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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The imminent end of summer always feels a little melancholy. After all, it marks the close of the prime season for getting into the mountains. But it also signals the beginning of a time of year when many mountain ranges become less crowded just as they’re hitting a sweet zone in terms of temperatures, the lack of bugs, and foliage color. Autumn also stands out as an ideal season for many Southwest hikes, with moderate temperatures and even some stunning color.

From Yosemite to Yellowstone, Grand Canyon to Grand Teton, the Great Smokies to the White Mountains and hikes that may not be on your radar, like the North Cascades (lead photo, above), Ruby Crest Trail, and several great ones in the Southwest, this story describes 15 backpacking trips that hit a nice season or their prime season sometime between mid-September through November—all of them standouts among the innumerable trips I’ve taken over the past three-plus decades, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor at Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

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

Click on links below to read the feature-length stories about these trips, which contain numerous photos. While much of those individual stories is free for anyone to read, reading them in full, including my tips on planning those trips, is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside. See also my expert e-books to several classic backpacking trips and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan any of these adventures or any trip you read about at The Big Outside.

Don’t stay home and lament the end of summer—get out and make the most of autumn, an ideal time of year in the backcountry.

Please share your questions or suggestions for fall backpacking trips in the comments section at the bottom. I try to respond to all comments. Click any photo to read about that trip.

Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness

“Ara-what?” Yea, that was my reaction when I first heard about this place from a friend—whose tip I wisely followed. (Thanks, John.) Five of us backpacked into Aravaipa for three days, dayhiking from a base camp to explore this lushly green, 12-mile-long defile between redrock walls that reach up to 600 feet tall.

Although tiny compared to many more-famous public lands, the 19,410-acre Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness, in southeast Arizona, stands out as an anomalous Southwest oasis in the hyper-arid Sonoran Desert. Aravaipa Creek flows strongly year-round, nurturing tall cottonwood, sycamore, ash, and willow trees in the canyon bottom, while saguaro cacti grow in giant armies on the rims overhead. With easy, nearly flat hiking often in the shallow river, no water scarcity typical of Southwest desert backpacking trips, abundant shade, the low elevation and southern Arizona climate, Aravaipa offers a relatively casual and beautiful adventure in spring and fall—but fall paints the canyon in brilliant hues of red and gold.

See my story “Backpacking the Desert Oasis of Aravaipa Canyon.”

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The High Sierra

Like Yosemite (below), demand for wilderness permits throughout the High Sierra, especially in Sequoia-Kings Canyon national parks and the John Muir and Ansel Adams wildernesses, grows fierce during the summer. But most backpackers fail to realize that the real peak season for exploring the incomparable High Sierra begins in late August—when the wilting afternoon heat and ravenous mosquitoes of early to mid-summer start to abate—and often continues through September and into October.

And the options are virtually unlimited in this contiguous wilderness spreading over nearly three million acres—an ocean of jagged peaks rising as high as 14,000 feet and a constellation of shimmering alpine lakes—from weekend trips to a week or longer, including five-star section hikes of the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail or variations off them into less-well-known corners of the Sierra. After backpacking many hundreds of miles throughout the Sierra over more than three decades, I have yet to run out of great hikes to do there.

See all stories about High Sierra backpacking trips at The Big Outside, including “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking the John Muir and Ansel Adams Wildernesses,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail: What You Need to Know.”

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

North Cascades National Park

In the last week of September, with huckleberries ripe and tasty and the larch trees blazing yellow with fall color (lead photo at top of story), a friend and I took an 80-mile hike through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex, a sprawling swath of heavily glaciated mountains and thickly forested valleys. Our grand tour from Easy Pass Trailhead to Bridge Creek Trailhead took us through virgin forests of giant cedars, hemlocks, and Douglas firs, and over four passes, including Park Creek Pass, where waterfalls and glaciers pour off cliffs and jagged, snowy peaks.

We enjoyed five sunny, glorious early-fall days; but of course, snow can fall in these mountains in September, so watch the forecast. North Cascades has long been one of my favorite parks (it has one of the most inspiring backcountry campsites I’ve ever slept in). But not many backpackers know this place: It’s one of America’s least-visited national parks. That’s good if you like to have a beautiful wild place to yourself.

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

I can help you plan a backpacking trip of almost any length in the North Cascades. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

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Owl and Fish Canyons

Like other Southwest canyon country backpacking trips, the approximately 17-mile loop through Owl and Fish Canyons in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument features tall, red cliffs, towers, and natural arches (Nevills Arch spans 140 feet); walking up or down rippled slickrock slabs; plus flowering cacti and other prickly desert flora in spring and the greenery of cottonwoods.

Unlike other multi-day hikes in the Southwest, Owl and Fish have a surprising abundance of seasonal, clear water, creating an unexpected desert oasis—and enabling backpackers to avoid carrying an onerous burden of extra water. The hike also involves quite rugged terrain in parts of both canyons—scrambling, steep sections of loose rocks, and a bit of exposure. Hiking in one of the least-populated parts of the country, you might see the darkest night skies of your life: Sleeping out without tents, friends and I awakened after moonset to a Milky Way glowing with a rare luminescence against a coal-black sky riddled with stars.

See my story “Backpacking Southern Utah’s Owl and Fish Canyons” and all stories about Southwest backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

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

Ruby Crest Trail

Maybe like me, you’ve had Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail in your sights for several years. When I finally made it there, I wondered why I’d waited so long.

The four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail goes from a high-desert landscape speckled with granite monoliths to aspen and conifer forests and alpine terrain high above treeline, with constant views of the craggy Ruby Mountains. We passed some stunning mountain lakes—one of which ranks among the prettiest backcountry lakes and best backcountry campsites I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy.

While my family backpacked the Ruby Crest Trail in mid-July, when wildflowers bloom and moderate temperatures prevail, late summer and early fall bring even greater solitude to a wilderness that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to many parks and mountain ranges. If you’re trying to pull together a last-minute trip, the Ruby Crest Trail also offers the convenience of requiring no permit reservation.

See my story “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough.”

I can help you plan any trip you read about at my blog. Click here to learn how.

Coyote Gulch

From one of the trailheads, you begin the roughly 15-mile hike through Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, by crossing ancient dunes hardened to rock to stand atop a cliff overlooking redrock towers and cliffs, including massive Stevens Arch, which spans 220 feet across and 160 feet tall. From that clifftop, you scramble down to squeeze through a tight, 100-foot-long slot called Crack-in-the-Wall—which is quite fun and not as hard as you might think.

Once in Coyote Gulch, you’ll often hike directly in the mostly shallow but energetic, perennial stream that nurtures lots of greenery, while hiking below some classic features of Southwest canyons: a natural bridge, one of the region’s most distinctive natural arches—and one deeply overhung cliff with amazing echo acoustics that delighted the kids when my family and another spent three days exploring this canyon. With relatively few hazards associated with Southwest canyons, Coyote Gulch represents one of the Southwest’s most beginner-friendly backpacking trips while earning five stars for scenery.

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

Start out right. See “10 Perfect National Park Backpacking Trips for Beginners”
and “The 5 Southwest Backpacking Trips You Should Do First.”

Yellowstone National Park

Imagine this: You’re partway through a wilderness backpacking trip when you reach a natural hot spring-fed pool in the backcountry… and soak for hours. That’s what awaits you in Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon, where the famous Mr. Bubble forms a wide, hot pool at a perfect temperature for soaking.

A friend and I enjoyed a long soak in Mr. Bubble on a five-day, roughly 55-mile hike through Bechler Canyon. We also saw thunderous waterfalls and cascades along the Bechler River Trail, which also, in sections, is a quiet, tree-lined waterway with world-class trout fishing. We saw a black bear, heard elk bugling, and explored the largest backcountry geyser basin in the park—which we had almost entirely to ourselves.

September and early October are the best months to backpack in this corner of Yellowstone—after the notorious summer mosquito season, with frequently pleasant weather, when the multiple, cold fords of the Bechler get a bit lower.

See my story about that trip “In Hot (and Cold) Water: Backpacking Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon” at The Big Outside.

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Death Hollow Loop

The 22-mile Death Hollow Loop in southern Utah’s Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument begins with the Boulder Mail Trail’s wildly meandering, up-and-down route across steep-walled canyons and over a slickrock plateau of rippling Navajo Sandstone. That first day culminates at an overlook at the rim of Death Hollow that steals your breath away, right before the trail abruptly plunges to that Escalante River tributary.

On the second day’s sometimes narrow and constantly surprising descent of Death Hollow, you’ll hike in cold water ranging from ankle- to thigh-deep—provided you successfully avoid slipping into the deeper pools—while encountering a succession of terrain obstacles. (Full disclosure: The poison ivy is insane.) Then you’ll ascend the upper Escalante River canyon between soaring walls of red, brown, and cream-colored rock painted with desert varnish.

The Death Hollow Loop poses significant challenges to take seriously. But at every turn, you will stumble upon scenes as pretty as you’ll find in any canyon in the Southwest. This adventure will blow your mind.

See my story “Backpacking Utah’s Mind-Blowing Death Hollow Loop.”

