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.

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.

Grand Teton’s Paintbrush-Cascade Canyons Loop

Distance: 19.7 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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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The Best First Trip in the Grand Canyon

Distance: 21 to 23.5 miles
Difficulty: Moderate to strenuous

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.

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.

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.”

Glacier’s Glorious Gunsight Pass Trail

Distance: 20 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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.

Zion’s Otherworldly West Rim Trail

Distance: 14 miles
Difficulty: Moderate

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.

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The Wild Olympic Coast

Distance: 17.5 miles
Difficulty: Easy to Moderate

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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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.

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.

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.”

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.

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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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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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plus a FREE e-book. Join now!

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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.”

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Want to read any story linked here?
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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.

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.

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 Tips” and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

If you have a trip to suggest, please tell me about it in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I hope to get to them all. It’s a tough assignment, but I’m on it.

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

A Grand Tour of Yosemite

Distance: 152 miles, with multiple shorter variations
Difficulty: 4

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).

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.

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to get professional-quality prints of this blog’s most inspiring images!

Two Hikes in Glacier National Park

Distance of each: 90-94 miles, with shorter variations
Difficulty of each: 3

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.

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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Teton Crest Trail

Distance: 33-40 miles, multiple variations
Difficulty: 4

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).

The Wonderland Trail

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.

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.”

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.

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.”

John Muir Trail

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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.

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.”

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.”

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.

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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.”

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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.

The descriptions and photos below all link to stories at The Big Outside that have more images and information about these trips (most of which require a paid subscription to read in full)—including detailed tips on planning each one yourself and when to apply for a backcountry permit, which is generally months in advance of a spring or fall trip.

See also “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First,” my expert e-books to some of the trips described below, and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures, variations of them, or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

I’d love to read your thoughts about my list—and your suggestions for trips that belong on it. Please share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

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

Rim to Rim Across the Grand Canyon

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.

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.”

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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Paria Canyon and 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.”

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Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

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.”

The Grand Canyon’s ‘Best Backpacking Trip’

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.”

Aravaipa Canyon

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.”

Owl and Fish Canyons, Bears Ears National Monument

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.

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Traversing 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.”

Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, 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.”

Death Hollow Loop, 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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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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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.

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.)

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 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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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.

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.

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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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.

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.

Hermits Rest to Bright Angel

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.

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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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.”

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.

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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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.

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.
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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.

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.

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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.

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“The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon”
“The Complete Guide to Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim.”

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 2^nd 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.

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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.

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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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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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.”

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Try For a Walk-in Permit

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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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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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.)

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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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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.”

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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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.

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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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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.

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.

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.”

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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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.”

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.

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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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4. It’s Not Easy… And Yes, That’s Good

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.

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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.

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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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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.

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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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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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.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

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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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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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

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.

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.

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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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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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.

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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.

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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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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.

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 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.

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.”

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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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.

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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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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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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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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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Hiking just ahead of my three companions in Royal Arch Canyon, a remote chasm off the South Rim the Grand Canyon, I stop before a dead end: a 15-foot pour-off dropping away in front of me and towering cliffs to either side. It looks impassable. After a moment of scanning the walls more closely, though, I notice a stack of narrow ledges—some only as wide as one of my feet—leading across and down the cliff to my left, around the pour-off. The traverse is exposed—a slip could result in a really bad tumble off this cliff. But it actually looks fairly easy, and it’s clearly our route. So I start inching across as David and Kris come up behind me and watch.

As I’m shuffling sideways along the first ledge, the front pack holding my camera gear bumps the cliff face—and the effect is like an unseen hand shoving me backward. Arms windmilling wildly, straining against gravity, I feel my entire body tilting off-balance, about to pitch into the abyss behind me.

Surprising myself—and really glad I’m carrying a light pack—I manage to regain balance and straighten up on my slender foot ledge. I take a couple of deep breaths. That was too close, and the thought of the consequences barely avoided hits me like a hard slap in the face. A little voice in my head hisses icily: “Don’t be a f—ing idiot. Stay alert.” This is experts-only terrain. We can’t afford a lapse in focus.

It’s our first afternoon on the Grand Canyon’s very rugged and infrequently hiked, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, and my friends Jon Dorn, David Ports, Kris Wagner and I can already tell it promises to be one of the greatest backpacking trips any of us has ever taken. That’s a high bar, given that three of us (Jon, Kris, and me) are Backpacker magazine alum, and David is a longtime friend of mine who’s joined me on more adventures than I could quickly tally from memory.

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But the GC’s Royal Arch Loop stands out even in a park where just about any hike would make just about any top 10 list. Starting from the South Bass Trailhead on the South Rim, reached by driving at least 90 minutes on rough dirt roads sometimes rendered impassable by heavy rain or snow, the route 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 River.

It delivers a multi-day 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—including what must be one of the best in the entire Big Ditch, below Royal Arch itself (technically not an arch but a natural bridge because it was formed by water).

But the Royal Arch Loop isn’t for the timid—or for backpackers whose image of their skills and experience doesn’t sync with reality when using the honesty app. The park’s website says it is “considered by many to be the most difficult of the established south side hikes.”

In a note that now resonates on a deeper personal level for me, the website warns that the route “offers about a million ways to get into serious trouble in a remote part of the Grand Canyon.”

Yea, no kidding.

All of our neck craning, nature-paparazzi photo shooting, and trite expressions of awe aside, priority one is getting through this hike with all bones intact, vital organs functioning normally, and no severe flesh wounds.

And that means no one falls off a cliff.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do.”

