossing of the Continental Divide today and fourth of this trip.

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See all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

Not sure this is for you? See my stories “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be,” “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips,” “Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping,” and this menu of all stories offering expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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Backpacking the Arizona Trail’s Passage 16 in a Superbloom https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-arizona-trails-passage-16-in-a-superbloom/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-arizona-trails-passage-16-in-a-superbloom/#respond Tue, 09 Apr 2024 11:00:03 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=62728 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We’re not even five minutes into our backpacking trip when a sound all too familiar startles us: a long, scratchy rattling noise. We stop abruptly and Pam says, “There it is,” pointing at the rattlesnake lying along the railroad tracks that our trail briefly follows before it moves away from the tracks to trace a winding route down the desert valley of the brown, silted Gila River in southern Arizona.

After admiring the snake’s noise-making prowess and size for a few moments—from a safe distance—we walk a wide berth around this fellow so as not to agitate him any further and continue on one of the most unexpectedly and consistently pretty multi-day hikes I’ve taken in recent memory, on a section of the Arizona Trail.

Just a few days ago, the idea of backpacking this AZT section had not even popped up on our radar.


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Backpackers hiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam and Mark Solon backpacking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

Forced to abandon plans to backpack in some canyons off southern Utah’s Cedar Mesa plateau by a succession of early spring storms that wracked all of Utah (and dropped many feet of snow upon the Wasatch ski resorts—so there was that redeeming value), my friends Mark and Pam Solon and I were driving south still in search of a Plan B when we walked into the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) office in St. George, Utah, and found an employee there who had thru-hiked the Arizona Trail. He called the AZT’s passage 16 through the Gila River Canyons one of his favorite sections. And when we subsequently consulted the AZT website, we found it describes that section’s scenery as among the trail’s best outside the Grand Canyon.

Thanks to our decision to step into that BLM office and good fortune in finding that worker on that morning, we had our Plan B.

The Arizona Trail Passage 16

A day after that serendipitous encounter in St. George, we set out in mid-morning on a three-day, out-and-back hike along the AZT’s passage 16 in temps around 60 degrees Fahrenheit on April Fools’ Day, with a slight, cool breeze—conditions that wouldn’t be better if we had been able to custom order the weather. It feels like the perfect antidote to a particularly long and cold winter.

As it turns out, our arrival here proves serendipitously timed as well.

We follow the winding trail over rolling desert hills where saguaro rise to 20 feet or taller and inhabit the land like people in a semi-crowded park. The needle clusters of cholla cacti appear to glow in the almost blinding sunshine. Barrel cacti and other thorny plants share common ground space.

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Backpackers hiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam and Mark Solon backpacking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

But even amid those grandly conspicuous flora, the wildflowers dominate the landscape and command our attention, covering the ground in a profusion of colors. We’d been told that our arrival has coincided with a rare superbloom, a phenomenon somewhat unique to the deserts of Arizona and southern California that occurs when precipitation and temperatures in preceding months cause numerous species of wildflowers to germinate and blossom almost simultaneously in early spring. Bursting from the earth in unison like a flash mob, their vivid colors carpet the ground for miles in all directions. Prominent are Mexican gold poppies, bluedicks, and purple lupines.

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A backpacker hiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam Solon backpacking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

We walk through a dense garden of plant life that belies the aridity of this southern Arizona Sonoran Desert. Around every turn, another stunning scene unveils itself, with bigger, older saguaro reaching 30 to 40 feet tall and other cacti and grasses and flowers marching up hillsides to a sky bluer than a mountain lake, the blend of sharply contrasting colors almost hypnotizing (and delightful to avid photographers like Mark and me). Broken rocks formed eons before the continent’s last glacial period litter the trail. Lizards dash under and over rocks and the baked earth. In the distance, eroded rock formations with names like The Spine, Copper Butte, and The Rincon tower above the desert.

After almost six hours and nearly 11 miles of hiking under the sun’s steadily rising intensity—it feels quite hot even though the day’s high temp doesn’t push much past around 80° F, a strong signal that one does not want to hike here much later than early April—we turn down the dry wash of Walnut Canyon. Walking over and around large rocks and desiccated scrub brush, tree trunks, and other flash-flood debris that lies scattered wall-to-wall across the wash, we follow the dry wash to the banks of the Gila River.

Moments before reaching the river, we locate the essential element necessary for us to survive out here for two more days: water. Right where we expected to find it, a spring emerges from underground, forming a clear trickle about three inches deep in its biggest tiny pool—enough flow and depth to scoop water out using a hard-sided bottle, a task we execute slowly and carefully so as not to stir up sediment and cloud our drinking and cooking water. This trickle flows timidly toward the river but disappears again into the ground not more than 30 feet from where it breaks into the open, before reaching the Gila (although it almost certainly drains underground to the river).

This will be our lone water source through the next two days.

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Backpackers hiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam and Mark Solon backpacking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

We pitch our tents just a few minutes’ walk from the spring, in the partial shade of tall cottonwoods. But we only receive the salvation of complete shade when the blazing sun drops behind the desert hills in early evening; only then does the air feel suddenly less stifling and almost comfortable. The cloudless desert night will cool down enough to require very light down jackets by morning—but never drop to a temperature that anyone would call “chilly,” merely pleasantly cool.

Walking to the river’s edge to stand beside its brown, thickly silted flow—a clear visualization of the near impossibility of harvesting water that’s consumable for us from the Gila—I stand quietly, listening to the low, soft hissing as it swiftly passes by carrying untold tons of fine sand and grit.

That’s the soundtrack of a river of very watery mud.

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Dayhiking in the Sonoran Desert Mountains

The next morning, we depart camp before the sun has reached the valley bottom, hoping to walk for as long as possible in the cooler morning temperatures and shade giving way to lower-angle sunlight. Leaving most of our gear in camp, carrying only daypacks that contain mostly water (four liters each, plus some food and the only extra layer we might need, an ultralight wind shell), we continue following the AZT generally west (although we’re technically hiking the AZT northbound).

The trail remains mostly above the river and its corridor of cottonwoods and dense brush, rarely within sight or earshot of it. But where the trail reaches higher vantage points, we get expansive views of the Gila Valley, surprisingly green with cottonwoods and other hardy, desert-adapted trees crowding the river’s flood zone.

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Hikers on the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam and Mark Solon dayhiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

Where the AZT banks a 90-degree turn to the north, we begin a steady ascent, our vistas expanding as we climb higher. Stone spires rise out of desert mountains. Broken cliffs of multi-colored rock loom across a dry wash valley to one side of the trail. We again walk for miles through a shockingly colorful landscape vibrant with plant life, from giant saguaro to the tiny wildflowers silently screaming out their colors. The cholla cacti we pass by here grow taller than those we saw in the valley bottom, in clusters that spread over broader patches of hillside; again, the sun pierces their dense needles in a way that almost creates an illusion of burning bushes.

After perhaps a couple of hours climbing uphill, we turn around to start our long, hot return to camp. On the way back down, we come upon another serendipitous find: a desert tortoise, larger than a soccer ball, ambling tediously across the trail—living in terrain that’s miles from the nearest water that we know of. Although bighorn sheep, mountain lions, and Gila monsters dwell in this desert (and I’d love to see a Gila monster, but we won’t on this trip), besides the rattler, birds, and the ubiquitous lizards, this tortoise will be the only animal we see.

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Hikers on the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam and Mark Solon dayhiking the Arizona Trail Passage 16 in the Gila River Canyon.

The desert delivers one surprise after another.

By early afternoon, my photographer’s eye notices how the daylight this early in spring visibly transitions from the harsh, directly overhead sun of midday to a lower angle that lends the landscape more contrast and depth and softer, richer light—more confirmation, for me, of the accidentally propitious timing of our hike.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, sleeping bag, down jacket, ultralight wind shell, trekking poles, air mattress, stove, and headlamp I used on this trip.

See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips, including these stories:

Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist
The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Packs
The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
The Best Ultralight Hiking and Running Jackets
25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The Best Base Layers, Shorts, and Socks for Hiking and Running
The 12 Best Down Jackets

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Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-utahs-mind-blowing-death-hollow-loop/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-utahs-mind-blowing-death-hollow-loop/#respond Fri, 22 Mar 2024 22:36:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=62487 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Like many desert Southwest hikes, southern Utah’s Boulder Mail Trail begins from its western trailhead with a lot of laboriously slow walking in soft sand—miles of it, up, down, over, across. When not walking in beach sand, or for brief, merciful spurts, firm sand, we’re hiking over slickrock, that most grippy of ground surfaces where we can move much more quickly—except where the slickrock tilts at severe angles, as it does much of the time. Then it begins an adventurous exercise in strenuous, calf-pumping ascents or cautious descents with backpacks, constantly zigzagging to avoid the impassable spots steep enough that a slip could result in a long slide and tumble for a possibly hurtful distance.

The potential for drama aside, the trail is reasonably well-marked with cairns across the slickrock and pocked with boot prints in the sand from recent backpackers. And with every bend in the trail and new prospect overlooking this bizarrely convoluted, twisted-like-a-pretzel-and-just-as-dry terrain in the Box-Death Hollow Wilderness of the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, I have three visceral reactions.

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.

First, I can’t help but wonder how daunting all of this must have looked to the first people to explore and map routes across it—and this part of southern Utah anchored by the Escalante River and Henry Mountains was the last area of the continental United States to get mapped, no doubt for the very reasons of the harsh contours, climate, and remoteness.

Second, while I have backpacked all over the Southwest, including many of this region’s best multi-day hikes, this trail and landscape repeatedly cause me to pause, look around, and catch my breath—not only for the steepness, but for the stark beauty, the myriad folds in this turbulent landscape of rock and sand, the sweeping vistas and the kid-in-a-playground quality of wandering circuitously across this navigationally almost unreadable terrain. While reminiscent of other parts of the Southwest, it’s still uniquely breathtaking.

And lastly: I know that each of our three days out here will present entirely different terrain and scenery, a sort of three-in-one wilderness adventure.


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Backpackers descending the Boulder Mail Trail into Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt and David Gordon descending the Boulder Mail Trail into Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

My friends Todd Arndt, David Gordon, and I are backpacking the 22-mile/35.4-kilometer Boulder Mail Trail-Death Hollow-Escalante River Loop, also known more simply as the Death Hollow Loop. Over three days, we’ll hike a bit more than half of the BMT, descend the sometimes narrow, dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, frequently walking in the creek, and then ascend the upper canyon of the Escalante River.

Coming here in the first week of October, we’re greeted with daytime temperatures in the 60s Fahrenheit and sunshine that still feels desert-hot pouring from a bluebird sky. That and the scenery unfolding before us on our first day feel like good omens.

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The Boulder Mail Trail

When established in 1902, the Boulder Mail Trail was exactly that: a route that mail carriers traveled by packhorse from the town of Escalante to isolated Boulder Town. By 1910, a telegraph line was strung across this high, slickrock plateau and the few creeks that slash canyons through it, providing Boulder with communication to the outside world (through the technology of the times, a switchboard in Escalante). When UT 12 was completed in 1940, creating one of the most scenic highways in the country, the Boulder Mail Trail probably met the fate of so many outdated technologies: It was soon forgotten. But not abandoned forever.

In recent decades, the 15-mile trail has evolved a new identity as a distinctively spectacular and rugged overnight backpacking trip or long, challenging dayhike—and I suspect it probably attracts just as much depth of appreciation as it did in its first role, although now from a much larger population of beneficiaries.

Along much of the Boulder Mail Trail from Escalante to Death Hollow, we follow the old telegraph line that still hangs from short metal poles and the occasional small tree. Reaching some of today’s easiest terrain at Antone Flats—which are “flat” only relative to much of the BMT—we stroll over gently rolling but unmoving waves of Navajo Sandstone with ripples like the wind-washed sand dunes that constituted its geological childhood.

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Backpackers in Antone Flat on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
David Gordon and Todd Arndt in Antone Flat on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

Distinctive for its cross-bedded lines, or cross-stratification, where prehistoric layers deposited at random, crisscrossing angles, Navajo Sandstone arguably represents the most striking and captivating ground surface on Earth. It looks like the most immense, complex, and beautiful pottery you’ve ever seen.

By some estimates, this type of sandstone spans more than 150,000 square miles (400,000 square kilometers) of the western United States, spread across the Colorado Plateau in Utah, Nevada, Arizona, and Colorado. Known to geologists as one of the most extensive and most exposed aeolian, or wind-blown, systems in the geologic record, Navajo Sandstone originated in an enormous sand sea deposited in the Early Jurassic, approximately 190 million years ago, as a result of regional tectonics when the Colorado Plateau region was part of a large sedimentary basin located in a very arid climate just north of the equator. (If you want a fascinating, four-paragraph lesson in Navajo sandstone geology, read this.)

Due to our travel schedule, we started our hike after lunch, expecting to finish our 8.5-mile first day with a moderate amount of vertical relief in four hours or less. But by the time we reached Antone Flats, it became clear that the sand and steep slickrock, with a bit of scrambling thrown in to spice it up, would result in our time estimate falling short by two hours (for three guys, it’s worth noting, with decades of backpacking experience and many 20- and 30-mile days under our hipbelts).

But it’s hard to imagine many closing scenes to the first act of a backcountry adventure finer than the moment we reach the rim of Death Hollow.

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A backpacker above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt above Death Hollow on the Boulder Mail Trail in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

The sun has already retreated to the cliff tops high above us, leaving our overlook and the deep chasm of Death Hollow in shadow. Sheer cliffs slashed by myriad vertical cracks, steep ramps of intricately featured Navajo Sandstone, and rib-like buttresses of rock separated by deep gullies comprise the walls of this wriggling canyon, which looks impenetrable from our prospect. In its bottom, the perennial creek has created a lush, green oasis in the desert.

In the slowly dimming dusk light, we follow the BMT’s zigzagging route along narrow ledges and down steep slickrock ramps carpeted in loose pebbles and sand to the floor of this Escalante River tributary canyon. Finding a couple in a tent at the one spacious and flat, sandy camp at the bottom of the trail, we try exploring downstream for a quarter-mile, wading in the swift current but finding no remotely feasible camps. With dark fast approaching, we backtrack to that camp and apologetically explain to the couple, Jason and Hannah, that we have no choice but to join them. They graciously insist it’s no problem and we pitch our tents at the other end of the sandy shelf.

Todd busts out three cans of beer that he’s carried in to surprise us with—the hero for the day. Later, the night sky emerges so dark and ablaze with stars that one might be tempted to wonder whether it’s a secret code that holds the answers to all the great questions of the universe and our place in it.

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Death Hollow

A mild night that dipped perhaps barely below 50 degrees Fahrenheit dawns to a calm morning so quiet you might hear a sigh of deep contentment from a half-mile away. We’re in no great hurry to start hiking: We want to let the sun rise a bit higher to start warming the bottom of Death Hollow, where we don’t expect to receive much direct sunlight all day, owing to its tall walls and narrow topography, and where the cold creek creates natural refrigeration. So we linger in camp over tea and coffee and don’t roll out until just after 10 a.m.

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.

Just below the campsite, we cautiously step into the creek where it punches through a constriction in the canyon, the current gaining a bit of depth and speed. The water instantly feels shockingly cold with my first, thigh-deep plunge into it in the canyon’s deep morning shade, my feet and lower legs immediately stinging with numbness. But less than an hour after starting out, while this canyon still remains mostly in shade, we’ve all warmed up enough to start peeling off extra layers. My feet, in neoprene socks inside my shoes, start to slowly warm up again.

The close walls of this stretch of Death Hollow conjure mental images—waking nightmares, really—of finding oneself in here when a flash flood rips down this narrow and vertiginous canyon. Debris from past flashes litter the creek banks. This is not a hike for any days with even a trace of a chance of rain in the forecast.

We work our way downstream in the often-shallow stream, seeking out the path of least risk amid small cascades, cliffs rising out of the water, and deep, calm pools, boulders and rocks buffed slick by the current, and assorted other obstacles and hazards. At one point, we file gingerly along a long and very narrow ledge submerged a few inches below the surface of the creek on the right bank, taking care to avoid slipping and falling into the pool below the ledge, which spans 10 feet or more and appears to be several feet deep.

The first clusters of poison ivy we encounter stand so tall and abundant that it takes a few seconds to realize we’re looking at poison ivy. The plants grow in dense thickets along the creek banks, many of them taller than us. David, a longtime trails manager and experienced backpacker and backcountry traveler, says, “I’ve never seen poison ivy so big.”

Death Hollow alternately pinches down to a narrows with overhanging walls and flat, creekside ledges with deep alcoves carved out by the current, and broadens to suddenly bathe us in warm sunshine and reveal tall, sheer walls and slickrock ramps and domes.

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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.

At one magical spot in the canyon, we stop just to admire a short but lovely, broad curtain of water pouring over a ledge in the creek right at the base of the cracked face of steep-walled dome that rises to a spear point high above us. The greenery of trees contract with soaring, red, gray, and tan walls on all sides. Below that tiny falls, another watery curtain plunges over another ledge, spanning the creek wall to wall.

By late afternoon, six hours after leaving last night’s camp—a pace of barely over a mile per hour in Death Hollow, although we’d also taken a deliberately leisurely pace to enjoy it—we reach its mouth and confluence with the Escalante River, a rare occurrence where a river tributary adds a much greater volume of water than exists in the river. A couple of parties of backpackers have already found camps here, but there’s far more space on the sandy shelves above the river, in the sparse shade of cottonwood trees, for us to set up our tents without anyone else within sight.

We find a natural stone pool in the Escalante’s current, shaped like a shallow bathtub and deep enough to lie down and fully immerse ourselves in the bracing water for a nice, but brief, cooling bath.

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How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
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Idaho Wilderness Trail Maps and Overview https://thebigoutsideblog.com/idaho-wilderness-trail-maps-and-overview/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/idaho-wilderness-trail-maps-and-overview/#comments Thu, 14 Mar 2024 09:00:35 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=54101 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Want to hike the most remote and wild long-distance trail in the Lower 48? The Idaho Wilderness Trail stretches for 296 miles across three central Idaho wilderness areas that comprise nearly four million acres. If these three wildernesses were contained within one national park, it would be America’s third largest and the biggest outside Alaska. This article offers a primer on the IWT and links to digital maps of its four stages.

From north to south, the IWT traverses the 1.3-million acre Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, which by itself is larger than many national parks, including Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Glacier; the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness (aka “the Frank”), largest in the Lower 48 and bigger than Yellowstone; and the 217,000-acre Sawtooth Wilderness, protected as a primitive area since 1937, among the first places protected in The Wilderness Act of 1964, and now Idaho’s best-known and most beloved mountain range for its jagged peaks and hundreds of alpine lakes.

Nearly 350 miles long when including three remote road sections—where backpackers may be able to catch rides—the IWT extends from its northern terminus at Wilderness Gateway campground on US 12 on the edge of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness in North Idaho to its southern terminus on the outskirts of the tiny town of Atlanta, on the southern edge of the Sawtooth Wilderness. It can be hiked as four distinct stages or thru-hiked in a month or less.


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A hiker on the Middle Fork River Trail 44 in Idaho's Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.
Lisa Fenton hiking the Middle Fork River Trail 44 in Idaho’s Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.

Born about 10 years ago when I brought the concept of it to the Idaho Conservation League, which embraced the idea and collaborated with me to create it using existing trails, the IWT spans a vast realm of mountains and canyons divided by just one rural highway (ID 21 outside the small town of Stanley) and two remote dirt roads. It crosses mountain passes over 9,000 feet and meanders below peaks rising over 10,000 feet; follows three designated wild and scenic rivers, the Middle Fork of the Salmon, the Salmon (often referred to as the “Main Salmon”), and the Selway; and traces the shores of innumerable alpine lakes below dramatic spires from the Bighorn Crags in the Frank to the Sawtooths.

It passes through pristine backcountry that is home to mountain goats and bighorn sheep, elk and moose, black bears, and hundreds of wolves—a population estimated to be at least seven times as many as live in Yellowstone.

Perhaps most uniquely, the IWT offers the kind of solitude one cannot find on most long-distance trails. In fact, many backpackers have never even heard of the wilderness areas the trail traverses. I’ve backpacked the John Muir Trail and parts of the Pacific Crest Trail, Appalachian Trail, and other long-distance footpaths. The IWT far eclipses them for solitude.

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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, along the Idaho Wilderness Trail.

Thru-hiking the IWT poses logistical challenges in some ways more challenging than other long-distance trails. Besides its remoteness, those include:

  • The trail crosses mountains in each of its four stages and deep canyons in between the mountains. A thru-hike must be undertaken in the summer or early fall to avoid snow in the mountains, but that means dealing with heat in the lower canyons.
  • Arranging a shuttle between the northern and southern ends of the IWT for a thru-hike—or even between the northern and southern ends of any stage(s) of the trail—is complicated by very limited road access and the sheer size of these wilderness areas. Two of the three roads the trail crosses are gravel and quite remote and the driving time between the Wilderness Gateway Campground on US 12 at the IWT’s northern end and the tiny town of Atlanta, Idaho, at the IWT’s southern end (reached via good but somewhat slow gravel roads), is over eight hours one-way.
  • Resupply opportunities are scant and far apart. Unlike more-established long-distance trails like the JMT, PCT, and AT, there are not yet established places where one can resupply along the IWT.

Perhaps most challenging, some sections of the IWT follow trails that have not been maintained in years—or never maintained—especially the IWT’s northern sections in the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Anyone considering a thru-hike or a backpacking trip on any section of the Idaho Wilderness Trail is strongly advised to read through the very detailed and well-researched blog posts written by my friends Tom and Will Gattiker, who thru-hiked the IWT in September and October 2022. Will’s report focuses on critical logistical details and recommends variations off the IWT to avoid abandoned/unmaintained trails: safesexandgoretex.com/2022/11/idaho-wilderness-trail-nitty-gritty.html. Tom’s report is more of a travel log about the experience: click here.

See my tips and more information on backpacking the IWT in my story, “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail,” and the comments at the bottom of that story, where some backpackers who’ve hiked the trail share helpful, specific details about it See also my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a thru-hike of the entire Idaho Wilderness Trail or a backpacking trip on one of its stages as well as any trip you read about at this blog.

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A hiker above Idaho's Middle Fork Salmon River in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.
Mark Fenton hiking above Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness.

Idaho Wilderness Trail Maps

See an overview map of the Idaho Wilderness Trail at https://drive.google.com/file/d/11GOZEV1ufser-wbHh9SniDkdXeJKyN2Q/view?ts=5ce5d90e. Mapping the IWT on gaiagps.com, the IWT measures 349.6 miles, including 296 total official trail miles divided into four stages and three road sections that total 53.6 miles.

These are links to the four IWT stages maps on gaiagps.com:

Gaia map of IWT Stage 1
Gaia map of IWT Stage 2
Gaia map of IWT Stage 3
Gaia map of IWT Stage 4

Will Gattiker, who thru-hiked the IWT with his father, Tom, in 2022, created a map of the route they took, including some variations necessitated by wildfires and poor trail conditions, at caltopo.com/m/R171T.

Existing print maps that cover parts of the IWT include:

  • The Cairn Cartographics Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness North Half and South Half (two maps) cover that wilderness area, cairncarto.com.
  • The Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness South Half and North Half maps are folded paper maps that provide a good overview of the wilderness, showing trails, but are large, not tearproof or waterproof, and unwieldy to use in the backcountry. See info on buying these maps at fs.usda.gov/detail/scnf/maps-pubs/?cid=fsbdev3_029527. I think you might find those maps on Amazon and elsewhere.
  • The U.S. Forest Service also offers digital maps of the national forests which can be accessed at the websites of many national forests, including by scrolling down to the “Download Maps” button at fs.usda.gov/r04/salmon-challis/maps-guides.
  • Trails Illustrated Sawtooth National Recreation Area map no. 870. It has convenient mileage distances marked for trail segments and good detail for backpacking.

The Idaho Wilderness Trail will give you a backpacking experience like no other.

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Backpacking the Canadian Rockies: Nigel and Cataract Passes https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-nigel-and-cataract-passes/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-canadian-rockies-nigel-and-cataract-passes/#comments Wed, 28 Feb 2024 13:02:38 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=62172 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A couple of hours up the Nigel Pass Trail, after a lunch break beside boulder-strewn rapids on chalky, glacially silted Nigel Creek, we pop out of forest into sub-alpine terrain with wildflowers and the kind of dense, low brush that conceals grizzly bears better than we think—enjoying our first expansive views of the peaks flanking this valley in Banff National Park. As we make our way farther up the valley, our gentle trail turns steeper, leading us up to Nigel Pass at 7,200 feet (2,195 meters), where we drink up a 360-degree panorama of tall cliffs and treeless mountainsides of broken rock in this little patch of the Canadian Rockies.

But even this barely hints at what lies ahead.

A descent of just minutes brings us to an easy rock-hop across the shallow Brazeau River, which runs milky and emerald with glacial till—and across an invisible boundary into Jasper National Park. Several other backpackers also crossing the river all continue in the direction of the well-known Brazeau Loop in Jasper. None turn in the same direction we’re hiking.


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Backpackers hiking the Nigel Cataract and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
Our group backpacking up the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

On the river’s opposite bank, we find what seems a promising indication of what our route ahead may offer: a trail sign marking this junction and a clearly visible footpath on the ground leading where we want to go. The sign points to Cataract Pass, our destination—and affirms what we already know: that this is an “unmaintained route.”

Minutes beyond that junction, a scene of alpine paradise unspools before us. In this virtually treeless valley, the Brazeau River, baring white-capped teeth, punches noisily through a tight passage between the steep slope that this use trail traverses and crumbling cliffs on the river’s other side. Mountains of archetypal Canadian Rockies pedigree, with serrated stone crowns and towering walls of heavily fractured layers, shoulder into the achingly blue sky, more of them coming into view as we march up valley.

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A backpacker hiking above the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking above the Brazeau River Valley toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Following occasional cairns, we scramble through a jumbled, maze-like train wreck of razor-edged boulders, the going slow but not difficult through what looks like the very old debris of massive rockslides that released high above and reached the valley floor. Rocks of all sizes and sharply contrasting colors cover the ground at the bottom of the geologically complex, skyscraping cliffs forming this side of the valley. 

Five of us—my wife, Penny, our 20-year-old daughter, Alex, our longtime friends Gary Davis and his 19-year-old daughter, Adele, and I—are spending three days backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the Canadian Rockies. Today, our first day, we’ll cross Nigel and Cataract passes in northern Banff and southern Jasper national parks. At Cataract Pass, we’ll enter the White Goat Wilderness, where we plan to base camp for two nights.

Before long, the valley broadens and flattens. The Brazeau meanders lazily, parting around rocky sandbars of its own making, its water even more vividly emerald here, in its calm before the storm of whitewater downstream. We stroll casually along a flat trail through meadows that, as Adele puts it, look very much like “a golf course.” But, of course, this wilderness idyll is the farthest thing from a manicured golf course.

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The Brazeau River Valley

Taking a short snack break in the Brazeau Valley, we chat for a few minutes with a backpacker heading in the other direction who mentions that he began his trek in Waterton; and when I ask if he’s thru-hiking the Great Divide Trail, he flashes a big smile, excited that I’ve heard of it. He started the 698-mile/1,123-kilometer GDT in the first days of July and plans to finish in the third week of August.

Curious about the GDT, I ask if he has favorite sections so far. He contemplates the question for a long moment, mentions Waterton and a couple of others, then finally shrugs and says, “It’s all great.”

The Great Divide Trail stretches from Waterton Lakes National Park on the U.S.-Canada border—where it connects with the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) in America’s Glacier National Park—to its northern terminus in Kakwa Provincial Park. Along its winding, up-and-down course, the GDT passes through five national parks (Waterton Lakes, Banff, Kootenay, Yoho, and Jasper), eight provincial parks, three wildland provincial parks, two wilderness areas, including our destination, the White Goat, and two special management areas.

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Backpackers camped in Cataract Basin on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route, White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.
Our camp near Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract and Cline Passes Route, White Goat Wilderness, Canadian Rockies.

Sixty percent of the trail lies within Canada’s Rocky Mountain National and Provincial Parks, a World Heritage Site spanning four national parks (the four above excluding Waterton) and three provincial parks (Mount Robson, Mount Assiniboine, and Hamber). The seven contiguous parks collectively cover more than 5.8 million acres/almost 2.4 million hectares of pristine mountain wilderness—an area nearly equal to Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Glacier, and Everglades national parks combined.

While the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route comprises a miniscule piece of the GDT, it seems like a good sampler of what strikes me as probably one of the most continuously scenic, wild, often remote, and just plain interesting long-distance trails in the world.

We reach the upper Brazeau Valley, where a remnant glacier hangs off a peak that stands over 9,600 feet (3,000 meters); that glacier drains into a trio of glacial lakes in this basin that forms the headwaters of the Brazeau River. We gaze up at the steep footpath ascending a slope of scree for several hundred feet to Cataract Pass, at 8,200 feet (2,500 meters). Then everyone puts their head down and grinds it out, each at our own pace, reaching the windy pass one at a time, congratulating one other’s effort.

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A backpacker hiking over Cataract Pass toward the Brazeau River Valley in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.
My wife, Penny, backpacking over Cataract Pass toward the Brazeau River Valley in Jasper National Park, Canadian Rockies.

Crossing another invisible boundary at this pass to enter the White Goat Wilderness, we follow the path and sporadic cairns down the other side. It disappears crossing rocky ground, then reappears farther ahead, plunging down a steep final pitch with occasionally sketchy footing on pebbly trail—but with a visible trail much of the way—to Cataract Creek. Easily walking a chain of rocks across the shallow, clear, cold water, we reach a large campsite just above the creek’s opposite bank.

A twisting arc of mountains comprised of shattered cliffs, scree slopes, and jagged edges against the sky cradles the Cataract Creek basin. A chain of peaks frames the creek valley draining the basin’s mouth. Above our camp, a glacier dangles off one mountainside.

We’ll spend two nights here in the White Goat Wilderness largely because no permit is required. That fact creates a convenient situation in the midst of the Canadian Rockies national parks, where very popular multi-day hikes like the Skyline Trail in Jasper and the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay—two premier sections of the GDT—require permit reservations that are very hard to get.