Time for a better backpack? See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
and the best ultralight packs.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Unquestionably one of the East’s premier backpacking destinations, the Great Smokies have two peak seasons: spring, when about 1,600 species of flowering plants—more than found in any other national park—come into bloom; and fall, when dry air and moderate temperatures settle in, insects have mostly disappeared, and the forest paints itself in the brilliant hues of autumn foliage.

While you’ve probably seen many photos of the classic vistas from Great Smokies summits of overlapping rows of blue, wooded ridges fading to a distant horizon, I’ve found that much of the park’s magic resides in its rocky streams tumbling through cascades, and a diverse forest where you may hear only the sound of birds.

On a 34-mile, October hike in the park, beginning near Fontana Lake and traversing a stretch of the Appalachian Trail, I enjoyed a grand tour of this half-million-acre park, including 6,643-foot Clingmans Dome and the park’s highest bald, 5,920-foot Andrews Bald. I also found a surprising degree of solitude, even in the very popular fall hiking season.

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

Get the right puffy jacket to keep you warm in fall. See “The 12 Best Down Jackets.”

Yosemite National Park

Want to know the hardest thing about backpacking in Yosemite? Getting the permit. Well, okay, the hiking itself can be tough at times. But the competition for wilderness permits in this flagship park is stiff, especially for popular trailheads in and around Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows. That’s one reason why backpackers in the know go after Labor Day. Another reason is that while early-season snowstorms occasionally slam the High Sierra in autumn, nice weather often lasts through September—my favorite time in the High Sierra—and sometimes into October.

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With less demand in late summer and autumn, you can often score a last-minute permit for a five-star hike of almost any distance, hitting top Yosemite summits like Clouds Rest and Mount Hoffmann, and the incomparable Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, plus remote areas like Red Peak Pass, the highest pass reached by trail in Yosemite.

The park issues 40 percent of wilderness permits online from seven days to three days before the trip start date at recreation.gov/permits/445859. That enables backpackers who didn’t apply months ago to plan a trip about a week out and arrive at the park with the assurance of having a permit reservation. And outside the park’s popular core area between Yosemite Valley and Tuolumne Meadows, a permit is much easier to get.

Then the only hard aspect of the hike will be… you got it: the hike.

See “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” “How to Get a Last-Minute Yosemite Wilderness Permit Now,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip,” “Where to Backpack First Time in Yosemite,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite at The Big Outside.

See also my expert e-books “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” “The Best Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” and “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite.”

I’ve helped numerous readers of my blog figure out how and where they can get a last-minute, walk-in wilderness permit in Yosemite, and then laid out the route for them. See my Custom Trip Planning page.

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Grand Canyon National Park

You already know that spring and fall are the prime seasons for backpacking in the Grand Canyon. But while weather can be unstable in either season, in spring you’re aiming for a window between when snow and ice melt off the rims in April and when the scorching temps hit the inner canyon in May. In fall, though, you’ll enjoy dry trails, a surprising amount of color in the sparse desert vegetation, and pleasant temperatures often lasting into November (which was when I backpacked there with my 10-year-old daughter).

Backpacking permits for the corridor trails—the South and North Kaibab and Bright Angel—are in high demand. Sure, grab those campsites if available; but if not, I recommend the 29-mile hike from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead, or the 25-mile hike from Hermits Rest to the Bright Angel Trailhead—or even combining or overlapping them. Both feature sublime campsites, stretches of flatter hiking along the Tonto Trail with views reaching from the Colorado River to the South and North rims, and crossings of deep side canyons with flaming-red walls shooting straight up into the sky.

And backpackers ready for a bigger canyon route should see my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” a trip that is described in this e-book.

See “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” or scroll down to Grand Canyon on the All National Park Trips page for a menu of all stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

Grand Teton National Park

Like Yosemite and Grand Canyon, Grand Teton is a park where securing a backcountry permit reservation requires being on top of the process months in advance, applying the minute reservations open in January; most reservable backcountry camping gets booked for the entire summer typically within minutes. But the park also sets aside about two-thirds of available backcountry campsites for walk-in permits, issued up to a day in advance of a starting multi-day hike. While demand is huge for those during July and August, as with other parks, it tails off steadily after Labor Day.

The combination of relatively high elevations and a northerly latitude brings a slightly higher probability that snow will fly in the Tetons in late summer or early fall. But beautiful summer weather, with pleasant days and crisp nights, can extend into late September, a season when you’ll see aspens turn golden and hear rutting elk bugling. And fewer backpackers show up at park offices seeking a permit—you can walk in, grab one, and go.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail,” “How to Backpack the Teton Crest Trail Without a Permit,” and all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside.

See also my bestselling, expert e-books “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park” and “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

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Zion National Park

Here’s what I’ve discovered about Zion in numerous visits since my first three decades ago: The more time you spend there, the more you discover there is to do—so you need to keep coming back. But exploring Zion faces seasonal limitations, especially for its two premier backpacking trips.

The North Fork of the Virgin River often runs too high in spring to make the overnight descent of The Narrows; and while much of it is shaded and cool even on summer’s hottest days, the top and bottom are exposed to the broiling sun. And he approximately 40-mile, north-south traverse of the park from the Lee Pass Trailhead in the Kolob Canyons to Zion Canyon crosses high plateaus that often remain snow-covered into May, with one creek crossing that can be challenging in the high water of spring.

But September and October offer prime conditions for these hikes—and the cottonwood trees turn golden in October. I even backpacked The Narrows with a forecast for ideal weather in early November.

See my stories “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and “Pilgrimage Across Zion: Traversing a Land of Otherworldly Scenery.”

Get my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

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

White Mountains

If ever there were mountains that screamed to be explored in fall, these are those. New Hampshire’s rocky and steep White Mountains are where I wore out my first several pairs of hiking boots, and I still return every year for their awe-inspiring brand of suffering. While the fall colors that usually peak in early October are beautiful throughout the Whites, my top two picks for fall backpacking trips are a 32-mile loop around the Pemigewasset Wilderness and a 24-mile traverse from Crawford Notch to Franconia Notch, mostly on the Appalachian Trail.

The 32-mile Pemi Loop from the Lincoln Woods Trailhead on the Kancamagus Highway (NH 112) crosses eight official 4,000-foot summits, including the alpine traverse of Franconia Ridge—with its constant panorama encompassing most of the Whites—and a walk along the rocky crest of remote Bondcliff, in the heart of the Pemigewasset. Crawford to Franconia overlaps some of the Pemi Loop’s highlights, while adding killer views of Crawford and Zealand notches. (Tip: Definitely take the short side trip to the overlook at Zeacliff, photo above.) And you can add on the summits of Bond, Bondcliff, and West Bond by tacking on an out-and-back side trip that adds several miles.

See “The Best Hikes in the White Mountains,” “Still Crazy After All These Years: Hiking in the White Mountains,” and “Being Stupid With Friends: A 32-Mile Dayhike in the White Mountains,” about dayhiking the Pemi Loop.

Do you love backcountry lakes?
Check out these photos of the most gorgeous wilderness lakes I’ve ever seen.

Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail

A multi-day hike with views around almost every bend of a towering volcano draped in snow and ice, where you pass through forests of ancient, big trees—sounds like the classic Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, right? Actually, it’s the 41-mile Timberline Trail looping Oregon’s 11,239-foot Mount Hood, and it competes with the better-known Wonderland for scenic splendor, waterfalls, and wildflower meadows, while delivering a higher degree of excitement and challenge with its full-value creek crossings. Although the wildflowers are past bloom in September, the creek crossings become reassuringly easier, the crowds thinner, the air crisper, and the views no less stunning.

Granted, the year’s first snowfall can certainly happen at Hood in September or October. That said, late summer and autumn deliver many days of glorious weather in the Pacific Northwest, and the Timberline is less than half the distance of the Wonderland, making it easier to knock off with a decent weather window. Plus, unlike the Wonderland, the Timberline involves no permit hoops to jump through. If the forecast promises a string of three to five reasonably nice days, aim your compass for the Timberline Trail.

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

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

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We all want our wilderness backpacking trips to have two sometimes conflicting qualities: mind-blowing scenery, but also few other people around. A high degree of solitude somehow makes the backcountry feel bigger and wilder and the views more breathtaking. However unrealistic the notion may be, we like to believe we have some stunning corner of nature to ourselves. But in the real world, if you head out into popular mountains in July or August or in canyon country in spring or fall, you’ll probably have company—maybe more than you prefer.

Not on these trips, though.

From lonely corners of the majestic High Sierra (including, believe it or not, Yosemite), the North Cascades region, and Utah’s High Uintas and Maze District of Canyonlands, to the Wind River Range, Idaho’s beloved Sawtooths, the Eagle Cap Wilderness and a pair of rugged and remote adventures in the Grand Canyon, here are 12 multi-day hikes where you’re guaranteed to enjoy a degree of solitude—at least on long stretches of the trip—that’s equal to the scenery. All of these trips meet several of my “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

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

They also happen to be some favorite trips among countless wilderness walks I’ve taken over more than three decades (and counting) of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as a field editor for Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Each trip described below has a link to a full story about it, with many photos and often a video. Reading those stories in full, including key trip-planning details and tips, as well as this entire story, is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Please tell me what you think of these trips—or add your own suggestions—in the comments at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

And I can help you plan any of them or any trip you read about at this blog. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how.