Rain in the Grand Canyon

Several hours earlier that first day, the four of us had set off down the rock-strewn South Bass Trail in conditions decidedly atypical of early May in the Grand Canyon: relatively cool temperatures, gusty winds, and overcast skies. Before long, the bruised sky developed a leak that built into a light but steady shower. Veils of rain hung down from the gray cloud ceiling, partly obscuring far-off towers and mesas.

But none of us was complaining. The Grand Canyon is the unusual kind of backpacking destination where you welcome a cool rain because its more-common antithesis—hot sun—poses an exponentially larger threat to water-addicted animals like us. Here, light rain and mild temperatures are a gift that one receives with gratitude.

We turned west off the South Bass Trail onto a cairned path traversing the 20-mile-long, wide shelf of red sandstone known as The Esplanade, seeing no one else as we hiked below the huge cliffs of Chemehuevi Point, Toltec Point, and Montezuma Point. (We’ll see only two other parties of backpackers on the entire route, and some rafters in passing at Elves Chasm.) The most conspicuous signs of life were birds and an eruption of wildflowers from the dry earth that our visit has apparently synchronized with perfectly.

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Any trail descending into the Grand Canyon is hard, but the Royal Arch Loop exists in a category all its own, at least among South Rim routes. For starters, from the South Bass Trailhead at 6,650 feet, the route drops more than 4,500 feet—nearly a vertical mile—to Toltec Beach on the Colorado River. Those will be some of the hardest, quad-burning, downhill miles you’ll ever log. And then you have to ascend all of that vertical back to the rim. It would be ass-kicking hard even if the entire route followed a maintained trail.

But it doesn’t. From the point where you depart the South Bass Trail, 1.4 miles into the hike, it follows a meandering and faint but sporadically cairned footpath traversing The Esplanade for some 10 miles. Once you drop into Royal Arch Canyon, there’s no path at all—you just follow the canyon downstream—and the scrambling gets serious and exposed in spots.

You must know how to set up a safe rappel. The desert heat can be wilting, and long stretches of the route lack water, so you’ll carry several pounds of it. Magnifying the risk level, it’s in a remote area of the park, where you’re not likely to encounter many other people, and help in an emergency would takes hours if not more than a day even if you carry a rescue beacon or satellite phone.

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Compounding the challenge, the route repeatedly presents you with spots that appear impassable. Early on our first afternoon, we reached a 200-foot pour-off in the eastern arm of Royal Arch Canyon. We’d read in the park’s route description that the safer way around it skirts right of the pour-off, so we embraced that advisory, clambering over and around rocks large enough that we’re conscious of not dislodging one that could crush a foot or a femur. We traversed a ledge as wide as a sidewalk for several hundred horizontal feet, high above the canyon floor and beneath an overhanging cliff, crawling through one claustrophobic passage between the cliff face and a stunted but resilient tree sprouting from it. When the ledge ended, we followed a wandering path of cairns along what initially seemed an improbable route down the canyon’s steep wall back to its bottom.

The fairly level Tonto Trail represents the only easy stretch of the Royal Arch Loop. Enjoy it, because the subsequent ascent of the South Bass Trail is, to employ gross understatement, unkind to your body—and the degree of punishment it dishes out ratchets up proportionately with the air temperature and angle of the sun (read: hike it in the cool of early morning rather than in the blazing heat of afternoon).

Still, we’re planning to hike the loop in three days instead of the five recommended by park rangers. That isn’t a suggestion that everyone attempt to do it in less than five days—it’s just an understanding of our abilities and years of experience backpacking and ultra-hiking, including here in the Grand Canyon.

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Royal Arch Canyon

Now, with all four of us safely below the ledges I almost fell off, and the light slowing dimming as the day arcs into evening, we continue carefully negotiating our way through the seemingly endless twists of Royal Arch Canyon.

The canyon narrows and its walls rise higher the farther we descend. A spring-fed stream zigzags along the canyon bottom, sending thin cascades down slabs into crystalline pools framed by incongruous drapes of greenery—a rare desert oasis. We pick our way around and over boulders that wouldn’t fit in my living room.

Around yet another bend, we stop at the sight of Royal Arch looming ahead.

A thick arm of sandstone bridging the canyon walls, with a gap you could fly a small plane through, Royal Arch appears to have been chopped from solid rock with a giant hatchet rather than excavated over millennia by the shallow stream gliding quietly under it. We walk through the gap to ledges just beyond, which terminate at a 200-foot pour-off and a view into the lower part of Royal Arch Canyon. A freestanding spire towers a hundred feet or more directly above our campsite.

Jon, who has backpacked and hiked all over America and the world, looks around and says, “Definitely all-time top 10 campsite.” (I agree and added it to my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.)

A light rain begins falling as dusk slowly settles into the canyon. We grab our food and cooking gear and walk over to sit in the broad rain shadow of Royal Arch.

After the Royal Arch Loop, hike the other 11 of
“The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

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and “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Lodging There are several lodging options in Grand Canyon Village managed by Grand Canyon Lodges (grandcanyonlodges.com), and more in the town of Tusayan, outside the park entrance on the South Rim.

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All three of us have hiked this footpath before, and even still, our first steps down the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail leave us with hanging jaws. It’s early morning under clear skies, with the low-angle sunlight bringing the vastness of this chasm into sharp clarity—every inconceivably towering monolith, bottomless abyss, and sheer precipice—and we’re sputtering silly superlatives about the vista unfurling before us.

This is, after all, the world’s grandest canyon. It does that to people, even hardened veteran backpackers like us.

Joined by two friends who’ve taken many trips with me, Todd Arndt and Mark Fenton, I have returned to the Grand Canyon (yet again) to backpack a six-day, 74-mile, point-to-point traverse off the South Rim that will take us down to campsites on the Colorado River and then, of course, back up to the rim.