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The White Goat Wilderness

The next morning, I’m out of the tent before the sun reaches our camp, wearing multiple layers in the cool morning air, walking around shooting photos of our camp surroundings and the creek and mountains in the diffused pre-dawn light. Before long, the sun begins striking the mountaintops, bathing them in golden light.

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Photo Gallery: The Rockwall Trail in the Canadian Rockies https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-the-rockwall-trail-in-the-canadian-rockies/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-the-rockwall-trail-in-the-canadian-rockies/#comments Wed, 20 Dec 2023 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=23155 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A few hours into our hike’s first day, we came around a bend in the trail to a sight that stopped us cold: a pair of skyscraping stone monoliths rising thousands of feet above the treetops. Silhouetted by the sun arcing toward the west, the peaks resembled a pair of El Capitans standing shoulder to shoulder. A little while later, one of the tallest waterfalls in the Rocky Mountains came into view: Helmet Falls, plunging 1,154 feet (352 meters) over a cliff.

After that, the scenery really got good.

My family was backpacking the approximately 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park, in the vertiginous heart of the Canadian Rockies. Well known among Canadian backpackers but less so among Americans and international trekkers, the Rockwall arguably deserves a place on any list of the world’s prettiest trails. (I included it among “My 30 Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”)

Backpackers on the Rockwall follow the base of a nearly unbroken, massive limestone escarpment in Kootenay’s Vermilion Range, plastered with glaciers and towering in some locations about 3,000 feet (900 meters) above the trail, for about 18 miles (30 kilometers) of the route.


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Over four August days, we hiked through larch forests and across meadows carpeted with wildflowers. We saw mountain goats scamper along a moraine below a hanging glacier. We crossed four passes between about 7,300 to 7,700 feet.

As I think you’ll see in the photo gallery below, it’s no exaggeration to liken it to dozens of the tallest cliff in Yosemite Valley, El Capitan, lined up in a row stretching for miles.

Although it’s in grizzly country (we saw no signs of bears) and the passes present moderately tough climbs, the Rockwall Trail is, in many ways, a beginner-friendly backpacking trip. Trails are well marked and easy to follow. The passes aren’t so high that the elevation greatly affects many people. There are bridges over the creeks (we never got our feet wet), and designated camping areas with bearproof, metal lockers for food storage, pit toilets, and even picnic tables.

Shopping for new gear? Start with the menu of all reviews at this blog’s Gear Reviews page.

Now is the time of year to reserve a permit to backpack the Rockwall Trail. See my feature story about that trip, “Backpacking the Canadian Rockies: Kootenay’s Rockwall Trail,” for more photos, a video, and trip-planning information.

See also all of my stories about the Canadian Rockies, family adventures, and international adventures at The Big Outside.

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16 Photos From 2023 That Will Inspire Your Next Adventure https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2023-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/16-photos-from-2023-that-will-inspire-your-next-adventure/#comments Tue, 12 Dec 2023 10:25:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=49495 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

How was your 2023? I hope you got outdoors as much as possible with the people you care about—and you enjoyed adventures that inspired you. I’m sharing in this story photos from the seven backpacking trips I took this year (in addition to the usual dayhiking, climbing, skiing, etc.). In early April, I went on a pair of three-day hikes in Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon and on a section of the Arizona Trail that was in the midst of a wildly colorful wildflower bloom. On a two-family trip to the Canadian Rockies in late July and early August, we backpacked two amazing routes, the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park and a piece of the Great Divide Trail into the White Goat Wilderness.

Later in August, I returned yet again to the Wind River Range for a roughly 41-mile hike that I am prepared to boldly call the best multi-day hike in the Winds (and that’s saying an awful lot). September featured a much-anticipated return to Glacier National Park for a seven-day hike complicated by an ever-present possibility in Glacier—”bear activity”—following trails I have walked before but which I think could never fail to inspire a sense of awe. And finally, in early October, two friends and I backpacked a three-day loop in southern Utah’s Escalante region that exceeded even my high expectations for it.


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

Yea, 2023 felt like a great year for me. And picking back through my photos it year only reinforces that feeling. As always, these experiences reminded me of what’s most important in my life.

The photos in this story are favorite images from those trips. Whether you want to learn more about any of them to take them yourself or just want to find some inspiration for your adventures, I think you’ll enjoy this little escape.

Scroll through the photos and short anecdotes from each trip below. Some include links to stories about those places that I’ve already posted at The Big Outside—many of which require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my tips and information on how to plan and take those trips. Watch for my upcoming stories about the other places described below. Click photos to learn more about any trip.

And I can help you plan any of these trips or any others you read about at The Big Outside—giving you the benefit of my three decades of professional experience identifying, planning, and successfully pulling off great adventures. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you, and my downloadable e-guides to some of America’s best backpacking trips.

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

Enjoy my pictures and start now planning your adventures for 2024.

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A backpacker amid a wildflower super bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.
Mark Solon backpacking amid a wildflower super bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.

The Arizona Trail Along the Gila River

In early April, the Arizona Trail’s passage (or section) 16 through the Gila River canyons proved to be everything one would expect in the extremely arid Sonoran Desert—and much more than expected. On a three-day, out-and-back hike to a base camp with a dayhike from it on the middle day, two friends and I walked for hours each day beneath a relentlessly nuclear sun—a shock to people coming directly from a prolonged, cold winter (of epic skiing)—along a route with one reliable water source: a spring emerging from the dry ground and trickling no more than three inches deep. We were not five minutes into our trip when a sound all too familiar to all of us startled us: a sustained, scratchy rattling noise from a snake displeased by these large intruders.

But we also enjoyed very pleasant evening and morning temperatures in camp and on the trail (until the heat unfailingly set in by around late morning). We followed a winding trail over rolling desert hills where life sprang with enthusiastic defiance from an environment that we humans see as uninhabitable and deadly.

A hiker amid a wildflower bloom on the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.
Pam Solon dayhiking from our camp along the Arizona Trail in the Gila River Canyon.

Saguaro rose as much as 40 feet tall and inhabited the land like giant sculptures in an outdoor museum. The needle-dense clusters of cholla cacti seemed to glow in the blinding sunshine, while barrel cacti and other thorny flora covered the ground densely. One our dayhike from camp, climbing into hills topped by small, rocky little peaklets and broken cliffs, we came upon a Sonoran desert tortoise, bigger than a dinner plate, miles from any apparent water source.

But most surprisingly and fortuitously, we stumbled into the peak of a shockingly colorful wildflower super bloom. Flowers carpeted the ground so densely that professional landscapers might feel humbled. The spectacle of color rolled up and down brown hillsides dominated by towering saguaro, each new scene around every bend in the trail striking a stark contrast against a sky intensely blue in the dry air and painted with the ghostly white streaks of mare’s tail clouds.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon—unsurprisingly considered the best part of the Arizona Trail—at The Big Outside.

The right gear makes any trip go better.
See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.

Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon

Right after finishing that AZT hike, joined by two more friends, five of us backpacked into one of the most unique micro-environments existing anywhere in the desert Southwest: Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon. We spent three days in the canyon (the maximum permitted), hiking in a few hours to set up a base camp in the shade of tall cottonwood trees along Aravaipa Creek and dayhiking nearly to the other end of this lush, 12-mile-long defile between redrock walls that reach up to 600 feet tall.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous public lands, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro cacti grow in giant armies on the rims overhead.

Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpacking out to the West Trailhead on our last day in Aravaipa Canyon. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, no water scarcity typical of Southwest backpacking trips, abundant shade, and the low elevation and southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a relatively casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—and fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon” at The Big Outside.

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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.

The Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park

On a two-family trip from late July into August in the Canadian Rockies, we started out with a Canadian Rockies classic: backpacking Jasper’s Skyline Trail, a three-day, 27.3-mile, south-north traverse of the Maligne Range just southeast of the town of Jasper. Remaining above treeline for more than 15 miles, the Skyline serves up nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains in every direction.

For backpackers who like trails that stay high in the mountains for long distances with big views, the Skyline feels like the crown of the magnificent Canadian Rockies. And it’s not very hard at all. At a total distance and elevation gain and loss that many backpackers can complete in three days, and crossing three only moderately difficult passes, the highest reaching just 8,238 feet, the trip does not place great demands on your time or stamina. Backcountry camping is all in designated campgrounds with food-storage lockers, making food management easy, eliminating one of the biggest concerns about bear safety.

A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

The Skyline can also deliver some wild weather: We hiked through a thunderstorm on our first day and strong winds on our second, traversing the trail’s highest stretch. Go there with a good layering system and shells and your A game for managing warmth and moisture. But it certainly merits ranking among the top multi-day hikes in the Canadian Rockies and mention on any serious list of the world’s top treks.

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the Lower 48 that really compares with the Canadian Rockies.

Read my feature story about this trip, “Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park,” and see more photos in this blog post about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies and all stories about backpacking in the Canadian Rockies at The Big Outside.

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Backpackers hiking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park.
Our group backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route toward Cataract Pass in Jasper National Park.

The White Goat Wilderness in the Canadian Rockies

After the Skyline Trail, we spent another three days backpacking the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route, which begins by crossing through remote corners of both Banff and Jasper national parks to reach the cirque that forms the headwaters of Cataract Creek in the White Goat Wilderness, where we set up a base camp for two nights.

On this out-and-back hike of just over 18 miles round-trip—not including the short side hike some of us took on our middle day to Cline Pass at over 8,800 feet—we backpacked up and down the valley of Nigel Creek to cross Nigel Pass, at 7,200 feet, and the upper valley of the Brazeau River, which flows milky and a vivid emerald color from glacial till, flanked by skyscraping cliffs, to cross Cataract Pass at 8,200 feet below a hanging glacier.

A backpacker above Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the White Goat Wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.
Gary Davis above Cataract Creek on the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route in the White Goat Wilderness of the Canadian Rockies.

At a camp a short walk from the clear waters of Cataract Creek, we gazed at tall, craggy peaks enwrapping the cirque, with another hanging glacier pouring off the peak directly above our camp. Having known little about the Nigel, Cataract, and Cline Passes Route before coming here, we were kind of blown away by it. Not surprisingly, the route is part of the Great Divide Trail, a 698-mile/1123-kilometer long-distance trail stretching from Waterton Lakes National Park on the U.S.-Canada border—where it abuts America’s Glacier National Park—to Kakwa Provincial Park.

The easy part: No permit is required for camping in the White Goat Wilderness.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see more photos in this blog post about hiking and backpacking in the Canadian Rockies.

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A backpacker descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser descending from Texas Pass into the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Just Maybe the Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range

In the middle of August, my friend Chip and I returned to Wyoming’s Wind River Range—the second year in a row for Chip and fourth straight for me (preceded by other Winds trips going back 30 years)—backpacking a four-day, roughly 41-mile loop from Big Sandy. While I fully understand how much uproar this could antagonize, having seen quite a bit of Winds real estate over the years, I believe this route may constitute the best backpacking trip in those incredible mountains.

Following some trails that I’ve walked before and many miles of trails that were new to me even after numerous trips in the Winds, we crossed terrain mostly above 10,000 feet, camped by glorious alpine lakes that reflected sunset and early-morning light on razor peaks, and crossed four passes, three over 11,000 feet that I had not crossed before and the fourth just under that mark.

A backpacker above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.
Chip Roser above Macon Lake and Washakie Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Not atypical of these mountains that straddle the Continental Divide for about 100 miles and reach over 13,000 feet, we hiked through relentlessly strong winds that caused us to stagger at times and had to hunker down in our tents when a violent thunderstorm followed by hours of rain and wind pounded us.

After four years in a row exploring the Winds, I’m still ready to go back yet again—that’s how much awaits you in the Wind River Range. As I’ve written before at this blog, the Winds can make you ask yourself: Why would I go anywhere else?

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about backpacking the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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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.

Glacier National ParkAs Inspiring As Ever

I had a permit reservation for a seven-day variation I’d customized of Glacier’s popular Northern Loop—a hike that I (and plenty of other people) consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier, and one I’d taken before but was more than happy to repeat—when two friends and I arrived at the backcountry office in Apgar on a cool Sunday morning in September. Little did we know that our plans had already been rendered impossible due to closures of two of our six camps because of bear activity.

But working with a ranger eager to help us preserve a weeklong itinerary, we came up with an excellent alternative plan that kept my original itinerary’s first two days intact and added five new days, backpacking nearly 84 miles mostly on the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) from the park’s northeast corner south to Two Medicine.

A backpacker above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm high above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

We camped four of our six nights by beautiful lakes, hit highlights like the Ptarmigan Tunnel, Many Glacier, and the mind-blowing alpine traverse on the Dawson Pass Trail, crossed four passes with 360-degree panoramas of Glacier’s incomparable mountains—and enjoyed chilly nights and mornings and mostly sunny, dry days that are common in much of the West in September.

The takeaway: Almost any multi-day hike in Glacier will knock your socks off. (Bring extra pairs.)

See my feature story about this trip, “Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

Planning your next big adventure? See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips
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A backpacker hiking down Death Hollow in southern Utah's Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
Todd Arndt backpacking down Death Hollow in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

The Boulder Mail Trail-Death Hollow-Escalante River Loop

Two friends and I embarked on this three-day hike with little idea of what to expect beyond all of us having had plenty of experience hiking and backpacking in southern Utah, including in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

What we found took the nearly blank canvas in our minds and gave us back a masterpiece of canyon country.

This roughly 22-mile loop links up the Boulder Mail Trail (lead photo at top of story) with a descent of the spellbinding and at times exciting, watery canyon of Death Hollow and then hiking up the upper canyon of the Escalante River, where the red walls rise tall and sheer and the river amounts to little more than a trickle that occasionally dries up.

This compact adventure delivers one of the best samplers I’ve seen of the Escalante region, from miles of walking up and down over slickrock slabs through canyons and across plateau country on the Boulder Mail Trail; to the descent of Death Hollow, where you’ll walk below soaring walls, frequently in water reaching sometimes over your knees (and that was in fall, suggesting that spring runoff may rise to deep and fast to hike this safely), with a new surprise around each bend; and concluding with easy strolling up the very upper end of the Escalante River canyon, which almost seems to require no introduction.

Watch for my upcoming feature story about this trip. Meanwhile, see all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

As you plan your trips for next year, see “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips,” “The 25 Best National Park Dayhikes,” my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and my Trips page at The Big Outside.

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Déjà vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/deja-vu-all-over-again-backpacking-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/deja-vu-all-over-again-backpacking-in-glacier-national-park/#respond Sat, 09 Dec 2023 16:47:45 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=61234 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In the second week of September, the cool air in the shade of the forest nips at our cheeks as we leave our first night’s camp beside Glenns Lake in the backcountry of Glacier National Park, starting at a reasonably early hour for a day where we will walk nearly 16 miles and 6,000 feet of combined uphill and downhill. I’m hiking in a fleece hoodie, pants, and gloves and my friends Pam Solon and Jeff Wilhelm are similarly layered up. Once the sun reaches us within an hour, we’ll strip down to shorts and T-shirts.

Where the trail crosses a meadow, the expansive view west across a calm and insistently blue Cosley Lake reveals what looks like a long wall of overlapping stone shields jammed into the earth, each 2,000 or more feet tall and tilting at different angles. At the lake’s outlet—now in warm sunshine—we ford the Belly River, ankle- to calf-deep here with just a few tiny riffles and not very cold. More hiking through quiet forest brings us to the refrigerated, cliff-shaded alcove below Dawn Mist Falls, which spills thunderously over a sheer drop and crashes onto fallen boulders at its base, its force releasing a perpetual mist. Moss wallpapers the alcove’s short cliffs.

A backpacker hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.

After a thoroughly relaxing lunch break on the pebbly beach at Elizabeth Lake—where the perfect combination of solar warmth and soft breeze probably converts in direct value to about a thousand hours of counseling—we start the long climb to the Ptarmigan Tunnel. Reaching the open alpine terrain, I repeatedly stop to spin 180 degrees and take big bites of our view of the valley of Helen and Elizabeth lakes and the peaks on the other side, which shelter what remains of a couple of glaciers in the shade of north-facing cliffs just below the mountaintops.

I’ve backpacked this trail before; this isn’t new to me. But time slowly renders a bit fuzzier the memory of how constantly breathtaking it is—which is, in a funny way, a gift to us: We get to experience that awe anew each time.

Everyone laughed when the legendary Yogi Berra said, “It’s like déjà vu all over again,” but I think I knew what he meant.


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Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.
Morning Star Lake in Glacier National Park.

The trail leads us upward across the cliff face of the long rampart known as the Ptarmigan Wall, the path growing wide as a city sidewalk, with a stone wall just in case its ample width isn’t enough to prevent anyone tripping into the abyss. Then we walk through the 250-foot-long Ptarmigan Tunnel, blasted through the Ptarmigan Wall and completed in 1930 to enable people to ride horses between the Belly River Valley and Many Glacier. Today, it’s a novelty of a bygone era that happens to create a gorgeous trail for backpackers. The Ptarmigan Wall’s shadow falls over us as we descend past Ptarmigan Lake, rippling in the light wind.

Afternoon slides into evening as we walk below peaks that resemble giant cutting tools attempting to dice and chop the infinite sky. At dusk, we stroll into the backpacker campsites in the campground at Many Glacier—wrapping up another day of hiking that would receive no true justice from overused superlatives because the baseline for any day hiking in Glacier is already “great.”

Being in this campground again (I’ve lost track of how many times), I’m reminded of the only aspect of my planning for this trip that barely missed the target: Due largely to the frenzied process of reserving a Glacier backcountry permit (this story explains how to do that), I got a permit that had us arriving at Many Glacier the day after Nells Restaurant at the Swiftcurrent Motel, across the road from the campground, closed for the season. Jeff and I, with two other friends, had camped here one night on a previous backpacking trip and we were looking forward to another real dinner and gut-packing breakfast at Nells; instead, we’ll settle for backpacking food while sitting just a five-minute walk from a closed restaurant. (Before you question whether a restaurant compromises our wilderness experience, understand this: The Many Glacier campground is basically a small town, anyway. But it’s also a strategically located camp for backpackers. Nothing wrong with taking advantage of good food and trimming your pack’s food weight by two meals. As they say, when in Rome…)

Life really isn’t fair.

But considering that the seven-day hike we started yesterday was, of necessity, the best alternative—and a damn good one—to my original route, for which I had a permit, we have many reasons to be happy with the outcome of a situation that could have turned out much worse.

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Bear Trouble Equals Permit Troubles

Here’s a hard truth about backpacking in Glacier National Park: You can succeed at reserving a very hard-to-get backcountry permit, feel the anticipation building for months as your trip approaches, and then arrive at the park to discover that your planned route has been rendered impossible because of recent bear activity—meaning your only option is to try to alter your permit on the spot, creating a new route based on whatever backcountry campgrounds are still available.

And that’s exactly what happened to us.

When Pam and I drove up to the park backcountry office in Apgar Village in the darkness of 6:15 a.m. yesterday to pick up our permit, we stepped out of the car to our first big surprise of the morning. Expecting to see 20 or more people waiting for walk-in permits—the typical situation, and a backcountry ranger had warned me on the phone yesterday to expect a line forming two hours before the office opened at 7:30 a.m.—I found just one guy comprising the entire “line” until I doubled its length. And just one couple joined us before the office opened, the five of us getting to know each other while waiting together. Pam took orders from everyone and made a run to the nearest coffee shop open that early on a Saturday.

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Glacier.
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A backpacker hiking past Cosley Lake in Glacier National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking past Cosley Lake in Glacier National Park.

But the propitious spot second in line only gained us a small advantage. Once inside, we encountered our second big surprise of the morning when a backcountry ranger informed us that my original permit reservation for a variation I’d customized of the classic Northern Loop would not work because two of our six camps—Fifty Mountain and Mokowanis Junction—were closed due to bear activity. (Disturbing detail: A bear at Mokowanis had shredded a tent, fortunately while no one was inside. The catalyst was food inside it, a no-no that proved expensive but could have gone much worse.)

And there were no good alternative camp options available for us on that loop or anywhere near it—another bear-related backcountry campground closure west of the Waterton Valley prevented us from hiking a traverse over to Kintla or Bowman Lake.

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Jeff Wilhelm above Oldman Lake along the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

We scrambled to find an alternative route, hoping to preserve a seven-day hike. This ranger, clearly eager to help us, laid out our options for campground availability on our dates. In the end, we walked out of there with an almost completely revamped itinerary, with our first two days unchanged but adding five days following the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) south to Two Medicine. It’s nearly identical to the route Jeff and I backpacked with two other friends five years ago (when we also had to change one day on our itinerary because of bear activity), with just one significant variation.

It feels a little disappointing to miss out on the Northern Loop. But we salvaged a great hike out of a difficult situation that, in reality, can arise anytime in Glacier.

 

After driving around to the east side of the park and arranging a shuttle to our starting trailhead (see details on that in the trip-planning details at the bottom of this story, available exclusively to subscribers), we finally started hiking at 2 p.m. on a bluebird afternoon. It was even a bit hot in the sun, which silhouetted the jagged peaks along the Continental Divide ahead of us. We passed a few backpacker parties, most doing the Northern Loop by banging out two consecutive days of about 20 miles to bypass the closed campgrounds. We stopped at Gros Ventre Falls, then reached our camp at Glenns Lake with a bit of daylight remaining to pitch tents and cook.

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

 

Waterfalls and Lakes

The soft patter of rain on my tent wakes me up around 5:30 a.m. on our fourth day. The showers pause long enough for us to eat and pack up, and then the rain grows more persistent and the wind gathers momentum just as we hit the trail. Low, dark clouds charge across the sky, enshrouding mountaintops. The rain never comes too hard as we round the west shore of St. Mary Lake, passing St. Mary Falls and taking the short, steep spur trail to stand in the mix of rain and waterfall mist at the base of tall Virginia Falls.

By late morning, the rain expends itself and patches of blue sky appear through breaks in the clouds. We hike up a broad valley through a very open, old forest burn where skeletal standing tree trunks occasionally hum softly in the wind—a ghost forest. On both sides, green slopes rise to walls of shattered rock.

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Glenns Lake in Glacier National Park.
Glenns Lake in Glacier National Park.

In the cooking and food-hanging area at our camp at Red Eagle Lake, we meet three guys in their early seventies who’ve been coming to Glacier for 35 years and have, by their estimates, climbed at least half the peaks in the park. Now their trips consist of backpacking here for a week or so and they struggle to get a large portion of their old group of friends to join them each summer. Then six more guys gather with us. All 28, they are friends from college and post-college, plus one guy the rest met in a brewery. I tell them I’m pretty sure that’s how Lewis and Clark filled their expedition: in a brewery. We sit around talking, sharing stories, and laughing until well after dark.

Another chilly start on day five blossoms into another sunny, pleasant day, welcome weather for our plan to hike more than 14 miles. We cross Triple Divide Pass at 7,397 feet, below 8,020-foot Triple Divide Peak, named for the topographical rarity of a mountain draining its waters to three oceans: Pacific, Atlantic, and Arctic. (The three creeks flowing off it are named for their destinations: Pacific, Atlantic, and Hudson Bay.)

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Dawn Mist Falls in Glacier National Park.
Dawn Mist Falls in Glacier National Park.

At the campground at Morning Star Lake, Pam and I spot at least a dozen mountain goats casually grazing the precipitous cliffs across the lake. In the cooking and food-storage area, everyone zipped up inside warm puffy jackets, we talk with three CDT thru-hikers very near the end of their long journey. While eager to finish, they all admit that they will “miss it in a week.”

Later, full darkness falls on this moonless night and the Milky Way spreads itself thickly across the sky.

See my story about a previous backpacking trip that followed this route but with one variation, “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier National Park at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding tents (this one and this one), sleeping bag, boots, rain jacket, down jacket, air mattress, stove, and headlamps (this one and this one) I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

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 “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Backpacking Trip,” the lightweight and ultralight backpacking guide, and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

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

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Backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-skyline-trail-in-jasper-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-skyline-trail-in-jasper-national-park/#comments Sun, 12 Nov 2023 18:12:11 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=60836 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

About three hours into our hike on the Skyline Trail in Canada’s Jasper National Park, a rumble of thunder rips the sky with a sound like a train derailment; moments later, the gray overcast that had rolled overhead maybe 30 minutes earlier starts spraying us with random bursts of raindrops. By the time the five of us have hurried into rain shells and flipped our hoods up, the rain commences in earnest, chauffeured by strong wind just as we emerge from forest into the alpine terrain.

Walking into the full brunt of the weather but dressed for it—and this crew has deep experience with all kinds of nasty weather—we just push on through the rain, motivated by the first taste of the scenery that awaits in greater glory ahead. Plus, we face several more miles of hiking to our first camp on the Skyline Trail in Jasper, the much-less-visited but larger sister park of its joined-at-the-hip sibling, Banff, in the Canadian Rockies.


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


Two backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail south of Curator camp in Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, and Gary Davis backpacking the Skyline Trail south of Curator camp, Jasper N.P.

Thanks to the mad dash that is the Parks Canada backcountry permit reservation process—in which you must choose a backcountry campground for each night of your trip in real time as availability quickly disappears—and the fact that we’re backpacking one of the most-coveted trails in Canada, we’re starting our Skyline Trail hike with our longest day, 11.8 miles/19 kilometers from the Maligne Lake Trailhead to Curator campground. But that distance draws no more than shrugs in our party of three adults of a “mature age” with countless backpacking miles on our legs and two young women tough and strong enough to possibly carry one of us out if called upon.

I’ve come here with my wife, Penny, our college-age daughter, Alex (summer work commitments kept our son, also in college, from joining us), and friends Gary Davis and his daughter, Adele, also in school and Alex’s best friend since very early childhood, to backpack the Skyline Trail, a three-day, 27.3-mile/44-kilometer, south-north traverse of the Maligne Range just southeast of the town of Jasper. Remaining above treeline for about 15.5 miles/25 kilometers of its distance and riding the crest of a high ridge at times, the Skyline has long been considered a Canadian Rockies classic for its nearly constant panoramas of massive walls of rock and a sea of mountains stretching to distant horizons in every direction.

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park.
Gary, Adele, and Alex backpacking the Skyline Trail in Jasper National Park.

A ferocious headwind blows the rain at us in waves, although never terribly heavy, as we climb to Little Shovel Pass at just over 7,300 feet/2,225 meters, and follow the trail over undulating alpine terrain flanked by long ridges with peaks over 8,000 feet/2,400 meters. By late afternoon, the rain stops, the sky brightens, and a river of wind dries out the air.

As the sun occasionally peeks through the scudding clouds, the post-storm, early-evening light replays a silent show of shifting colors that’s eons old and still timelessly enchanting. Soft beams of light so brilliant they look three-dimensional bounce from meadow to mountain, burbling creek to bulbous cloud, every element of the landscape absorbing and reflecting long red, orange, and yellow rays of the spectrum.

Two backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail immediately north of the Notch, Jasper National Park.
Adele and Alex backpacking the Skyline Trail immediately north of the Notch (the pass in the background), Jasper National Park.

At Shovel Pass, at 7,600 feet/2,316 meters, we overlook the valley where Curator camp lies beyond sight and a pretty good walk downhill from where we stand. We can clearly see the Skyline contouring around the head of this valley, but we turn onto a faint, sometimes not visible shortcut trail that offers a more direct route to our camp.

Looking for occasional cairns, we descend steeply in spots, knees protesting, past scurrying marmots and patches of bright wildflowers. Just before dinnertime, walk into Curator campground, at 6,781 feet/2,067 meters, grabbing two of the last open tentsites.

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The Vast and Magnificent Canadian Rockies

Every time I go there, I wonder whether there’s a mountain range in the Lower 48 that really compares with the Canadian Rockies. Yes, I’m serious.

To begin to appreciate the Canadian Rockies, first you must conceptualize the scale of this region. The Canadian Rocky Mountain Parks World Heritage Site, which encompasses four contiguous national parks (Banff and Jasper in Alberta and Yoho and Kootenay in British Columbia) and three provincial parks (Mount Robson, Mount Assiniboine, and Hamber, all in B.C.), spans more than 5.8 million acres/almost 2.4 million hectares. That nearly equals the area of Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Glacier, and Everglades national parks combined.

Jasper reigns as the largest national park in the Canadian Rockies at over 2.7 million acres/1.1 million hectares, compared with Banff’s more than 1.6 million acres/664,100 hectares. The vast majority of Jasper’s land mass comprises pristine mountain wilderness spliced by more than 660 miles/1,200 kilometers of trails.

 

Statistics, of course, are not the reason we are drawn to such places—it’s the scenery. And the majesty of the Canadian Rockies will practically give you chills. Just driving the Trans-Canada Highway or other roads through the region takes you on a tour of endless rows of towering cliffs and peaks with rivers of cracked ice tumbling off them.

Jasper also remains one of the last places in southern Canada with healthy populations of the range of carnivores that have existed here for centuries, including mountain lions, woodland caribou, wolves, wolverines, and grizzly bears. In one afternoon traveling the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper, our two-family group saw from our car windows two gigantic bull elk with racks perhaps broader than my wingspan, a pod of bighorn sheep, and a huge grizzly sow and her two cubs—all of them by the roadside.

I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

 

A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail north toward Tekarra camp, Jasper National Park.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Skyline Trail in Canada’s Jasper National Park.

Jasper also holds the distinction of being the world’s second-largest Dark Sky Preserve, defined as a place where no artificial light is visible—in part because of active measures taken to reduce light pollution from neighboring communities (including the town of Jasper, located within the park). At night in our camps in the backcountry, I’d look up at a coal-black sky so riddled with glowing constellations of stars that I couldn’t pull my gaze from it until I got so cold that I had to dive back into my tent and bag.

With lower treelines and alpine zones because of their northern latitude, soaring walls of crumbling rock and thousands of glaciers (most of them shrinking and on track to disappear because of climate change), the Canadian Rockies have long been compared in appearance to the Alps—despite not reaching the same heights. But unlike the Alps, for Americans and Canadians, these mountains lie not an ocean away but right next door.