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

Glacier Peak Wilderness

The five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness has earned a reputation for spiciness—which keeps the crowds down. The reason is the off-trail route over 7,100-foot Spider Gap, which holds snow all summer and can be hazardous, depending on the firmness of the snow.

But for backpackers with the skills to manage that pass—which isn’t terribly steep or dangerous when done in soft-snow conditions, as my family did when our kids were 12 and 10—the rewards include five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it, some of the best backcountry campsites you’ll ever have (or perhaps hike past), and unforgettable wildflower displays and panoramas like you get from Liberty Cap, a short side hike from Buck Creek Pass (photo above).

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in Washington at The Big Outside.

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Beartooth Wilderness

On a five-day, peak-of-summer, mid-August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness, two friends and I walked for miles and hours a day—most of the trip—without any other people in sight. At two of our four campsites, there was not another person within miles—including near a lake less than five miles from the trailhead where we started and finished the trip, in a cirque below the cliffs and slopes of a striking, nearly 12,000-foot peak.

And our route reminded me in many ways of backpacking in a Northern Rockies neighbor of the Beartooths, Glacier National Park: We hiked long stretches through alpine terrain with views of soaring cliffs, jagged peaks, and small glaciers at the heads of dramatic, glacially carved cirques. In contrast to Glacier, though, the Beartooths reach higher elevations. We hiked to one stunning pass at over 11,000 feet and crossed the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet—and, yea, saw no one at either spot.

See my story “Backpacking the High and Mighty Beartooth Mountains.”

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The Gems Route, Grand Canyon

For three days of a six-day hike from the Grand Canyon’s South Bass Trailhead to the Hermit Trailhead, five friends and I saw no one. Backpacking much of the Gems Route—named for several tributary canyons, including Ruby, Turquoise, Sapphire, Agate, and Topaz—we had amazing camps every night entirely to ourselves, with a vivid Milky Way glowing overhead.

The route traverses the longest segment of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail with no bailout path the South Rim: the 29 miles from Bass Canyon to Boucher Creek, described by the park’s website as the Tonto’s “most difficult and potentially dangerous” leg for the lack of perennial water. (We twice carried six to eight liters of water—up to about 17 pounds each.)

But every day was a walk through a majestic landscape constantly reshaped by shifting light, with views reaching from the river to both rims. And these tributary canyons of the Colorado might, by themselves, be national parks in most other states.

See my story “‘Let’s Talk Water:’ Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems,” “10 Epic Grand Canyon Backpacking Trips You Must Do,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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Southern Sawtooth Mountains

I’ve dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed numerous times in Idaho’s glorious Sawtooths, peaks that look to me like a love child of the High Sierra and the Tetons (if somewhat smaller); and with the exception of a few popular spots, I wouldn’t describe them as crowded. But for solitude and scenery that justifies my “love child” claim, I recommend diving deep into the range’s interior. 

On a 57-mile trip from the Queens River Trailhead, penetrating an area that’s a solid two days’ walk from the nearest roads, a friend and I saw some of the prettiest and loneliest mountain lakes of the dozens that grace the Sawtooths, and lonely valleys framed by endless rows of jagged peaks.

See my story “Going After Goals: Backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooths at The Big Outside.

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High Uintas Wilderness

The first hint at the solitude we’d enjoy on a nearly 50-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas (including an optional eight-mile dayhike of Kings Peak, highest in Utah) came at the trailhead, where there were a grand total of two cars. We didn’t see another person until the second evening in camp, on a pretty mountain lake we had to ourselves, when two hikers passed by and one remarked, “Well, there are other people out here!” Our third day passed without encountering another human and we had a campsite for two nights in an 11,000-foot basin ringed by 13,000-foot peaks with no one in sight.

And during an unusual window of good weather in early October 2024, my 24-year-old son and I backpacked nearly 60 miles, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail, enjoying 12,000-foot alpine passes and vast lake basins, great camps with stunning sunsets, night skies with the Milky Way glowing brilliantly—and a degree of solitude found only when hiking deep into big wilderness.

See my stories “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness,” “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in Utah at The Big Outside.

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Northern Yosemite

Yosemite exceeds expectations in many ways, including that its reputation for crowds simply doesn’t square with the reality of backpacking throughout most of the park. On an 87-mile trek through northern Yosemite (shorter variations are possible), a friend and I crossed three remote, 10,000-foot passes; wandered through rock gardens in canyons beneath 12,000-foot peaks; camped on a lake’s sandy beach that looked like it was transplanted from southern California; hiked up a canyon resembling Yosemite Valley but twice as long and without the roads, buildings, and crowds; and stood on a summit known for “the best 360 in Yosemite.”

And every day, we walked for hours without seeing another person. When you’re ready to explore as deeply into the Yosemite backcountry as a person can wander, head north of Tuolumne Meadows into the park’s biggest, loneliest wilderness.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” my e-book to that trip, “The Best Remote and Uncrowded Backpacking Trip in Yosemite,” plus “How to Get a Yosemite or High Sierra Wilderness Permit,” “Backpacking Yosemite: What You Need to Know,” and all stories about backpacking in Yosemite National Park at The Big Outside—including my story about another trip that offered a surprising amount of solitude, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

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Within minutes of starting our hike north on the Pacific Crest Trail from Harts Pass in Washington’s Pasayten Wilderness, one truth quickly crystallizes: This northernmost section of the PCT stays true to its middle name—Crest. A well-maintained footpath, it traces a long ridgeline for miles, gently rising and dipping with the contours of the land but never falling off the mountains. Luckily for us, the PCT’s excellent condition probably saves us from injuring ourselves tripping and falling as we keep panning our eyes over classic North Cascades panoramas of endless, jagged ridges stretching to far horizons.

Having arrived here in the first week of September—a glorious time to walk through the Cascade Range—by our first afternoon, we lose count of the number of PCT thru-hikers we pass (or rather: who pass us). Easy to spot for their ultralight packs, blazing pace, and outward appearance of living estranged from civilization for a very long time, they’re blasting through the final miles of a months-long journey from Mexico to Canada. After tagging the border, they must backtrack more than 30 “bonus” miles to the trailhead and road at Harts Pass and hitch a ride to the nearest town—where they’ll undoubtedly draw more than the average person’s joy from a long, hot shower, perhaps an entire pizza or similar caloric feast, and a bed.

Nearly all are friendly—though, to a person, they all make clear they are done with the trail and ready to be off it. As we all filter water from the one flowing creek we’ll see along roughly 10 miles of the PCT this entire day, one fit, young thru-hiking couple says to us, laughingly repeating words they have obviously recited together many times already: “Just say ‘no’ to thru-hiking.”

My wife, Penny, our friend Jeff Wilhelm, and I are on a much shorter and very different journey: a five-day, 44.3-mile loop from Harts Pass, following the PCT on a long, high walk north for about 20 miles, then looping back to Harts Pass via much less-traveled trails that descend into a river valley and ascend a long, rugged ridge on an often-steep trail with taxing ups and downs.

Despite the number of thru-hikers we will run into on our first two days out here, it never feels too busy: For most of our time walking the PCT, we’re quite alone, even in what must be one of this section’s busiest weeks of the year. Once we turn off the PCT, our route will gift us with a sampling of the remoteness and solitude we expect in the Pasayten—plus an almost continuous stream of those classic North Cascades vistas.

And rather than testing our resolve to finish this hike—the apparent challenge facing several thru-hikers we meet—these five days will only whet our appetites to explore more of the Pasayten Wilderness.

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North of Harts Pass, the PCT seesaws through named mountain passes that seem to materialize every few miles—four of them, Buffalo, Windy, Foggy, and Jim on our first day—without big climbs and descents. Between the passes, we walk through quiet forest and cross sprawling meadows that have passed their wildflower peak. Scudding clouds dash across the sky faster than the thru-hikers on the ground.

Not surprisingly on a high, ridgeline trail, we find little water. After filling every bladder, bottle, and water bag we’re carrying at the one creek we find today, I get ahead of Penny and Jeff and reach a handful of established, trailside campsites protected in forest.

Nearby, one backpacker stands alone outside his tent. Not wanting to pass up this spot, I say to him, “We’re going to stay here, hope you don’t mind.” He waves off my concern about imposing on his solitude, giving me a thumbs-up. As dusk looms, a thru-hiker rolls in and asks whether there’s space available. We point to a spot 20 feet away and he grabs it. By nightfall, at least three more solo thru-hikers stop to camp, all of them returning from the Canadian border. All will be gone by the time the three of us crawl from our tents early in the morning.

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The Pacific Crest Trail to Rock Pass

We begin our second day with a few hours of hiking mostly through quiet forest on a 1,000-foot descent to Holman Pass, the air cool enough that we start the day wearing jackets. Crossing the open terrain of an old burn, we can see surrounding peaks whose names we don’t know without looking at a map—and even then, we don’t recognize any of the names. Even to many avid backpackers, the Pasayten’s vast wilderness remains mostly anonymous, a mystery.

After eating lunch in the pass—where a few more PCT thru-hikers cruise through on their way to or returning from the border; we’ll see several of them today, but fewer than yesterday—we start the uphill hike to Rock Pass. The PCT slowly emerges from forest to broad meadows rolling toward grassy mountainsides, cliffs, and rocky, abrupt summits. The trail rises onto the south face of Holman Peak’s west ridge, contouring above treeline, where we gaze across the compact valley draining Canyon Creek to the cliffs and jagged crown of 7,830-foot Skull Mountain and south to a sea of blue waves of mountains.