Besides the fact that hiking down the South Kaibab shortly after dawn comprises one of the absolute best hikes and most inspiring sensory experiences in the entire National Park System, our early start gets us ahead of the hundreds of dayhikers that will venture partway down and back up this trail today.

We are also getting underway ahead of the worst of the rapidly advancing heat: The temperature at the South Rim when we stepped outside at 6 a.m. on this morning in late April was 68° F—and that’s at the coolest time of day at the highest and coolest elevation of our trip. With us seeing virtually no shade all day, the sun conducts its slow but insidious work of wilting us like two-day-old rose petals left in a vase without water.

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Our hike will show 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 will see sharp contrasts, including 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 even at three of our four campsites—to spending a fun evening with a very friendly rafting party that graciously feeds us. We’ll also take an optional, long dayhike from one of our camps on a trail that, even for this place, will surprise us in both its difficulty and its beauty.

Our route choice came as a tip to me from someone who knows this canyon better than all but maybe a few living people, and possibly better than anyone. A backcountry ranger I know who has hiked every named trail in the park—many of them undoubtedly countless times—described this route in an email to me as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

With a recommendation like that, I couldn’t imagine not taking this trip.

Tonto Trail East

Nearly four-and-a-half miles and 3,200 vertical feet down the South Kaibab, we reach the Tonto Plateau at a spot called the Tipoff, where the South Kaibab Trail plunges another 1,500 feet in two-and-a-half miles to the Colorado River. Here, our hike undergoes its first dramatic personality change.

We turn onto the Tonto Trail eastbound and immediately leave behind dozens of dayhikers and backpackers, following a path so narrow that we couldn’t even pick it out amid the sparse desert vegetation when looking down from just above it on the South Kaibab.

Lizards dart across the trail in front of us. A rattlesnake issues its distinctive warning when we pass the trailside bush it’s hiding under. Peering at it from a safe distance, we see that it’s a little guy—not more than a foot long. We stop for lunch in a strip of shade some eight feet long and two feet wide below an overhanging rock ledge—the only patch of shade substantial enough to shield all three of us that we find before evening.

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By afternoon, drifting cotton-ball clouds create dappled light that flows like a river over the canyon. A sheer wall of stone at least a thousand feet tall transforms before our eyes, revealing that what looks at first like one wall is actually three separate formations that had blended together in direct sunlight, but are actually separated by large horizontal distances—and one stands across the Colorado River from the other two.

We follow the meandering Tonto Trail around the rims of tributary canyons of the Colorado—some of them a thousand feet or more deep and several miles long. On the map, it looks like someone drew the trail by tracing around the splayed fingers of a hand—we’re constantly weaving in and out, covering more lateral than forward distance. The biggest side canyon we see today, at Grapevine Creek, we walk halfway around to tonight’s campsite by early evening, and will continue around its opposite rim tomorrow morning—realizing after completing it that getting around this one large tributary canyon took us three hours to make about a quarter-mile of actual forward progress.

The scale of the Grand Canyon is hard to wrap your brain around—and probably the best argument for backpacking or even dayhiking into it.

Do it right. Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.

Almost 19 miles and 11 hours after we commenced hiking, much of it in withering heat, we drop our packs near the slender but steady trickle of Grapevine Creek. Over the more than 14 trail miles from the South Kaibab Trail, we saw only three other people: two backpackers at Lone Tree Canyon and one guy hiking solo who’s camped near us at Grapevine.

Soaring canyon walls finally gift us with shade in the evening, when we watch the sunlight slowly fade to a sky shot through with stars. The choir of bullfrogs and crickets who’ve staked claims in this tiny stream grows to such a cacophony at times that we have to raise our voices to hear each other over it.

‘The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon’

Hiking away from Grapevine Creek shortly after 7 a.m. on our second morning, within five minutes we’ve climbed steeply onto the Tonto Plateau and stepped back into direct sunlight. Like yesterday, a steady breeze offers meager though cherished relief; but it’s hot by 8 a.m., as the temperature marches again toward a high around 90° F. 

Reaching Cottonwood Creek by mid-morning, we spend a couple of hours refilling our bodies’ water tanks, eating, cooling off under a small waterfall—and simply basking in the rare pleasure of shade beneath the cottonwood trees. We’re hiking about five hours today, so we’re in no rush, and there’s little shade ahead of us until evening descends on our next campsite at Hance Creek. In the canyon, you often plan the day’s travel around taking advantage of the rare oases of water and shade.

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I’ll confess to a growing obsession with backpacking in the Grand Canyon—despite how hard it is due to both the arduous character of most trails and the sometimes-crushing heat that can feel like the sun reaching down to lean with increasing weight on your shoulders. And you’ll find few refuges of water and shade.

Truth is, in about 95 percent of the Grand Canyon, it’s easier to die than it is to live.

Nonetheless, each of the several multi-day hikes I’ve taken here has only amplified my appetite to explore more of the canyon. (Scroll down to Grand Canyon on this page for a menu of my stories about those trips.) I suppose part of the motivation is that I relish the myriad challenges the canyon throws at you. If you seek to push yourself physically and mentally in the wilderness, few environments will accommodate your wish as thoroughly and relentlessly as the Grand Canyon—and probably in more ways than anticipated.

To me, though, suffering without some payoff is a fool’s errand. But the Grand Canyon always pays back more than your investment of sweat and toil in it. The vastness, depth, and breadth of it confounds the brain’s capacity to interpret its scale. Natural features lying at a distance we can’t accurately estimate appear tiny, balloon to unfathomable size as we approach, and then somehow slowly shrink until they fade into their surroundings—as if they evaporated in the heat. Very few natural environments on the planet—and I assert this having seen a fair number of the best places—match the canyon’s topographical and ecological complexity, sheer relief, or constant stream of grandeur.