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

 

The Notch and a High Ridge Walk

Leaving Curator camp on our second morning, we follow a connector trail uphill to rejoin the Skyline and continue upward to the nearly flat basin of Curator Lake, at around 7,360 feet/2,243 meters, a blue eye cradled in a barren bowl of rocks, cliffs, sparse vegetation growing no more than ankle- or calf-high, and one of the few lakes along the entire trail.

Marmots bound over the rocky ground, their signature whistling call carrying a distance, while pikas scurry more quickly or stand on hind legs and chirp loudly, and the faster and most numerous Columbian ground squirrels dash away at our approach. But we see few other wild animals, which isn’t terribly surprising: The starkness and openness of the alpine zone that the Skyline crosses for many miles gives large animals that are wary of humans plenty of warning of our approach.

Backpackers hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
Backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

From Curator Lake, we begin the Skyline’s hardest climb (when hiking south to north, as many people do), the steep and loose slog to the pass known simply as the Notch, at 8,238 feet/2,511 meters—a spot known to hold snow later into summer than anywhere else on the Skyline. Penny chats with a backpacker coming in the other direction who says that yesterday, around the time that afternoon thunderstorm hit us, the wind reached 100 kph (over 60 mph) and rain pounded the long, high, fully exposed ridge traverse that awaits us beyond the Notch.

The words foreshadow, even if imprecisely, what we are walking toward.

The wind blasts through the natural funnel of the Notch, so we don’t linger there very long. Beyond it, we embark on the stretch of the Skyline that embodies its name, where the trail stays atop a ridge crest for two-and-a-half miles/four kilometers with, it seems, all the Canadian Rockies spread out before us. Zipped up inside our shell jackets and leaning into the biting wind, we swing our heads side to side, gazing out at endless mountains and deep valleys cut by braided, glacial rivers.

With everyone ready for lunch, we drop a short distance down off the trail on the lee side of the ridge, taking a break from the hammering wind to eat overlooking several small lakes and tarns in the broad basin of Excelsior Creek, between 8,858-foot/2,700-meter Centre Mountain and 9,157-foot/2,791-meter The Watchtower.

Moving on again, we pass near the top of Amber Mountain at 8,415 feet/2,565 meters, the Skyline wriggling like a snake along this open ridge. Then the trail falls off the ridge, zigzagging downward into another creek valley. With the sun now more out than obscured and us much lower and out of the wind, we shed some layers, though the cool wind remains.

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A backpacker hiking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.
My daughter, Alex, backpacking the Skyline Trail below Mount Tekarra in Jasper National Park.

And the Skyline isn’t finished with showing off to us. The sheer and fluted rock walls of 8,839-foot/2,694-meter Mount Tekarra loom above as we descend this gentle, wide valley past another beautiful lake at the toe of the mountain. From Tekarra campground, the Skyline climbs out of the forest again, granting us one final walk through the alpine zone, looking across a deep valley to yet another long wall of cliffs stretching for miles, glowing in late-afternoon sunlight.

Minutes after the trail drops back into forest, we roll into Signal campground, almost 10 miles/16 kilometers from Curator campground. The mosquitoes are thick here—it is the last day of July, in the middle of peak mosquito season, so this surprises no one. But they don’t bother us much: We’re buzzing viscerally with that excitement of having just completed the sort of exceptional day of hiking through mountains that you remember years later.

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

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), boots, sleeping bags (this ultralight bag for me and this warmer bag for my wife, who gets cold more easily), rain jacket, down jacket, fleece hoody, trekking poles, ultralight air mattress, and stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

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Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-desert-oasis-of-aravaipa-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-desert-oasis-of-aravaipa-canyon/#comments Tue, 17 Oct 2023 20:08:20 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=60529 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In strong, cool gusts of wind competing against a blazing desert sun, we descend a dusty trail flanked by tall, muscular saguaro and countless small cacti aiming thousands of sharp needles at the legs of anyone who wanders too close to the trail’s edge. Just minutes from the trailhead, we reach the bottom of southern Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon, splashing across Aravaipa Creek in several strides—the first of scores of crossings we’ll make of this calf-deep, crystal-clear, and cool but not numbing little desert waterway over the next three days.

White puffs of downy pollen float downward like snowflakes from the tall cottonwood trees lining both creek banks, bigger and more abundant than I’ve seen in most Southwest canyons, stretching their thick branches skyward and out over the chattering water. But the cottonwoods represent only the most prominent trees in the dense forest they share with sycamores, ash, and willows as well as ground-level flora here.

A backpacker hiking up Aravaipa Canyon in southern Arizona.
Todd Arndt backpacking up Aravaipa Canyon in southern Arizona.

I’ve come here in early April for three days of backpacking into Aravaipa Canyon, a 12-mile-long defile this creek has carved into the high desert. From the west trailhead at 2,630 feet, my friends Pam and Mark Solon, Mark Fenton, and Todd Arndt and I will backpack almost halfway up the canyon, set up a base camp for two nights, and spend the middle day exploring farther upstream toward the canyon’s upper end.


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 dayhiking up Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon from a camp lower in the canyon.
Dayhiking up Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon on our trip’s middle day.

With no maintained trail in the canyon, the five of us and all backpackers and dayhikers here follow whatever user trails get beaten into the sandy ground—or, more often than not, hike directly in the creek, splashing through water that ranges from not too cold to chilly. Heading up the canyon, we alternately walk in the soft sand of user paths and cross or wade against the shallow current.

Flowing out of the Galiuro Mountains, southeast of Phoenix and north of Tucson, this perennial stream creates an oddity in the Grand Canyon state, where most creek beds remain dry washes most of the year: Aravaipa Creek waters a desert oasis.

The lush greenery contrasts starkly against a backdrop of redrock walls that rise as much as 700 feet above the creek. But on the canyon walls and up the often-dry side canyons, the environment shifts abruptly to that of the surrounding, vast Sonoran Desert, with saguaro occupying the numerous cliff ledges like thousands of spectators watching us in a strangely steep-sided, long, narrow, and winding stadium.

This combination creates the rare kind of Southwest oasis where those two very different environments blend green forest and red walls, reminiscent of Zion’s Narrows, southern Utah’s Coyote Gulch, and some tributaries of the Grand Canyon, like Tapeats and Deer creeks on the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop and Royal Arch Canyon and Elves Chasm on the Royal Arch Loop.

About five miles up the canyon, we stop at one of a few large, sandy campsites in the forest near the mouth of Horse Camp Canyon, pitch our tents; and after dinner, sit around a campfire while night slowly spreads throughout this quiet canyon. Eventually, the stars emerge, first slowly and then rapidly, until thousands of specks liberally salt the ink-black sky. 

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A Tiny Wilderness Oasis in the Sonoran Desert

A backpacker dayhiking up Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon from a camp lower in the canyon.
Todd Arndt dayhiking up Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon on our trip’s middle day.

“Ara-what?” That was my reaction when I first heard about this place from a friend—whose advice to go there I wisely followed. (Thanks, John.) Aravaipa is an Apache name (some say Pima, others say Papago) and the commonly accepted meaning is ”laughing waters”—a fact I learned when an online search for that answer turned up a New York Times article from 1982 written by none other than America’s desert sage, Ed Abbey.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous federal wilderness areas, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, managed by the Bureau of Land Management in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing tall cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro and other cacti desert flora grow on the canyon walls and rims.

With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, none of the hazards or obstacles typical of Southwest desert backpacking trips, like flash floods or pour-offs found in tighter canyons, abundant water and shade, the low elevation and the southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a pretty casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—with a season that extends longer than that of many Southwest canyon hikes, from March into May and late September through November. Fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

Exploring Aravaipa Canyon

In the morning, we awaken to very strong and frigid wind hurtling down the canyon, buffeting our tents and threatening to carry off anything not weighted down—and the sun’s warmth won’t reach our camp in the canyon bottom until mid-morning. We all pull on fat down jackets (and I’m particularly happy to have brought a wearable sleeping bag)—except for Mark Fenton, who brought an insulated jacket that looks at least 20 years old and has virtually no loft left. Mark calls this former puffy jacket—now essentially nothing more than an overweight wind shell—his “flatty.”

Pam shouts and points at a clearing near our camp, where a pair of javelinas sprint through the forest. Pig-like in appearance, although they’re actually ungulates that live in the deep Southwest, javelinas can grow to about 175 pounds, although the two we glimpse briefly look more the size of small but very well-fed dogs. Before this day’s out, we’ll also see wild turkeys, several deer, and a great blue heron that takes flight at our slow approach but keeps returning to our vicinity, as if guiding us back to our camp.

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A backpacker dayhiking up Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon from a camp lower in the canyon.
Mark Solon dayhiking up Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon on our trip’s middle day.

Setting out to dayhike up the canyon, we first try exploring a side canyon, Horse Camp, located across the creek from our camp. But big rocks that have fallen off the cliffs overhead and thick desert flora clog its mouth, leaving it virtually impassable—at least short of clambering over massive boulders of indeterminate stability and shredding our clothes and skin bushwhacking through the thorny brush, an adventure holding zero appeal to any of us.

It doesn’t matter. Simply hiking up Aravaipa Canyon delivers a full experience of this special place. Plus, the main canyon offers shade from the hot desert sun and the constantly cooling effect of walking in the creek—not to mention much more interesting and denser flora growing along the creek—while many of the side canyons are often dry, with little or no shade.

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Backpackers camped near Horse Camp Canyon in Arizona's Aravaipa Canyon.
Our camp near Horse Camp Canyon in Arizona’s Aravaipa Canyon.

In the upper canyon, not far from the East Trailhead, the cliffs rise taller and more vertiginous; the forest also opens up, giving us more constant, broad vistas. We walk in the shallow river much of the time, where big cottonwoods often extend their canopies over the river, forming a sort of green tunnel. It’s one of Aravaipa’s nicest sections.

A great blue heron lifts off from the creek shallows by one bank and glides almost effortlessly upstream, setting down again a distance from us. We approach it more slowly, hoping not to spook the magnificent bird. As we watch, it grows as still as a statue for several minutes, not making even a twitch or slight turn of its head; if we had not seen where it landed, it would have blended entirely into the background, disappearing from our sight. Then, suddenly, the heron snaps out of its motionlessness, lunging head-first into the creek and emerging with a fish in its beak, gulping it down in an instant.

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Hiking Out, It’s All New Again

On our last morning, we pack up and leave camp at 9 a.m., just as morning light floods the canyon, lending it contrast and depth that brightens all the colors and makes our surroundings look deeper, broader, and taller.

Although we’re now backtracking the five miles we hiked in on day one, in a way, it all seems new because the canyon takes so many twists and turns and changes so much—especially with the light completely different now, in the morning, compared to when we hiked up the canyon on our first afternoon. We recall very few spots while walking the same terrain a second time. We all repeatedly just shuffle slowly along or stop and spin in a slow circle, gaping.

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Backpackers in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona.
Backpacking out to the West Trailhead on our last day in Aravaipa Canyon, Arizona. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan your trip.

I point out to my friends that I haven’t really broken a sweat on this entire hike: We’ve had very pleasant daytime temperatures ranging from around 50 to 70 Fahrenheit—except for our one windy and chilly morning with a low in the 30s in camp—plus a lovely breeze in this first week of April.

It’s small and may seem like a short hike, especially if you’re traveling some distance to get here. But there’s much to like about Aravaipa Canyon.

Mark Solon says, “I give this hike a 10 plus a bullet—an 11.”

On the same Southwest trip that we backpacked in Aravaipa Canyon in early April, three of us from that group also backpacked one of the finest three-day sections of the Arizona Trail, Passage 16, during a wildflower superbloom. See my story about that surprisingly beautiful hike.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, ultralight tent, sleeping bag, down jacket, ultralight wind shell, sun hoody, trekking poles, air mattress, stove, and headlamp I used on this trip.

See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips, including these stories:

Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist
The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Packs
The 10 Best Backpacking Tents
The Best Ultralight Hiking and Running Jackets
25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The Best Base Layers, Shorts, and Socks for Hiking and Running
The 10 Best Down Jackets

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 “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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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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Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-through-a-lonely-corner-of-the-wind-river-range/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-through-a-lonely-corner-of-the-wind-river-range/#respond Tue, 16 May 2023 01:05:07 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=58500 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Less than an hour into our five-day backpacking trip into the Wind River Range, we turn onto the Doubletop Mountain Trail and within minutes splash across the shallow New Fork River at a spot where it’s flowing just inches deep; I ford it with boots on, walking gingerly on my toes to—happily—keep my socks dry. On the other side, just before beginning a long climb out of this valley, we run into a couple coming down the trail and stop to chat.

They’re finishing a 10-day hike punctuated by some challenging weather—a not-atypical Winds stew of rain, hail, wind, thunder, and lightning—but they tell us, it was a beautiful walk through the mountains. By contrast, my wife, Penny, our friend Chip Roser and I are heading out on a 43-mile loop with a forecast for five just about perfect, sunny days at the tail end of August into early September, with highs in the 60s and nights possibly down into the 30s.

Once we move on, it occurs to me that the fact that they took a trek that long and we are embarking on a hike of half the days and distance illustrates the trail and route options in the Winds.

A backpacker hiking the Doubletop Mountain Trail, Wind River Range WY.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Doubletop Mountain Trail, Wind River Range WY.

We climb for a couple of hours under a blazing sun through hot, shadeless switchbacks in an old burn now populated by wildflowers and young trees, our perspective of the hills around us slowly expanding as we gain elevation. Finally leaving the burn behind, we enter conifer forest where the trail parallels Willow Creek and crosses the meadows of Martin Park. Less than four hours of leisurely hiking drops us at the doorstep of Rainbow Lake, where we find a spot for our tents nearby in the forest.

After setting up camp, Chip and I explore farther up the trail, which soon breaks out of the woods into classic Wind River Range high country: Just ahead, a tiny lake lies still in a meadow littered with boulders on a rolling plateau of wildflower and rock gardens. Miles in the distance, the Continental Divide shoulders up over 13,000 feet into the stratosphere. We will walk toward that giant wall of peaks over the next couple of days.


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A backpacker hiking the Doubletop Mountain Trail past the No Name Lakes in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Chip Roser backpacking the Doubletop Mountain Trail past the No Name Lakes in Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

At our turn-around point, we meet a local rancher out for a day ride on his horse with his two dogs. He smiles, pleased with how he’s spending this day, probably covering at least 15 trail miles before returning to his ranch back down in the valley, not far from where we started hiking. On our way back to camp, we pass three other backpackers.

That brings our total human encounters for our first day to six—illustrating another aspect of the Winds, which had been central to my thinking when planning this loop from a trailhead I’ve never visited before in several trips here, following a route mostly on trails I’ve never walked: Avoid the few highest and most popular trailheads and/or venture more than a typical day’s hiking distance into these mountains and you’ll not only travel through a landscape that stuns at every turn. You will often still find some solitude.

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Doubletop Mountain Trail

We leave Rainbow Lake on another bluebird morning after a milder night than expected: I had stepped outside during the night in just a T-shirt and underwear without a shiver, though I may have been distracted by the ocean of stars riddling the sky.

The Doubletop Mountain Trail meanders generally eastward over open terrain where we repeatedly climb 400 to 500 feet over a low rise and drop into another lake basin or creek valley. Wildflowers remain colorful above 10,000 feet on these late-summer days, a post-card foreground against the backdrop of the peaks along the Divide.

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A backpacker hiking the Highline Trail, Wind River Range, WY.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Highline Trail, Wind River Range, WY.

By early afternoon, dark, anvil-shaped clouds mass above us and slowly drift in the same general direction we’re hiking. We see battleship-gray veils falling from the sky in the distance—rain showers—but never feel a drop ourselves or hear any thunder; and before very long, the threat surrenders again to sunny skies.

The trail leads us along the shores of the pretty Cutthroat Lakes followed by the No Name Lakes and smaller tarns where cliffs rise above wind-rippled waters. We traverse the plateau to Summit Lake and begin a steady ascent on the Highline Trail—which coincides with the Continental Divide Trail—reaching another lake where I hunt around for a campsite until meeting a couple already camping there.

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A backpacker at a wilderness campsite off the Highline Trail in Wyoming's Wind River Range.
Our camp below Mount Oeneis and Sky Pilot Peak off the Highline Trail in the Wind River Range.

Not wanting to be interlopers in their little piece of heaven, we push on a little bit farther to an unnamed tarn and walk a few hundred feet off-trail past it to a dry, grassy, broad bench overlooking a vast meadow liberally salted with glacial-erratic boulders. That meadow slopes downward to a lake well below us, beyond which loom a pair of monstrous twin towers, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. It’s a magnificent camp to cap a nearly 10-mile day when, once again, we passed fewer than 10 people—two of them a couple we met at Rainbow Lake yesterday.

Besides joining my list of all-time favorite backcountry campsites, this spot—indeed, this entire day—foreshadows the grandeur awaiting us.

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Highline Trail

I began exploring Wyoming’s Wind River Range about 30 years ago, at first on climbing trips to the Cirque of the Towers. In the years since, I’ve returned several times to backpack here, take a long, glorious, 27-mile, east-to-west dayhike across the Winds, and just a few years ago, make a 96-mile, south-to-north traverse of the range on the Wind River High Route, two-thirds of which is off-trail—one of the most stunning and challenging adventures I’ve ever undertaken.

As we set out on our third morning, much of the landscape we’re walking through sparks memories of the last time I backpacked this section of the Highline Trail, following a 41-mile loop from Elkhart Park, outside Pinedale on the west slope of the Winds. While planning this 43-mile loop that Penny, Chip, and I are now on the middle day of, I was eager to revisit this great stretch of the Highline where that previous trip and this one overlap—but also to see a chunk of the Winds that will be entirely new to me, and which I suspect might receive relatively little backpacker traffic. That includes a trail that I know might pose some difficulties—a trail we will reach today.

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A backpacker hiking the Shannon Pass Trail, Wind River Range, WY.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Shannon Pass Trail, Wind River Range, WY.

Puffy, white clouds float listlessly overhead, amounting to no more than a couple of brief episodes of spitting raindrops on us as we steadily ascend the Highline/CDT past a series of small lakes and tarns, in more open, high country where it looks like there’s abundant camping, to the shores of the largest and prettiest in this string of pearls, Elbow Lake, at 10,794 feet (which, to my dismay, remains on my list of the best backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past).

Above Elbow Lake, we cross a stark, rocky tableland of small tarns to a junction where the CDT/Highline Trail swings south but we turn north. After a lunch break in the lee of a small cliff beside the highest tarn in this basin, we hike a few more minutes uphill to cross Shannon Pass, at 11,169 feet. Beyond it, the Shannon Pass Trail zigzags through talus and boulder fields, past more wind-rippled tarns and late-summer snowfields speckled with dirt and stones, through switchbacks down a steep slope into the striking bowl enclosing Peak Lake, at the foot of the vertiginous rock tooth of 12,165-foot Stroud Peak.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

Trickling down from its headwaters in the alpine valley above Peak Lake, a little creek called the Green River enters and exits the lake at the very beginning of a 730-mile journey to where it merges with the Colorado River in southern Utah’s Canyonlands National Park.

Then we turn onto the trail where I’m expecting—correctly, as it turns out—that we’ll hit this trip’s most difficult terrain.

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

A backpacker watching the alpenglow light up peaks above Vista Pass, Wind River Range, WY.
Chip Roser watching the alpenglow light up peaks above Vista Pass, Wind River Range, WY.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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The Wind River High Route—A Journey in Photos https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-wind-river-high-route-a-journey-in-photos/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-wind-river-high-route-a-journey-in-photos/#comments Wed, 12 Apr 2023 09:35:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=41876 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

An elegant, high-elevation, multi-day walk through a magnificent mountain range is the stuff of dreams for many backpackers, and there may be no walk better than the Wind River High Route. Traversing a range with few equals by any measure—elevations, abundance of alpine lakes and glaciers, remoteness, length and breadth, or raw splendor—the WRHR embodies everything we imagine a great hike in the mountains should be.

There are multiple, high, largely off-trail traverses of the range that have been described as the “Wind River High Route.” In August 2020, three friends and I backpacked the route that appears to gaining popularity, mapped by the long-distance backpacker Andrew Skurka. It traces a roughly 96-mile, south-north course that weaves back and forth across the Continental Divide about a dozen times, 65 miles of which is off-trail, with more than 30,000 feet of cumulative elevation gain and loss.


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

Almost relentlessly rugged and physically and mentally taxing, with navigational challenges, and mile-for-mile arguably the most jaw-dropping trek through any mountain range in America—and I’ve taken many of the very best over the past three decades, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog—the WRHR stays mostly between 10,000 and 12,000 feet on or near the Continental Divide.

Backpackers at a small tarn above Golden Lake on the Wind River High Route.
Backpackers in the Golden Lake valley on the Wind River High Route.

It crosses 10 named alpine passes ranging from nearly 11,000 feet to nearly 13,000 feet—nine of them off-trail—and tags the southernmost and northernmost 13,000-foot summits in the Wind River Range, 13,192-foot Wind River Peak and 13,355-foot Downs Mountain.

It passes countless alpine lakes while crossing one amazing valley or cirque after another—and confronting you with what can seem like endless miles of talus, scree, some snow and glacial ice and a bit of third-class scrambling, but no technical terrain. For its entire length, it crosses no roads, rarely even coming within a moderate day’s hike of the nearest road.

In all respects, the Wind River High Route offers one of the most remote, arduous, and glorious wilderness adventures anywhere.

In this story, I share photos from our August 2020 weeklong traverse of the Wind River High Route. Read my feature story about this trip “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route” (which requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my insights on planning that trip).

If you have any questions or comments about this hike or the Winds in general, please share them in the Comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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A backpacker descending West Gully off Wind River Peak on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian Blaich descending West Gully off Wind River Peak on the Wind River High Route.

After reaching the summit of 13,192-foot Wind River Peak—the southernmost 13,000-footer in the Winds—on our second morning, we tackled perhaps the most difficult and dangerous section of the Wind River High Route: the very steep and loose descent of West Gully (photo above). With virtually every step downhill landing on unstable boulders, talus, and scree, we had to stay focused for the entire two-and-a-half hours it took us to get down it. Still, we had two near-misses, with one boulder tumbling past a member of our group, and another member slipping in a thin stream of water running over a slab and nearly sliding over the brink of a short cliff.

A backpacker below Jackass Pass, overlooking the Cirque of the Towers on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.
Justin Glass below Jackass Pass, overlooking part of the Cirque of the Towers in the Wind River Range. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

Early on our third morning, we crossed Jackass Pass (photo above), at just under 10,800 feet, gateway to the world-famous Cirque of the Towers—and the only one of 10 named alpine passes we crossed on the Wind River High Route that was on trail. I’ve hiked over Jackass Pass several times over the years, climbing in the Cirque and on a 27-mile, east-west dayhike across the Winds, and this view never fails to steal my breath away.

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Backpackers hiking toward 11,600-foot Raid Peak Pass on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian Blaich and Joe Souvignier hiking toward 11,600-foot Raid Peak Pass on the Wind River High Route.

Many miles and hours later on day three, as evening set in, we hiked and scrambled over huge boulders and talus en route to Raid Peak Pass at around 11,600 feet (photo above). That afternoon, we had hiked off-trail up the valley of the East Fork River, soaking in frigid pools between stunning cascades tumbling over granite slabs in the river, and walking below one towering cliff after another (lead photo at top of story). After crossing Raid Peak Pass, we carefully found a safe route down steep and exposed rock slabs and made camp in the Bonneville Lakes basin around 7 p.m., 12 hours after we started that day’s hiking.

Backpackers Kristian Blaich and Joe Souvignier on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian and Joe hiking up the valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route.

After climbing steeply from our camp in the Bonneville Lakes basin to Sentry Peak Pass on our fourth morning, we traversed another stunning valley (photo above) past Middle Fork Lake en route to Photo Pass, the second of three tough ascents on that long day. A little while before shooting this photo, we passed a family at their campsite by Middle Fork Lake, who had impressively backpacked in some 20 miles with two young children to reach this lonely valley.

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A backpacker descending north off Alpine Pass on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian Blaich descending north off Alpine Pass on the Wind River High Route.

On our fifth afternoon, we spent hours scrambling over talus and snow traversing the stark valley of the Alpine Lakes—a dramatic rockscape almost devoid of greenery and guarded on both flanks by soaring cliffs and at both ends by passes well over 11,000 feet. Reaching our second off-trail pass of that day, Alpine Pass at about 12,150 feet, we overlooked yet another stark landscape of rock and snow and a long descent (photo above) before we made camp in grassy meadows.

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A campsite in the valley below the Bull Lake Glacier on the Wind River High Route..
Our campsite on night five in the valley below the Bull Lake Glacier on the Wind River High Route..

I’ll remember that fifth day traversing the Alpine Lakes basin, crossing Alpine Lakes Pass and the long descent over rocks and snow on its north side as one of the most glorious on the Wind River High Route. To cap it off perfectly, after the sun set behind the towering wall of peaks to our west, we reached grassy meadows in the wind-scoured, treeless valley beyond the pass and called it a night at what may have been our best campsite of the trip (photo above), listening to the roar of the South Fork of Bull Lake Creek below us.

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Backpackers crossing the Gannett Glacier on the Wind River High Route.
Joe and Kristian crossing the Gannett Glacier on the Wind River High Route.

Even on a trip with long, hard days, day six was huge. Hiking shortly after 6 a.m., we forded the North Fork Bull Lake Creek in a stunning valley below 13,810-foot Gannett Peak, Wyoming’s highest, followed by a tough, 2,000-foot ascent over talus, snow, and scree to 12,750-foot Blaurock Pass, one of the highest on the WRHR. Then came another long, hard downhill and ascent to West Sentinel Pass at around 11,900 feet—where, now on the most remote, northern section of the WRHR, we crossed a few glaciers, beginning with the Gannett Glacier (photo above).

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

A backpacker hiking south toward Downs Mountain on the Wind River High Route..
Joe Souvignier backpacking south toward Downs Mountain on the Wind River High Route..

On our final day on the Wind River High Route, we departed our camp near Baker and Iceberg lakes and hiked over a plateau at around 13,000 feet toward 13,355-foot Downs Mountain. Even in August, the wind blew cold, but an alpine sun under bluebird skies helped warm us. As we traversed the final stretch of high terrain along the Wind River High Route, I turned around to capture an image of one of my companions with the mountains we’d crossed over the past couple of days spreading out behind him (photo above).

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The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trip-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-best-backpacking-trip-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Thu, 16 Feb 2023 10:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=27149 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The three bighorn sheep lifted their heavily horned heads to gaze at us, but never budged from their beds of grass amid boulders on a mountainside above the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park. The mountain goats we saw on various occasions gave us little more attention than that. And fortunately, the grizzly bear sow with two cubs in tow that passed within about 30 feet of us—an encounter of less than 10 seconds that is etched into my memory forever—gave us no more than a passing glance.

While I have backpacked over much of this amazing park, that 65-mile trek gave us the definitive grand tour of Glacier, including must-see spots like the Highline Trail, the Ptarmigan Tunnel, the Many Glacier area, and the Garden Wall. Besides an array of wildlife, two friends and I frequently saw an ocean of mountains spreading out before us, long escarpments of Glacier’s signature soaring cliffs, and some of the prettiest of the park’s 760 lakes.

We even enjoyed an unexpectedly high degree of solitude for long stretches of a multi-day hike—something I have learned, over more than three decades of backpacking all over the country, including more than 10 years running this blog and for many years previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine—is a rare treat in popular national parks.


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A backpacker on the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood backpacking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

This hike also takes advantage of the park’s free shuttle bus system, easing trip logistics—and there are excellent variations for shortening this 65-mile route, too.

All of the route options and need-to-know planning details for this hike are explained in detail in my downloadable e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.”

One of America’s flagship national parks, Glacier is a must-do destination for backpackers because of mountain scenery unlike anywhere else, remoteness, and a rare variety of wildlife. That’s why I consider it one of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

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and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park.
Bighorn sheep along the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-guide to this trip.

A Glacier backpacking permit is one of the hardest to get in the National Park System. Glacier opens 70 percent of wilderness campsites for reservations starting March 15 at 8 a.m. Mountain Time at recreation.gov/permits/4675321; and holds a one-day lottery on March 1 only for mid-size groups (five to eight people) at pay.gov/public/form/start/74000984 and large groups (nine to 12) at pay.gov/public/form/start/74000862. During the backpacking season, 30 percent of wilderness campsites will be available for walk-in/first-come permits no more than one day in advance. 

See “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park” and “10 Tips for Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Would you like to have my expert help planning all the details of your backpacking trip in Glacier, including figuring out a hiking itinerary that’s ideal for your party and showing you how to maximize your chances of getting a highly coveted backcountry permit? See my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

Check out the gallery of photos below from this trip.

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Read my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” about that trip, including more photos, and my story about a shorter and easier, family backpacking trip on the Gunsight Pass Trail. Most stories about trips at The Big Outside require a paid subscription to read in full.

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Backpack the CDT Through Glacier

If you’ve already backpacked in the areas of Glacier described above, or you’re just looking for a different route that delivers a similar, full Glacier experience, see the photo gallery below, which includes some of the dozens of images in my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier,” about a 94-mile traverse of Glacier that follows a customized variation of the Continental Divide Trail through the park. In fact, both trips are equally spectacular, but the CDT traverse requires a longer and more complicated shuttle between trailheads.

My e-guide “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park” provides all the necessary details, plus my expert tips for pulling off that customized CDT traverse of the park, including shorter variations on the route.

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

See all stories about backpacking in Glacier, “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Glacier National Park,” “The 7 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park” and all stories about national park adventures at The Big Outside.

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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.


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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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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High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail https://thebigoutsideblog.com/high-sierra-ramble-130-miles-on-and-off-the-john-muir-trail/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/high-sierra-ramble-130-miles-on-and-off-the-john-muir-trail/#respond Mon, 10 Oct 2022 13:22:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=54839 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

All day, clouds the color of a bruise pile up across the sky, conceding the sun only brief, teasing appearances before blocking it out again. Carrying packs bursting with nine days of food, we hike past lakes, each one higher and prettier than the last. More than seven miles from where we began our walk, we stroll into the basin of a sprawling lake whose image captured in historic Ansel Adams photographs has in many ways come to define the public’s mental picture of what is arguably America’s finest mountain range, the High Sierra: Speckled by scores of rocky islets below the distinctive profile of aptly named Banner Peak, Thousand Island Lake today bares whitecapped teeth pushed up by strong gusts of wind.