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Near 6,500-foot Rock Pass, a bit over eight miles from our first camp, we find a small meadow out of sight of the trail with space for our two tents—and tonight, no one else around. Then Jeff and I carry all of our bladders, bottles, and water bags to find a reportedly reliable spring just south of Woody Pass—more than a mile-and-a-half from our camp. It turns out to be harder to find than we expect.

After searching for about an hour, inspecting every campsite along the PCT before Woody Pass (all of them, I notice, unoccupied in late afternoon) and finding no water, I look down into a meadow basin well off the trail and tell Jeff, “I think I can see small pools down there.” Walking down to check, I find several pools, so Jeff joins me and we filter 10 liters of water to carry back—strolling into camp three hours after we departed on our water run.

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Rock Creek Trail

After a night of seeing the Milky Way ablaze across the dark sky, we awaken to another bluebird day, milder than yesterday morning. After packing up camp, Jeff and I make a 45-minute, up-and-down hike 300 vertical feet and nearly a half-mile up onto a shoulder of Holman Peak, east of Rock Pass, where we get a broader panorama of mountains reaching in every direction and see numerous distant, spiky peaks in North Cascades National Park to the south.

Descending the north side of Rock Pass—a magnificent stretch of the PCT—the three of us hike to the junction with Rock Creek Trail 473 below Woody Pass. No sign marks it and the trail could easily be mistaken for a side path to a campsite; but our GPS apps confirm our location.

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The upper mile or so of the Rock Creek Trail gives us no warning of its horrible condition farther ahead—but we encounter the first blowdowns before too long.

At first, they’re sporadic. By the time we start running into multiple piles of trees down atop and across one another, we’ve gone far enough to not consider turning back. But the frequency of blowdowns keeps increasing, reaching a point where it feels like a relief when we get to walk at least a hundred feet between episodes of clambering over more downed trees across the trail. (The next day, we will meet a trail worker who tells us Trail 473 had been cleared of blowdowns the summer before and it gets maintained every other year. Our timing was simply unlucky.)

Penny trips at one point and badly twists her ankle. Fortunately, it’s a minute from a cold creek, where she sits and soaks the swelling sprain for as long as she can bear the frigid water and it undoubtedly helps minimize the swelling. She announces that she can get her boot back on and hike; and there’s little choice, with no obvious place to camp in the rugged terrain along this trail. So we push on.

Over the five or six hours we’re on the seven-mile-long Rock Creek Trail, we must bushwhack around, climb over, or crawl under trees—repeatedly taking off our backpacks to pass them over or under a downed tree—well over 50 times to get around probably 100 or more trees. It’s a misery, a purgatory. By the time we reach the trail’s bottom end, we’re wasted. We stop at the first possible campsite we come across, a short walk from the West Fork Pasayten River.

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Buckskin Ridge

We awaken on our fourth morning to the sound of raindrops drumming softly on the tent, the shower lasting a couple of hours, with the rain stopping as we start hiking. Penny’s right ankle has turned purple overnight and developed a lump the size of a kiwi; but she reports that she can hike on it. 

Not far up Buckskin Ridge Trail 498, we meet three backpackers coming down. One says they camped at Buckskin Lake the night before. He also reveals cryptically that the previous day’s hike—what awaits us today—“was a workout.” That will prove to be a theatrical understatement. As if to convince us that yesterday wasn’t so hard, today morphs into the trip’s most strenuous day of hiking as we backpack most of Buckskin Ridge, some 11 miles with nearly one-third of the entire trip’s vertical gain and loss packed into one day—more of it uphill than down.

There’s one other fact about that short conversation with those three backpackers that stands out, though it won’t become known to us until much later: They’re the last people we’ll see out here until the last couple of hours of our trip—and we’ll end up having had three of our four campsites entirely to ourselves, with no other parties within sight or earshot. (But that makes sense to me because this hike and the Pasayten itself check off at least half of the tips in my “12 Expert Tips for Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”)

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We make a 2,000-foot climb spread out over nearly six miles to a very windy Buckskin Lake, in a forested bowl below cliffs and green mountainsides. We fill up on water and continue uphill to a pass at 7,300 feet an d another panorama of mountains stretching as far as we can see in every direction. Under gray clouds, harassed by a cold wind, we pause for a quick bite and move on.

See all stories about backpacking in the North Cascades region at The Big Outside.

Gear Tips Trekking poles are indispensable for this route’s steep descents and ascents. See my picks for “The Best Trekking Poles” and my stories “How to Choose Trekking Poles” and “10 Best Expert Tips for Hiking With Trekking Poles.” Many backpackers will find the backpacking boots or shoes they normally use will be fine on most Pasayten Wilderness trails; see all of my reviews of hiking shoes and my “8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking.”

The Gear I Used See my reviews of the outstanding backpack, tent, down jacket, sleeping bag, air mattress, headlamp, and water bag I used on this trip.

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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”
“24 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories”
“The Best Base Layers, Shorts and Socks for Hiking, Running, and Training”
“The 10 Best Down Jackets”

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews at my Gear Reviews page.

See all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside, including these:

“How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking”
“8 Pro Tips for Preventing Blisters When Hiking”
“5 Tips For Staying Warm and Dry While Hiking”
“7 Pro Tips For Keeping Your Backpacking Gear Dry”

“Lots of bears at Grizzly Creek.”

Those words that a backcountry ranger spoke to me over the phone just yesterday echo through our heads now, as my friend Todd Arndt and I descend switchbacks from misleadingly named, 6,500-foot Easy Pass into the densely forested valley of Fisher Creek in Washington’s North Cascades National Park. Fog swirls around the jagged peaks nearly a vertical mile above us. Battleship-gray skies threaten a common meteorological occurrence in these mountains—rain—although we’ve seen only sprinkles and wind so far. We’re hiking downhill past ripe huckleberry bushes toward a thicket of slide alder and chest-high brush that the trail passes through—ideal bear habitat.

“That’s where they’ll be,” I say to Todd. Without taking his eyes off that tangle of alder and tall brush, Todd just says, “Yup.”

Although Grizzly Creek, our third night’s campsite, lies more than 30 trail miles and two hiking days from here, it’s much closer than the circuitous trail route to it suggests. Grizzly Creek itself begins its downhill journey on the other side of the 7,000-foot ridge forming the southern edge of Fisher Creek Basin—the fortress of cliffs and pinnacles we’re gazing up at in awe now. The campsite where we’ll sleep two nights hence only sits about five straight-line miles from where we stand.

That ranger, of course, meant black bears when she warned me about the healthy bruin population at Grizzly Creek. And in most of the U.S. West, the word “grizzly” in a place name serves as a melancholy tombstone for a degree of wildness lost long ago.

But in the North Cascades, that name delivers an ice-water-in-the-face reminder that North America’s apex predator still stalks these mountains.

5 Days in the North Cascades

It’s our first afternoon of a five-day backpacking trip in one of the most uncrowded, rugged, and wild national parks in the contiguous United States—and a personal favorite of mine, for all of those reasons: North Cascades. Our 80-mile route will cross four mountain passes, traversing from the rainforest west of the Cascade Crest—where up to 120 inches of precipitation falls annually—to the park’s drier and sunnier east side.

It will take us from deep in one of America’s most primeval and ancient forests to sub-alpine views of the most heavily glaciated peaks in the Lower 48. While we’ll spend most of our time within the national park—nearly all of which is designated as the Stephen Mather Wilderness, more than 600,000 acres named in honor of the first director of the National Park Service—we’ll also spend parts of two days in the Lake Chelan National Recreation Area, one of the three units of the North Cascades National Park Complex and part of the Stephen Mather Wilderness.

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I’ve backpacked, climbed, and dayhiked in mountains with many more grizzlies than the North Cascades, from Glacier National Park to the Canadian Rockies and Alaska. (I had my closest griz encounter in Glacier, with a sow and two cubs at a distance of about 30 feet—and you don’t want to get between a sow griz and her cubs.) The truth is, we really aren’t likely to see a griz here. Federal managers speculate that fewer than 20 grizzly bears reside in the roughly 10,000-square-mile area that includes North Cascades National Park and adjacent wilderness and national forests, a region with enough food sources, habitat, and rugged backcountry for bears to thrive and follow their best survival strategy: hiding from humans.

While grizzly sightings are rare, they’re out there: In October 2010, a hiker photographed a grizzly from a distance in North Cascades National Park, and federal biologists confirmed it—the first confirmed sighting in the North Cascades since 1996.

I don’t harbor an irrational fear of bears. I know they generally avoid humans. But as Todd and I stroll into chest-high brush where big, vicious apex predators would be lurking if they were anywhere in the neighborhood, I’m reminded how such circumstances tend to focus the mind of even the most rational hikers.

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The Most Rugged and Snowy Mountains

We’ve come in the last week of September, so it was pleasantly cool as we set out this morning on the Easy Pass Trail—a relentless uphill grind of nearly 3,000 vertical feet in 3.5 miles, about which the only “easy” aspect is soaking up the view from the pass while giving your legs and lungs a well-earned rest. Hardly breaking a sweat in the cool temps, we gorged on wild huckleberries growing trailside, a surprise treat so late in the season, and took in the fall color infusing the landscape—the purple of the huckleberry leaves and yellow of the larch trees, a conifer whose needles change color in autumn.