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The inevitable effect of hiking through the canyon is a sustained state of awe. It’s the drug without a hangover or other physical side effects. Well, except for the pain that not infrequently accompanies the hiking.

Coming into this hike from that perspective, the promise of “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon” sounded like either impossibly optimistic hyperbole or, just maybe, the prospect of experiencing one of the very finest of innumerable wilderness strolls I’ve taken over three decades.

At the least, it seemed worth investigating.

Hot afternoon gusts blow me off balance a few times on our more than two-hour hike from Cottonwood to Hance Creek. The Tonto Trail rolls over the plateau circling around Horseshoe Mesa, then traces the west rim of the deep canyon of Hance Creek. Like other canyon trails, the Tonto sometimes sends us clambering across shattered rocks and crumbling ledges, or over dry pour-offs that transform into temporary waterfalls during rainstorms.

Mark says, “On a lot of these trails here, you’re always looking down at your feet because the footing’s so difficult. You have to remind yourself to stop and look around so you don’t miss all this unbelievable scenery.”

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And it is unbelievable, quite literally almost every step of the way. On the Tonto, our panoramas reach from both distant rims and the chaotic canyon-scape in between, to overlooks from a thousand feet or more above the Colorado River. And we have apparently arrived during a super bloom of wildflowers of the sort that may occur only once in a handful of years: Everywhere, flowering prickly-pear cacti and other brilliant flora carpet the ground in a rainbow of colors.

At Hance Creek, we find a long, flat slickrock ledge under an overhang that throws a huge shadow by early evening, and lay out our pads and bags there for the night. Other than some recent fallen rock at one end of the ledge—which we maintain some distance from, in case there’s more loose rock overhead—and tiny, desiccated turds of uncertain origin, it’s a beautiful spot looking across the rocky creek bottom at tall, vividly red cliffs. Waking briefly during the night, I gaze up at a grandly starry sky.

The Escalante Route

“This can’t be a route for backpackers.”

Those skeptical words emerge from my mouth as we stand on unnervingly shaky boulders at the bottom of a dangerously loose pile of rocks in all sizes, from baseballs to watermelons to large furniture, that rises steeply beyond sight above us. On our third morning, Mark, Todd, and I have reached the mouth of Papago Canyon, at the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s Escalante Route, and the trail has slammed right up against this small mountain of rockslide debris—leaving us wondering where to go.

Cloudy skies, strong gusts of wind, and pleasantly milder temps greeted us this morning and will accompany us all day—all of it, including the off-and-on light rain, a welcome respite from the heat of the past two days. We left our camp at Hance Creek at 6 a.m., vaguely anticipating that our planned 15-mile day—much of it on the infamously rugged Escalante Route—could consume many hours.

We were more right about that than we realized.

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Spotting cairns above us on the rockslide, we follow them, scrambling carefully up this house of half-ton cards, frequently dislodging rocks that crash down the slide with a sharp, cracking noise disturbingly similar to the sound of a large leg bone snapping. Reaching the top—with relief—perhaps 300 feet above the river, we pick up a circuitous, narrow goat path along the canyon wall, with a precipitous drop-off on our left.

At the brink of a 30-foot cliff, a cairn indicates that the way forward is straight down it.

We survey the cliff face and see an exposed but not difficult network of small ledges that we can downclimb. Positioning ourselves at intervals on those ledges, we pass backpacks and trekking poles down, reaching the sandy beach at the cliff’s base minutes before a rain shower rolls in and water begins streaming down the cliff.

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

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. See my favorite ultralight daypacks in my review of the Black Diamond Trail Blitz 12 and REI Flash 18.

See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, ultralight tent, boots, trekking poles, down jacket, sleeping bag, and air mattress I used on this trip, and my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

See all of my stories about Grand Canyon National Park at The Big Outside.

Want to make your pack lighter and all of your backpacking trips more enjoyable? See my “10 Tricks for Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of the 10 tricks here and the lightweight backpacking guide here without having a paid membership.

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The heat presses in from all sides as we hike down the Bill Hall Trail off the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. The overhead sun feels as if it has expanded to a supernova threatening to engulf the planet. The rocks radiate waves of heat up at us; I wonder if they might actually reach egg-frying temperature today. Even the air seems to be rising to a boil like a vast kettle on a stove. We hike cautiously over broken stones that slide underfoot, leaning out onto our trekking poles for the two- and three-foot ledge drops on this path—which appears better suited to bighorn sheep than to bipedal primates hauling backpacks weighed down with gear, food, and a surplus of a rare element out here: water.

It’s not even 9 a.m. at around 7,000 feet in the second week of May, and the forecast for the bottom of the canyon—where we are headed—calls for highs in the 90s over the coming days. In other words, we must remind ourselves that these are the coolest hours of the day, and we should try to enjoy them because this respite from the heat—however much it may not feel like a respite—won’t last long.

Three friends—Todd Arndt, Chip Roser, and Jeff Wilhelm—and I have set out on a four-day backpacking trip on the 25-mile Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop off the Grand Canyon’s North Rim. We’ve come in mid-May hoping to get lucky with the temperatures during one of the two brief seasonal windows for taking this trip. And it turns out we did get lucky in that the trailhead access road only became free of snow and passable days ago; had we planned dates much earlier, we might have been shut out. (Autumn often has a slightly longer ideal window for backpacking this loop. See my trip-planning tips in the Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story.)