We cross the John Muir Trail—which we’ll rejoin farther south in a couple of days—and pick up a use trail tracing the north shore of Thousand Island Lake. Not long after that path disappears into the rocky ground, we find a campsite semi-protected from the buffeting wind by a copse of stunted conifer trees, a couple minutes’ walk from the lake’s southwest corner, at just under 10,000 feet in the shadow of Banner Peak.

A backpacker at Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
David Ports at Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

That evening, the clouds begin to fragment like river ice in spring, scurrying past us. As the sun hovers above mountains to our west and eventually tucks in behind them, its light streams over the bellies of the clouds floating past at greatly varying altitudes—some low, some very high, others in between the lowest and highest clouds. The combination of rays of sunlight at the red end of the spectrum and multiple levels of clouds, mixed with patches of deep blue, creates a skyscape that shifts its colors every few seconds and a nearly hour-long spectacle of one of the most striking sunsets I have ever witnessed.

John Muir certainly had it right when he called the High Sierra “the range of light.”

After dark falls and we tuck into our tents, we hear the wind gather itself in some unknown place high above us. Over slow minutes, it builds in volume until crashing with a roar through our camp in a tsunami of air that seems to shake the earth for long, tent-flapping seconds. After passing by, it leaves us in a quiet calm that rarely lasts more than a minute or two before the next great gust builds and barrels into us. This continues throughout the night.


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Sunset over Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Sunset over Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

My longtime adventure partner David Ports, my 24-year-old nephew Marco Garofalo, and I have embarked on a nine-day trek of nearly 130 miles that will rival the very best High Sierra backpacking trips I’ve ever taken—including my thru-hike of the John Muir Trail.

Hiking barely more than half the usual distance of a full JMT thru-hike, we’re following an itinerary I created—which could be hiked in shorter pieces (see details in the trip planning information at the bottom of this story, available exclusively to paid subscribers to this blog)—that takes us into the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, exploring gorgeous high lakes basins, crossing passes that scrape the stratosphere at 11,000 to 12,000 feet, hiking some off-trail terrain and traversing one of the finest sections of the John Muir Trail.

I’ve been dreaming about this hike for months.

See “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

The Minarets

On our second morning, we hike cross-country south from Thousand Island Lake over a couple of passes above 10,000 feet and a couple of lakes basins, finally descending to the wind-rippled, brown waters of Ediza Lake at nearly 9,300 feet. There, we pick up a trail—with Marco flying ahead of David and me going uphill—ascending steeply to stunning Iceberg Lake at almost 9,800 feet. Tucked up hard against cliffs, Iceberg sits below a few of the well over a dozen 11,000- and 12,000-foot spires known as the Minarets, lined up like chipped and broken bowling pins.

And we’re not done climbing. From Iceberg, we follow an improbable, strenuously steep and rough trail of sorts across a slope of talus and scree angling upward around Iceberg to Cecile Lake, at 10,260 feet in another rocky bowl at the feet of the Minarets. With any semblance of a trail terminating there, we poke around to find a route across yet more talus and drop down a steep, narrow gully to aptly named Minaret Lake—arguably the prettiest lake we’ve seen today. We hike past at least a few other parties camped here, finding a spot for our tents amid conifer trees a short walk from the lakeshore for water and far enough from other backpackers that we see no one else all evening and the next morning.

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Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.
Dawn at Minaret Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness, High Sierra.

Fortunately, the Sierra weather gods are smiling on us. This day had launched with clear, sunny skies and pleasant temperatures—and this weather pattern will persist for six straight days, giving us comfortably cool nights for sleeping, mornings in the forties Fahrenheit and afternoons at elevation in the 60s. In the High Sierra, where between hot temps and the intense alpine sun, afternoons can feel like you’re hiking under a grow lamp, we spend half of our hiking time hardly breaking a sweat.

That evening, we sit on granite rocks watching the full moon rise in the V formed by the valley of Minaret Creek below us; and the next morning, our third, dawn light sets the Minarets glowing like the embers of a well-tended fire, reflected in the slightly rippling waters of Minaret Lake.

Marie Lake and Sallie Keyes Lakes

On yet another calm, clear day with comfortable temps and a blazing sun, we walk up to the shore of one of the most beautiful water bodies on the JMT: Marie Lake. A sort of downsized Thousand Island Lake, Marie spreads out like a spilt drink in a basin at over 10,500 feet. Numerous islands, large and small, speckle its surface and peninsulas jut into it from all sides. We drop our packs on granite slabs, strip off sweaty T-shirts and shorts, and plunge into the chilly but refreshing water, enduring the cold for just a few minutes, and sit in the sun to dry off and warm up—with the cool breeze aiding the former and slightly hindering the latter—followed by a long, relaxing lunch break.

It’s our sixth afternoon and, with lighter packs as we burn through our food weight, we’ve hit our stride, coming off back-to-back days of around 17 miles, one with over 5,000 feet of cumulative uphill and downhill, the other over 8,000 feet. (Marco again sets a pace impossible for David and me—both the age of Marco’s dad—to maintain, blasting ahead and waiting for us at trail junctions or lakes, where we’ll arrive to see he’s already taken a swim. When we see a white-bearded backpacker coming down the trail toward us, I ask him, “Did you see the young guy cranking uphill?” He quickly responds, “Yea, cranking up! It just ain’t fair.” To which I agree and David nods with resignation.)

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A backpacker hiking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.
Marco Garofalo backpacking past Marie Lake on the John Muir Trail, John Muir Wilderness, High Sierra.

And the JMT has rewarded our efforts with scenery that acts as a balm for sore muscles and joints—the regular percussion of countless waterfalls and cascades, a constellation of lakes, and views of a sea of jagged mountains from high passes.

But the finest scenery of this trip still awaits us.

After our rejuvenating swim and lunch, we make the relatively easy climb over Selden Pass at 10,880 feet and drop to the lovely Sallie Keyes Lakes, twins wrapped in open forest at 10,170 feet, finding a protected site for our tents a short walk from the lakeshore—where we take another brief swim and will enjoy another gorgeous sunrise tomorrow morning.

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Evolution Basin and Muir Pass

In the cool air of our eighth morning, we ascend the JMT out of Goddard Canyon, passing the thunderous waterfalls and steep cascades on Evolution Creek and pulling our shoes and socks off to ford the frigid creek at a flat, wide, and slow spot. Hiking up the gentle, forested Evolution Valley, we step off the trail at an established campsite where the creek widens and slows in a broad meadow, its calm waters reflecting the puffy clouds and peaks across the valley. Minutes later, at the ranger station, the ranger tells us the perfect weather we’ve been experiencing for a week is about to shift to a cycle of afternoon thunderstorms—with a pretty good chance of one later this afternoon.

The forest thins as we ascend switchbacks above the valley. Granite cliffs come into view on both sides and ahead of us. Abruptly, the waters of another JMT gem appear in front of us: Evolution Lake. If you’re fairly new to the southern High Sierra, walking up to Evolution Lake requires the brain to recalibrate your sense of scale. We have reached one of the JMT sections—and there are several—that earn it the nickname “America’s most beautiful trail.”

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We follow the JMT’s easy, meandering course through meadows around the contours of the lake, which stretches a mile or more up Evolution Basin, passing other backpackers and a few tents already set up in early afternoon. Cliffs soar to tall peaks on all sides, including the 13,000-footers Mounts Mendel and Darwin and the 12,329-foot Hermit. Little clusters of small conifer trees offer some protection for camping; but as we climb farther up the Evolution Basin, where the trail ascends the rocky slope above Sapphire Lake, the wide-open terrain offers no such protection.

As the ranger foretold, dark storm clouds mass above the upper basin, moving toward us. When the wind-driven rain and hail begin, we find a couple of large boulders off the trail and hunker down on the ground in their lee, avoiding some of the precipitation and most of the wind. But the storm apparently has no intention of just blowing over quickly. We retreat to lower ground in the basin, just above Evolution Lake, hurriedly pitch the tents and crawl inside, inflating our air mats and slipping inside our sleeping bags for warmth to wait it out. More than an hour after the storm began, it dissipates; we unzip tent doors to see sunshine and mostly blue sky again in the direction we’re going, although the storm remains very dark over Evolution Lake.

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Backpackers at Evolution Lake in the Evolution Basin, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.
David Ports and Marco Garofalo at Evolution Lake in the Evolution Basin, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon N.P.

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See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips.

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Video: A Yellowstone National Park ‘Bison Jam’ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-a-yellowstone-bison-jam/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/video-a-yellowstone-bison-jam/#comments Tue, 20 Sep 2022 09:00:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=15287 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

It’s the coolest, most awe-inspiring traffic jam you’ll ever get stuck in—if a little unnerving, too—and something of an iconic experience in the world’s first national park. On a visit to Yellowstone, after a couple of days of hiking, I was driving south between Mammoth and Norris when I got stuck in a line of vehicles stopped by a large herd of bison walking up the road. Yes, we were in a bison jam, and I captured it on this video (scroll down to watch it).

I’ve visited and driven through Yellowstone National Park many times, in all seasons, since my first visit more than 30 years ago, including the 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. I’ve been stopped on a park road many times by herds of bison (it’s not that unusual) and by herds of humans parking right in the road to take photos of wildlife. (On this particular visit, in fact, I was driving north toward Tower Junction at dusk, after hiking Mount Washburn, when I ran into a line of dozens of cars whose drivers had stopped to shoot pictures of a large black bear grazing beside the road.)


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I was even once cross-country skiing by myself in the Midway Geyser Basin area when I came upon a herd of hundreds of bison, filling the entire valley before me. When one of those behemoths suddenly starting sprinting straight at me, from a distance, I quickly looked at the only tree within a quarter-mile of me and wondered how quickly I could get my skis off and get up it. I got lucky that day: That bison inexplicably veered off in another direction. I’m not even sure whether it noticed me.

But I think this episode with the bison herd passing my car was the most closely surrounded I’ve ever been by these enormous animals, the largest of which weigh upwards of a ton and could probably flip over a small car. Fortunately, these bison remained calm as they paraded past at least a few dozen vehicles stopped on the road.

Check out the video below to see what it’s like to sit inside a small car while a herd of bison saunters past.

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The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone
The 10 Best Hikes in Yellowstone
Cross-Country Skiing Yellowstone
In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon

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Backpacking the Pasayten Wilderness—On and Off the Beaten Track https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-pasayten-wilderness-on-and-off-the-beaten-track/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-pasayten-wilderness-on-and-off-the-beaten-track/#respond Tue, 31 May 2022 17:23:55 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=53262 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Within minutes of starting our hike north on the Pacific Crest Trail from Harts Pass in Washington’s Pasayten Wilderness, one truth quickly crystallizes: This northernmost section of the PCT stays true to its middle name—Crest. A well-maintained footpath, it traces a long ridgeline for miles, gently rising and dipping with the contours of the land but never falling off the mountains. Luckily for us, the PCT’s excellent condition probably saves us from injuring ourselves tripping and falling as we keep panning our eyes over classic North Cascades panoramas of endless, jagged ridges stretching to far horizons.

Having arrived here in the first week of September—a glorious time to walk through the Cascade Range—by our first afternoon, we lose count of the number of PCT thru-hikers we pass (or rather: who pass us). Easy to spot for their ultralight packs, blazing pace, and outward appearance of living estranged from civilization for a very long time, they’re blasting through the final miles of a months-long journey from Mexico to Canada. After tagging the border, they must backtrack more than 30 “bonus” miles to the trailhead and road at Harts Pass and hitch a ride to the nearest town—where they’ll undoubtedly draw more than the average person’s joy from a long, hot shower, perhaps an entire pizza or similar caloric feast, and a bed.

Nearly all are friendly—though, to a person, they all make clear they are done with the trail and ready to be off it. As we all filter water from the one flowing creek we’ll see along roughly 10 miles of the PCT this entire day, one fit, young thru-hiking couple says to us, laughingly repeating words they have obviously recited together many times already: “Just say ‘no’ to thru-hiking.”

A backpacker hiking the Pacific Crest Trail north of Harts Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail north of Harts Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.

My wife, Penny, our friend Jeff Wilhelm, and I are on a much shorter and very different journey: a five-day, 44.3-mile loop from Harts Pass, following the PCT on a long, high walk north for about 20 miles, then looping back to Harts Pass via much less-traveled trails that descend into a river valley and ascend a long, rugged ridge on an often-steep trail with taxing ups and downs.

Despite the number of thru-hikers we will run into on our first two days out here, it never feels too busy: For most of our time walking the PCT, we’re quite alone, even in what must be one of this section’s busiest weeks of the year. Once we turn off the PCT, our route will gift us with a sampling of the remoteness and solitude we expect in the Pasayten—plus an almost continuous stream of those classic North Cascades vistas.

And rather than testing our resolve to finish this hike—the apparent challenge facing several thru-hikers we meet—these five days will only whet our appetites to explore more of the Pasayten Wilderness.


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


Backpackers hiking the Pacific Crest Trail north of Harts Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.
Jeff Wilhelm and my wife, Penny, backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail north of Harts Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.

North of Harts Pass, the PCT seesaws through named mountain passes that seem to materialize every few miles—four of them, Buffalo, Windy, Foggy, and Jim on our first day—without big climbs and descents. Between the passes, we walk through quiet forest and cross sprawling meadows that have passed their wildflower peak. Scudding clouds dash across the sky faster than the thru-hikers on the ground.

Not surprisingly on a high, ridgeline trail, we find little water. After filling every bladder, bottle, and water bag we’re carrying at the one creek we find today, I get ahead of Penny and Jeff and reach a handful of established, trailside campsites protected in forest.

Nearby, one backpacker stands alone outside his tent. Not wanting to pass up this spot, I say to him, “We’re going to stay here, hope you don’t mind.” He waves off my concern about imposing on his solitude, giving me a thumbs-up. As dusk looms, a thru-hiker rolls in and asks whether there’s space available. We point to a spot 20 feet away and he grabs it. By nightfall, at least three more solo thru-hikers stop to camp, all of them returning from the Canadian border. All will be gone by the time the three of us crawl from our tents early in the morning.

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The Pacific Crest Trail to Rock Pass

We begin our second day with a few hours of hiking mostly through quiet forest on a 1,000-foot descent to Holman Pass, the air cool enough that we start the day wearing jackets. Crossing the open terrain of an old burn, we can see surrounding peaks whose names we don’t know without looking at a map—and even then, we don’t recognize any of the names. Even to many avid backpackers, the Pasayten’s vast wilderness remains mostly anonymous, a mystery.

After eating lunch in the pass—where a few more PCT thru-hikers cruise through on their way to or returning from the border; we’ll see several of them today, but fewer than yesterday—we start the uphill hike to Rock Pass. The PCT slowly emerges from forest to broad meadows rolling toward grassy mountainsides, cliffs, and rocky, abrupt summits. The trail rises onto the south face of Holman Peak’s west ridge, contouring above treeline, where we gaze across the compact valley draining Canyon Creek to the cliffs and jagged crown of 7,830-foot Skull Mountain and south to a sea of blue waves of mountains.

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A backpacker hiking the Pacific Crest Trail north toward Rock Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail north toward Rock Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.

Near 6,500-foot Rock Pass, a bit over eight miles from our first camp, we find a small meadow out of sight of the trail with space for our two tents—and tonight, no one else around. Then Jeff and I carry all of our bladders, bottles, and water bags to find a reportedly reliable spring just south of Woody Pass—more than a mile-and-a-half from our camp. It turns out to be harder to find than we expect.

After searching for about an hour, inspecting every campsite along the PCT before Woody Pass (all of them, I notice, unoccupied in late afternoon) and finding no water, I look down into a meadow basin well off the trail and tell Jeff, “I think I can see small pools down there.” Walking down to check, I find several pools, so Jeff joins me and we filter 10 liters of water to carry back—strolling into camp three hours after we departed on our water run.

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Rock Creek Trail

After a night of seeing the Milky Way ablaze across the dark sky, we awaken to another bluebird day, milder than yesterday morning. After packing up camp, Jeff and I make a 45-minute, up-and-down hike 300 vertical feet and nearly a half-mile up onto a shoulder of Holman Peak, east of Rock Pass, where we get a broader panorama of mountains reaching in every direction and see numerous distant, spiky peaks in North Cascades National Park to the south.

Descending the north side of Rock Pass—a magnificent stretch of the PCT—the three of us hike to the junction with Rock Creek Trail 473 below Woody Pass. No sign marks it and the trail could easily be mistaken for a side path to a campsite; but our GPS apps confirm our location.

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A backpacker hiking the Pacific Crest Trail north toward Rock Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail north toward Rock Pass in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.

The upper mile or so of the Rock Creek Trail gives us no warning of its horrible condition farther ahead—but we encounter the first blowdowns before too long.

At first, they’re sporadic. By the time we start running into multiple piles of trees down atop and across one another, we’ve gone far enough to not consider turning back. But the frequency of blowdowns keeps increasing, reaching a point where it feels like a relief when we get to walk at least a hundred feet between episodes of clambering over more downed trees across the trail. (The next day, we will meet a trail worker who tells us Trail 473 had been cleared of blowdowns the summer before and it gets maintained every other year. Our timing was simply unlucky.)

Penny trips at one point and badly twists her ankle. Fortunately, it’s a minute from a cold creek, where she sits and soaks the swelling sprain for as long as she can bear the frigid water and it undoubtedly helps minimize the swelling. She announces that she can get her boot back on and hike; and there’s little choice, with no obvious place to camp in the rugged terrain along this trail. So we push on.

Over the five or six hours we’re on the seven-mile-long Rock Creek Trail, we must bushwhack around, climb over, or crawl under trees—repeatedly taking off our backpacks to pass them over or under a downed tree—well over 50 times to get around probably 100 or more trees. It’s a misery, a purgatory. By the time we reach the trail’s bottom end, we’re wasted. We stop at the first possible campsite we come across, a short walk from the West Fork Pasayten River.

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Buckskin Ridge

We awaken on our fourth morning to the sound of raindrops drumming softly on the tent, the shower lasting a couple of hours, with the rain stopping as we start hiking. Penny’s right ankle has turned purple overnight and developed a lump the size of a kiwi; but she reports that she can hike on it. 

Not far up Buckskin Ridge Trail 498, we meet three backpackers coming down. One says they camped at Buckskin Lake the night before. He also reveals cryptically that the previous day’s hike—what awaits us today—“was a workout.” That will prove to be a theatrical understatement. As if to convince us that yesterday wasn’t so hard, today morphs into the trip’s most strenuous day of hiking as we backpack most of Buckskin Ridge, some 11 miles with nearly one-third of the entire trip’s vertical gain and loss packed into one day—more of it uphill than down.

There’s one other fact about that short conversation with those three backpackers that stands out, though it won’t become known to us until much later: They’re the last people we’ll see out here until the last couple of hours of our trip—and we’ll end up having had three of our four campsites entirely to ourselves, with no other parties within sight or earshot. (But that makes sense to me because this hike and the Pasayten itself check off at least half of the tips in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”)

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A backpacker hiking the Buckskin Ridge Trail in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.
My wife, Penny, backpacking the Buckskin Ridge Trail in the Pasayten Wilderness, Washington.

We make a 2,000-foot climb spread out over nearly six miles to a very windy Buckskin Lake, in a forested bowl below cliffs and green mountainsides. We fill up on water and continue uphill to a pass at 7,300 feet an d another panorama of mountains stretching as far as we can see in every direction. Under gray clouds, harassed by a cold wind, we pause for a quick bite and move on.

See all stories about backpacking in the North Cascades region at The Big Outside.

Gear Tips Trekking poles are indispensable 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.” Many backpackers will find the backpacking boots or shoes they normally use will be fine on most Pasayten Wilderness trails; see all of my reviews of hiking shoes and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, down jacket, sleeping bag, air mattress, headlamp, and water bag I used on this trip.

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

 

See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips, including these stories:

Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist
The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Packs
The 9 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents
24 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The Best Base Layers, Shorts and Socks for Hiking, Running, and Training
The 10 Best Down Jackets

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

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Finding Solitude Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Utah Flats and Clear Creek https://thebigoutsideblog.com/finding-solitude-backpacking-the-grand-canyons-utah-flats-and-clear-creek/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/finding-solitude-backpacking-the-grand-canyons-utah-flats-and-clear-creek/#comments Thu, 05 May 2022 10:40:18 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=52676 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

After descending seven miles and over 4,800 feet on the Grand Canyon’s always-stunning South Kaibab Trail and crossing the footbridge to the north side of the Colorado River, we follow the path through the Bright Angel backpacker campground to its end. There, not marked by any sign and not obvious to anyone unaware of it, a faint path leads through low bushes. Within moments, it turns and runs straight up a steep canyon wall of cacti and other desert flora, loose scree, and boulders, ascending about 1,500 vertical feet in the first mile, beyond what we can see from the bottom of it.

Gazing up with a volatile mix of excitement and trepidation, we start a long uphill grind.

My friends Pam Solon, David Gordon, Mark Fenton, Todd Arndt and I are backpacking the Utah Flats Route, an unmaintained, off-trail route known to canyon cognoscenti but largely unheard-of by most backpackers. Beginning in the canyon’s basement, the route climbs at an insanely steep angle, involves some scrambling through a long gully choked with gargantuan boulders, then traverses a rolling plateau high above the north bank of the Colorado River. Finally, it ends at the only reliable water anywhere on the route, a perennial creek flowing down an obscure tributary canyon in the shadow of the Cheops Pyramid.

But Utah Flats constitutes just the first half of our 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.


Backpackers hiking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
David Gordon and Pam Solon backpacking the Clear Creek Trail (also shown in lead photo at top of story) in the Grand Canyon.

Over six days out here, we will experience two very different faces of the Grand Canyon. We’ll hike its two busiest trails (and a small piece of its third-busiest trail) and pass through the park’s two busiest backcountry campgrounds without staying in either of them. Paradoxically, we’ll also explore two routes—this off-trail one and another on a good trail—that, despite their proximity to those enormously popular paths, see very few backpackers.

For four of the five nights we will sleep in the backcountry, we’ll have camps entirely to ourselves, with no other people within miles. On more than half the 40-plus miles we’ll hike this week, we will see no one else.

You could say we’re out here seeking a wilderness experience that almost simulates what it would have been like to journey through this canyon before the first Europeans to lay eyes on it—a group of Spanish soldiers led by García López de Cárdenas and under the command of Francisco Vázquez de Coronado, whose army searched in vain for the mythical Seven Cities of Gold—stood at the canyon’s rim in 1540 and, from a vertical mile above the Colorado, estimated that the river spanned no more than six feet across.

Utah Flats Route

The faint but often-visible use trail wriggles upward at a relentless and severe angle toward what looks, from below, like impassable cliffs. Under an April sun that bakes this canyon wall—where we have hardly a speck of shade—we slog patiently upward, sweat dripping onto sunglasses, trying to avoid sliding backward on scree and loose rocks.

Hearing Pam curse behind me, I turn around to see blood trickling down both of her shins, wounds from a double stabbing by a banana yucca, a plant that grows numerous long, firm leaves with needle-like tips that inflict remarkably painful jabs. She calls it a name that, while apropos, I will decline to share here.

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A backpacker hiking the Utah Flats Route in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Utah Flats Route in the Grand Canyon.

We scramble slowly through the boulder-choked gully known as Piano Alley, emerging from it onto the plateau. Afternoon light sharpens the colors of the geologic layers in the towering monuments of rock visible in every direction. Some of them have begun growing shadows across the terrain.

After crossing the plateau for what seems like farther than we expected, the faint path turns sharply, dropping several hundred feet down another loose, very steep canyon wall. It deposits us beside the clear, hurried current of Phantom Creek, which waters an oasis of cottonwood trees and other flora.

A backpacker on the Utah Flats Route in the Grand Canyon.
A backpacker on the Utah Flats Route in the Grand Canyon.

We find a large, established campsite on a shelf just above the debris marking the creek’s floodplain and at the base of an overhanging cliff which will gift us with the most valued commodity in the Grand Canyon (besides water): hard shade for all but about three hours in the afternoon.

Looking around, Todd—who’s joined me on previous GC backpacking trips and one rim-to-rim-to-rim dayhike—observes, “This is the most remote place I’ve even been in the Grand Canyon.”

We will have this campsite to ourselves for both of our nights here.

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Phantom Creek

On our second morning, having planned a layover day and another night at this camp, we explore up the canyon of Phantom Creek. We alternate between walking sandy, open ground and along the sandstone ledges flanking the creek, repeatedly crossing the creek and its zone of flash-flood debris: randomly deposited rocks and tree trunks, giant balls of tangled and bark-stripped branches wrapped around standing trees, and vertical banks of crumbling earth. The vibrant creek tumbles over tiny waterfalls into swirling pools that look perfect for a soak—which we’ll do by this afternoon.

We follow the creek up to a prominent red prow of rock several hundred feet tall where Phantom canyon forks—a spot marked as Haunted Canyon on maps—continue up the left fork until that creek dwindles to a small stream, then backtrack to investigate the right fork. But it’s more overgrown and we don’t go far before turning back for camp.

By early afternoon, under the hot sun, we’re all immersing ourselves in pools of cool water carved into the rock by the creek, then sitting on creekside ledges in the hot sun, imagining a Grand Canyon with no other people around—and realizing we’re in that canyon right now.

The Thing About the Grand Canyon…

As I’ve written in other stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon, I feel drawn back here time and time again in part because I increasingly seek a certain type of experience in the wilderness—one with more solitude, challenge, and even a few surprises, above and beyond inspiring scenery.

But even more pertinent to any backpacker descending into the canyon, no two trips are the same—and the trails you choose will shape your experience in myriad ways from strenuousness, water availability, and the character of your campsites to solitude.

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While the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel “corridor” trails are the most accessible year-round, best-maintained, and most hiker-friendly paths into the canyon, they are also the busiest and the campgrounds along them the hardest to reserve on a permit due to huge demand.

Virtually every other trail in the park ranges from difficult to extremely difficult. And the canyon’s definition of “difficult” is not limited to the raw numbers of total miles and elevation gain and loss (the latter approaching a vertical mile for all trails from the South Rim to the Colorado River and exceeding a vertical mile for North Rim-to-river trails). Many feature countless ledge drops, or big steps up or down; some present technical obstacles, like a steep rockslide or a cliff to rappel or scramble. A trail tread consisting of loose stones of all sizes poised to tumble upon contact from a boot is par for the course, as is a dearth of reliable water sources. 

The campsite on Phantom Creek, at the end of the Utah Flats Route, Grand Canyon.
The campsite on Phantom Creek, at the end of the Utah Flats Route, Grand Canyon.

The major exception is the Tonto Trail, which traverses the gently rolling Tonto Plateau, at roughly 3,600 feet in elevation between the South Rim and the Colorado, providing a linkage between South Rim trails that allows planning more moderate trips that don’t drop all the way to the river and climb back out again.

Our six-day itinerary will carry us not only from the South Rim to the river and back but will also climb up onto and descend off the topographical equivalent of the Tonto Plateau on the river’s north side—twice—and allow us to explore a pair of tributary canyons that would be major natural attractions in all 49 other states and yet remain largely unknown here.

And I’ve planned this trip’s itinerary to avoid the backcountry campgrounds with the highest demand—helping to ensure I got this permit.

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Clear Creek

We straggle out of our camp on Phantom Creek between 6:30 and 7 a.m. to make most of the steep climb up the canyon wall in shade and milder temps and hopefully get across Utah Flats and down to Bright Angel Canyon by late morning. Our strategy buys us shade for almost an hour. But once the rising sun finds us, the air feels instantly 10 degrees hotter.

Still, today’s temperatures will remain relatively comfortable while a steady wind will help keep us cooler—at least until afternoon.

The low sun brightens the edges of the prickly-pear cacti carpeting the rocky ground and backlights the stone towers in the near distance ahead of us, rendering them as darkly shadowed monoliths. We move quickly, with just a few moments of confusion trying to follow the Utah Flats Route—a faint but often visible footpath until it disappears at the plateau’s ragged edge, where the earth turns inside-out, leaving us standing at the brink of short precipices in search of the way around them.

A backpacker hiking the Clear Creek Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.
Todd Arndt backpacking the Clear Creek Trail above the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.

We pick our way through the boulder-strewn gully of Piano Alley and then walk with short, cautious steps down the canyon wall’s steep, gravelly path, slipping now and then but avoiding any bad falls—somehow making the return trip on the Utah Flats Route in three hours, an hour faster than we hiked out on it two days ago, even though going down seemed not much easier or faster than up.

After not seeing any other people for the past two days, we stroll into Phantom Ranch in Bright Angel Canyon, mixing with the backpackers and ranch guests while resting in the glorious shade of trees, chugging water and scarfing snacks bought at the canteen—entertaining the possibility that these may be the best potato chips and peanut M&Ms we’ve ever had. Then we pack up, each carrying enough water for the nearly nine-mile hike to Clear Creek, walk a short distance up the North Kaibab Trail, and turn onto the Clear Creek Trail. The last remnants of shade on this side of the canyon bring pleasant relief as we quickly ascend that well-built trail—which feels like a casual stroll after the Utah Flats Route.

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

Backpackers hiking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Pam Solon and David Gordon backpacking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

As we rise hundreds of feet above Bright Angel Canyon, the scenery gets us spinning around to drink it all in. The South Rim pops into view, much higher above us and miles away. At a bend, a very short spur trail leads to a breathtaking overlook of the Colorado. The Clear Creek Trail then traces the base of short cliffs where we’re looking straight up the canyon’s Inner Gorge, our prospect spanning from the river to the South Rim.

The cliffs beside us mark the Great Unconformity, which might be called “the thing that cannot be seen in the Grand Canyon,” a gap in the geologic history of the planet of as much as 1.2 to 1.6 billion years—meaning that two adjoining lower layers in the canyon’s nearly 40 geologic layers were deposited over one billion years apart. Chew on that for a minute.

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A backpacker hiking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.
Pam Solon backpacking the Clear Creek Trail in the Grand Canyon.