At Easy Pass, we separated our bear canisters from our backpacks and stashed them in a copse of conifers and bushes about a hundred feet apart. (See my tips on that in “The Fine Art of Stashing a Backpack in the Woods.”) Taking just a water bottle and jacket each, we started hiking off-trail uphill over steep heather and grass and loose stones. Several hundred vertical feet above Easy Pass on its north side, at the crest of Ragged Ridge, we stopped to look around. Ghost-like silhouettes of pointed peaks stabbed into the clouds that swirled thickly around us. Several miles to the southwest, the cliffs and glaciers of 9,087-foot Mount Logan, fourth-highest in the park and among the 10 highest non-volcanic peaks in Washington, are lost in the gray gumbo of clouds.

Extreme weather and terrain collaborate to make the North Cascades one of the least-accessible corners of the country. Imagine a remote range in Alaska plunked down within a few hours’ drive of Seattle. Maps of Washington Territory in 1860 labeled these mountains “unexplored.” Not until 1906 was even a small piece of what is now North Cascades National Park mapped. One surveyor’s observation at the time rings true a century later: “The region… is very rough and mountainous; consisting of deep, impassable gorges, lofty divides and snow-capped peaks. … There is not an acre adapted to agriculture.” I’ve read that the North Cascades have more peaks that rise 3,000 feet in the last horizontal mile to their summits than any other mountain range on Earth, and that at least 77 peaks stand more than 6,000 feet above adjacent valleys. Few places on the planet exact as hard a physical toll on hikers and climbers as these mountains.

Today, just one road crosses an area the size of Yellowstone (which has several roads): WA 20, the North Cascades Highway. Completed in 1972—40 years after Trail Ridge Road was built across Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park and Going-to-the-Sun Road across Montana’s Glacier National Park—the most-direct route from Seattle to east-side towns like Winthrop and Twisp closes each winter because of avalanches.

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Despite most summits here falling short of 9,000 feet—less than two-thirds the height of dozens of Rockies and High Sierra peaks—the so-called “American Alps” get snow like Nevada gets smokers carrying rolls of quarters. The ski area at Mount Baker averages 650 inches of white stuff a year and holds the title of Earth’s snowiest locale for the world-record 1,140 inches—that’s 95 feet—that fell during the winter of 1998-1999. Copious snowfall and northerly latitudes nurture 60 percent of all the glaciers in the contiguous United States—more than 700 between Snoqualmie Pass on-I 90 and the Canadian border. That snow feeds about 240 alpine lakes and innumerable waterfalls and, yes, cascades.

Tragically, climate change is rapidly melting the ancient ice formerly known as “permanent.” In interviewing researchers for my book about my family’s adventures in national parks facing the severe impacts of the warming climate, I learned that of 756 glaciers identified in the North Cascades by the U.S. Geological Survey in 1971, 53 had disappeared by 2006. The North Cascades Glacier Climate Project has monitored the health of 47 glaciers since 1967, and the National Park Service watches another four, the most extensive research of its kind in the world.

Their data suggests bleak prospects for rivers of ice that have existed here for possibly more than 16,000 years: 70 percent of North Cascades glaciers will likely be gone by mid-century.

Todd and I follow the Fisher Creek Trail’s gentle downhill angle through a quiet, ancient forest of Douglas fir, hemlock, and Western red cedar trees so tall we can’t see their crowns; some bulge to eight or 10 feet in diameter at the ground level. These trees grow so big that early settlers would sometimes make homes out of hollow stumps just by building roofs over them. A thick wig of moss carpets everything: boulders, rotting trunks of downed trees, even the ground itself on both sides of the path. Lace, maidenhair, bracken, oak and other ferns grow so densely we rarely catch a glimpse of dirt.

When we stop for a moment, drinking up the silence, I tell Todd, quite sincerely, “I feel so relaxed here.” He responds: “It’s incredibly peaceful.”

Get the best gear. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 7 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents.”

Good Eats We had good meals at the Old Schoolhouse Brewery (good beer, too), at 155 Riverside Ave., and East 20 Pizza, at 720 Highway 20 South, both in Winthrop.

Lodging We spent the nights before and after our hike in a two-bedroom suite at the Freestone Inn at Wilson Ranch in Mazama, with very comfortable rooms and excellent food. freestoneinn.com.

Contact North Cascades National Park, (360) 854-7200, nps.gov/noca. Wilderness Information Center, (360) 854-7245. Cascade Loop Scenic Highway, cascadeloop.com.

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Some places just find their way into your heart and stick there. I fell in love with the entire North Cascades region of Washington on my first trip to the Glacier Peak Wilderness more than 20 years ago. I’ve returned several times since to backpack and climb, but the five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop really stands out for its scenery and adventure, as you’ll see in this photo gallery.

Backpacking this loop, my family and three friends enjoyed five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it. Not only were spots like Spider Meadows and Spider Gap, the Upper Lyman Lakes basin, Image Lake, and the area around Buck Creek Pass absolutely stunning, but this trip produced one campsite that made my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites and two camps that made my list of the nicest campsites I’ve hiked past.

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

It also harbors one of my favorite backcountry lakes that I have seen over more than three decades of backpacking all over the U.S., including 10 years as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and many years running this blog.

Plus, this hike has a little spice: the off-trail route over 7,100-foot Spider Gap, which holds snow all summer and can be challenging, depending on the firmness of the snow and the skill level of the backpackers. But when done smartly, it’s relatively easy: We took our young kids over Spider Gap without any issues. I can advise you on how to do that right while helping you plan this trip; see my Custom Trip Planning page for details.

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See my feature story about this trip, “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” which has many more photos. Reading that story in full, including my expert tips to help you plan this trip, requires a paid subscription.

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I just stumbled upon The Big Outside! Wow! Amazing! Thank you for it! I LOVE it!

We have two girls, ages 11 and 9. Our first “major” backpacking trip last year was to Olympic National Park. Covered 30 miles in 8 days. Obstruction Point to Moose Lake, Third Beach to Toleak, and Graves Creek to O’Neil. What a trip! Each girl carried about 10 pounds and my husband and I each about 40 pounds. This trip took three to four months of planning. We fell in love with the Pacific Northwest.

Unfortunately, I dropped the ball this year in planning another fantastic westward-bound trip. I am scrambling to put something together. I am looking at North Cascades, primarily because they do not accept online reservations—first come, first served.

I would like any recommendations for this area. Interested in a loop but doesn’t necessarily have to be. We just love the mountains, old-growth forests, lakes, wildflowers, etc. Not interested in camping on top of mountains. Thought we could definitely do a 4- to 5-day trip, or hike in, spend a few nights, hike out and do another section. We are flying in on a Sunday, so hoping for good luck obtaining a permit since it is during week, instead of a weekend.

Thank you and hike on!

Jennifer
Cincinnati

Hi Jennifer,

Thanks for writing and for the nice words about The Big Outside, I’m glad you enjoy it.

Good on your family for doing such an ambitious first backpacking trip in Olympic National Park! My family has also backpacked the southern Olympic coast, and my wife and I (before kids) backpacked a five-day loop in the northeast corner of the Olympic Mountains (which is much drier than the west side) from Obstruction Peak to Deer Park, Gray Wolf Pass, Lost Pass, Cameron Pass, Grand Pass and Grand Lake, which I recommend when your kids are ready for something a little more rugged.

I’m also a big fan of the Pacific Northwest. (I was Backpacker magazine’s Northwest Editor for many years.) You’re planning a trip to one of my favorite mountain ranges, the North Cascades, where I’ve dayhiked, backpacked, and climbed numerous times. It’s pretty rugged and there aren’t many multi-day loop options, although there are almost-loops that are pretty long. But there are trails I’m familiar with that would be good choices for your family, I think.

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We backpacked with our kids, when they were nine and seven, from Hannegan Trailhead, which is just outside the park’s northwest corner, about 3.5 miles to a backcountry campsite called Hannegan Camp, which is in the national forest and doesn’t require a permit. About a half-mile or less before Hannegan Pass, it’s a nice spot where the kids played in a small creek and we had views of Ruth Mountain. On a weeknight, you probably wouldn’t find that camp full. We used it as a base camp for dayhikes up to Hannegan Pass and Hannegan Peak (one mile and 1,200 feet above Hannegan Pass via a pretty good trail with excellent views); and out-and-back partway onto Copper Ridge, a rolling, alpine ridge with spectacular views of the North Cascades and Mount Shuksan. We were there in mid-summer 2010 and there was a lot of snow in some places. There’s also a user trail, not shown on maps but pretty good, from Hannegan Pass leading south across alpine terrain to the snowy slopes of Ruth Mountain (which I skied some years back with friends in late July!). All three side hikes from Hannegan Camp are really scenic with a quick payoff of views.

The full backpacking loop of Copper Ridge and the Chilliwack River Trail from Hannegan Trailhead is a more rugged and strenuous loop of some 34 miles, which I’ve long wanted to do, but we didn’t attempt with our kids on that trip because of its length, the time we had, and the amount of snow still on the ground then.