When reserving a backcountry permit months in advance, it’s a roll of the dice to guess which dates in spring will reward you with snow-free roads and lower-than-supernova temps. While the recent heat wave melted away the last snow and dried out the roads on the North Rim, it unfortunately also transformed the inner canyon into the inferno it normally becomes from late May well into September—when this environment shows its true face as a place hospitable to lizards, snakes, and scorpions, but not so much to humans.

The Grand Canyon doesn’t just get hot, it gets really hot.

But our circumstances can certainly be viewed as a water bladder half full rather than half-empty. While the higher stretches of the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop pass through parched, waterless desert—the reason we are each hauling three liters or more of water now—the lower sections that form the roundish part of this lollipop loop we’re hiking have an unusual abundance of water in fast-moving, perennial streams.

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In fact, the two creeks and one river (in addition to the Colorado River) that we will hike along pour over some of the Big Ditch’s prettiest waterfalls, course through spectacular narrows, and nurture oases of trees and vegetation. That’s why the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop has become a prized destination for in-the-know backpackers and river rats. Plus, even though the upper parts of the loop are dry, the vistas are the biggest of the hike, revealing the Grand Canyon’s majestic breadth and depth.

And while most of the route’s mileage offers no more shade than you can find under a prickly-pear cactus, there are pockets of shelter from the sun beneath trees along the creeks. We can hunker down like native desert fauna through the incinerating heat of the middle hours of each day, while hiking in the cooler early mornings and evenings.

We came here with a clear-eyed understanding that this hike from the North Rim down a vertical mile to the Colorado and back up again, on often-rugged trails, in heat that pushes the edges of human tolerance, will be really tough. But in compensation for that suffering, we’ll explore one of the more unique corners of the Grand Canyon.

All we have to do is survive it.

Read about how climate change is affecting the Grand Canyon and other parks in my book
Before They’re Gone—A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks.

Thunder River

After hours of perspiring copiously while hiking downhill, the incongruous sight of the Thunder River can make your stewed brain suspect it’s a mirage.

By early that first afternoon, we’ve dropped nearly 4,000 feet from the Monument Point-Bill Hall Trailhead. We traversed the Esplanade—a broad plateau of slickrock, massive boulders, and sand at around 5,000 feet, with long views of the canyon—and descended off that plateau on a double-black-diamond-steep portion of the Thunder River Trail, occasionally surfing the smashed dinner-plate stones that comprise it. Then we crossed the starkly barren and absolutely-devoid-of-shade Surprise Valley in skull-baking heat. Only the wind, ash-hot but mercifully strong, makes the steadily rising temperature barely tolerable.

Now, standing the edge of Surprise Valley, we’re looking down at today’s third long, knee-pounding descent through countless switchbacks over loose and rocky ground on a steep canyon slope. Hundreds of feet below us, a lushly green oasis of tall trees stands out against the landscape of cliffs and dirt in shades of ochre and brown. Immediately above this tiny but spirit-lifting soul patch of forest, a roaring, spring-fed waterfall erupts from the middle of a cliff face: the origin of the Thunder River.

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In one sense, the Thunder River isn’t much of a river: From that waterfall at its source, it only flows about a half-mile, although it drops some 1,200 feet in a continuous cascade to its confluence with Tapeats Creek. One of the shortest rivers in the country, it’s also certainly one of the few rivers that’s a tributary of a creek.

But the sheer volume of water gushing from the cliff makes it one of the most dramatic tributaries along the Colorado River’s entire 277-mile length through the Grand Canyon. Unlike most rivers that begin as trickles and streamlets coming together, it leaps from its headwaters birthplace fully formed. Naturally, it’s a great spot to escape the heat. In the shade of the trees and the mist below the waterfall, it feels about 25 degrees cooler. We lounge in the water and beside it for an hour or more. Not surprisingly, in the time we’re there, several parties of river rafters arrive, having walked a couple miles up the Tapeats Creek Trail from the Colorado River to see this waterfall.

We reach a designated campsite in the Upper Tapeats camping area on Tapeats Creek around 3 p.m., in the full-on blacksmith’s forge heat of the day—it’s probably in the mid-90s. We’ve hiked nine horizontal miles and almost a vertical mile downhill, somehow also accumulating over 800 feet of elevation gain over the course of the descent from the North Rim. Although we’ve all completed days of hiking that were three to five times that distance, the fatigue of the heat, the rugged terrain, and the equivalent of walking down well over 400 flights of stairs carrying a pack—if those stairs were intermittently built of loose stones ready to tumble with each step—has left us all feeling physically spent far beyond what we’d expect.

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The almost inevitable dehydration resulting from hard exertion in that kind of heat certainly contributes to the physiological toll: We’re all guzzling water in camp to refill our tanks. Chip and I will both go hours before peeing again.

Of the two campsites at Upper Tapeats, the one slightly upstream is larger, but the downstream one has shade sooner and plenty of space, and sits right on the creek; both are empty, so we grab the lower. While walking between them and the creek for a matter of minutes, I make the egregious error of leaving the top of my backpack not securely closed, and return to find Jeff saying he caught two ravens pulling food from my pack. I assess the damage: a bag of bars torn open, and another bag of the pita bread that was to be part of my lunch every day shredded, with its contents torn up in the dirt or gone. A little while later, as I’m still cursing them, we see one of the ravens fly overhead with a chunk of pita in its mouth.

As dusk dims toward night, bats emerge, making jet-fighter aerial maneuvers overhead, somehow throwing together a meal from the meager offerings of insects in the desert. The steady drone of Tapeats Creek gifts me with a night of coma-like sleep.

Tapeats Creek

In the morning, Todd emerges from his sleeping bag after spending the night out under the stars instead of in one of the tents, and tells me he didn’t sleep well; mice and other small critters kept darting over him, startling him awake. “I may have to rethink the tent thing tonight,” he says.