The trail scurries through a break in the cliff band, then meanders across the plateau. The afternoon grows steadily hotter, probably over 80° F with almost no shelter from the wilting sun. We duck underneath a long, overhanging rock shelf to sit and eat lunch in its shade.

The miles seem to drag in the heat and desiccating wind as the trail brings us along the rims of dry tributaries before finally descending to campsites in the green bottom of Clear Creek Canyon; we arrive there by mid-afternoon, happy just to take off our boots and packs and immerse ourselves completely in the creek’s cold water. Like Phantom Creek, it strikes a perfect temp of cold enough to feel refreshing and therapeutic for tired muscles without being so frigid that it’s impossible to stay in it.

Although there are several established campsites by Clear Creek, as with our two nights on Phantom Creek, we have this tributary canyon all to ourselves tonight.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, down jacket, ultralight wind shell, sleeping bag, boots, and headlamp I used on this trip.

Gear Tips  Trekking poles are indispensable 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.” 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 hiking in the dark for the cooler temperatures; see my review of the five best headlamps.

Tell me what you think.

If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom. I’d really appreciate it.

See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips, including these stories:

Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist
The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Packs
The 9 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents
The Best Ultralight Hiking and Running Jackets
24 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The Best Base Layers for Hiking, Running, and Training
The 10 Best Down Jackets” (for this trip, see the lightest models)

See all stories about backpacking in Grand Canyon National Park and all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a 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 download the e-guide 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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Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay https://thebigoutsideblog.com/back-to-the-ice-age-sea-kayaking-alaskas-glacier-bay/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/back-to-the-ice-age-sea-kayaking-alaskas-glacier-bay/#comments Fri, 25 Mar 2022 09:50:00 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=770 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

The water of Johns Hopkins Inlet lies flat, perfectly reflecting the first patches of blue sky we’ve seen since arriving in Glacier Bay yesterday morning. I rest my paddle across the kayak and listen. A barely audible moan of wind floats down from high in the mountains, then fades away. A bald eagle screeches, briefly piercing the quiet; but as soon as the sound passes, the silence that returns seems as deep as the sea we’re floating on.

On the second afternoon of a five-day sea kayaking trip, 55 miles up this Southeast Alaska fjord where cliffs shoot straight up out of the sea and razor peaks smothered in ice and snow rise thousands of feet overhead, I’m taking a moment to enjoy a rare pleasure: listening to the cacophony of nothing.

My seven-year-old daughter, Alex, who is perfectly content to sit back and let me power our two-person kayak loaded with food and gear, points to the eagle perched in its nest in a snag high up a cliff. “He’s watching the kayakers go by,” she informs me. A harbor seal pops its head above water nearby, inspecting us with dark eyes. Alex faintly catches her breath as she and the seal lock gazes. A moment later, it disappears with a “bloop.”

Then a sharp concussion rips open the quiet.

Our 6-seater plane, Juneau airport Our 6-seater plane, Juneau airport Steller sea lions, South Marble Island, Glacier Bay Mountain goats, Glacier Bay Margerie Glacier calving, Tarr Inlet Alex at Ptarmigan Beach. Reid Glacier, Glacier Bay Reid Glacier Reid Inlet, Glacier Bay. Lamplugh Glacier Lamplugh Glacier. Lamplugh Glacier. Brown bear print, Johns Hopkins Inlet. Arlie's iceberg, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Campsite on Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Oystercatchers, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. Black sand beach, Johns Hopkins Inlet Johns Hopkins Inlet. Johns Hopkins Inlet. West Arm, Glacier Bay. West Arm, Glacier Bay. West Arm, Glacier Bay. Oystercatchers, Lamplugh Glacier Lamplugh Glacier. Lamplugh Glacier. Kayakers, Lamplugh Glacier. Ptarmigan Beach, West Arm, Glacier Bay. Ptarmigan Beach, West Arm, Glacier Bay. Broad-leaved willowherb, Ptarmigan Beach

About six miles away, visible at the other end of the inlet, the mile-wide, 12-mile-long Johns Hopkins Glacier has dropped another immense piece of itself into the sea. The native Tlingits, who have lived on this coast for centuries, call that explosive noise “white thunder,” which strikes me as the best possible descriptor for it.

The Hopkins Glacier is the most active remnant of an unimaginably massive river of ice that filled this realm of liquid water in the geologically very recent past. Tomorrow, we will paddle up this inlet for a close-up view of that dynamic glacier. We’re hoping this improved weather will hold out at least until then.

My family, including my wife, Penny, and our nine-year-old son, Nate, are taking a sea kayaking trip run by Alaska Mountain Guides. With our two guides and six other clients, we’ve come to paddle around Glacier Bay’s upper West Arm, probing deep within a national park the size of Connecticut, at the heart of a contiguous protected wilderness the size of Greece.

By mid-afternoon, we pull up onto a rocky beach at the mouth of the inlet, where we’ll camp for two nights. The sky has mostly cleared and the water’s still dead calm. Icebergs float in the bay. Glaciers pour off of serrated peaks on all sides; tendrils of clouds wrap themselves around the mountaintops.

And throughout the evening, every 15 or 20 minutes, another sharp report booms down the inlet.


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Kayaking in the West Arm of Glacier Bay.

Two centuries ago, there was no Glacier Bay. When British Capt. George Vancouver sailed the H.M.S. Discovery through Southeast Alaska’s Icy Strait in 1794, he wrote in his ship’s log about observing a “compact sheet of ice as far as the eye can see.” He was looking at a colossus of ancient, frozen water 4,000 feet thick and up to 20 miles wide that reached more than a hundred miles into the St. Elias Mountains. By the time John Muir visited in 1879, the tongue of ice that had touched the waters of Icy Strait had slid 30 miles backward. He wrote that, at night, “the surge from discharging icebergs churned the water into silver fire.”

Glacier Bay has seen the fastest glacial retreat on the planet. The ice has pulled back 65 miles, unveiling a fjord with numerous inlets and 1,200 miles of coastline. While the national park still has more than 50 glaciers covering 1,375 square miles—more than a quarter of the entire park—most are in declining health, a trend driven largely by one factor: In the past 60 years, the state’s average temperature has increased 3° F., more than twice the average warming worldwide.

A scientist who has studied Alaska’s glaciers for 40 years told me that 99 percent of them are shrinking. Just in the four decades since he first kayaked in Glacier Bay, the number of so-called tidewater glaciers, those that extend from the mountains to the sea in various inlets, has gone from a dozen to five.

Named a national monument in 1925 by President Calvin Coolidge and a national park and preserve in 1980 by President Jimmy Carter, Glacier Bay today attracts more than 250,000 visitors a year. The vast majority of them see the bay from the railing of the park’s tour boat, which is certainly a great experience. But few people go kayaking in the bay—and it is so vast—that kayakers on multi-day trips here enjoy a rare depth of solitude.

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On our first day, we paddled into Reid Inlet and explored the hundred-foot-tall snout of the Reid Glacier, where a river of gray water poured out of a blue-ice cave. After camping at the inlet’s mouth, we started our second morning with a visit to the ruins of a cabin inhabited eight decades ago by Joe and Shirley “Muz” Ibach. The couple staked their claim to mine the land a year before the bay became a national monument, and were permitted to continue living and mining there for another 16 years, making perhaps $13 after expenses in a good year, until their deaths.

Frowning at what’s left of their former one-room wood structure in the middle of the wilderness, Alex asked me, “How did they entertain themselves?” Indeed, it’s hard to imagine such solitude.

Then again, they did have that constant, entertaining soundtrack of white thunder playing in the background.

 

Johns Hopkins Inlet

Another morning of glassy waters greets us as we push the kayaks out into Johns Hopkins Inlet on our third day. Under clear skies and a warm sun that will deliver our trip’s warmest day, pushing 60º F, we cruise slowly up the inlet, passing icebergs ranging from truck-size to chunks of ice that look like abstract mantelpiece sculptures.

Capt. James Cook saw these peaks in 1778, during an identical short reprieve from the typically wet, gray Southeast Alaska weather, and named them the Fairweather Mountains. Given that the region receives six feet of rain a year and is much more frequently enveloped in fog than bathed in sunshine, it may be the most misleading place name on the planet.

We’ve arrived in late July, just a few weeks after Johns Hopkins Inlet was opened to kayaks and boats. The park closes this inlet to human traffic every year during spring and early summer to avoid disturbing the thousands of harbor seals that birth their pups and keep them on floating icebergs to protect them from predators.

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Ice chunks on beach in Johns Hopkins Inlet.

Glacier Bay is something of a northern paradise, teeming with life. Humpback whales and orcas ply its waters. On the four-hour park ferry tour up the bay that first morning, en route to our drop-off point, we saw brown bears ambling down rocky beaches and mountain goats scrambling up sea cliffs. Scores of Steller sea lions, the largest males ten feet long and over 2,000 pounds, piled up on the barren rock of South Marble Island, where researchers have counted 1,100 of them.

We spotted black-legged kittiwake nesting in sea cliffs, pigeon guillemot with its red legs and beak, and the more-common tufted puffin as well as the rare horned puffin. Some species threatened or endangered outside Alaska, like the bald eagle and marbled murrelet, abound in Glacier Bay.

The bay also offers a rare natural laboratory displaying a living timeline of plant succession in the wake of deglaciation. In the lower bay, ice-free for 250 years, a mature temperate rainforest of spruce and hemlock grows almost impenetrably thick. As one travels up the bay, the forest gets younger, dominated by deciduous cottonwood, willows, and alder. In the upper bay, there’s little vegetation beyond mosses, lichens, and a few determined wildflowers. Waterfalls plummet hundreds of feet down cliffs scarred by the glacier that scraped past just decades ago. The upper bay opens a window onto what North America looked like when the last Ice Age drew to a close 10,000 years ago.

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Steller sea lions on South Marble Island in Glacier Bay.

As we paddle farther up Johns Hopkins Inlet, the icebergs crowd more densely around us, some as large as tiny islets. We weave more cautiously among them, careful not to get too close—if one abruptly rolls over, it could flip a kayak.

About three hours from our camp, we take out on a beach of sun-warmed, fine black sand a quarter-mile long, littered with blocks of ice gleaming a brilliant white in the sunshine. Gulls squawk. Backing the beach, multi-tiered Chocolate Falls sends a column of brown water crashing over cliffs. A half-mile away, the Johns Hopkins Glacier spans the entire head of the inlet, a sheer wall of ice a mile across and 300 feet tall, roaring at us at irregular intervals.

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Rafting the Green River’s Desolation and Gray Canyons https://thebigoutsideblog.com/rafting-the-green-rivers-desolation-and-gray-canyons/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/rafting-the-green-rivers-desolation-and-gray-canyons/#respond Mon, 21 Feb 2022 00:30:27 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=50985 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Our two prop planes climb to 2,000 feet above the Green River, flying north from the tiny airport in the one-horse town in southeast Utah that shares the river’s name. The brown current far below wiggles between castle-like walls in a canyon carved deeply into the Tavaputs Plateau, a twisting labyrinth of towers and sharp edges that looks not much more decipherable from up here than it does trying to navigate it down there. The early-morning sun slashes across the tops of the tallest formations—which are about level with us—but has not yet reached the shaded canyon bottom.

Most conspicuous, though, is what’s unseen: any significant footprint of civilization beyond an occasional rough, rambling line of hardened earth and rocks that constitutes what passes for a road out here. We are heading into one of the most inaccessible patches of the U.S. West and one of the largest roadless areas in the Lower 48, to float through that yawning canyon.

A rafting and kayaking party floating the Green River through Desolation Canyon.
Our rafting and kayaking party floating the Green River through Desolation Canyon.

Thirty minutes or more after taking off, the pilot banks our plane left and all seven of us passengers—including my 23-year-old nephew, Marco Garofalo, getting full value from the co-pilot’s seat on his first bush flight—gaze out the windows to see what manner of runway awaits us in this desolate expanse of uninhabited desert.

Ahead of us appears a narrow strip of earth in a lighter shade of brown than the surrounding landscape—in the desert, the eye quickly recalibrates its sensitivity to the full and rich spectrum of brown. Minutes later we touch down and bump along a rocky airstrip that seems better suited to mountain bikes than aircraft, rolling up beside the other plane carrying the rest of our party, which landed just ahead of us.


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A couple in an inflatable kayak on the Green River through Desolation Canyon.
Erin Gleason and Bill Mistretta kayaking the Green River through Desolation Canyon.

Any trip that begins with a bush flight into a remote backcountry airstrip is off to a great start. And this one is about to get a whole lot better.

After hiking 45 minutes to the river, 16 of us, family and friends, climb into rafts and kayaks and push off into the swirling, milk-chocolate water, embarking on a six-day descent of Desolation and Gray canyons on the Green River, led by guides from Holiday River Expeditions, based in the town of Green River. Nicknamed Deso-Gray by river people, this 84-mile stretch of the Green is known for more than 60 rapids up to class III, most of them easy, fun wave trains; big camps on sandy beaches, some shaded by tall cottonwoods; and the stark beauty of these vast canyons, which will remind us at times of other sections of the Green my family has floated, Lodore Canyon (also with Holiday River Expeditions) and Stillwater Canyon, but also reveal their own unique character and mysteries.

The searing June heat feels tempered somewhat by the up-canyon breeze in our faces. Flanked by high rock walls nearly identical to the Book Cliffs outside the town of Green River, we meander downriver, only covering perhaps two miles each hour because the river level has already dropped very low in this hot, dry spring (a prelude to what will become a scorching summer that eclipses heat records everywhere). Although the heavily silted water is too brown to see beneath the surface, my friend Vince Serio and I, sharing my two-person inflatable kayak, repeatedly dig our paddle blades into the sandy riverbed just a couple feet below the surface.

By mid-afternoon, 15 river miles from the put-in—but already feeling light years removed from civilization mentally—we pull the boats up to a sandy riverside camp called Gold Hole. A mostly clear, dry, windy evening arrives, along with the great relief of the canyon wall throwing our camp into shadow.

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An Unhurried Mindset

On the river by around 9 a.m. on our second morning, before the sun has fully crested the canyon wall—walls that rise taller with each mile we advance down Desolation Canyon—we paddle and float alternately through patches of warm sun and cool shade. An up-canyon wind blasts us with frequent, strong gusts; it seems to possess malign intent, bent on stalling our forward progress.

A great blue heron—the first of several we’ll see today, even more than yesterday—lifts off from the riverbank, where it had blended into the backdrop of sand, rock, and scrub brush, and glides just above the river’s surface with languid flaps of wings that span several feet. It looks absolutely prehistoric. 

Floating the Green River can induce a sense of dropping out of time. It’s easy to draw an initial impression of Desolation Canyon as true to its name—at first blush, it seems there’s nothing out here: sparse vegetation, little wildlife, no noise but for the river’s soft, percussive sounds and, less consistently, the wind.

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A great blue heron in the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
A great blue heron in the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

John Wesley Powell, leading the first expedition on the Green and Colorado rivers in 1869, described this part of their journey as “a region of wildest desolation,” and the name stuck. Floating the Green more than a century after Powell, in 1980, the beloved writer Edward Abbey called it “one of the sweetest, brightest, grandest, loneliest or primitive regions still remaining.”

Before long, though, we increasingly notice the abundance of life. Herons appear in surprising numbers, so still and inconspicuous in the shallows at river’s edge that I wonder how many of them we miss. Above us, wild horses graze a steep, rocky slope. Squadrons of swallows burst from tiny pockets in the face of cliffs and raptors circle high overhead. We seek out the shade of tall, broad cottonwood trees and, on hikes out of our camps, step carefully to avoid the prickly pear cacti and other desert flora that would jab needles into our legs.

But not many people. With just six river parties permitted to launch every day during the peak summer season on the Deso-Gray section of the Green, we see perhaps two other groups each day, and only briefly, in passing.

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A group of rafts and kayaks on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Our group on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

It doesn’t take more than a day out here for an overwhelming sense of solitude to take over—and it sits comfortably beside the prevailing unhurried mindset that quickly sets in.

On our second evening, after a day of easy floating interspersed with bumping through fun wave trains and riffles, we make camp on a beach in Flat Canyon, where several of us take a 20-minute walk on a flat trail to some of the most detailed and elaborate petroglyphs I’ve ever seen.

Sleeping on the sandy beach, my 20-year-old son, Nate, and I awaken at some point to gaze up at one of the darkest night skies in the country. Stars riddle the moonless black dome overhead, a density of pinpricks unfathomable to most people who never see a night sky in a place far from the nearest city glow. The Milky Way looks like a silent procession of faint ghosts. It makes me happy to know that my kids have, already in their young lives, seen night skies like this countless times.

Cow Swim Rapid

On our fourth morning, we run playful, easy rapids—and in flatter stretches of the Green, struggle to paddle into, or at least not get blown back to the put-in by the relentless and powerful up-canyon wind, which had howled and shrieked throughout the night.

At midday, we take out on a tiny patch of riverside sand, tying off the duckies and rafts to keep them from drifting or blowing away. Then all of us who are paddling kayaks and most of the guides hike a sandy trail about 20 minutes to stand atop riverside boulders for a good look at the class III Cow Swim Rapid.

The Green gets pinched into a narrow channel with boulders littering its riverbed. From the top of the rapid, a well-defined V-shaped tongue of fast-moving, brown water accelerates forward, eventually disappearing into—or getting swallowed by—a choppy, chaotic swirl of whitewater. Immediately after entering the rapid, we’ll have to avoid a hole between two recirculating waves on river right; a couple hundred yards or more farther down, near the rapid’s bottom, more holes lie in wait to upend any boats that wander too far left. We must run it left of that upper hole and the first curling wave and right of the lower holes. Everyone in a hard-shell or inflatable kayak feels ready for it.

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Chicken Rock overlook above Three Canyon camps on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Marco Garofalo at Chicken Rock overlook above Three Canyon camps on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

Launching the boats again, we proceed in a predetermined order, with two rafts piloted by guides leading, ready to retrieve any swimmers below the rapid. Nate, an experienced hard-shell kayaker, then sets the correct line for the four duckies following him; he’ll eddy out at the bottom of Cow Swim to help chase down anyone who swims. The other two guided rafts run sweep.

My brother-in-law Tom’s wife, Barb Peterson, who joined me in my inflatable kayak all morning—including fighting that headwind—stays on board for Cow Swim. We nail the entry move, watching the upper hole whip past close on our right. Then we smash through a series of big, loud waves, water in our faces as we work to steer rightward to avoid the lower holes. As everyone regroups below the rapid, all still in our boats, we let loose with hoots and cheers.

After a satisfying lunch—always impressed at how hungry we get just sitting and paddling—we float a few more miles into the afternoon. The wind continues its impersonation of commercial jets taking off, bending riverside bushes and tamarisk nearly to the ground.

A raft in Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
One of the rafts running Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

As we approach our next camp on a beach shaded by cottonwoods, with campsites amid juniper behind the beach, the wind seems to reach a climax, literally pushing waves upstream.

Nate spins his kayak around and tells me, “These are swells. I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve surfed swells that are moving upstream on a river.”

Every evening in camp, we sit in a big circle of chairs and talk until after dark. A variety of games ensue on the beach. One late afternoon before dinner, our guides—lead guide Tyler Jameson, Lucy Gerber Brydolf, Brayden Davies, and Garrison “Gary” Petrie—plus Nate, Marco, my daughter, Alex, and my wife’s nephew, Andrew Peterson, all try to sprint the length of three upside-down duckies lined up end to end on the river (tied off to a raft)—every one of them, inevitably, toppling into the water before clearing all three wildly bouncing, inflatable boats.

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More Big Rapids

On our fifth morning, we leave camp in moderate winds—a big improvement over the howling gales of the past two days—with two bigger rapids coming up immediately, the first just minutes downriver. I ask Alex, 18, if she’ll join me in my inflatable kayak. After a moment of hesitation—owing to the wind and the shade hanging over the river magnifying the chill of getting soaked by big waves—she agrees. Apparently, my prediction that we probably won’t flip and swim either of the rapids convinces her.

We paddle hard into the first one, Wire Fence, bouncing and laughing through a wave train. On one of the bigger waves, Alex gets launched upward in the bow, for an instant hovering about four feet higher than me, before we crest the wave and slide down the other side. Below the rapid, we take out on the riverbank and watch everyone else run it as I shoot photos.

Then we float around the corner to run the class III Three Fords Rapid. 

A kayaker paddling Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
My son, Nate, kayaking Three Fords Rapid on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

Three Fords marks the boundary between Desolation Canyon and Gray Canyon and straddles a major geologic signature known as the Cretaceous-Tertiary Line, or K-T Line (the “K” abbreviating the German word for Cretaceous). Discovered a century ago by geologists and visible at several sites around the world, the K-T Line denotes the end of the age of reptiles and the beginning of the age of mammals, about 65 million years ago. One of the greatest mass extinctions in the planet’s history, that period saw at least 75 percent of all species on Earth, in the seas and on land, including the dinosaurs, wiped out. More than 90 percent of plankton in the oceans died, leading to the collapse of the oceanic food chain.

That story sounds like a highly relevant parable for our current times, when we are living through the Earth’s sixth mass extinction, one triggered by our use of fossil fuels driving climate change. Scientists predict that 75 percent of animal species could vanish with the next three centuries—a radically faster rate than in past mass extinctions. And yet, whatever happens to humankind, this indifferent canyon will remain for many eons.

I ask our lead guide, Tyler, where I might shoot photos of everyone running Three Fords. Tyler has river guiding in her blood. Her older sister, Larkin, is also an HRE guide and their dad, Brett Jameson, guided for HRE in the 1980s.

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Pointing ahead, she suggests I hike along the riverbank to a rock ledge several feet directly above the first two, big waves of Three Fords, which are followed by a long wave train. Alex comes with me. It’s a great spot for photos and to spectate, and we cheer everyone on as they hit the entry waves one boat at a time.

Marco enters it as one of the first duckies and blasts through the first wave. We shout encouragement and he gives us a thumbs-up—releasing one hand from his paddle in the few seconds between the first two waves. Even before Alex finishes laughingly shouting at him, “Dude, hold onto your paddle!”, his boat begins to spin sideways. Instead of hitting a line left of a very large, crashing wave, he broadsides the wave; instantly, his ducky flips, throwing him out, and he’s swept downriver.

We watch as guides in rafts scramble after him. But while still in the long wave train, Marco executes an impressive self-rescue, flipping his ducky upright and climbing back into it to resume paddling—as if nothing happened.

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Duckies floating the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Duckies floating the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

His swim and dramatic self-rescue blossoms into a story we’ll retell and laugh about in camp that evening—and probably for a long time.

After lunch, we paddle two miles of riffles and flat water and take out to scout Coal Creek Rapid, a class II+ to III. This one has a hole to avoid on the right soon after entering the rapid, followed by a series of large waves and rock hazards. Farther down, there’s another hole on the left that we need to avoid and is hard to see when running it—but that seems the least of our problems.

Once again, two rafts lead the way, trailed by Nate in his kayak and the four duckies, then the other two rafts. Joined in my inflatable kayak by wife, Penny, we avoid the first hole but creep a little too far right and hit a big wave head-on that we’d hoped to avoid. Fortunately, though, we narrowly dodge a huge rock to our right, staying in our boat.

Everyone loves it, including our Colorado friends Erin Gleason and Bill Mistretta, getting an introduction to paddling whitewater in a borrowed two-person inflatable kayak on this trip.

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Early morning on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.
Early morning on the Green River in Desolation Canyon.

By mid-afternoon, we stop on a sandy beach some four miles beyond Coal Creek Rapid, waiting out the hot sun’s descent under umbrellas as much as possible, and then having a fun, final evening on the river, with numerous matches of Can Jam, a Frisbee-based game that Erin brought.

As afternoon slips into evening, I notice a lone bighorn sheep traversing the steep canyon slope across the river and point it out to everyone. Early the next morning—after another starry night, a sight that never fails to stir a powerful sense of awe—a choir of birdsong builds to a volume that awakens some of us.

Floating toward the takeout on our last morning, sitting in a boat as it slowly spins around in a slowly moving river, watching a panorama of soaring, timeless canyon walls unfurl a new vista around every bend, and recalling the moments of thrill in the rapids in Deso-Gray, I look at the smiles on every face and think: This is something everyone should do at least once in a hectic lifetime.

But do it once and you’ll probably decide you want to do this again and again.

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Take This Trip

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR rafters and kayakers of any experience level on guided trips, including families with young children. Unguided parties should have the skills for rapids up to class III and planning multi-day river trips.

Guided Trips Holiday River Expeditions, bikeraft.com.

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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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Are You Ready For That New Outdoors Adventure? 5 Questions to Ask Yourself
10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids

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Still Waters Run Deep: Floating the Green River in Canyonlands https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-waters-run-deep-tackling-americas-best-multi-day-float-trip-on-the-green-river/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/still-waters-run-deep-tackling-americas-best-multi-day-float-trip-on-the-green-river/#respond Sun, 26 Dec 2021 10:00:04 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=1842 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t take young kids down that river in May. It’s much too dangerous. I tell families to go in June or later, when the river’s lower.”

That was the dire warning issued to me over the phone by an employee with an outfitter based in Moab, Utah, that offers multi-day float trips down the Green River in Canyonlands National Park. His tone completely derailed me: Based on everything I’d read and heard, May was an ideal time for a family trip on the Green—which may well be America’s best easy float trip.

From the put-in at Mineral Bottom on the Green, through 52 miles of Stillwater Canyon and then four miles more on the Colorado River to the takeout at Spanish Bottom, the river slowly unfurls beneath a constant backdrop of giant redrock cliffs and spires. Off the water, you can take side hikes to centuries-old Puebloan rock art and cliff dwellings, camp on sandy beaches and slickrock benches, and maybe even spot bighorn sheep scrambling around on precipitous rock faces.

I had several friends excited about it. We’d comprise a party of 17, with nine adults and eight kids, the oldest 11, the youngest my four-year-old daughter, Alex. A few adults were experienced kayakers or canoeists, but most of our party were novices. I’d assured everyone we’d have no problems, that the river current would be gentle. But I’d never taken my kids on a multi-day river trip before, and I’d never been on the Green (though I had seen much of Stillwater Canyon while mountain biking the White Rim Trail in the park).

I like uncertainty in the backcountry, but encountering surprise challenges with little kids along can be stressful—and potentially dangerous. And at the other end of our group’s age range was my 80-year-old mother-in-law, Ann. High on my personal list of Big Screw-ups to Not Commit? Losing my mother-in-law on a river.


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So I checked into the river’s level and talked to people who knew the Stillwater section, including an employee at another outfitter—and ultimately concluded that first guy I spoke with was blowing a lot of unhelpful hot air, probably because he had never taken kids on a wilderness trip. He reminded me of other (usually childless) people I’ve encountered who, while well-meaning, seem to think children are like fragile glass vases that will shatter if not handled with extreme care. Like most kids I’ve known, mine are as fragile as an alligator.

We decided to go for it.

Under a blazing desert sun on a May morning at Mineral Bottom, we launch a small armada of three heavily loaded rafts, two kayaks (a single and a two-person), and a canoe. If we set out buzzing with excitement—adults all smiles and kids clearly feeling like they’re joining John Wesley Powell’s first descent into the unknown—we have no idea what a lasting impact the next five days will have on us.

That first afternoon, we tie up the boats to scrub brush on a riverbank of slick mud at Fort Bottom. Then we walk 15 minutes to the ruins of a one-room log cabin built in the 1890s by a rancher named Mark Walker. Not much more than 100 square feet, all that remains of it are walls of hand-cut logs, a stone chimney, and roof beams, the willows and mud that formed the roof long gone. Still, it’s remarkable that any of it still stands after a century of abandonment. We enter through the open doorway and walk around the small area of dirt floor, the kids both amused and awed by the vision of someone residing in such a tiny space so far from civilization.

Leaving Fort Bottom, we float into early evening as the long rays of sunlight burnish the deep reds of the canyon walls and cast long shadows across the river. The rippled water displays a complexion of blurred streaks mirroring the shades of crumbling rock above.

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Floating the Green River through Canyonlands National Park.
Floating the Green River through Canyonlands National Park.

We eventually find a campsite at Potato Bottom. The kids spray onto the beach to play and explore, while the adults commence what will become a three-hour ritual every afternoon of unloading boats, pitching camp, and feeding 17 people. Each morning, we’ll reverse that process—no faster—eating, packing up camp, reloading boats.

But if managing so large a group requires enormous effort, life on the river represents the diametric opposite: the height of leisure.

By our second morning, we adjust to the lazy rhythms of paddling and drifting for those several water-borne hours of each day, leaning back under a nuclear sun to watch it all slide torpidly by us: the ancient geology, the scattered, small groves of cottonwoods and willows, and the always-blue sky. We make slow progress rowing rafts burdened with several hundred pounds of gear, food, water, and humans. And the placid-almost-to-a-fault Green gives us very little speed assist. But we don’t care. We’re in no hurry.

The kids migrate between boats like pirates. They pull on a raft’s oars until bored with the task, eagerly jump at sharing the two-person kayak with an adult, take dips in the silted, chilly river, instigate water fights, and play cards or games in a raft.

We pull to a riverbank two or three times a day to investigate a side canyon or eat lunch. We know there are several other boating parties on the river because we see them in campsites every afternoon; but groups spread out on the slow river, so we rarely encounter those other people during our hours on the water. Generally by mid-afternoon, one of us lifts the lid of a cooler, and the soft hissing of a beer can opening draws our other boats toward the sound.

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Mark Fenton kayaking the Green River through Stillwater Canyon.
Mark Fenton kayaking the Green River through Stillwater Canyon.

“Dad, can we go in the kayak together?”

Our six-and-a-half-year-old, Nate, has been eyeing the two-person kayak covetously. So after lunch that second afternoon, we again shuffle bodies around between boats, and Nate and I cast off onto the brown water in the two-person hard shell. Easily gliding along much faster than the rafts, we paddle ahead of them, drift to let them catch up, circle a raft to ambush its occupants with splashes, and explore the base of cliffs shooting straight up out of the river.

Predictably, that evening, his little sister whispers the same request to me. So on our third morning I again take the two-person kayak out, this time with Alex in the front cockpit, so small her head and shoulders barely rise above the deck. She does her best to manage the two-bladed paddle that’s longer than she is tall, often content to just hold it.