One of the most popular hikes in North Cascades National Park is Cascade Pass, 3.1 miles one-way and 1,800 feet from the trailhead at the end of Cascade River Road (outside Marblemount). I’ve hiked to the pass a few times, including once with our kids when they were two and about four months. From Cascade Pass, you can continue another 2.2 miles and 1,800 feet on the trail up Sahale Arm to Sahale Glacier Camp at 7,200 feet, one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites ever. It’s a rugged hike and very exposed to bad weather, but a wonderful spot with amazing views and a chance of seeing mountain goats. You can break up the ascent over two days by spending the first night in Pelton Basin camp, just beyond Cascade Pass, then hiking to Sahale Glacier Camp from there on day two. I give more tips on that trip in this Ask Me post.

You should also see this story about hikes in North Cascades National Park, which offers more details about Cascade Pass/Sahale Arm, Hannegan Peak, and another good possibility for your family, the Heather Pass-Maple Pass Loop, which you should save for a nice day and later summer, when most of the snow has melted off.

Another kid-friendly trip to consider in Olympic National Park, which you may still be able to get a permit for, is Royal Basin, also in the park’s northeast corner. I backpacked there by myself once; it’s gorgeous. You actually begin outside the national park boundary, on the Dungeness River Trail, where you don’t need a permit to camp within the first mile in one of the nice, established sites on the river, amid big trees. Royal Lake is a beautiful spot ringed by peaks, about eight steadily rising (never steep) miles from the Dungeness River Trailhead via the Royal Basin Trail. Spend two nights at Royal Lake, and on your free day hike the unmaintained, user trail heading south from the lake less than a mile up into Royal Basin; the trail isn’t shown on maps, but it’s a pretty good path into the alpine zone with lots of wildflowers, some small tarns for playing and a swim on a hot day, and an arc of rocky peaks. You can also follow a faint and steep use path that leads to a pass between Mount Deception and Mount Fricaba overlooking Deception Basin, a spectacular and remote cirque. I didn’t descend into that basin, but it looked quite steep and rugged.

I hope that’s helpful. Let me know how your trip goes. Get in touch anytime and thanks again for following The Big Outside.

Best,
Michael

Michael,

My sincere thanks for responding to my email. You are full of information. I hope your website gets more families like mine to become more adventurous.

Since I last wrote, we have decided to tackle the Cascade Pass Trail you described and do the Sahale Glacier. We spoke with the ranger there and it should be no problem to do that since we will be backpacking in the area for five days. He said one of those five days we should be able to score the site. We will also spend some time in San Juan Islands and have hired a guide to take us kayaking/camping with the orcas and sea life. However, I always like to have plan B, so I will check out your suggestions with Hannegan and Copper Ridge. I bought the Falcon Guide, Hiking in the North Cascades, by Erik Molvar, which should educate me more on the hikes.

I certainly will let you know how this trip fares. It should be epic just like last year’s trip. I am “on the ball” now and am looking into the Grand Tetons for next year! So little time, so many awesome adventures to be had!

Many thanks!
Jennifer

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—Michael Lanza

I step one foot from the dry rock onto the snow and find it frozen solid on this chilly early morning in late July. Ahead of me, a line of boot tracks, undoubtedly created yesterday afternoon, after sunshine and warm temperatures had softened the snow, leads up to Spider Gap. Below me, this broad, hooked finger of white ice undulates downhill like a frozen water slide—one that runs for hundreds of feet between high walls of stone and ends not in a big, deep pool, but on rocks.

This isn’t a water slide with any commercial potential.

Very slowly and carefully, I shift my weight onto the boot that’s planted on the frozen snow, lift my other foot from dry rock, and step forward into the next, hard-frozen boot print. Then I take another step forward.

I want to reach Spider Gap to assess the wisdom of hiking with my wife and our kids, age 12 and 10, over this pass later this morning. I’ve skirted most of this dangerously firm snow by hiking along the mostly snow-free ridge on one side of it. But cliffs now block that route. Just a few hundred horizontal feet of frozen water slide separate me from the pass. It looks close, anyway.

One cautious step at a time, my feet find minimal purchase in each slick, frozen boot print. Within minutes, I’m dozens of steps from the safety of dry rock, focused on balancing, keenly aware of how much I don’t want to slip and fall. Fortunately, I’ve walked on firmly frozen snow many times; and these boot prints are just deep enough to feel like I won’t slip out of them.

But then, I’ve been wrong before.

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Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop

With my family and three other friends—all asleep in our campsite, now some two miles and 1,800 feet in elevation below me, when I left there early this morning—I’ve come to backpack the five-day, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness. Actually not quite a loop—the starting and finishing trailheads are a 15-minute drive apart—it has been on my to-do list for several years. Having backpacked and scrambled peaks in this area, I know we’ll get five-star views of Glacier Peak and the sea of lower, jagged mountains surrounding it. Plus, this route has earned a reputation among Pacific Northwest backpackers for scenery and a somewhat more adventurous flavor than many backpacking trips—which helps keep the crowds down.

The latter character comes mostly from the stretch I’m inching through right now. The route over Spider Gap does not follow any maintained trail. It holds snow all summer, and the descent off the steeper, north side of the gap can be challenging, depending on the firmness of the snow and the skill level of the backpackers.

With relief, I reach dry ground at Spider Gap, at 7,100 feet, and look down the north side. While the first couple hundred feet look moderately steep, the angle eases back quite a bit below that. I can see a way to get the kids down it safely—once the snow has softened up under the July sun, as it should by the time we start up the currently frozen snow on the south side.

Less than an hour later, I stroll back into our campsite to find everyone making breakfast: my wife, Penny, our son, Nate, and daughter, Alex, and our friends Larry Gies of Seattle and Jeff Wilhelm and his 21-year-old daughter, Jasmine, of Boise. I give them two thumbs up about our prospects of making it over Spider Gap—even though it could be a little adventurous. But that’s what we anticipated when planning this backpacking trip, when we contemplated—as we occasionally find ourselves doing—the gray area between taking kids on inspiring wilderness adventures and making sure you don’t place them in harm’s way.

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Spider Meadow and Spider Gap

Our hike began yesterday on a trail our kids have seen before and remember nothing about.

Nate was a couple months shy of his third birthday and Alex was four months old the first time we hiked the Phelps Creek Trail. With friends who live in Leavenworth, we pushed baby joggers as far as the beginning of Spider Meadow before turning back. On that day, a big, furry, old marmot perched atop a boulder in the meadows, looking down on us like the king of the Cascade Range. I remember Nate staring at it, fascinated. He doesn’t remember it, of course. Still, I think that’s the kind of early experience that creates a positive association with the outdoors for kids, building a bank of good feelings that helps them look forward to getting outside as they get older.

Another gorgeous day gets underway as we start the steep hike up to Spider Gap. The sun warms us from a flawlessly blue sky, with a temperature around 70° F and a slight breeze. Within minutes after leaving our campsite in a big clearing, we pass the signed trail junction pointing left for Spider Gap and Lyman Lake and right to Phelps Basin.

Last night, after dinner, some of us had walked the 15 minutes up to Phelps Basin. Alpenglow lit up the cliffs and spires ringing the cirque. A creek crashed loudly through a boulder-strewn valley bottom sprinkled with wildflowers and lushly green with brush and heather. Two tents already occupied the small campsites there.

In the wind rushing down forcefully from the cirque headwall above us, Alex turned to me and said, “It’s weird to think some people never see places like this.” I agreed with her—it’s very weird.

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Phelps Basin earned a place on my list of the best backcountry campsites I’ve missed out on. As it happens, an hour later on our second day, shortly before reaching the start of the snow finger below Spider Gap, we pass another occupied campsite overlooking Spider Meadow that I added to that list, too—an indicator of the kind of scenery you find along the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop.

The hot sun reflects intensely off the snow, but a breeze helps cool us as we start the climb to Spider Gap. As I expected, the snow has softened on top enough that we’re in no imminent danger of taking a big slide on the fairly low-angle snow finger. Still, I let Nate kick steps for us up the sun-cupped snow mainly so I can follow right behind him in case he falls and slides, and I ask Larry to trail Alex. But the kids have no trouble with it.

Penny and I have had that conversation about acceptable risk levels with our kids when deciding on several past trips; a few that come immediately to mind are sea kayaking in Alaska’s Glacier Bay and backpacking the Gunsight Pass Trail in the grizzly country of Glacier National Park, both when our kids were nine and seven, and descending a technical slot canyon in Capitol Reef National Park when the kids were 11 and nine. It’s not always easy making those judgments; the wilderness harbors some dangers. We try to assess the risks objectively and err on the side of caution, while also trying to satisfy the desire we all have to see beautiful places and seek a little thrill.

It’s a tricky balance to achieve. But we usually find that by the time we decide our kids are ready, physically and emotionally, for some challenge, they are actually more than ready for it. (See my story “Are You Ready For That New Outdoors Adventure? 5 Questions to Ask Yourself.”)

Upper Lyman Lakes

We reach Spider Gap by early afternoon and start down the north side, where the snow has received less direct sun and is firmer but not frozen hard. I kick steps and guide the kids, one at a time, through about 100 vertical feet of the steepest snow, and walk with them across some scree to avoid more snow. Then the angle eases and we all walk casually down an expansive snowfield into the basin of the Upper Lyman Lakes.