Today, we have to hike only two miles from Upper Tapeats to the Lower Tapeats camping area, where the creek spills into the Colorado River. Knowing there’s no shade down there, we decide to find shade to hide out in for most of the day. After the sun hits our campsite shortly after 9 a.m.—instantly jacking the temp up about 10 degrees, from pleasant to “time to go”—we start hiking, passing through sprawling, beautiful prickly-pear cacti gardens, with flowers in bloom, on the canyon bottom before the trail climbs up the canyon wall.

While stepping carefully along that narrow goat path, with a potential hundred-foot plunge below my left elbow, I glance down to see a bighorn sheep, with a full curl to its horns, leisurely sauntering through the sparse scrubland along the creek below me.

The trail descends again, and we find a sandstone ledge beside Tapeats Creek with a four-foot wall that casts a strip of all-day shade just wide enough for all of us to lie down on pads. And there we pass the next several hours reading, talking, eating, and chugging water.

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

Gear Tips Trekking poles are indispensable for this route’s steep descents and ascents. See my reviews of 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. 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.

With a forecast for clear weather, you often don’t need a full tent in the Grand Canyon. But sleeping out on just a pad under the stars can invite mice and lizards to crawl over you, repeatedly waking you during the night. Scorpions are also a danger (although rare). Minimize pack weight and avoid nocturnal critter encounters by using an ultralight tent without the rainfly or just a portable, lightweight cot that elevates you off the ground. My friend, Jeff, used a Therm-a-Rest Ultralight Cot ($220, 2 lbs. 10 oz., regular) on this trip (and has on other trips), and we were all envious of it. Buy one now at Moosejaw.com.

Your desert kit should be lightweight, including an ultralight shell rather than a full rain jacket; clothing that protects from the sun like a personal favorite sun shirt, the Outdoor Research Echo Hoody (buy one at moosejaw.com, ems.com, or outdoorresearch.com); and lightweight insulation (mainly for mornings and evenings at the rim or on the Esplanade). See my Gear Reviews page and these stories at The Big Outside:

“Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist”
“Gear Review: The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
“The Best Ultralight/Thru-Hiking Packs”
“The Best Ultralight Hiking and Backpacking Jackets”
“25 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories”
“The Best Base Layers for Hiking, Running, and Training”
“The 10 Best Down Jackets” (see the lightest models)

The New Hance Trail starts out hard, and then gets really tough. The rugged footpath drops off the South Rim into the Grand Canyon like a ball rolling off a table—4,422 vertical feet in 6.5 miles from the rim to the Colorado River. Most of that relief comes in the first five miles, as the trail wiggles through more switchbacks than a squirrel racks up in a year of crossing streets. Geology magnifies the unmaintained path’s grueling character: It drops over hundreds of knee-jarring, quad-jellying ledges two to three feet high, which can seem endless to someone carrying a backpack.

I imagine it seems especially endless to someone who stands barely more than four-and-a-half feet tall.

I watch my 10-year-old daughter, Alex, wearing her backpack, down-climbing or simply jumping off ledges two-thirds her height. She does this while traversing sections of narrow trail with sheer drop-offs—no doubt inspiring for her, just as for me, thoughtful reflection on how far one could tumble if one tripped. Still, her only reaction is to occasionally furrow her brow at the biggest ledge drops—as if wondering how some trail builder could have concluded that this was a sensible route for people to travel on foot. Or maybe she’s wondering why her father would have thought that.

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Alex and I have come to the Grand Canyon in the first part of November to backpack 15 miles over three days, from the New Hance Trailhead to the Colorado River and back up to Grandview Point. We’re part of a small parade of 11 people, including two other families: our friends Mark and Lisa Fenton and their son, Max, 18, and daughter, Skye, 15, plus Max’s budding Ryan, 18, all from outside Boston; and Carl and Debby Schueler and their daughters Margy and Ellie, age 13 and 10, from Colorado Springs, Colorado.

Although our distance seems short for three days, the biggest lie ever told in the Grand Canyon is: “That’s not far to hike.”

Hours slip past and our group spreads out. Alex and I play word games to help take our minds off the trail’s unkind treatment of our leg muscles. We gradually descend deep into the belly of Red Canyon, an often-dry defile that the New Hance Trail follows to the Colorado River. Sheer walls of cream-colored and vividly orange and red rock soar thousands of feet above us, revealing geological layers known as the Supergroup, representing hundreds of millions of years of Earth’s history. Some of the oldest known fossils in the world are found in the Bass Limestone layer.

Roughly halfway down the New Hance Trail, the views open up, spanning a maze of stone skyscrapers separated by vertiginous side canyons—a prospect at once incomprehensibly vast, and yet constituting just a fraction of the entire Grand Canyon.

The November sun hovers just above the canyon rim when Alex and I walk into the camping area beside the Colorado River. We find an empty tent site a minute’s stroll from the river, where we’ll sleep soundly to the constant, gravelly roar of Hance Rapids. Mark—who has taken many very long hikes with me, including a one-day, 44-mile, 11,000-foot hike across the Grand Canyon and back—comes up to me and says with a grin, “Can you believe how hard that was for just six miles? I feel like I hiked 20!”

A travel writer describing his trek down the New Hance Trail in 1904 wrote: “‘On foot,’ however, does not express it, but on heels and toes, on hands and knees, and sometimes in the posture assumed by children when they come bumping down the stairs… The pitch for the first mile is frightful… and to our dismayed, unaccustomed minds the inclination apparently increases, as if the canyon walls were slowly toppling inwards.”