“You’re an awesome kayaker,” I tell Alex. She turns around to me, her smooth-skinned little face split with such a wide smile that I have to smile, too. We spend just a couple of hours together in that boat, but I sense we’ll both remember it for a long time.

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Bus to Mineral Bottom. Bus to Mineral Bottom. Bus to Mineral Bottom. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Fort Bottom. Fort Bottom. Fort Bottom. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Floating the Green River through Stillwater Canyon, Canyonlands National Park. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stilwater Canyon, Green River. Stillwater Canyon, Green River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River. Spanish Bottom, Colorado River.

Later that third afternoon, I’m back in the two-person kayak with one of the six-year-old girls, Sofi. I paddle us far ahead of the group, looking for an available campsite big enough for our flotilla. But we keep passing campsites already occupied. The day turns into our longest on the water as we paddle into evening, Sofi and I so far ahead of the others that we don’t see them for two hours.

I worry that everyone behind us is growing tired, hungry, and grumpy. But Sofi utters not a complaint, content to eat snack bars, occasionally dip her paddle into the river, and bask in her extended adventure in the kayak, scouting ahead of our group.

Then I hear Sofi suck in her breath softly. She lifts an arm and points to the riverbank to our right. Not 10 feet from us, a great blue heron, shockingly tall, lithe, and absolutely still, stands in a shallow eddy, one eye staring back at us. I stop paddling and we drift in silence for a moment of frozen time. Finally, the giant bird spreads its wings as if throwing a cape over its shoulders, lifts itself from the water and flaps downriver, disappearing into the backdrop of red cliffs.

Eventually, I see Mark steaming toward us in the single kayak. A longtime whitewater paddler, he’s been dubbed “the fast guy” by the young kids. He catches up and points toward river left, asking, “How about over there?” It looks like a promising spot: a flat bench-like area a short scramble up a steep, rocky riverbank from the water. It turns out to be our best campsite of the trip: acres of dry, flat ground for tents, some shade, big rocks where we set up our kitchen area and lounge—and one huge boulder that quickly earns the moniker “Kid Rock,” where the kids all nestle like puffins on a seaside cliff, lost for hours in their stories and laughter.

The kids, age four to 11, clustered on "Kid Rock."
The kids, age four to 11, clustered on “Kid Rock.”

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The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-quicksand-chronicles-backpacking-paria-canyon/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/the-quicksand-chronicles-backpacking-paria-canyon/#comments Sun, 05 Dec 2021 11:00:24 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=18157 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Walls of searing, orange-red sandstone shoot up for hundreds of feet, so close together in places that I could cross from one side of this chasm to the other in a dozen strides. On the floor of Paria Canyon, a shallow river slides lazily forward like very thin, melted milk chocolate. The early-spring sunshine only occasionally finds us in here, even at midday; instead, it ignites the upper walls and sends warm light bouncing downward in a cascade of reflected glow, painting every wave of rock in a subtly different hue.

Hypnotized, I fall a short distance behind the group, pointing my camera and clicking away. Moments later, I round a bend in the canyon to see my friend, Vince, mired hip-deep in quicksand and struggling mightily.

It’s the first day of our two-family, five-day, 38-mile backpacking trip down Paria Canyon, which straddles the border of Utah and Arizona and joins the Colorado River at Lees Ferry, the gateway to the Grand Canyon. We’d already had our first run-in with quicksand earlier, just an hour into our hike. At the first pool of it that we happened upon, the five kids, age 12 to 15, stood hurling rocks into the muck, erupting in fits of laughter at the baritone “bloop” each made and the sight of it disappearing almost instantly.

But now, the laugh train has left the station, and four stunned young people stare, wide-eyed and quiet, at Vince.

In the narrows of Paria Canyon.
In the narrows of Paria Canyon.

I drop my pack on a small island of dry ground and join Vince’s wife, Cat, at the edge of the quicksand pool. Vince passes us his backpack, but we can’t get quite close enough to grab a hand and pull him out. Fortunately, he’s not sinking any deeper. Quicksand occurs in Southwest canyons when the fine sand in a river bottom, usually outside the river’s current, contains just the right amount of water so that it neither flows downstream nor dries to solid earth (although it can appear solid); and it rarely seems to get very deep.

Still, it feels bottomless and as thick as cold molasses when you’re mired in it—as most of us will discover this week.

So all we can do is offer advice and watch Vince helplessly as he twists, pushes off the nearby canyon wall with his hands, and struggles to extract his legs from this pool of nature’s wet cement. After several minutes, he manages to wriggle close enough to the quicksand’s edge for Cat and I to each grab a hand and haul him out. Panting, he stands encased in a wet mold of dripping, brown goop from the waist down.

The sight will become a visual metaphor for this adventure. Paria—and its 15-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch, which gets so tight in some stretches that you have to take off your pack and squeeze through sideways—can feel at times like you were served an entire rhinoceros when you only ordered a hamburger.

Quicksand appears frequently and sometimes without warning—looking no different than the innocuous, standard-issue mud that carpets most of the canyon floor. Finding water for drinking and cooking is a daily challenge: Over its entire length, typically walked in five days, Paria has just three reliable springs, and Buckskin has no drinkable water. And the heavily silted river—too thick to drink, to thin to plant, as locals like to describe it—quickly chokes a water filter to death.


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With a narrows section that stretches for 10 miles or more, Paria poses a real flash-flood hazard; you only embark down it with a forecast of clear weather for at least three days. Buckskin’s far tighter and longer narrows, besides morphing into a sandstone coffin during a flash flood, receives little direct sunlight and dries out very slowly in spring. In fact, I’d obtained a permit for us to start in Buckskin, but we opted to bypass it and begin at White House campground, at the top of Paria Canyon, when we got reports of Buckskin being filled wall-to-wall with waist-deep ice water for miles, runoff from a recent snowstorm at higher elevations upstream.

But Paria alone or combined with Buckskin also comprises one of the most continually stunning, multi-day canyon hikes in the Southwest. Having backpacked overnight down Buckskin and up just the upper several miles of Paria two decades ago with my wife, Penny, I was eager to return and walk its entire length, showing our kids and our good friends the Serio family one of the Southwest’s premier cracks in the Earth.

It would turn out to be even more scenic than I remembered—and a bigger adventure than anyone anticipated.

After Paria Canyon, hike the rest of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

 

Dusk at White House Campground. White House Trailhead. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Quicksand, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Windows, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon.

Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness

Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch sit within the 112,500-acre Paria Canyon-Vermilion Cliffs Wilderness, between Kanab, Utah, and Page, Arizona. Buckskin is known as one of the longest, if not the longest continuous slot canyon in the Southwest, while Paria has become famous among backpackers for its towering walls painted wildly with desert varnish, massive red rock amphitheaters and arches, hanging gardens where the few springs in the canyon gush from rock, and sandy benches for camping, shaded by cottonwood trees.

There’s no trail; you just hike down the canyon, crossing the Paria River scores of times a day, and walking right in the river when it spans the canyon narrows from wall to wall, as it does for long stretches during the first three days, in Paria’s narrows. For the most part, the river’s ankle- to calf-deep, occasionally rising to thighs or waists.

And now, in late March, it’s numbingly cold. We came prepared with neoprene socks on everyone—which make a huge difference in keeping our feet reasonably warm; everyone adapts quickly to the feeling of our feet being wet for hours. Although the kids braced themselves for the first river crossings, early on day one, I overheard Sofi Serio tell my son, Nate, “It’s kind of fun, actually.”

Plus, we’ve drawn all aces for weather, with a forecast for sunshine every day, with highs in the 60s and lows in the high 30s the first two days, then 70s and 40s.

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A backpacker in Paria Canyon in Utah and Arizona.
My son, Nate, backpacking Paria Canyon in Utah and Arizona.

Throughout our first day in Paria, we walk between walls that rise higher the farther we go, and are pockmarked with “windows,” or alcoves ranging in size from big enough for a bird to big enough for all five kids to clamber inside for a photo, and sometimes so numerous they actually resemble rows of windows in a multi-story building. The walls are painted haphazardly in dark streaks of black and ochre, creamy white, and innumerable variations on red and orange that look like a melting sherbet rainbow.

As our first evening drips slowly into the canyon, we stop to camp on a sandy bench on river left. I’d hoped we might reach a campsite near the confluence with Buckskin Gulch on our first night, but we haven’t seen it yet, and the group is tired and hungry. Nate and I drop our packs in camp and hike 20 minutes farther downstream just to see how far we are from Buckskin, but we never reach it. I figure our group hiked maybe six miles down canyon in six hours, including breaks, on this first day. Walking in water is slow, but we’ve also just been enjoying the scenery.

Lying in our bags inside our tents after dark, listening to the river gurgle past, we hear the hoots of an owl echoing off the canyon walls.

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Skull, day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. Day one, Paria Canyon. First campsite, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon. Day two, Paria Canyon.

Playing in Quicksand

Nate, my daughter, Alex, and Sofi and Lili Serio stand around a small puddle of quicksand that one of them had stepped into a minute ago. Seeing that it’s no more than ankle deep, they all begin stomping around in it, laughing and shrieking. Sofi gets her boots stuck, and although she could probably extricate herself, the other three circle the wagons around her in a mock rescue drill, pulling her out by the arms—prompting even louder fits of hilarity.

On just our second day, less than 24 hours after we watched Vince wallow nearly to his belt buckle in the stuff, quicksand no longer frightens our kids. Peril has become a punch line, and quicksand merely a sandbox.

Early this morning, before our families were awake, Vince and I spent 90 minutes filtering enough water for nine of us to drink today, from river water that we’d let sit overnight in pots and every available water vessel to let the silt settle to the bottom (to keep it from clogging the filter). That gave us enough water to hike to the next spring, about six miles downriver.

Now deep in Paria’s narrows, we walk in the shade of close canyon walls that make humans look tiny. The desert Southwest harbors many canyons of wildly varying proportions—length, width, and depth—as well as shapes and characters. And a handful stand out as the cream of the crop of multi-day canyon hikes, like Zion’s Narrows, Coyote Gulch in the Escalante, Capitol Reef’s Chimney Rock and Spring canyons, and certainly just about any hike in the Grand Canyon (my favorite so far has been the Royal Arch Loop).

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

But few compare with Paria Canyon for length, variety, and sustained beauty. For so many miles that we lose track of a sense of distance or time, we splash downriver, rounding one bend and twist in the canyon after another to a new, jaw-dropping sight of a sheer, multi-colored wall, or a huge, arch-like formation eroding into a cliff, or parallel, vertical cracks that give a wall the appearance of giant organ pipes.

See also my story “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

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Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip https://thebigoutsideblog.com/yosemites-best-kept-secret-backpacking-trip/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/yosemites-best-kept-secret-backpacking-trip/#comments Mon, 01 Nov 2021 17:30:29 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=48621 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

A bit over a mile into our first day backpacking in Yosemite, as we round a bend in the trail, Half Dome suddenly rears up in front of us, looming over the horizon like an asteroid just seconds before it impacts the planet. “Wow!” bursts from my mouth involuntarily, sounding very inadequate for the majestic scene before us.

Jeff, who’d stumbled upon this apparition a minute ahead of me, chuckles and says, “I thought you’d want me to wait.” One of my most cooperative photo models, Jeff’s hiked enough miles with me—and backtracked a section of trail enough times for my camera—to sense in advance when I’ll require his services.

Our vista from high above Yosemite Valley frames Half Dome and a constellation of distant peaks—that kind of scene I’ve learned that backpackers come upon countless times throughout this park and the High Sierra. Almost every time I’ve enjoyed a view like this one overlooking the Valley, I’ve been surrounded by other hikers—sometimes dozens of them. And yet we’ll encounter just a handful of other people over more than five hours on the trail today—and surprisingly few over the four days of this loop hike, considering its proximity to both the Valley and Tuolumne Meadows.

A backpacker overlooking Half Dome in Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at an overlook toward Half Dome while backpacking in Yosemite National Park.

My friend and regular backpacking compadre Jeff Wilhelm and I have come to Yosemite in late September—luckily, during a respite from the smoke hanging over another grim fire season in California (yet another stark reminder of how little time humanity has to take aggressive action to minimize climate change). Our plan: to hike a four-day, 45-mile loop that scampers along one rim of Yosemite Valley—including one of the best Valley overlooks—and explores a lakes basin at 9,000 feet before finishing at one of the park’s prettiest lakes. And yet, this area doesn’t see nearly the same demand for a coveted wilderness permit as Yosemite’s most popular trailheads, even though it’s just as accessible and only moderately difficult.

You could say this hike is hiding in plain sight.


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

At midday, we stop for lunch beside Snow Creek, still flowing in late September in one of the West’s hottest and driest years on record. Numerous large, flat granite boulders straddle the stream, inviting us to sit—one of several common characteristics of High Sierra creeks that border on perfection and I wish could be copied and pasted to mountain streams everywhere.

Later, as our first afternoon slides toward evening, we hike uphill with packs that have suddenly gained more than 10 pounds, burdened with the weight of 11 liters of water between us in anticipation of a waterless campsite on Indian Ridge. After dinner, we walk out onto a nearby, unnamed granite dome overlooking Half Dome and the Valley—and watch, transfixed, over the course of about an hour as one of the finest sunsets and dusk skies I’ve witnessed in a while patiently unfurls before us.

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North Dome

Lovely, low-angle sunlight and the deep silence of a calm morning accompany Jeff and me as we hike down the nearly treeless southern end of Indian Ridge. To our left, the sheer face of Half Dome looms enormous just across the deep chasm of Yosemite Valley. The trail drops steeply into a saddle and then we stride up onto the broad summit of North Dome—stepping into a heart-stopping panorama.

From this perch at over 7,500 feet, some 3,000 feet above the Valley, our view spans from Clouds Rest and Half Dome to Glacier Point, El Capitan, and beyond.

I’ve seen the Valley and its world-famous cliffs from numerous angles and points of view over the years. But with the scarcity of human traffic here, standing on North Dome feels a little like stumbling upon a well-preserved little secret: Other than a few dayhikers, we have it to ourselves on a spectacular morning when I’m sure the usual hundreds of hikers are parading up and down the Mist Trail.

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

Dropping from North Dome to Lehamite Creek, we’re relieved to find it flowing, though shallow. From there, we continue hiking through forest along the Valley’s North Rim, reaching Yosemite Point, another stirring overlook from the brink of sheer cliffs 3,000 feet above Yosemite Valley. We can see there’s no water pouring over Upper Yosemite Falls—which historically dries up by late summer—but when we reach its source, Yosemite Creek, a little while later, we find good news: large, standing pools of clear water.

In fact, we pass standing pools of clear water for the next several miles of hot afternoon hiking upstream along Yosemite Creek. By early evening, we find a great spot to settle in for the night. Jeff sets up his backpacking cot on one flat spot beside the creek and I lay out my air mat and bag on a slab in the middle of the creek, with shallow, gurgling braids flowing very close by on either side of my bed.

Nightfall brings a black sky riddled with stars and the foggy streak of the Milky Way—but only until the nearly full moon rises, illuminating the land so brightly that we would need no headlamp to walk around.

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The Yosemite Backcountry—A Granite Wonderland

For much of our night on Yosemite Creek, a chilly wind races down the narrow little canyon we’re sleeping in, prompting Jeff and me to mummy deeply inside our bags—which actually feels like a relief compared to our unusually warm first night. In the morning, the wind continues blowing fiercely. Bundled up in down jackets, we gobble down breakfast, eager to get out of camp and warm up on the trail.

Continuing up the Yosemite Creek Trail, we traverse a granite wonderland, intermittently walking through airy forest of widely spaced pine trees and some burned areas. The creek still has pools and flows in places as we steadily gain elevation. We even cross one small tributary that has a good flow—and guzzle water there, knowing we will, at some point today, hike miles under a hot sun without seeing water before reaching our next camp on a lake.

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The sky at dusk over Indian Ridge in Yosemite National Park.
The sky at dusk over Indian Ridge in Yosemite National Park.

In late morning, we run into a young woman on her first day of a solo backpacking trip and talk for a few minutes. She’s the first person we’ve seen since we left the vicinity of Upper Yosemite Falls yesterday afternoon and we won’t see another human until encountering just a few parties of backpackers later this afternoon.

Over the course of more than three decades and numerous backpacking, climbing, and dayhiking trips in Yosemite, I have observed this park’s multiple personalities. While most visitors confine themselves to Yosemite Valley, Tuolumne Meadows, and famous hikes like Half Dome and the northernmost section of the John Muir Trail, I’ve had the good fortune to explore much of the park’s backcountry.

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In remote corners like the Clark Range and the canyons south of Tuolumne and east of the Valley, as well as northern Yosemite’s vast wilderness of deep canyons, 10,000-foot passes, and 12,000-foot peaks, I’ve hiked for hours or even entire, gorgeous summer days without encountering another person (outside my own party)—a counterpoint to the usual narrative of crowds in this flagship national park.

One lake in Yosemite ranks among the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had among countless nights over four decades of wilderness travel; I’ve also lamented not camping at a spot I hiked past in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River.

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A backpacker in the Ten Lakes Basin, Yosemite National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking in the Ten Lakes Basin, Yosemite National Park.

And that canyon—which I’ve compared to Yosemite Valley, if the Valley had no roads and buildings and was twice as long—was one of many highlights that have disabused me of any notion that, after several trips, I’d already seen all there was worth seeing in Yosemite. Not yet halfway through this hike, I’m already sensing that it will only reinforce that impression.

My experience in Yosemite’s backcountry has informed my conviction that this beloved park, with over 700,000 acres of designated wilderness and 750 miles of trails, offers a lifetime of exploration.

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Good Eats Post- and/or pre-trip, scarf a dinner of the world-famous fish tacos and a breakfast burrito or the Mammoth omelet at the Whoa Nellie Deli, in the Mobil station at the junction of CA 120 and US 395 in Lee Vining, 30 minutes from Tuolumne outside Yosemite’s east entrance; whoanelliedeli.com.

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The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, down jacket, sleeping bag, boots, and trekking poles I used on this trip.

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See my expert tips in these stories:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a 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 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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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.”

Join The Big Outside now to read ALL stories and get a free e-book!

See my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside and these reviews for my top recommendations:

The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
The Best Ultralight Backpacks
25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories
The 12 Best Down Jackets
All reviews of backpacking boots and hiking shoes at The Big Outside.

Other articles at The Big Outside that may be useful in preparing for a Tour du Mont Blanc trek include:

5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry on the Trail
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier
7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking

Guide Services Numerous companies provide guided treks on the TMB and some transport luggage daily between lodgings, allowing you to carry a very light daypack. An online search will provide a list of operators.

Resources Switzerland Tourism, https://www.myswitzerland.com/en-ch/home.html, and Valais hiking tours, valais.ch/en/activities/hiking/hiking-tours.

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Trekking Among Giants in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/walking-among-giants-a-three-generation-hut-trek-in-norways-jotunheimen-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/walking-among-giants-a-three-generation-hut-trek-in-norways-jotunheimen-national-park/#comments Sun, 24 Oct 2021 09:00:26 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=6413 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

On a treeless tundra plateau deep in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park, we stop before a bouncy suspension bridge over a roaring, snarling whitewater river. I shoot a glance at my 75-year-old mom. In a tone that contains more fatalism than enthusiasm, she reminds me, “I’ve never crossed one of these.”

I nod, and calmly assure her, “You can do this.” But the flushed look on her face tells me she’s not buying that line. I don’t need reminding that I’d planned this weeklong trek and convinced my mom she could handle it. I had even used a couple of words I’ve occasionally called on with her over the nearly three decades of adventures we’ve taken together: “Trust me.”

This week, it seems, I’m putting that trust to the test.

Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen
Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen.

My confidence is not unfounded. I like to refer to my mom as The World’s Toughest Grandma. She didn’t even start hiking until her late 40s, when I first got her on the trail. After early forays up New Hampshire’s Mt. Monadnock, we moved on to bigger adventures together, ranging from a hut traverse of the Presidential Range to backpacking in the Grand Canyon when she was a spry lass of 62. But she’s never done anything as long or hard as this 60-mile trek. And she’s never been 75 years old on one of our big adventures, either.

It’s the second day of our hut-to-hut journey through Jotunheimen, and we’ve been hiking for five hours across a rugged, Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers. Cliffs and mountains look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. Lichen blankets glacial-erratic boulders. It’s beautiful, for sure, but rain, wind, and near-freezing temperatures have also made it a trial; the weather alone would be hard on anyone. Now we’re staring at this raging river spanned by a swaying bridge—which must look like a wobbly slackline to my septuagenarian mother.

Our multi-generation group eyeballs the bridge. In addition to my mom Joanne, the party includes my wife, Penny, our 11-year-old son, Nate, and nine-year-old daughter, Alex, and friends Jeff Wilhelm and his 20-year-old daughter, Jasmine.


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Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen N.P., Norway.
Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen N.P., Norway.

Nate, our self-appointed guinea pig, forges across first, stopping midway to deliberately bounce the bridge like a diving board. (Not helping, Nate! I want to yell.) Alex strolls more cautiously across. My mom still looks like she might turn around and march in the other direction, all the way back to Oslo.

I recall another hike when I saw the same expression on her face. On a trip to Yosemite, when she was a youthful 58, she and I stopped at the base of the cable route on Half Dome while she contemplated scaling several hundred feet of dizzyingly steep granite. I told her we could turn back. We sat for half an hour in silence. Then she jumped to her feet: “OK, let’s go.” A little while later, we stood atop Half Dome, a beaming grin of disbelief on my mom’s face.

On this trip, I hope to see that look on my mom’s face again. Now I wonder: Have too many years gone by? Can she still make that leap of faith?

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Besseggen Ridge

Jotunheimen—which translates as “Home of the Giants”—contains the highest European mountains north of the Alps, starkly barren peaks rising to more than 8,000 feet. Thick, crack-riddled glaciers pour off them like pancake batter that needs more water. Braided rivers meander down mostly treeless valleys, and reindeer roam wild. But best of all, a trek in Jotunheimen combines pristine wilderness with the most luxurious huts I’ve ever stayed in—many featuring private rooms, hot showers, and restaurant-caliber meals—as well as flexible route options and side trips. It seemed perfect for my kids and mom. I figured, with such decadent huts, how hard can this trip be?

One small wrinkle: Thanks to an unusually cold summer, much of the ground here remains snow-covered in late July. And rather than the average summer highs in the 50s, the forecast calls for days of rain, high temperatures in the 30s, and winds that may explain how people first got the notion that reindeer can fly.

Indeed, we had to implement Plan B yesterday—our trek’s first morning. At Gjendesheim, a hotel masquerading as a hut on the shore of an 11-mile-long finger lake named Gjende, we awoke to the meteorological manifestation of misery: The temperature sat just a few hash marks above freezing, drizzle spat from the sky, fresh snow was visible below the low cloud ceiling on the mountainsides, and the wind blew like April in North Dakota. When we saw the forecast posted in the hut promising more of the same, my mom, kids, and Penny reached a quick consensus that the 30-minute ferry across Gjende to our next hut, Memurubu, looked like a fine alternative to battling the weather. Meanwhile, Jeff, Jasmine, and I pulled on our shells and set out to hike 10 miles to Memurubu via Besseggen Ridge.

Above Olavsbu Hut
Above Olavsbu Hut.

Known as “the most famous hike in Norway,” Besseggen is one of those iconic places that draws a crowd on a nice summer day. In wind-driven, bone-shivering rain and snow, though, we saw almost no one. The three of us constituted the only spots of color on a treeless plateau of rock and tundra freshly painted white. Dressed for winter in multiple layers, gloves, and a wool hat, I had to remind myself that it is the middle of July.

And then came the magic. Four hours into our hike, the clouds lifted like a stage curtain, revealing snowy mountains rolling away to far horizons. Before us, Besseggen Ridge tilted sharply downward and narrowed to a gooseneck land bridge separating the emerald Gjende from another lake, the hypnotically blue Bessvatnet. Green mountains erupted from the water. (Picture the Scottish Highlands flooded, with equally unpronounceable place names.) The seemingly improbable sculpturing of earth and water stirred the same awe I’ve felt in places like Patagonia and Iceland. For a moment, I wished my family were there.

But only for a moment. As we scrambled down several hundred feet of exposed, rain-slick ledges, another image crowded my thoughts: of a family we encountered in the wailing whiteout earlier on Besseggen. Well before catching up to them, we heard the girl, around my daughter’s age, crying and screaming, “Cold! Cold!” She wasn’t just whining; the girl was clearly hypothermic. We persuaded her parents to turn back to Gjendesheim, the fastest retreat off Besseggen.

Now I’m a bit concerned about how my kids and mom will fare in the days ahead, trekking rugged miles over snow-covered ground, fording frigid rivers—some days through hours of the kind of cold rain and wind that suck the life from your body like one of Harry Potter’s dementors. And there won’t be a ferry or shortcut most days.

I chose Jotunheimen looking for the wildest adventure I could take my kids and mom on—and have them like it. But I didn’t expect to be testing their limits.

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On Besseggen Ridge overlooking Gjendesheim. Besseggen Ridge, Jotunheimen National Park. Besseggen Ridge above Bessvatnet (lake), Jotunheimen Besseggen Ridge, Lake Gjende, Jotunheimen Lake Gjende from Besseggen Ridge Sign along Besseggen Ridge Trail, Jotunheimen Memurubu Hut, on Lake Gjende Geraniums outside Memurubu Hut Wildflowers outside Memurubu Hut. Gjendebu Hut, Jotunheimen

Fondsbu Hut

The World’s Toughest Grandma isn’t about to let her grandkids show her up—or perhaps she just realizes that she really has no choice in the matter. So after Nate and Alex cross the suspension bridge, mom steels herself and goes for it. She moves slowly, stepping gingerly to minimize any bouncing. Watching her, I marvel at her ability to go far outside her comfort zone at an age when most people just want to take it easy. This trek may be pushing her limits, but she seems determined to not let it defeat her.

After the bridge, we descend a hillside of boulders and ground-hugging greenery, past jet-engine-loud waterfalls. In a steady shower, we hike beside another long, narrow lake framed by naked hills.

While my mom walks with Penny, I quicken my pace to catch up with Nate and Alex, recalling a family trip we took to the Columbia River Gorge last summer with my mom. At 74, she hiked 12 miles to Tunnel Falls and, the next day, seven miles and 3,000 feet up Dog Mountain. On that trip, my eight-year-old daughter couldn’t keep up with her grandmother. In Jotunheimen, though, Alex’s pace eclipses my mom’s. My mom hasn’t slowed much in a year; Alex has leapt forward. As much as I feel joy and pride at seeing my kids grow more capable, I feel a pang of sympathy for my mother, forced to accept this generational changing of the guard, as inevitable as rivers flowing downhill. The sight of my kids pulling away from my mom has a disorienting effect on me as well: It feels like looking simultaneously in opposite directions, into my own past and future.

I was in my early 20s when I first took my mom on a hike. I was single and steering hard into a lifelong passion for the mountains; she was a middle-aged mother with only two of five children out of college—and a few years younger than I am now. At a time in life when many young adults and their parents spend less time together, growing more distant, my mom and I found something to bring us closer.

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Trekking up the Langvatnet valley, Jotunheimen.
Trekking up the Langvatnet valley, Jotunheimen.

At a basic level, two things have made my adventures with my mom possible. The first and most critical is her ability to do something that many people cannot do: step outside her comfort zone. She has been places and done things that, based on her experience prior to the middle of her life, would seem as familiar as Saturn. The second is that, for reasons still inexplicable to me, she has trusted me when I’ve said, “You can do this.”

Over the decades, even after I married, had kids, and moved across the country, we still made time for at least one annual trip. We’d hike and talk about family, books, recipes, and harder subjects, like her wishes for the end of her life. Those times entered a lockbox of memories—which will someday be my most prized legacy from her. And they have inspired me to take my kids on regular father-son and father-daughter trips of our own.

My kids and I pull ahead of the others through a cold, steady rain to Fondsbu hut, on the shore of Bygdin lake. Inside, we all peel off wet clothes and boots and feel warmth creep back into our bodies.

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At dinner, boisterous trekkers fill every chair in the hut’s 67-seat dining room for two sittings. They’re mostly Norwegians drinking heartily and bellowing “skol!” at frequent intervals. We dig into salad and bread followed by turkey with home-fried potatoes and vegetables—and for dessert, chocolate mousse with sorbet. Then Sjølborg Kvålshaugen, the hut warden, stands before the packed room, hands clasped. Six feet tall and strong-looking—with a beautiful voice that stills the Norwegians—she sings, a cappella, the jazz classic “Whenever We Say Goodbye.”

The warmth and food and good cheer lift everyone’s spirits. But after dinner, Sjølborg informs me that most of the way to our next hut is snow-covered, and tomorrow’s forecast calls for rain and temps barely above freezing. At our bunks, I share this news with everyone. My mom says nothing, her smile gone; Nate and Alex burrow inside their sleeping bags.

That’s just how a mutiny begins: when they don’t talk to you.

Kyrkja (peak), above Leirvatnet (lake), at Leirvassbu Hut.
Kyrkja (peak), above Leirvatnet (lake), outside Leirvassbu Hut.

Olavsbu and Leirvassbu Huts

Given the forecast, we unanimously agree on hunkering down for another night at Fondsbu—the park’s numerous trail options let us easily shave a day and one hut from my original itinerary. While the others read, play games, drink hot cocoa, eat chocolate, nap, and generally exult in the comfort of the hut’s two spacious living rooms, Jasmine, Jeff, and I again suit up for the worst that Norway can throw at us. We head out for a four-hour hike past icy lakes and white cascades, below dark mountains that occasionally peek through the gray fog—enjoying every moment. Knowing a hut awaits has a way of making miserable weather seem beautifully mystical.

But that rain delay is our last mulligan. Any more days off will affect our reservations at later huts. So we hit the trail again on our fourth morning, in a cold wind and intermittent rain on a 10.5-mile, mostly uphill hump from Fondsbu to Olavsbu hut. Alex, Nate, and my mom happily deploy the three trekking umbrellas I brought, until the wind keeps inverting them and threatening to Mary Poppins my featherweight children to Sweden. When we stopped for a hurried lunch on wet rocks, I see the frowns and tight grimaces on my family’s faces as they quietly huddle like penguins. The day ends with a long descent over snow that my mom negotiates slowly. She and I arrive at the hut well after everyone else, walking the home stretch in a raw, driving deluge.