Nate and Alex glissade on their boots, their smiles speaking volumes about how pleased they are with themselves for being capable of crossing a pass like Spider Gap. As is often the case, the most challenging part of the trip becomes the thing that my kids get the most excited about.

Before us spreads a cirque released from the tomb of glacial ice only in recent decades, leaving terrain still mostly barren of vegetation. What remains of the fast-receding Lyman Glacier pours down the cliffs of Chiwawa Mountain into a lake brilliantly emerald green with glacial flour—rock pulverized to fine powder by eons of slowly shifting ice. Snow and bare rock evenly divvy up the mountainsides. Water liberated by summer barrels downhill through the tiers of the three Upper Lyman Lakes. Alex walks with me, lightly dancing over the loose scree that slides out from under our boots.

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Just as the kids are growing tired, we pick up Trail 1256B and follow it across glacial moraine and through patches of fir trees to an idyllic campsite on a grass-covered knoll. We have an unimpaired view of the entire basin, including Spider Gap now more than a thousand feet above us. (The view earned this site a spot on my list of 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.) Wind keeps the abundant and tenacious mosquitoes and horseflies down—for now.

Late afternoon, all the boys—Jeff, Larry, Nate, and me—walk down to the outlet creek pouring from the upper lakes. Beside a small waterfall, we all strip down and leap into the water, which is no more than a few degrees above freezing, having sprung from the glacier and snowfields just a half-mile from our pool. Nate lets out a belly laugh after we both jump in together and surface, our heads throbbing from the frigid bath. Clambering out of the water onto the sun-warmed rocks above the pool, he sits beside me and throws an arm around my shoulder, and I wrap one around him, both of us still laughing and . When we return to camp gushing about how good it felt, Penny and Alex head down to take their own freezing swim.

That evening, as dusk falls and we’re getting ready to turn in to the tents, I see Nate returning from the outhouse. He stops and looks into the dark trees; when I call his name, he shushes me with a finger to his lips, then points to a deer grazing 10 feet from him. Throughout the night, several deer, including two bucks with impressive racks, will wander through our campsite grazing. Watching them from our tent door, Nate gives me a play-by-play account of their every movement until we fall asleep.

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Image Lake

As we’re eating breakfast and packing up camp at Upper Lyman Lakes, on our trip’s third morning, the mosquitoes form thick clouds around us—some of the thickest I’ve ever seen. Penny tells Larry, who’s been hiking and climbing in the Cascades for more than three decades, that she doesn’t remember seeing so many skeeters on past trips. Larry and I respond simultaneously with the same words: “It’s that time of year.” The Cascades are named for the many waterfalls that dot this landscape, but they’re also home to hundreds of lakes, where mosquitoes breed prolifically and haunt humans and animals until late summer.

The Cascades spend most of each year buried in snow. Mount Baker Ski Area averages 650 inches of snow a year and holds the world record for snowfall in one winter: 1,140 inches, or 95 feet, in the winter of 1998-1999. The copious snowfall that enables those waterfalls, lakes, and mosquitoes also nurtures one of the most prolific and colorful wildflower displays in the country. And in late July, it’s just hitting stride.

We follow the Pacific Crest Trail through meadows riotous with flowers, climbing steadily to 6,438-foot Cloudy Pass, which today, fortunately, betrays its name. In every direction, we look out over row after row of jagged spires and rocky peaks, some covered in snow and glacial ice.

By 2 p.m., we find a campsite just off Trail 785, minutes west of its junction with the PCT, downhill from Suiattle Pass. We’ve stopped here deliberately to make a side trip that we don’t want to pass up.

That evening, Larry, Jeff, Jasmine and I set out with only water, jackets, and cameras, following Trail 785 west through dense, quiet forest and climbing through switchbacks. The trail emerges from forest and traverses a vast mountainside meadow riddled with marmot burrows and carpeted in wildflowers in full bloom. Marmots stand up ramrod straight in the entrance holes to their burrows, like soldiers in the open hatches of tanks, staring at us.

To the south, across the deep valley of Miners Creek and, beyond it, the even deeper, green trench of the Suiattle River Valley, Glacier Peak wears a heavy cloak of snow and several glaciers, towering above an endless sea of mountains. The most remote Cascade volcano, a hermit mountain, Glacier Peak secludes itself deep in the wilderness. You have to invest some effort and time into enjoying a view like this one.

It’s the very kind of scenery that made me fall in love with the North Cascades the first time I visited them 20 years ago.

We reach Image Lake, a calm gem tucked into a little mountainside bowl that gives it the appearance of having a seat at the edge of the world. Glacier Peak appears to rise just above the water and trees, framing thousands of backpackers’ photos. Retracing our route, we watch the sunset paint the thin streaks of cloud and the snow on Glacier Peak a salmon hue, before eventually following our headlamp beams back to camp.

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Note: See also my stories “Exploring the American Alps: The North Cascades,” “My Top 10 Family Adventures,” and “10 Tips For Raising Outdoors-Loving Kids.”

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The wind and horizontal rain battered us and the fog reduced visibility to 50 feet at times as we hiked up Sahale Arm. We struggled into the maelstrom with rain jacket hoods cinched snugly, our heads bent forward into the wind. Bullets of cold rain pelted my cheek. It was mid-July in Washington’s North Cascades National Park, but it felt like mid-October—no surprise in the northernmost and one of the wettest mountain ranges in the contiguous United States, where 110 inches of precipitation falls annually on its western slope. My friend David Ports and I were headed up toward some of the most severely vertical mountain scenery in the country—though that morning, it didn’t look like we’d get treated to any of it.

But the rain mostly stopped by midday, and the overcast began breaking up, leaving just a giant white wave of cloud crashing over Cascade Pass—which we looked down on from our tentsite at Sahale Glacier Camp, at 7,700 feet. The next morning dawned blue overhead, with row upon row of tightly packed pinnacles arrayed before us like soldiers standing at attention with bayoneted rifles pointing skyward. David and I got views so inspirational that he and his wife later gave their newborn daughter the middle name Sahale.

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The North Cascades are one of the wildest, most rugged and spectacular, and least-visited national parks—and after several trips here, one of my favorites. The park supports eight distinct life zones within its 9,000 feet of relief. The range’s sharp profile, extreme relief, extensive glaciation (more than 300 glaciers just within the national park), and year-round snow coverage have earned it the nickname the “American Alps.” But there’s one significant difference between our Alps and the Old World’s: With 93 percent of its nearly 700,000 acres designated as wilderness, and little in the way of human-built infrastructure, North Cascades is managed as one of our most-primitive parks, a huge swath of mountains and deep valleys largely unchanged since the last Ice Age.

There’s a reason so few people come here: It’s a hard place to see much of. Access is limited, with just one road crossing the park, and it’s closed in winter. And for the most part, that road sits at lower elevations, within the forest. Seeing the full grandeur of these mountains—the endless rows of knife-like pinnacles, the lush green valleys shooting up thousands of feet to jagged peaks, the greatest bastion of glaciers in the Lower 48—requires a lot of uphill hiking. But for that entrance fee of substantial sweat, the prize is having some of America’s finest mountain scenery to yourself.

Generations of climbers have explored the North Cascades, and backpackers enjoy its incredible scenery and solitude on multi-day hikes. The terrain makes these mountains challenging to see on dayhikes—but not impossible. This story describes my favorite dayhikes in the park, and one just outside its boundary, ranging from seven to 14 miles, each different in character and well worth a place on your tick list.

Cascade Pass and Sahale Arm

Cascade Pass has seen human footprints for centuries. The area’s native tribes called it “Stehekin,” meaning “the way through,” a name which has stuck to the river draining southeast of the pass and the tiny village near the river’s mouth, at the head of 50-mile-long Lake Chelan. Explorers, trappers, and prospectors tramped over the pass in the 19th century, but enjoyed limited success in exploiting the region’s natural resources, due to its remoteness and harsh climate.

Today, Cascade Pass ranks as the national park’s most popular dayhike, and the reason becomes abundantly clear beginning at the trailhead, where you crane up at waterfalls plunging hundreds off feet off sheer cliffs. At the 5,400-foot pass, you’re overlooking what looks like a violent pile-up of vertical walls and spires. Many hikers don’t go beyond the pass, leaving the best views to those willing to continue following the trail that climbs 2,300 feet and 2.2 miles up Sahale Arm. From this broad ridge littered with wildflowers, you look out over a roiling sea of jagged peaks, including Johannesburg Mountain, Eldorado Peak, Mts. Baker and Shuksan, Glacier Peak—and on a clear day, Mt. Rainier 140 miles to the south.

By the Numbers 7.4 miles and 1,800 feet round-trip to Cascade Pass. Add another 4.4 miles with 2,300 feet of up and down to ascend Sahale Arm to the trail’s end at Sahale Glacier Camp; but the impressive ridge-top views begin well before the camp, and you can turn around at any time.

Getting There From Marblemount on WA 20, follow the Cascade River Road—a gravel road passable for cars—23 miles to its end.