Alex would describe it slightly differently. Well after this trip, she will tell me that she remembers “the first day being very long, and we played (the word game) Hink Pink walking down it. Then I remember there was a place where there was a rock, then a wall, then a rock, then a wall, and we had to jump down all of those.”

Sometimes, the perspective of a 10-year-old brings sharper clarity to the world.

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The Colorado River

Morning arrives cool but not too cold. The first half of November is a wonderful time to hike in the Grand Canyon, despite the short daylight hours; winter generally does not arrive until later in the month or early December. There are far fewer people here, and days are often surprisingly mild, especially deep in the canyon, where temperatures rise into the 60s during the day. It’s the rare example of a time in a popular national park when you find a convergence of perfect weather and no crowds.

Once the sun crests the canyon rim, almost a vertical mile above us, the temperature rises rapidly—and Alex emerges from the tent. An experienced backpacker, she knows that breakfast tastes better when you’re not shivering.

She and I hit the trail by mid-morning, just ahead of the others. But before long, the teenagers overtake and pass us. This pattern repeats itself each day of this trip: We spread out on the trail, driven mostly by the teenagers setting a torrid pace and their parents trying to not fall too far behind, while 10-year-old Ellie makes a colossal effort to keep up.

So Alex and I see the others briefly during the day, and spend hours on the trail together, just the two of us. We stop to take photos or occasionally sit down to focus on our parallel goal of seeing how much chocolate one parent-child team can consume on a three-day backpacking trip. (While I do my best, Alex carries us in this effort, far eclipsing my consumption—especially relative to body weight. When it comes to sugar tolerance, my daughter stands in category all her own. At breakfast in our hotel’s restaurant before we hit the trail the first morning, she threw down the gauntlet, plowing through a cinnamon roll nearly the size of my head. I knew I was no match for that.)

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For Alex and me, this is our annual “Girl Trip.” A loosely named tradition we have maintained for some years, it’s something we look forward to every year—partly because we get out in the wilderness, but mostly because we get a big dose of one-on-one time together, uninterrupted by the myriad electronic and other distractions of civilization (homework, soccer schedule, music lessons, job). So she and I get to hang out with our friends in camp and gorge on hours of exclusive, father-daughter time on the trail.

We climb high above the inner gorge of the canyon onto the Tonto Plateau, passing through a garden of boulders as big as buses. We’re following a small piece of the roughly 70-mile-long Tonto Trail. The longest trail in the Grand Canyon, it traverses a broad, gently undulating shelf about halfway between the rims and river, offering possibly the most expansive views in the canyon, from both rims to the brown river far below us.

We reach a spot where the plateau gets sucked out from under us like water going down a drain: the rim of Hance Creek Canyon. Even this tributary canyon is several hundred feet deep, so we have to follow its eastern rim a distance upstream, cross to its western rim, then reverse direction for a comparable distance downstream—walking far to not get very far.

Dark, crumbly rim rock has eroded into spires and detached pillars. Near the crossing, we look down at glossy, red and black rock and trees lending green to the stark landscape. Hance Creek trickles along the canyon bottom, where some backpackers have pitched tents. (I decide on the spot that this gorgeous oasis, which receives precious and rare shade from close, soaring walls on both sides for most of each day, belongs on my list of the nicest backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past.)

After we have walked around this side canyon, I point across to the spot on the opposite rim, just a few hundred feet away, where we stood more than two hours ago. Alex tells me, “That was stupid. They should have just built a bridge there.” Some matters of perspective are easy enough even for children to discern.

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Horseshoe Mesa

What does this place look like to a 10-year-old? Does she have a sense of the scale of it? She’s done a school report on the Grand Canyon, so she knows it’s big by the numbers: 277 miles long, averaging a mile deep, spanning 1,900 square miles or 1.2 million acres, our 11th-largest national park and fourth-largest outside Alaska.

But the scale of this place boggles even the minds of adults, never mind a 10-year-old. Alex asks me whether the Grand Canyon is bigger than Boise, the city where we live. I tell her the Grand Canyon would actually fill up a pretty big chunk of Idaho. She silently contemplates that fact. Some mental pictures take a very long time to draw—and when it comes to a natural phenomenon like the Grand Canyon, we may not have enough mental art supplies to finish the picture.

This is actually Alex’s second visit to the Grand Canyon—not bad for a 10-year-old. Her first backpacking trip here came a week after she turned seven, when our family and a couple of friends backpacked 29 miles in four days from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead in the last week of March—a time when winter still forcefully occupies the canyon rims.

On that trip’s first day, we traversed narrow, exposed stretches of trail treacherous with ice, with me at times guiding each kid individually—our son, Nate, was nine—through the most dangerous sections. On the last day of that trip, we hiked eight miles and 4,000 feet uphill, most of that on the relentless ascent of the South Kaibab Trail. At one point in mid-afternoon that day, when we spied the South Rim—our destination—still a thousand feet above us, Alex looked up and asked me, “Is that the South Rim?” When I said it was, she responded with words that have undoubtedly sprung from the lips of many adults on that footpath: “It’s too far.”

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By late afternoon, the shadow of Horseshoe Mesa falls over Alex and me as we hike up a side canyon toward tonight’s campsite atop the mesa. We stop at the side path to Page Spring, and Alex waits with our packs while I take our filter and water bladders, plus a 10-liter dromedary, to fill them at the spring so we’ll have enough water for dinner, breakfast, and tomorrow morning’s hike up to the South Rim.

Then, with my pack newly loaded down with about 27 pounds of sloshing liquid sustenance, we slog a little more slowly up the steepening trail. We pass the entrance to an old mine and rusting equipment that dates back more than a century, before the national park’s creation, to when copper was mined from Horseshoe Mesa by Last Chance Mine owner Peter Berry, the person who first built the Grandview Trail.