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The next morning, the thermometer outside the Olavsbu hut reads zero Celsius and the wind—which seems to rarely rest in Norway—moans a Gregorian chant. But the sun finally shatters the persistent overcast. So even as we again wear multiple layers and set out across snow-covered ground, the spiritual lift the sunshine gives us feels palpable. Everyone walks with a quicker, lighter step as we pass beneath peaks whose blades of gray rock carve into the oceanic sky. Jasmine, a preternaturally ebullient person who I think could find reasons for optimism living as a galleon slave, says, “I can’t believe how beautiful it is here! I’m just so happy!” My mom is doing great, clearly enjoying the scenery.

Then we come to another stream crossing.

They’re a regular feature of a Jotunheimen trek, and most hikers cross them easily. But for a 75-year-old, the pushy water and slick rocks pose a real challenge. This one—100 feet across, swift, calf-deep, achingly cold with snowmelt, its bed paved with cobblestones—looks harder than average. A walkway of rocks, some slightly submerged, offers a route across that would save us from a numbing ford—if everyone can avoid falling in.

I survey my family’s expressions: Nate, eagerness; Alex, uncertainty; my mom, mortal dread. I tell everyone that I’ll lead the kids and my mom across one at a time—quietly hoping we don’t end up with any broken bones or frigid immersions.

 

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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.


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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.

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‘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.

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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.

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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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Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze https://thebigoutsideblog.com/farther-than-it-looks-backpacking-the-canyonlands-maze/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/farther-than-it-looks-backpacking-the-canyonlands-maze/#comments Tue, 05 Oct 2021 22:04:08 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=48165 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

With our first steps on the descent from Maze Overlook into the labyrinth of mostly dry desert canyons that comprise one of the greatest geological oddities in the National Park System—the Maze in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park—we already face our first obstacle: Removing our backpacks, we scramble one by one over a ledge drop of several feet and pass our packs down.

But this introduction to the most technical section of our route merely hints at the arduous and improbable terrain awaiting around the corner.

Shouldering our packs again, the four of us follow a wildly circuitous trail mostly across slickrock, marked by cairns but otherwise unobvious and not visible on the ground. It takes a winding downhill course below redrock cliffs and towers, past mounds of shattered boulders resembling ancient ruins, and along the sloping rims of giant bowls of rippled stone. In several spots, we again remove and pass our packs down and scramble through tight crevices or downclimb a ladder of shallow footsteps chiseled into a sandstone cliff face.

A backpacker descending the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking down the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

After a shocking amount of time and effort—taking nearly three hours to descend just a mile and 500 vertical feet—we reach the sandy bottom of the South Fork of Horse Canyon. There, we commence a search to find the one natural spring that we’re counting on to sustain us for the next three days.

It’s the second morning of our five-day backpacking trip into the Maze, in the first week of March. My friends Todd Arndt, Pam Solon, and Jeff Wilhelm and I had arrived here two nights ago, spending the night before starting the hike in a primitive, waterless, roadside campsite on Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land just outside the park entrance, at around 6,500 feet. We awoke there yesterday to temps in the upper teens and—fortunately—warm, late-winter, high-desert sunshine.


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A backpacker descending the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Pam Solon backpacking down the trail off Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

After checking in at the Hans Flat ranger station—surely one of the most remote ranger outposts in the country—and driving a few miles of rough road to the trailhead, we spent our first day hiking about 11 miles and 1,700 feet down the North Canyon Trail. The sun shone warmly but the temp probably never topped 40° F all day, if it even got out of the thirties, while a slight but wintry breeze kept us often wearing a couple of layers. By late afternoon, we found a place to camp near the rim of Horse Canyon, about a mile northwest of Maze Overlook.

When I stepped out of my tent during that clear and cold first night in the backcountry, my breath condensing in front of my face, the brilliant streak of the Milky Way across the ink-black sky felt almost alarming.

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Maze Overlook

We awoke on our second morning to another bluebird sky and ice in our water bottles and slammed a hot breakfast while gazing at distant cliffs burning red in the early sun. Hiking about 45 minutes up a four-wheel-drive road from our first camp—and seeing no vehicles on it—we reached the Maze Overlook.

It could be called Amazing Overlook.

Standing at the brink of the Maze Overlook’s white cliffs, the name bestowed upon the vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons below makes perfect sense: It could only be called the Maze. And from that prospect, it’s hard to imagine another place deserving of the moniker. Mesas and pinnacles loom above the twisting labyrinth of chasms, including the four tall, slender, brown pinnacles called the Chocolate Drops, misshapen as if partially melted.

A backpacker at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at the Maze Overlook in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

After our arduous descent off Maze Overlook, now well into our second afternoon, we follow occasional cairns and boot prints in sand down Horse Canyon’s South Fork, looking for the water source known as the Below Maze Overlook spring—which the ranger who issued our permit yesterday told us should be flowing.

After some searching, we find a trickle of water and attempt to trace it upstream to its source. But the trickle diminishes to stagnant puddles—and then disappears completely. After some bushwhacking, slogging through sand, and clambering over rocks in the dry creek bed, we realize that trickle was as good as we’re going to find. The ranger had warned that this had been a dry year and some springs may be dry already—even before the end of winter. Despite the cold, we were wise to come this early in the season.

We backtrack to the trickling stream, locate its deepest pool—perhaps four inches, enough to pump water—and, happy the stream is at least clear, we fill every bladder, bottle, and dromedary we brought. Then we hike maybe a half-mile farther, entering the mouth of the canyon traversed by the Chimney Route and turning onto a footpath leading up a short, dead-end side canyon. There, we find soft, flat ground for our tents, surrounded by towering walls of desert varnish.

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A backpacker at a campsite in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm at our second campsite in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Rising above the canyon rim behind our camp, one of the Chocolate Drops seems to peer down at us curiously—at once closer to us as the crow flies than we would have anticipated but miles from us via any route that bipedal primates could walk.

As the sun sinks behind a cliff, heralding another calm, clear, and cold night, we pull on warm layers—and I contemplate how, over several hours today, we hiked a grand total of just over five miles.

Already, we’re learning this truth about the Maze: There are no direct lines and everything lies farther away, in both distance and time, than it looks.

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The Chimney Route

On our third morning, we awaken once again to ice in our water bottles; but in the steep-walled canyon enclosing our campsite, the sun’s warmth only reaches us as the four of us set out to dayhike a loop of almost nine miles—one that will prove more adventurous and scenic than I think any of us anticipates, despite the Maze Overlook vista having set the stage for it.

Less than an hour from camp, we stop before a panel of slightly faded pictographs painted across one wall of the broad, cottonwood-punctuated Pictograph Fork in the Maze—ancient art known as the Harvest Scene.

Dayhikers on the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Jeff, Todd, and Pam dayhiking the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Believed to have been created by the Archaic People who lived in this region from 8,000 to 2,000 years ago, predating the more widely known (but still little-known) Anasazi, the Harvest Scene’s age has been estimated at 3,000 years—created a millennium before the birth of Christ and the rise of the Roman Empire. Experts consider it identical to one of the most elaborate and best-preserved examples of rock art in the Southwest, the Great Gallery in the Horseshoe Canyon District of Canyonlands, not far north of this spot as the crow flies but also much farther away for non-flight creatures like humans.

Following the Chimney Route past the Harvest Scene, we walk along a nearly flat, sandy river wash in a dust-dry canyon that spans hundreds of feet across, with colorful and complex walls of red and white rock rising 200 to 300 feet tall. 

The canyon grows steeper and more rugged as we follow a well-cairned route up a narrow, overgrown, dry creek bed, eventually zigzagging up ledges on a canyon wall. In spots, rocks stacked by trail builders act as step ladders, enabling us to clamber over the smooth lip of a high ledge or a pour over carved by water from the rare downpours cascading off these cliffs. Patches of ice linger in shaded corners.

Pausing to survey the vertical landscape of rock all around us, an insignificant pocket within the much vaster breadth of the Maze, I can make out no obvious route through it; we’d be lost without these cairns or having the route mapped on a GPS app on Pam’s phone.

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Dayhikers on the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Todd and Pam dayhiking the Chimney Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

It’s eerily quiet in that way of environments rarely visited by moisture, where only small populations of the most tenacious species of plants and animals cling to a fragile existence. We step carefully around miniature gardens of biological soil crust.

Reaching the canyon rim, we follow widely spaced cairns indicating our route across a slickrock plateau. A slender tower of what looks like hardened, dark-brown mud appears ahead: Chimney Rock. Below that distinctive landmark, at the end of a four-wheel-drive road, we encounter the only other person we’ll see all day, a dayhiker on a roughly nine-mile loop from his campsite at Maze Overlook. In fact, he’s among just a handful of people we’ll bump into in five days out here.

Hikers on the Pete's Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.
Todd and Jeff hiking the Pete’s Mesa Route in the Maze District, Canyonlands National Park.

Like the frozen hands of a broken clock, three twisting trails emanate from Chimney Rock: the Chimney Route that brought us here; a trail that charts a winding course through Water Canyon and to the Dollhouse; and the faintest of the three, Pete’s Mesa Route, the one we want to take to complete this loop from our camp.

And there’s no trail signage. Except for the cairns and four-wheel-drive roads, little has visibly changed probably since the Archaic People walked these canyons.

Pete’s Mesa Route traces a high, broad ridge arcing back toward Horse Canyon. For most of its course, we stay up high, seeing the Chocolate Drops in the distance and nearer formations that resemble them. Trailless side canyons choked with fallen rocks and desert scrub tumble away to either side of us.

In the far distance, the topography subtly hints at a deep abyss where the Green River’s Stillwater Canyon meets the canyon of the Colorado River. Beyond that rise the candlestick towers of Canyonlands’ Needles District, while the muscular mesa of the park’s Island in the Sky District looms over everything.

A few miles from Chimney Rock, Pete’s Mesa Route rolls abruptly off the tableland, mimicking the Chimney Route’s zigzags across ledges where we can easily imagine bumping into desert bighorn sheep. We scramble down short, vertical drops, using more step ladders of stacked rocks. Reaching the bottom of another tight, anonymous side canyon, we walk down it until it dumps us back onto a familiar trail, where we know the way back to our tents.

As we stroll back into camp, about six hours after we left, Todd—who has taken countless hikes of all distances with me—calls today’s outing “one of the 10 best loop dayhikes I’ve ever taken.”

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The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, down jacket, trekking poles, rain shell, stove, sleeping bag, and air mattress I used on this trip.

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See my expert tips in these stories:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be

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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,” 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 “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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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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Photo Gallery: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier National Park https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-cdt-through-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/photo-gallery-backpacking-the-cdt-through-glacier-national-park/#comments Sun, 29 Aug 2021 09:00:37 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=29194 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

After more than three decades of wilderness backpacking all over the U.S. and around the world, rarely does a new trip immediately leap into my all-time top 10. But that’s exactly what happened when three friends and I backpacked a north-south traverse of 94 miles through Glacier National Park in a glorious week in September, mostly following the Continental Divide Trail.

Backpacking for six days from Chief Mountain Trailhead on the Canadian border to Two Medicine in the park’s southeast corner, we enjoyed the full Glacier experience, from daily wildlife encounters to scenery unlike anything you can find anywhere else in America—as I think you’ll see in the photos below.

We saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and one grizzly bear (from a distance that was adequately safe, though we were wishing it was greater). It being September, we also heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening, and enjoyed mostly sunny, dry days and comfortably cool nights.


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A backpacker on the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo for my e-guide to this trip.

We also happened to meet a number of CDT thru-hikers on the final day or two of their months-long journey, and it was kind of special hearing their stories and seeing their excitement over their imminent completion of an epic trek. Almost to a person, they all said Glacier is one of the two best sections of the CDT (along with the Wind River Range).

And then, of course, there were the views of skyscraping cliffs, waterfalls, and icy peaks looming high above deep, glacier-carved valleys. We made long climbs over five of Glacier ’s finest mountain passes—Redgap, Piegan, Triple Divide, Pitamakan, and Dawson.

Do this trip right with my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

Although the scenery really awed us every day of the trip, it seemed like the perfect culmination of it when, on the last day of backpacking, we followed the high, alpine Dawson Pass Trail. It delivered just maybe the trek’s best, long views of the glaciers and peaks in the park’s remote interior.

After the backpacking trip, we capped off our visit with an eight-mile, out-and-back dayhike from Two Medicine following the CDT up to Scenic Point—for yet more views of those lakes, valleys, and peaks that have reminded visitors for many generations of the Alps.

Click on the photo gallery below and scroll through these pictures from that trip—they’ll give you a strong sense of the inspiring majesty of this north-south traverse through Glacier. Then scroll below the gallery to find links to my stories about this trip and others in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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See my feature story about this 94-mile hike, “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier.”

See also “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and all of stories about Glacier National Park at The Big Outside, including these (some of which require a paid subscription to read in full):

5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park
“Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop
Jagged Peaks, Mountain Lakes, and Wild Goats: A 3-Day Hike on Glacier’s Gunsight Pass Trail
The 18Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park

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

Want to take what’s arguably the best long backpacking trip in Glacier? Check out my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park,” which tells you everything you need to know to plan and successfully pull off that 65-mile hike of a lifetime. And see all of my e-books.

If you want to plan a backpacking trip in Glacier or any other popular park, start with my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

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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.

Make sure your kids want to go again.
See “The 10 Best Family Outdoor Adventure Trips.”

 

Young girl and father backpacking in the Grand Canyon.
Alex and me on Horseshoe Mesa in the Grand Canyon.

On our first trips, when they were little, my one-on-one conversations with each of them focused on such weighty matters as their favorite toys and games. But as they have grown older, we talk about their relationships with their friends, how much freedom and responsibility they want to have, those odd creatures making up the opposite gender, and how they navigate the mysterious and confusing waters of growing up.

Always, our conversations focus on whatever’s on Nate’s or Alex’s mind and consist mostly of me listening with deep interest. I want them to remember these experiences not just for the fun we had together, but as times when we could talk about absolutely anything, and I would listen and care.

And, of course, we talk about what new adventures we want to take together in coming years—because one goal of any trip should be figuring out where and when you’ll take the next one.

Like this story? You may also like “The 9 Hardest Lessons for Parents Who Love the Outdoors
and “Why I Endanger My Kids in the Wilderness (Even Though It Scares the Sh!t Out of Me).”

 

A rock climber high up the Elephant's Perch in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Nate high up the Elephant’s Perch in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

I continued these father-son and father-daughter trips right through their high-school years and beyond; Nate and I rock climbed the Elephant’s Perch in Idaho’s Sawtooths together the summer he was 19. We have created a tradition that I hope my kids see as critical to continue now that they’ve become young adults, on the brink of leaving to build their own lives. Just like they hold me to it now, I intend to do the same.

But the only payoff I really need from these experiences are the moments like one when Nate reached high to throw an arm around my shoulders and told me, “I love these trips we do together.”

That’s enough right there.

Tell me what you think.

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Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tall-and-lonely-backpacking-utahs-high-uintas-wilderness/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/tall-and-lonely-backpacking-utahs-high-uintas-wilderness/#comments Mon, 05 Jul 2021 10:00:25 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=46616 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

As we get ready to cook dinner at our campsite on the edge of meadow and open forest a couple minutes’ walk from the shore of the Fourth Chain Lake, at 10,900 feet in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, the sound of approaching voices prompts all four of us to look up in surprise. It’s our second evening in the High Uintas and the two hikers coming down the trail toward us are the first people we’ve encountered since we started hiking yesterday afternoon.

Moments later, a man and his college-age son see us and stop, the father remarking, “Well, there are other people out here after all.” He says they’ve come to try to summit Kings Peak, Utah’s highest—and like us, they’re taking the long way to Kings. We joke about our success at social distancing out here—it’s mid-July 2020 and the world remains gripped in the throes of a global pandemic, while we’ve hardly said a word or thought about the topic on the lips of everyone in civilization. Then they continue down the trail toward their camp at a lower lake.

In four decades of hiking and backpacking all over the country, I can probably count on my fingers the number of trips where I’d developed an expectation of not seeing many other people—leading to surprise when it happens. This encounter further reinforces our nascent impression of the Uintas as a wilderness where solitude may be the norm, even in July, first fostered when we arrived yesterday at the Uinta River Trailhead to find just two other vehicles there (and no people). We had passed another Uintas trailhead earlier and seen precisely zero vehicles.


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A backpacker hiking Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 toward Trail Rider Pass in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
My wife, Penny, backpacking Chain Lakes Atwood Trail 43 toward Trail Rider Pass in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

With my wife, Penny, our teenage daughter, Alex, and her childhood friend, Adele, I’m hiking a six-day, nearly 50-mile loop through the High Uintas Wilderness—and the adjective “High” in the name fits this place like a favorite, old sweater.

Nearly all of our walk will remain above 9,000 feet and at least half of it over 10,000 feet, including three passes over 11,000 and 12,000 feet. That’s higher than many multi-day hikes in the West, including much of Yosemite and the Teton Crest Trail, and it compares with (and provides good preparation for) backpacking the John Muir Trail and Wind River Range. On top of that, we plan to stand on the highest rock in Utah, atop 13,528-foot Kings Peak.

Just two days into it, this trip already feels like a much-needed escape from the stress and home confinement of 2020.

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Two 11,000-Foot Passes in One Day

Early on our third morning, I walk down to the lakeshore. The waters of the Fourth Chain Lake sit absolutely still, offering up a perfect, inverted reflection of the mountains. The air is calm and the temp comfortably cool as mosquitoes buzz around my head—not as thick as I’ve seen elsewhere, although they can be in the Uintas.

By mid-morning, we’re on the trail, hiking toward Roberts Pass—which, at around 11,100 feet, is just a short uphill stroll from the lake. Reaching the pass, Alex stops, looks around and says, “Is this the pass? That was it?”

Morning at the Fourth Chain Lake in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
Morning at the Fourth Chain Lake in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

After descending the other side, we hike mostly through forest until we reach a large meadow southeast of Lake Atwood. It’s past noon and everyone’s hungry—and there’s a good wind to beat down the mosquitoes—so we stop to sit on some rocks and eat. 

Our timing is perfect: As we finish up, a thunderhead rolls in, spitting rain; we start hiking as it turns to a steady rain. The shower lasts less than an hour, the sun re-emerging as we’re walking along Lake Atwood, a broad expanse of wind-whipped water below a row of soaring peaks.

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A campsite in Painter Basin, below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right) in Utah's High Uintas Wilderness.
Our campsite in Painter Basin, below 13,538-foot Kings Peak (right) in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness.

A tough climb brings us to Trail Rider Pass, the highest point we’ve reached so far on this trip, at around 11,700 feet. But the vista, looking back down to Lake Atwood and ahead into Painter Basin, takes the edge off our weariness. We sit a while, enjoying the view and some nourishment until the wind cools us, then continue down into Painter Basin, following large cairns with Trail 43 rarely visible on the rocky ground.

About eight miles from Fourth Chain Lake, we set our packs down on a patch of flat, not-too-rocky ground a short walk from one of many creeks that comprise the headwaters of the North Fork Uinta River in Painter Basin, an expansive, almost barren plain at 11,000 feet below the hulking behemoth of Kings Peak.

After dinner, with the long, pyramidal shadow of Kings Peak engulfing our campsite and most of Painter Basin, the setting sun ignites billowing clouds so tall they dwarf even the mountains, crowding the sky in a wide arc reaching to every horizon. The light show shifts colors and intensity every few minutes, continually improving on itself until, after maybe an hour, its last ember winks out. Neither the breeze nor the mosquitoes have quit yet as we crawl inside the tents at dusk.

Stepping outside briefly during the moonless night, I stare up at a clear sky riddled with stars. The Milky Way resembles a faint, blotchy streak of clouds. We’ll enjoy a sky like that both nights in Painter Basin.

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Hiking Kings Peak

The Uinta Mountains—which span nearly 60 miles in northeastern Utah, one of the rare mountain ranges that extend east-west—are home to an estimated 2,000 lakes, all of Utah’s peaks over 13,000 feet, and more than half of the state’s 12,000-footers. Outside popular destinations like Kings Peak, many trails and summits see little traffic, even though many pose no greater challenge than non-technical, off-trail hiking. Do some research and you’ll discover peaks where years pass between summit visitors. For backpackers and mountain climbers willing to put in the effort, in the High Uintas Wilderness—Utah’s largest wilderness area at over 450,000 acres—solitude is as plentiful as wildflowers.

On our fourth morning, we hike about a mile off-trail across the gently undulating, open terrain of Painter Basin to intersect Uinta High Line Trail 25, then follow it steadily uphill. Alex and Adele jump out front and set a strong pace. Most jolting to us: the number of people walking this trail. Over the next few hours, we’ll pass dozens of other hikers going up and coming down, virtually all of them sharing our objective. 

Reaching 12,700-foot Anderson Pass, we turn off the trail and begin the more than 800-vertical-foot hike-scramble up the north ridge of Kings Peak.

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

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), rain jacket, insulated jacket, sleeping bag, headlamp, and backpacking stove I used on this trip.

Find expert buying tips and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs
and “The 12 Best Down Jackets” at The Big Outside’s Gear Reviews page.

See my expert tips in these stories:

Bear Essentials: How to Store Food When Backcountry Camping
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry
How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-book versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

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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.


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.


 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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Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route https://thebigoutsideblog.com/adventure-and-adversity-on-the-wind-river-high-route/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/adventure-and-adversity-on-the-wind-river-high-route/#respond Mon, 12 Apr 2021 19:37:30 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=44835 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

In the West Gully of 13,192-foot Wind River Peak, a steep bowling alley of loose scree and boulders that look poised to roll into someone’s femur and crack it like a peanut shell, four of us move cautiously downhill, searching for the safest path through one of the most hazardous stretches of the 96-mile Wind River High Route.

With every other step triggering a small rockslide, there’s little opportunity to relax our focus for a moment. We walk with patient deliberation. The descent grows relentless.

Nearing the bottom of the gully, I step gingerly onto a large rock—it must easily weigh 300 pounds—and inadvertently kick it loose. As it tumbles downhill, I yell at Joe, who’s just below me, “Watch out! Watch out! Watch out!” He turns as it rolls past his leg, missing him by inches.

A backpacker descending West Gully off Wind River Peak on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian Blaich descending West Gully off Wind River Peak on the Wind River High Route.

But this will be only our first close call today.

Maybe 30 minutes later, moments before reaching Lake 11,185 in the valley bottom, I start across a sloping granite slab. A wafer-thin snowmelt stream a little too wide to leap over pours down the slab and plunges over a short waterfall—a sheer drop of perhaps 15 feet onto rocks awaiting anyone slipping here. I eyeball the stream, place a foot on a tiny dry spot in the middle of it, and then stride across to the other side. 

Out of habit, I turn to watch Kristian, who’s behind me, cross the water slick. 

He takes one step, slips on the wet rock and goes down, suddenly sliding out of control. Instinctively, I crouch at the stream’s edge and reach toward him—and we lock hands and forearms just before he whips past. With our arms still locked, he carefully rises to his feet and steps onto dry rock. And we both exhale loudly, our eyes wide as dinner plates.


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A backpacker hiking into the Cirque of the Towers on Wyoming's Wind River High Route.
Justin Glass backpacking into the Cirque of the Towers on Wyoming’s Wind River High Route.

Indeed, with our 2,000-foot descent of West Gully finally behind us—after two-and-a-half mentally grueling hours—the sense of relief feels palpable.

I’ve joined my Boise friend Justin Glass, his brother-in-law Joe Souvignier, and Justin’s friend Kristian Blaich on a 96-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Wind River High Route, 65 miles of which is off-trail.

Weaving back and forth across the Continental Divide about a dozen times, the WRHR stays mostly between 10,000 and 12,000 feet, crosses 10 named alpine passes ranging from nearly 11,000 feet to nearly 13,000 feet—nine of them off-trail—and tags the southernmost and northernmost 13,000-foot summits in the Wind River Range, 13,192-foot Wind River Peak and 13,355-foot Downs Mountain.

Rugged, physically and mentally strenuous, and navigationally challenging almost without relent, it’s also arguably, mile-for-mile, the most jaw-dropping trek through any mountain range in America—and I’ve taken many of the very best over the past three decades, including 10 years I spent as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

And now, on our second afternoon on the Wind River High Route, it has already become abundantly clear that it promises a constant stream of adventure seasoned with hazard.

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

 

The Wind River High Route

“It’s like having your own Yosemite with nobody here.”

Justin says this as we gaze at a miles-long chain of granite towers with vertical, 2,000-foot faces looming above the broad valley of the East Fork River—including 12,532-foot Raid Peak and other summits unnamed on the map. We’re hiking off-trail up the valley through open meadows on our third afternoon on the Wind River High Route. 

Just a shallow but energetic creek up here near its headwaters, the East Fork leaps over dozens of small cascades and waterfalls and swirls through granite bowls. Before long, tired of merely look at the crystalline creek, we shed our packs and clothes and each find a pool to fully immerse ourselves in the frigid water. It feels marvelous.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Wind River Range.”

A backpacker in the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.
Kristian Blaich backpacking up the East Fork River Valley on the Wind River High Route, Wyoming.

We began this day in the cool air of early morning with the ascent to a windy Jackass Pass at 10,790 feet, reaching it at 7 a.m. There, under bluebird skies, we stared at the jagged, granite skyline of the Cirque of the Towers, golden in the low-angle sunlight. After descending several hundred feet to circle around Lonesome Lake, we made a long, steep, off-trail hike and scramble over New York Pass at around 11,400 feet. The gully descent on the other side seemed like a playground compared to West Gully on Wind River Peak. Then we spent a few hours hiking trails and seeing perhaps a few dozen backpackers before turning off-trail again into the solitude of the East Fork River Valley.

We’re now far enough into the WRHR to have wrapped our heads around the totality of its character, from the myriad challenges and unrelenting strenuousness of it to grandness on a scale rarely matched anywhere.

Traversing a range with few equals in the country by any measure—elevations, abundance of alpine lakes and glaciers, remoteness, length and breadth, or raw splendor—the Wind River High Route embodies everything we imagine a great hike in the mountains should be.

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

 

Backpackers Kristian Blaich and Joe Souvignier on the Wind River High Route.
Kristian and Joe hiking up the valley of Middle Fork Lake on the Wind River High Route.

It passes countless alpine lakes while crossing one amazing valley or cirque after another—and confronting you with what can seem like endless miles of talus, scree, some snow and glacial ice and a bit of third-class scrambling, but no technical terrain. For its entire length, it stays on or near the Continental Divide, rarely coming within a day’s hike of the nearest road.

In all respects, the Wind River High Route offers one of the most remote, arduous, and glorious wilderness adventures anywhere.

At Lake 10,586, the uppermost of a string of liquid pearls in the East Fork Valley, we commence a 1,000-foot ascent over talus and boulders the size of cars to Raid Peak Pass, at around 11,600 feet—our third high pass today. With the aim of completing the 96-mile Wind River High Route in a week—an aggressive itinerary even if this route wasn’t two-thirds off-trail—we’re putting in 12- and 13-hour days that average nearly 14 miles and several thousand vertical feet.

Crossing Raid Peak Pass as the sun sinks toward the horizon, we scramble through cliff bands down to the Bonneville Basin Lakes. There, in fading light and cool wind, we pitch our tents at 7 p.m.—12 hours after we started hiking.

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Huge, Hard Days

In a sharp-edged wind that nips at our faces, we stand on rocky, mostly barren tundra at around 11,600 feet, staring at a topographical puzzle. Ahead of us, the ground rises like an earthen wave, steepening to what looks from this distance very much like a cliff standing between us and 12,259-foot Europe Peak.

Somewhere on that wall—which has already fallen into evening shadow—the Wind River High Route weaves through ledges and breaks in cliff bands to gain the high plateau above it, where we hope to find water and a place to pitch our tents for our fourth night on the WRHR.

As we did yesterday, we’re embarking on our third hard climb today: We’ve already made a couple of steep, off-trail grinds to Sentry Peak Pass at nearly 11,600 feet and Photo Pass at over 11,400 feet. In the valley beyond Photo Pass, we ate up more than an hour locating the route through convoluted terrain, bushwhacking through forest and scrambling ledges around high lakes, but ultimately reaching the alpine zone at the base of Europe Peak.

A backpacker scrambling up Europe Peak on the Wind River High Route.
Joe Souvignier scrambling up Europe Peak on the Wind River High Route.

Now, where Europe Peak’s east face steepens, we zigzag along ledges and scramble carefully up gullies of crumbling rock to reach the Continental Divide at around 12,000 feet north of Europe Peak, and then walk down a broad, gently rolling alpine plateau. Around 8 p.m., we find tiny patches of nearly flat, not-too-rocky ground for our tents a short walk from a tongue of snow about the size of a football field with a small pond of open water at one end. We eat dinner in a cool wind as darkness falls.

Hiking such long days, we rise with or before first light and start walking while the early-August air still feels like October at these high elevations. At any random moment on any given day, it’s hard to immediately recall where we camped the night before. Except for lunch and brief breaks, we don’t stop walking until dusk.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips” and “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip.”

 

Backpackers at a small tarn above Golden Lake on the Wind River High Route.
Justin and Kristian at a small tarn above Golden Lake on the Wind River High Route.

And every hour of every day, we traverse an alpine wonderland of rocks, scant vegetation, wind-whipped lakes, some of them partly frozen, and peaks towering over 12,000 and 13,000 feet, with glaciers pouring off them.

In early afternoon on our fifth day, we follow a steep, green strip of grass and moss up the edge of a gully to Douglas Peak Pass, at over 11,600 feet. There, we look down the long valley of the Alpine Lakes—a trough almost devoid of green and one of the most starkly beautiful places I’ve ever seen. At the valley’s far end, some four miles and at least that many hours away, today’s next objective, Alpine Lakes Pass, is visible as a notch in a tall ring of stone that encloses the valley like the sides of a giant bathtub.