Heather Pass and Maple Pass Loop

Similar in distance and difficulty as the hike to Cascade Pass, this loop delivers more continuous views of the peaks in the park’s northeast corner and the vast Pasayten Wilderness to the east and north. And you don’t spend half the hike retracing your steps. Walking this loop counter-clockwise, for steadily improving scenery (though a steeper descent), you begin in cool forest of enormous fir, hemlock, and spruce trees, where huckleberry bushes line the trail, producing delicious berries in late summer. Columbine sprout their large, colorful flowers in mid-summer along stretches of the trail before it breaks out of the trees above the cirque containing Lake Ann. At about 6,200 feet, Heather Pass, an easy destination 2.3 miles from and a bit over 1,300 feet above the trailhead, offers a great view toward Black Peak and a look at the loop ahead of you.

But the views keep getting better as you cross the steep headwall to the south—on a good trail—to reach Maple Pass at 6,600 feet, with its sweeping panorama of Corteo Peak, Mt. Benzarino, the heart of the park’s Stephen Mather Wilderness to the west, and the Pasayten in the opposite direction. The trail climbs a bit more, following the open ridge separating Lake Ann and Rainy Lake before dropping abruptly back into the forest. In early July, the loop’s higher sections remain mostly snow-covered, making it hard to distinguish the trail but offering much more solitude. Mid-summer delivers a rich display of alpine wildflowers like glacier lilies, paintbrush, lupine, and cinquefoil.

By the Numbers 7.2 miles with 2,000 feet of up and down for the entire loop over Heather Pass and Maple Pass. Add an easy mile for the side trip to Lake Ann.

Getting There Start at the Rainy Pass Trailhead on WA 20, 51 miles east of Marblemount.

Hannegan Peak

The 10.4-mile, 3,100-foot out-and-back hike up 6,187-foot Hannegan Peak is one of the great dayhikes of the North Cascades, being one of the few summits that can be reached on a dayhike and has sweeping panoramas of the Picket Range and the park’s northern peaks. Even just reaching 5,050-foot Hannegan Pass, an eight-mile out-and-back, is a worthwhile objective; the hike up the valley of Ruth Creek is spectacular, weaving in and out of old-growth forest and open areas with views of the serrated Nooksack Ridge and the snow and glacier of Ruth Mountain at the head of the valley.

From Hannegan Pass, a trail leads north 1,100 feet uphill in 1.2 miles to the summit. But within minutes, you’ll emerge from forest with first views of Mt. Shuksan. Climbing higher, you’ll see an expanding sea of jagged peaks. Hannegan Camp, 3.5 miles in (about 20 minutes before Hannegan Pass), is a popular spot for backpackers, as is Copper Ridge beyond Hannegan Pass.

By the Numbers 10.4 miles out and back with 3,100 feet of vertical gain and loss to the summit of Hannegan Peak; eight miles and 2,000 feet just to Hannegan Pass.

Getting There From the Glacier Public Service Center on the Mt. Baker Highway (WA 542), 34 miles east of Bellingham, drive 13 miles farther east on WA 542, then turn left onto Forest Road 32 (Hannegan Pass Road), right before a bridge over the North Fork Nooksack River. Continue 5.3 miles to the end of the road and the Hannegan Pass Trailhead.

Easy Pass

Easy Pass carries an honest name only when placed in the context of the North Cascades: Requiring an ascent of 2,800 feet in 3.5 miles, reaching this gap in Ragged Ridge isn’t exactly an after-lunch stroll downtown. But the vistas pay big dividends for the relative degree of effort.

Climbing through cedar and hemlock forest, the trail crosses Granite Creek on a bridge, then follows quieter Easy Pass Creek up into wildflower meadows below tall cliffs. At the 6,500-foot pass, you overlook massive Mount Logan and its glaciers, Ragged Ridge, Fisher Peak, the Pasayten Wilderness, and the deep, densely forested valley of Fisher Creek, site of one of the last shootings of a grizzly bear in the North Cascades. (Grizzlies are now estimated to number fewer than a dozen here.) Optionally, from the pass, hike off-trail more than 700 feet up the meadow-covered slope to the north, to an unnamed summit on Ragged Ridge with a signature North Cascades view: a 360-degree panorama of snowy, pinnacled, glaciated mountains reaching as far as you can see. Return the way you came.

By the Numbers 7 miles, with 2,800 feet of vertical gain and loss, round-trip to Easy Pass; add a half-mile and 700 feet RT to scramble off-trail onto Ragged Ridge.

Getting There The Easy Pass Trailhead is off WA 20, 45 miles east of Marblemount and six miles west of Rainy Pass.

Crater Mountain

This stout out-and-back tromp to over 7,000 feet on the east ridge of 8,128-foot Crater Mountain comes with some caveats: It’s a butt-kicker that can seem relentless at times, requiring a lot of effort just to gain your first views; it has boggy areas that are thick with mosquitoes; and the trail isn’t always as well-defined as the others described here. But if you’re looking for a rigorous outing, the scenery and wildflowers are spectacular, you’ll see few if any other people, and you’ll get a good, high overview of the Pasayten, and area that’s well worth exploring on a lengthy backpacking trip. Lying on the drier east side of the Cascade crest, Crater is also a good option when rain threatens west-side hikes like Cascade Pass.

Follow Jackita Ridge Trail 738 (with bridged crossings of Granite and Canyon creeks) up through mixed forest with cedars and huckleberries—and many switchbacks—to a junction at 5,300 feet that can be obscured by vegetation. Just before the Jackita Ridge Trail crosses a small stream, turn left onto unmarked Trail 746 to Crater Mountain. Around 5,900 feet, at another trail junction marked only by a cairn (below a dramatic cirque with waterfalls pouring off cliffs), turn right onto a narrow but decent path that ascends through gorgeous wildflower meadows onto the shoulder of Crater Mountain, looking down on the Jerry Glacier and its iceberg-choked meltwater lake. The panorama from there takes in a big chunk of both the Pasayten Wilderness and North Cascades National Park.

By the Numbers 14 miles round-trip, with 5,150 feet up and down.

Getting There The hike begins at Canyon Creek Trailhead on WA 20, 35 miles east of Marblemount and 16 miles west of Rainy Pass.

Thunder Creek

On the wetter west side of the Cascade crest, the park preserves some of the most pristine and biggest tracts of primeval temperate rainforest remaining in the country. Giant old-growth cedar, Douglas fir, and hemlock, spanning several feet in diameter, lord high above an environment with as much biomass as is found anywhere on the planet. The Western red cedar, called the “tree of life” by native tribes who made clothing and blankets with the inner bark and totems, dugouts, cooking utensils, and homes from the wood, can live 1,000 years, growing 15 feet thick and 200 feet tall.

And the best area to see this forest is the Thunder Creek Trail, where giant trees loom above a carpet of ferns, moss, and dinner plate-sized mushrooms. The silted turquoise creek—draining the most-glaciated basin in the Lower 48—is frequently obscured from view by thick forest, but its roar is usually audible. Occasional breaks in the trees give views up thousands of feet to glaciers and sharp peaks.

By the Numbers 12.4 miles round-trip to the bridge over Thunder Creek at McAllister campsite, with 650 feet up and down, but you can turn back at any time to make the hike any distance.

Getting There Thunder Creek Trailhead is at Colonial Campground on WA 20, 24 miles east of Marblemount and 27 miles west of Rainy Pass.

Take This Trip

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR hikers with good to excellent fitness and the ability to follow marked trails. Thunder Creek is the only relatively easier hike described above; the others are all rigorous. Crater Mountain’s trail becomes faint at times and is not always well-signed.

Season Lower-elevation trails like Thunder Creek can be hiked generally April to November, while snow covers higher hikes, like the others above, at least until mid-July; prime hiking season in the mountains lasts into September or October. Cascade River Road is closed two miles before the Cascade Pass Trailhead in winter and may be snow-covered and impassable before that point until late spring or early summer; check the park’s website for current conditions.

Getting There The little town of Marblemount on the park’s west side, the location of the park’s Wilderness Information Center, is about a 2.5-hour drive north of Seattle. The North Cascades Highway (WA 20) is closed from Ross Lake on the west side (at milepost 134, east of Colonial Campground) to Silver Star Creek on the east side (milepost 170.6), generally from November or early December until April or early May; check the park’s website for its status.

Where to Stay North Cascades National Park has four campgrounds along WA 20 with about 285 sites total, most managed on a first-come basis. There’s no lodging within the park. Marblemount has one inn, and Winthrop, on the park’s east side, has numerous lodging options.

Permit A permit is required for backcountry camping only, not day trips.

Map Green Trails maps for each hike, $7 each, (206) 546-6277, greentrailsmaps.com:
•    Cascade Pass and Sahale Arm: Cascade Pass no. 80.
•    Maple Pass and Heather Pass Loop: Mt. Logan no. 49 and Washington Pass no. 50.
•    Hannegan Peak: Mt. Shuksan no. 14.
•    Easy Pass and Crater Mountain: Mt. Logan no. 49.
•    Thunder Creek Trail: Diablo Dam no. 48.

Concerns The main challenge is weather—cold rain is common on the west side of the Cascade crest, though mid-July through mid-September sometimes brings long spells of warm, sunny days. Even more imperatively than in some other mountain ranges, it’s important to dress in layers for a wide range of conditions.

Contact North Cascades National Park Wilderness Information Center, (360) 854-7245, nps.gov/noca.