As we ascend the steep switchbacks toward Horseshoe Mesa, we see Mark and Carl coming down the trail toward us. They had dropped their packs and their families off in campsites on the mesa and doubled back to offer help with our packs. But we’re close enough to camp that I don’t bother stopping to off-load some weight, and Alex proudly follows my lead, not asking one of them to take her pack. Instead, she chugs up the trail ahead of the three old guys. Exaggeratedly breathing heavily, I call to Alex, “If you’re having trouble… (gasp) keeping up with me… (huff) I can understand… (puff) because I’m a professional backpacker… (wheeze) and you’re just a little kid.” She chirps, “I’m fine!” and picks up her pace.

Horseshoe Mesa protrudes from an almost sheer, half-mile-high wall below the canyon’s South Rim like a forearm and a hand making a peace sign. A thousand feet above the Tonto Plateau and 2,500 feet below Grandview Point at the rim, the mesa and its campsites are a popular destination for dayhikers and backpackers because it offers a luxury box view of the world’s most spectacular hole in the ground.

Alex and I cook dinner—I cook, she supervises—as a calm evening falls and stars riddle a clear sky.

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Hiking down the snow- and ice-covered Grandview Trail into the world’s most famous canyon, I’m thinking about time. It’s not such an odd thing to think about when you’re walking on rock that’s 270 million years old, while looking out at geologic layers that make the stone under your feet seem adolescent. But I’m thinking about a much, much shorter period of time: 11 years, actually.

That’s how much time has passed since I last backpacked into the Grand Canyon. How did I let that happen? Not for falling out of backpacking, which I’m fortunate to be able to do several times a year; nor, certainly, for the absence of desire to return here. Funny how time seems to dash ahead of us even when we think we’re keeping up just fine.

Being back here again after so long feels like arriving late at a party that’s clearly been rockin’ for several hours—glad I made it, but wish I’d gotten my ass moving a little sooner. And if that sentiment strikes a chord with you, then you should do something about it very soon. I’ll explain why below.

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From high up the Grandview Trail, one of the planet’s most awe-inspiring and incomprehensible landscapes sprawls before us, a vastness of deep chasms and soaring towers, of sheer walls and steep, crumbling slopes stacked in layers of red, orange, white, brown, and black, with green daubs of sparse vegetation.

Six of us—including my wife, Penny, our nine-year-old son, Nate, and seven-year-old daughter, Alex, and friends Jeff Wilhelm and his 17-year-old daughter, Jasmine—have come to the canyon in the last days of March to backpack off the South Rim. Over four days, we’ll hike 29.2 miles from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead.

We’re two or three weeks ahead of the nearest thing there is to an ideal time of year to backpack in the canyon. With so much vertical relief here, picking dates inevitably requires choosing between the risk of cold temps and possible snow and ice on the rims or unbearable heat in the canyon. As it is, we start out on treacherously icy conditions on the upper Grandview Trail—which feels a bit sketchy with young kids, though we get through it fine, if very slowly—but spend most of our trip hiking in T-shirts and shorts and hardly breaking a sweat.

On our first afternoon, we drop a steep 3,500 feet in less than five miles to a campsite on Cottonwood Creek, beneath a horseshoe of red cliffs and a night sky riddled with stars. Then we follow the Tonto Trail’s serpentine course westward across the broad, cacti-studded Tonto Plateau for more than two days, walking the brink of cliffs that plunge more than a thousand feet to the Colorado River. The kids play in each of the few creeks we pass, doggedly building rock dams that will be swept away by the next heavy rainstorm. We pitch tents on sagebrush flats and gaze out at an endless parade of stone castles and amphitheaters spreading out beneath the snow-dappled South and North rims.

It really is kind of mind-boggling. As Jeff summarizes, simply but completely: “It doesn’t look real.”

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John Wesley Powell, the one-armed Civil War veteran and legendary Western explorer who led the first expedition down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in 1869, once said, “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.”

Okay, the guy had a point there. But he didn’t exactly have a desk job. For those who can’t quite wangle, say, six months of sabbatical to toil through the labyrinths, a hike of four or five days in this majestic place can go a long way toward purging your head of the toxins of civilization, among various mentally healthful benefits.

Many of the park’s trails are remote and difficult, so most backpackers stick to some combination of the only three trails that are maintained and regularly patrolled by rangers, the South Kaibab, Bright Angel, and North Kaibab trails. Competition for backcountry campsites along those three trails is fierce. The most popular multi-day hike in the park that’s not entirely on one of those three “corridor” trails goes from Hermits Rest on the South Rim to the Bright Angel Trailhead; it’s 27.2 miles if you make the 2.4-mile out-and-back hike to Hermit Creek (where most hikers camp their first night). So permits for that trip get snapped up quickly, too.

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

But the hike I describe above (with more details in The Itinerary below) is easily accessible, off the South Rim, and not hugely popular. Like basically any trek in the canyon, the 29.2 miles from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead delivers scenery that assure it will rank as one of the best trips of your life—but without crowds, except on the very busy South Kaibab Trail. Between Horseshoe Mesa and the Tonto Trail-South Kaibab Trail junction, we see just only one or two parties a day.

If, like me, too many years have passed since you last hiked into the Big Ditch—or if you never have—now is the time to do something about it. The first date you can apply for a wilderness permit for a trip beginning in April is Dec. 1; for May, it’s Jan. 1. (See Permit below.)

On the long hike up the South Kaibab Trail, walking in powerful, cold gusts that portend a storm bringing snow and rain tonight, I make a vow to not let another 11 years pass before I backpack here again.

That’s much too long.

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