We descend over ground carpeted with of rocks and boulders of all sizes and commence a circuitous, slow, and arduous traverse of the valley, hiking and scrambling over talus and snow and navigating around three larger lakes and a handful of smaller ones, all at around 11,000 feet.

In the short time we spend along the shore of one lake, three separate car-sized blocks of snow calve with a loud whump into the iceberg-choked water. High above another lake, we cross a wide, grassy shelf sprinkled with rocks; it looks like a little piece of the Scottish Highlands transported to the Wyoming mountains. (Along with the East Fork valley two days ago, it’s among the nicest backcountry campsites I’ve regrettably hiked past.) Then we follow a system of narrow ledges and scramble on hands and feet up a fourth-class ramp. Here and there, wildflowers erupt from little patches of thin soil.

Most surprisingly, we run into five backpackers hiking in the opposite direction—a couple in their twenties and three guys who look college-age—exchanging with them expressions of wonder over the places we’re seeing out here.

In early evening, we reach Alpine Lakes Pass at about 12,150 feet. With each of us feeling the physical strain of these days, we begin another long, downhill slog over rocks, talus, and snow. As darkness looms, we stop for the day on grassy benches above the loud churning of the South Fork Bull Lake Creek.

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The Remotest Corner of the Winds

Around 6:30 a.m. on our sixth morning, layered up against a cold wind in a mountain shadow, we step into the shallow but icy South Fork Bull Lake Creek and cross to its opposite bank. After eating and packing up by headlamp, we started hiking 30 minutes ago, as the predawn light began brightening this valley. We face a huge day.

By midday, we’ll enter the fourth section of the WRHR and the most-remote area of the Winds, its northeast corner, home to towering peaks and the greatest concentration of glaciers in the range. With much of that section near or above 12,000 feet in the alpine zone, entirely exposed to wind and weather, potential campsites are almost non-existent. Our plan is to reach the marginally protected Iceberg and Baker lakes area for our last night on the Wind River High Route—and position ourselves to finish with one final, long day tomorrow.

Ninety minutes beyond the South Fork, we ford the North Fork Bull Lake Creek in a stunning valley below glaciers and 13,810-foot Gannett Peak, Wyoming’s highest. That’s followed by a brutal, 2,000-foot ascent over talus, snow, and scree to 12,750-foot Blaurock Pass, the highest on the Wind River High Route. From there, the Winds stretch far to the north and even farther to the south, a stirring panorama and a powerful visual representation of the tough miles we’ve walked—and the daunting terrain that still awaits.

See all of my stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, ultralight tent, trekking poles, down jacket, and sleeping bag I used on the Wind River High Route.

I recommend wearing lightweight or midweight, waterproof-breathable boots; see all of my reviews of hiking shoes and backpacking boots and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.” Gaiters would also be helpful in wet snow.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

See my expert tips in these stories:

How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

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Going After Goals: Backpacking In Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains https://thebigoutsideblog.com/going-after-goals-backpacking-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/going-after-goals-backpacking-in-idahos-sawtooth-mountains/#comments Wed, 07 Apr 2021 09:30:00 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=7226 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

We reach an unnamed pass at 8,450 feet early on a September evening that could hardly be nicer, with temperatures in the low 60s and a soft whisper of breeze in the air. I’m hardly breaking a sweat; I love hiking at this time of day. Below us, the green valley of Johnson Creek falls away into deepening shadows below a skyline of granite spires glowing golden in the low-angle sunshine.

A feeling of anticipation fills me, a low-grade excitement over finally getting to a goal I’ve had on my to-do list for years. My friend Jeff Wilhelm and I are backpacking a 57-mile route into the deep interior of central Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—into the most remote and probably the least-visited part of Idaho’s best-known mountain range that can be reached by trail. I’ve been backpacking and climbing in the Sawtooths numerous times, and have eyed this big, mysterious middle of the map for a while. But I have never made it in here before, and this trip feels long overdue.

If my example is indicative, this may be the last corner of the Sawtooths that most backpackers and climbers even consider exploring. The fact that it has taken me so long to get here also reminds me that the years slip past like water through our fingers, and goals can slip away, too, if we don’t go after them.

Dusk darkens the trees and ground as we decide to call it a day in the valley of Johnson Creek, after almost 13 miles and some 3,600 feet of uphill. We eat dinner by the light of headlamps, and then crawl into our bags. Sleep comes easily when you have a long-sought-after goal finally in your sights.


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A backpacker at Arrowhead Lake in Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains.
Jeff Wilhelm at Arrowhead Lake in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

Getting to Know Idaho’s Sawtooths

“Do you have the trail?” I call to Jeff as we’re wandering around an old burned area where Trail 494 has disappeared on our second morning.

“Over here,” he calls back, and soon we’re back on a good, narrow single-track that’s easy to follow, but clearly not heavily used. Rather than bare dirt packed nearly to sidewalk hardness, or a fine dust from the pounding of stock animals, this path is carpeted with grass, sticks, and pine needles. Just a rocky, little-used trail winding through open, piney woods. Wildflowers and low plants grow thickly on both sides, some of them still green and others turned red with autumn color, starkly contrasted against blackened tree trunks. Two backpackers coming down from Pats Lake tell us they saw 10-inch cutthroat trout swimming near the lakeshore, and they ate trout for dinner and breakfast.

Since moving to Idaho in 1998, I’ve explored much of the Sawtooth Mountains. Similar to Wyoming’s Teton Range in area and character if not quite in height, the Sawtooths have more than 50 peaks over 10,000 feet and hundreds of alpine lakes. Like the Tetons, the eastern escarpment of the range shoots up abruptly, with the summits rising 4,000 feet above the Sawtooth Valley, the bucolic headwaters of the Salmon River.

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Rock Slide Lake.
Rock Slide Lake below South and North Raker peaks.

On those earliest backpacking trips, I had no real idea what to expect; you don’t see pictures of the Sawtooths in outdoors magazines all the time, as you do, say, the Tetons or High Sierra. The first time visiting spots like the Baron Lakes and Alice Lake, or the 9,000-foot passes between Toxaway Lake and the Cramer Lakes, this raw country of infinite jagged spires and icy waters left me staring slack-jawed. I thought I had discovered wilderness gold. Every time I was convinced I had seen the most lovely corner of the Sawtooths, I proved myself wrong again the next time I went backpacking, climbing, or backcountry skiing here.

And most unbelievable of all: Except for one or two popular corners, there’s hardly anybody out here.

So I kept going deeper, scrambling and climbing to summits. Thompson Peak, the range’s highest at 10,751 feet, was an early goal; and the tiny block of stone at its apex, surrounded by sheer drop-offs, gave a thrilling finish to that ascent. Thompson’s neighbor, Williams Peak, only about 100 feet shorter, seemed too close to just pass up that first time I scrambled up Thompson, so I turned that day into a two-fer. The crazily steep scree leading to the ridge crest of Williams—I had to hug the very bottom edge of a cliff to avoid tumbling downhill in a rockslide of scree—and following the crumbling, knife-edge ridge to the summit kept me hyper-focused.

The more I saw of the Sawtooths, the hungrier I got to explore even farther. One buddy and I made a whirlwind, 47-mile, overnight hike from Iron Creek Trailhead past Sawtooth Lake, Baron Lakes, and Cramer Lakes, exiting via Imogene and Hell Roaring lakes—an amazing trip, despite finishing with throbbing soles (less due to the distance than both of us having the wrong shoes). He and I also, on another overnighter, backpacked from Goat Lake off-trail up the valley separating Williams and Merritt Peaks and tagged a trio of 10,000-footers: Thompson Peak and its neighbors, Mickey’s Spire and Mount Carter. On another trip, a friend and I rock climbed the Elephant’s Perch and Warbonnet Peak—the latter a pinnacle that comes to a wildly airy pinpoint summit high above a lake-filled valley not reached by any maintained trail—and scrambled Braxon Peak, all in three jam-packed days.

I was getting a little obsessive-compulsive. But I blame the Sawtooths for inspiring my addictive behavior.

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Trail 462 between Spangle Lake and Flytrip Creek.
Trail 462 between Spangle Lake and Flytrip Creek.

I’ve been fortunate, partly thanks to my work writing for Backpacker magazine, to hike in many of the most spectacular natural places in the West and around the world. But there’s nothing like getting to know one place really well—to the point where you can stand on a summit and rattle off the names of dozens of peaks in view, or you possess a mental map of numerous, idyllic campsites. New Hampshire’s White Mountains, where I started hiking 30 years ago, were my first “home” peaks. I’ve tagged most of their summits, some of them numerous times, and walked many trails there so many times that they are imprinted on my memory. The Sawtooths have become the second mountain range I know that intimately.

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Jeff and I climb steadily uphill past Pats Lake to Arrowhead Lake, at 8,770 feet, a crystal-clear alpine pond with a spit of granite arcing out into it, a long boardwalk of rock rising several feet above the water. We see some of those fat trout swimming below the surface. A little while later, from the unnamed pass east of Arrowhead, around 9,200 feet, we drop our packs and hike an open ridge much of the way up 9,802-foot Blacknose Mountain, until cliffs bar us from continuing.

From there, under cottony, fair-weather clouds, we look north and east out over much of the Sawtooths. But two peaks in the ocean of pointy tops catch my eye—the two closest to us, North and South Raker. A pair of slender, stone fingers nearly 10,000 feet high, stabbing into the sky, I’ve seen them from other Sawtooth summits miles away and thought, “Wow! What are those?” Now, finally, I’m standing almost close enough to touch them.

We return to our packs and descend east on Trail 494, passing flowers blooming at almost 9,000 feet on Sept. 15; the snow here may have only melted out weeks ago. Pikas chirp and marmots whistle at us. We walk along the shores of small, sub-alpine lakes with blue-green water so clear that we can distinctly make out rocks and dead tree trunks that may be 15 or 20 feet underwater.

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Trail 459, above Johnson Creek, Sawtooths Pats Lake Butterflies at Arrowhead Lake Above Arrowhead Lake View north from Blacknose Mountain. Trail 458 on the north side of Mount Everly. Rock Slide Lake. Unnamed lake south of Lake Ingeborg. Trail 462 between Spangle Lake and Flytrip Creek. Trail 462 between Spangle Lake and Flytrip Creek. Trail 462 between Spangle Lake and Flytrip Creek. Heart Lake Above Spangle Lake Lake Ingeborg camp Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Rock Slide Lake. Trail 458, upper Queens River valley. Trail 458, Queens River valley. Trail 459, above Little Queens River, Sawtooths, Idaho.

Setting and Pursuing Goals

Some goals are simple. For me, that includes keeping a list of wild places I want to see. I’m no long sure how many years ago I started my list (probably 20 or more) or how many trip ideas are on it (easily at least 200). But I can tell you the precise word count of the document containing the list, which includes notes on each idea: 13,338 words as of this writing. I could conceivably tick off every trip on the list if I live to around 110 and stay healthy—except that I keep adding more ideas to it.

A glass-half-empty person might call my list unattainable. I like to see it as a wealth of choices.

More challenging than building that list, though, it actually getting to the places on it, a goal that can prove remarkably elusive in spite of how satisfying and rejuvenating it consistently is to take these adventures. Inertia can erect an insurmountable wall, but that’s not the only potential obstacle—a point illustrated by the fact that this is actually my third attempt to backpack into this part of the Sawtooths.

The first time, hiking solo, I inadvertently set out on the opening day of elk season. The Queens River trailhead parking lot overflowed with pickups and horse trailers. I didn’t understand why so many of those hunters seemed to be glaring inexplicably at me until a friendly one asked why I was out there, then explained, “Everyone thinks you’re Fish and Game.” I prefer to believe none of them were actually fingering a trigger while considering whether I was there to checks their tags. The second time, by myself again, I got turned around by a September snowstorm—at exactly the same of year as Jeff and I are hiking now.

See all of my stories about the Sawtooths, including my stories “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Photo Gallery: Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

 

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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.

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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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Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop https://thebigoutsideblog.com/descending-the-food-chain-backpacking-the-northern-loop-in-glacier-national-park/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/descending-the-food-chain-backpacking-the-northern-loop-in-glacier-national-park/#comments Thu, 11 Feb 2021 10:00:00 +0000 http://thebigoutside.net/?p=136 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Never mind that it was the seventh straight bluebird morning of backpacking in mountains that constantly look surreal, like a painted mural backdrop in a movie. It didn’t matter that the trip had been a parade of wildlife. We even forgot about the heaviness in our legs from 15-mile days.

The menacing snarl piercing the silence seized our full attention.

My buddy Jerry Hapgood and I stood in the warm sunshine at 7,050-foot Lincoln Pass in Montana’s Glacier National Park. We had stopped for a snack after passing yet another mountain goat with a kid—I’d lost track of our goat tally for the week—and had just started ambling down the trail again when the sound stopped us cold. Then we heard it a second time, and followed it with our eyes.

Below us about 200 vertical feet and three switchbacks, the authors of the menacing snarls wrestled in the sparse conifer forest beside a small tarn: two grizzly cubs. Grazing nearby was their mom, whom I’ll politely describe as a big woman. They were about four steps off the trail we needed to descend, a distance I quickly calculated that sow griz could close, at her max speed of 35 mph, in 0.16 seconds.

I felt suddenly very anxious.


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Piegan Pass Trail, Glacier N.P. Piegan Pass, Glacier N.P. Piegan Pass Trail. Piegan Pass Trail. Piegan Pass Trail. Piegan Pass Trail. Piegan Pass Trail. Morning Eagle Falls, Piegan Pass Trail. Cataract Creek. Ptarmigan Lake. Ptarmigan Lake. Above the Belly River Valley. Ptarmigan Tunnel. North side of Ptarmigan Tunnel. Above the Belly River Valley. Lake Elizabeth. Dawn Mist Falls. Cosley Lake outlet. Glenns Lake. Mokowanis Cascade. Stoney Indian Pass Trail. Highline Trail.

We waited, watching the bears. No amount of yelling, “Hey bear!” sent them packing. No amount of impatience persuaded us to just go for it and walk past them. An hour crawled by. Then three other hikers came along, two men and a woman in their 20s, going in our direction.

After a brief, excited discussion, we concurred on a plan: The five of us would hike down together, making abundant noise, exploiting the impressive force of our numbers to scare the grizzlies away. It seemed like an excellent idea. As Jerry and I turned to retrieve our packs, the woman in their trio said, gravely, “There are the bears, guys.”

When we looked downhill, she added, “No, behind you.” I doubt I’ll ever forget the cold shiver her words sent through me.

Jerry and I spun around to see the sow not 30 feet from us across a grassy meadow. She had just emerged from a copse of trees, her cubs in single-file formation behind her. From that close, I saw the hairs standing up on her hump, her shoulders rippling, her mouth slightly agape showing off incisors that could cut through human flesh like it was thinly sliced prosciutto. She looked a little bigger than my refrigerator would if laid on its side.

As we backpedaled, trying unconvincingly to exude calm, she sniffed the air, swung her massive head in our direction, and fixed a hard, top-of-the-food-chain predator stare directly on us.

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Jerry Hapgood below Morning Eagle Falls on the Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier.

Six days earlier, our September week of backpacking through Glacier commenced with the kind of scenery that justifies a badly abused adjective: awesome. Two hours after parking our car, Jerry, another friend, Geoff Sears, who was along for the trip’s first five days, and I walked up to Piegan Pass at over 7,500 feet and suddenly contracted a bad case of goofy grins. The pinnacled Garden Wall’s long barrier of cliffs rose before us like a 500-foot-high castle. Below it, emerald lakes speckled the valley we would descend. Clouds billowed dramatically over a jumble of sharply angled mountains extending to a distant horizon, in the direction we were headed.

Jerry joked with friendly sarcasm, “I can’t see why you wanted to take us here, Mike. It’s not like there’s much to see.”

Jerry and Geoff are in Glacier for the first time, but for both it’s been a dream trip years coming—because that’s what Glacier embodies for hikers, our highest aspirations. For my fifth visit here, I crafted a somewhat unorthodox itinerary that would normally require complicated driving acrobatics, but is made logistically effortless by the park’s free shuttle buses. It would have us touching down in the front country twice during the week. That’s not my usual backpacking M.O., but it offered certain advantages: We could target backcountry highlights that required one short, mid-trip shuttle down the Going-to-the-Sun Road; and on day five, Geoff could depart (he needed to get home) and Jerry and I could resupply.

First up: a 65-mile, five-day horseshoe-shaped circuit from Siyeh Bend on the Sun Road to Ptarmigan Tunnel, Stoney Indian Pass, Fifty Mountain, and Logan Pass. Then Geoff would travel home and Jerry and I resupply for a 25-mile overnight from Jackson Glacier Overlook on the Sun Road to Lake McDonald Lodge via Gunsight Pass and a side trip to Sperry Glacier.

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Standing in Piegan Pass, a profound sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me, though I’d never seen this spot before. Then it hit me. Glacier’s mountains remind me vividly of the Swiss Alps, where, as it happened, I had trekked just two months earlier: the deep valleys carved in that perfect half-pipe symmetry by prehistoric ice; the stark contrast between lush green below and soaring, rocky peaks above; the waterfalls leaping in suicidal freefalls off cliffs, and shawls of crack-riddled ice enwrapping mountain shoulders—water always molding earth. The Alps are more heavily glaciated and higher, with laudable amenities like huts, hotels, beer, and real food. But Glacier is raw, primal wilderness, with an array of wildlife long gone from most of the continent, thriving here in shocking abundance.

We hiked 13 miles that first day, walking along darkly forested Lake Josephine in early evening—right at grizzly dinnertime—calling out, “Hey bear!” to hidden ursine prowlers but only seeing three goats. And in a departure from the backpacking norm, we ate dinner in a restaurant across the road from the campground at Many Glacier—agreeing unanimously on the merits of digging into heaping plates of pasta and quaffing beers on the first night of a wilderness trip.

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A backpacker on the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park.
Jerry Hapgood hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail in Glacier National Park. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

At 7,200 feet on a headwall where the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail makes a couple of long switchbacks before slamming up hard against a cliff, the three of us lingered to admire the view down the valley we’d spent the morning walking up. Rays of sunshine dodged scudding clouds, casting shifting light and shadows over Ptarmigan Lake, the Ptarmigan Wall, and the ledges of Crowfeet Mountain, where earlier we’d spied five mountain goats through my monocular. In the distance, the hatchet blade of Mt. Wilbur jutted above the Swiftcurrent Valley.

Then we turned and walked through a mountain.

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

Eighty years ago, workers spent a summer drilling and dynamiting through the Ptarmigan Wall, creating a 250-foot-long tunnel tall and wide enough to lead horses through, and blasting a trail into sheer cliffs on the wall’s north side. We walked through its cold darkness toward the spot of light at the opposite end, emerging abruptly to a completely new vista of mountains and lakes. We then followed the trail across black cliffs and a mountainside of burnt-red talus, eventually dropping more than 2,000 feet to the green shore of Elizabeth Lake in the Belly River Valley. By evening we made camp at the foot of finger-like Glenns Lake, whose still waters sharply mirrored Cosley Ridge bathed in warm alpenglow.

A clear night brought morning temps barely above freezing. After two hours without breaking a sweat hiking through frigid forest shaded by mountains, we finally hit sunshine traversing above Mokowanis Cascade, which tumbles for 300 feet or more over innumerable ledges. We climbed higher still, through two hanging valleys spliced by more waterfalls, following the trail’s improbable zigzagging up a headwall.

A couple resting beside their packs asked us, “Did you see the two bull moose sparring in that clearing back there?” We must have missed them by minutes.

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

Ahern Pass Ahern Pass Highline Trail above Ahern Creek Granite Park Chalet Highline Trail. Highline Trail. Highline Trail. Going-to-the-Sun Road Gunsight Pass Trail. Gunsight Lake. Gunsight Pass Trail. Gunsight Pass Trail. Gunsight Pass Trail. Gunsight Pass Trail. Mountain goats, Gunsight Pass Trail The beach at Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park. Mountain goat near Lincoln Pass. Sperry Glacier

But there was no missing the grizzly footprint with distinct claw marks in the trail. The print sat beside a pile of bear poop that would impress anyone who’s ever known the discomfort of backcountry constipation.

We came upon it on our third afternoon, in the midst of a 2,200-foot, sun-baked slog up out of the Waterton Valley on our way to the campground at Fifty Mountain. That tedious climb brought us to a high, gently undulating plateau littered with enormous boulders, treeless and wide open. Cathedral Peak’s cliffs extended for four miles or more on our left, but in every other direction we looked out on storm-tossed waves of mountains crashing against far horizons.

“Well, if one comes after us up here, we’ll see him coming,” Jerry said, referring to the animal that’s always on the minds of backpackers in Glacier: the grizzly bear. But by the next day, our fourth, we’d be cracking jokes about not having seen a single bear yet—a joke that would ultimately be on us.

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How to Get One of America’s Best Backcountry Campsites https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-one-of-americas-best-backcountry-campsites/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/how-to-get-one-of-americas-best-backcountry-campsites/#respond Sat, 30 Jan 2021 10:00:11 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=28502 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Precipice Lake sits in a granite bowl at 10,400 feet along the High Sierra Trail in Sequoia National Park, about a half-mile before 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. Below the north face of 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak, with the nearest tree at least a couple of trail miles below it, the lake’s glassy, green and blue waters reflect a white and golden cliff with black water streaks that embraces the lakeshore across from the trail.

A ribbon-like waterfall, originating in a remnant glacier above the lake, pours down the cliff. Walking up to Precipice Lake reflexively triggers the part of our frontal lobe that’s responsible for the word: “Wow.”

Our small party reached Precipice Lake in late afternoon on the third day of a 40-mile backpacking loop from the Mineral King area of Sequoia; within minutes, we realized that we’d stumbled upon one of the prettiest wilderness campsites any of us had ever seen—and one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites ever (and I’ve slept in many hundreds over more than three decades of wilderness wandering, including many years running this blog and formerly the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine)—so there was no reason to hike a step farther that day.


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

We found tent sites among the granite slabs a short walk above the lake, and my then-12-year-old son and I threw our air mats and bags down on one slab and slept out under a sky riddled with stars.

You can also enjoy a night at Precipice Lake by backpacking the 40-mile loop described in my story about that family trip, which featured a few outstanding campsites (including a second that made my list of 25 all-time favorites), a mystical grove of giant sequoia trees in the wilderness that we had to ourselves, passes reaching over 11,000 feet—and miles of hiking through an incredibly photogenic landscape of razor peaks and alpine lakes so clear you could stand on the shore and read a book laying open on the lake bottom.

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

If you want to plan that trip, now is the time. Starting Feb. 9, Sequoia National Park will issue backcountry permit reservations up to six months in advance of a trip starting date for a trip taking place during the trailhead quota period, generally the Friday before Memorial Day through the second Saturday after Labor Day, or May 28 to Sept. 18, 2021. Given the popularity of the High Sierra Trail—which passes by Precipice Lake—you should apply for your permit on the earliest date possible.

My story about that Sequoia trip also describes how to get a permit for that hike, lays out our hiking itinerary, and provides other details for planning it yourself. Like many stories about trips at The Big Outside, reading the entire story requires a paid subscription, which costs just pennies over $4/month for a year—which gets you a free or discounted e-guide—or as little as five bucks for one month.

I can also help you plan out every detail of this trip or any trip you read about at my blog. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

Don’t miss my story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites,” where I share photos and short anecdotes from the prettiest places in the wilderness where I’ve pitched a tent (or slept under the stars) over three decades of backpacking all over the U.S.

That story includes links to existing stories at The Big Outside about the trips on which I enjoyed those special campsites.

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

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in Sequoia and elsewhere. Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

 

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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.

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

 

Guide Steve Howe, Redrock Adventure Guides, Torrey, UT, (435) 425-3339, redrockadventureguides.com.

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Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-ruby-crest-traila-diamond-in-the-rough/ https://thebigoutsideblog.com/backpacking-the-ruby-crest-traila-diamond-in-the-rough/#comments Sun, 29 Nov 2020 17:00:29 +0000 https://thebigoutsideblog.com/?p=42504 Read on

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By Michael Lanza

Dark clouds loom low overhead, thunder periodically rents the air, and strong winds blow steadily as hurried rain showers hit us intermittently in bursts that last several minutes between equally brief dry spells. We’re hiking north on our first afternoon backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail through northeastern Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, and passing thunderstorms are making the first few hours of our trip… well, actually quite pleasant.

A backpacker on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail.

With the temperature around 70° F, the light showers and wind feel just about perfect for hiking: We switch occasionally between wearing rain shells and hiking in T-shirts, but largely don’t work up much of a sweat. Even better, as we walk into the evening (we started the hike from Harrison Pass at around 3 p.m. after driving several hours to get here), the sunlight slicing through cracks in the heavy clouds lends color and depth to the spare, high-desert landscape of sagebrush, patches of conifer forest and aspen groves, grass and wildflowers, and granite monoliths dappling the mountainsides.

My family, joined by my 17-year-old daughter Alex’s lifelong friend, Adele, is here to backpack a four-day, approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail, from Harrison Pass to Lamoille Canyon. We’ve come in mid-July, an ideal time of year in the Rubies, with wildflowers blooming, moderate daytime temperatures and comfortably cool nights, no snow to speak of, and relatively few biting insects compared to what you’d normally see in many mountain ranges in July.

At a small marker indicating that we’re entering the 90,000-acre Ruby Mountains Wilderness, we leave behind an old dirt two-track we’ve hiked for a few miles from the Green Mountain Trailhead, walking quickly and easily down a single-track trail of packed dirt. Shortly before 7 p.m., near the RCT’s junction with the McCutcheon Creek Trail, where the small creek has a good flow, we call it a day and pitch tents.

Just before disappearing over the horizon, the sun erupts through the clouds one last time, setting off an explosion of brilliant yellow that saturates the landscape more thoroughly than the spitting rain has. During the night, I awake to the Milky Way smeared across the heavens like a string of puffy clouds. The next morning, my 19-year-old son, Nate, asks me, “Did you see the stars last night?”


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Overland Lake

Existing in virtual anonymity relative to renowned footpaths like the Teton Crest Trail and John Muir Trail, the Ruby Crest Trail cuts a snaking route along the spine of Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, a north-south range of granite-rimmed lake basins and arid valleys carved by ancient glaciers. Located mostly within the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest, the Rubies tower thousands of feet above pan-flat valleys to the east and west. Ten peaks rise above 10,000 feet, including the highest, Ruby Dome at 11,387 feet.

Long stretches of the RCT lie above 10,000 feet, traversing an almost treeless alpine zone for miles—the kind of scenic experience that backpackers seek on more-famous trails that require competing with thousands of others for a hard-to-get backcountry permit. But no permit reservation is needed for the Ruby Crest Trail, and even in July, we only occasionally encounter other backpackers.

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Morning at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
Morning at Overland Lake on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada. Click photo to learn how I can help you plan this trip.

While not nearly as speckled with alpine lakes as bigger mountain ranges like the High Sierra and Wind River or even Idaho’s Sawtooths, the Rubies harbor some electrically blue mountain lakes cradled within cliffs and rocky shorelines—several of them along the Ruby Crest Trail.

Our second day on the RCT launches with a beautiful morning, clear and mild, the sun warm but a breeze keeping us cool as we make a long rising traverse to a ridge with a sweeping panorama of the terrain ahead. In this open landscape, we can see that the trail makes a long descent to cross the South Fork of Smith Creek, then wraps around two more ridges while rising steadily to cross the Middle and North Forks.

A backpacker on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My son, Nate, backpacking on day two on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

After lunch near the North Fork, we make a slow, nearly 2,000-foot uphill slog out of the valley, the hot afternoon sun tempered again by steady wind. That effort seems validated when we step up to a pass at about 10,200 feet. Almost 1,000 feet below us, a stone bowl holds Overland Lake like a pair of cupped hands; we’ll make camp on a rock ledge jutting into one corner of the lake, at around 9,400 feet.

But this pass also marks the first point hiking northbound where we can see the backbone of the Ruby Mountains extending for many miles ahead—and how the Ruby Crest Trail mostly hugs those heights. That’s where we’ll walk for the next two days.

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The Crest of the Ruby Mountains

Leaving Overland Lake by 9 a.m. on morning three, we follow the RCT as it circles around the dramatic cirque of Overland Creek, stepping over a tiny creek below a pretty waterfall and two other spring-fed streams. Craggy ridges plunge down the walls of this broad bowl, where the rare, solitary conifer tree speaks to a harsh, dry environment. At one point, we get a view back toward 11,045-foot King Peak, where soaring cliffs ring a cirque high above us.

Alex and Adele set a strong pace as we make a long, steady climb, eventually catching up with Nate and my wife, Penny, who left our last camp about 30 minutes ahead of the girls and me. A couple of hours beyond Overland Lake, we top out on a high plateau of rocks, scant, low vegetation, and wildflowers spotting the ground with color here and there. From this point, we will be traversing the spine of the Ruby Mountains on our longest day on the Ruby Crest Trail.

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A backpacker on day three on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.
My wife, Penny, backpacking on day three on the Ruby Crest Trail, Ruby Mountains, Nevada.

Jagged peaks loom in the distance. A passing thunderhead spits fat rain drops at us while we eat lunch on the plateau, but never produces real rain or lightning. We pass three solo backpackers heading south, but no one else all day. Miles away, in the valley west of the Rubies, dust devils raise tornado-like, brown spouts high into the sky. All day, the breeze keeps us cool and the temperature remains comfortable for hiking in shorts and T-shirts.

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After the day’s final uphill, we reach 10,893-foot Wines Peak, the highest point on the Ruby Crest Trail. Nate turns around to gaze far back over all that we’ve traversed today, then smiles and says, “It just never stops being amazing.”

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Gear Tips Trekking poles are recommended for the Ruby Crest Trail’s significant descents and ascents. See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles” and my stories “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.”

The Ruby Mountains are relatively dry and can get hot in summer; wear supportive but lightweight boots or shoes that breathe well (not waterproof)/ See all of my reviews of hiking shoes and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tents (this one and this one), rain jacket, down jacket, sleeping bag, and camp stove I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

See my expert tips in these stories:
How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking
8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking
5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking
7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

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