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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Enter Mount Rainier’s Early Access Lottery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Be Flexible With Your Dates and Itinerary

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

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

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

Try for a Walk-In Permit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. It’s ‘Next Level’

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

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

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

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2. It’s Challenging, But Feasible

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

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

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

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

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

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3. You Will Probably See Wildlife

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

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

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

4. It Can Be Hiked in Sections

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

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

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

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

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

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

5. It’s… Incredible

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy trails.

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Hiking Yosemite’s Clouds Rest and Half Dome

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

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

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

Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Walking Across Zion

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

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

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Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails

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

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

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

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

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“The Complete Guide to Trekking Iceland’s Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls Trails.”

Hiking from Many Glacier to Logan Pass, Glacier National Park

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

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

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

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and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

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

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

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

Save yourself a lot of time and avoid mistakes.
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Backpacking the John Muir Trail from Evolution Basin to Mather Pass

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

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

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

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

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

Two Days Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail

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

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

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

Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-books to the Teton Crest Trail and
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Hiking Capitol Reef’s Navajo Knobs Trail

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

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

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

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

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Two Days in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

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

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

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

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

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Backpacking the Wonderland Trail

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

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

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

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

Hiking New Zealand’s Incomparable Tongariro Alpine Crossing

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

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

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

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Five Days Exploring the Wind River Range

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Backpacking The Narrows, Zion National Park

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hiking Mount St. Helens

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

See my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Pushing Limits on Mount St. Helens.”

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

Three Days on the Continental Divide Trail in Glacier

On a couple of long, north-south traverses of Glacier in September 2018 and again in September 2023, mostly following two variations of the Continental Divide Trail from the Belly River Trailhead to Two Medicine, friends and I saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a grizzly bear, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening—and we enjoyed mountain views unlike anywhere else in America.

As difficult as it is to pick out which days on those hikes stood out, I can point to three in particular: hiking the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail from the Belly River Valley to Many Glacier; hiking below the cliffs of the Garden Wall to cross Piegan Pass; and following the high, alpine Dawson Pass Trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass—jaw-dropping, all of them.

Glacier does that to me every time I go there.

See my stories about those two trips, “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Save yourself a lot of time. Get my expert e-book to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

Backpacking Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, Southern Olympic Coast

You won’t find much on the longest strip of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States, the shore of Washington’s Olympic National Park—just seals, sea lions, sea otters, bald eagles, many species of seabirds and whales, and trees 10 to 15 feet in diameter and growing over 200 feet tall. On the middle day of a three-day, 17.5-mile backpacking trip, hiking from Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, my family explored tide pools and boulders coated with mussels, sea stars, and sea anemones, looked out on scores of stone pinnacles rising out of the ocean, and camped on a wilderness beach. I’m not sure who had more fun, the kids or the adults.

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

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

Two Days Backpacking Paria Canyon and Buckskin Gulch

Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon yet again in April 2025, I was reminded just how uniquely spectacular they both are. With walls that rise to perhaps 200 feet tall and close in so tightly at times that an adult wearing a backpack can barely squeeze through, Buckskin is widely regarded as the longest slot canyon in America.

And Paria Canyon, hiked by itself or in combination with Buckskin, has long been widely considered one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest—and I would argue one of the top three or five, for its own deep narrows section stretching for miles.

Walking through these canyons always reveals that the greatest magic of narrow canyons is how the diffused light paints the orange and red walls in too many shades of those colors to quantify, as well as shades of brown and a deep black that looks like an oil spill—creating stark contrasts that delight and mystify the human eye and brain. Buckskin and Paria each deserve a day on this list.

See my stories “Not a Dull Moment: Backpacking Buckskin Gulch and Paria Canyon” and “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and all stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah at The Big Outside.

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

Backpacking the High Sierra Trail, Sequoia National Park

We weren’t far into a nearly 40-mile family backpacking trip in Sequoia before I realized it promised to be one of the most photogenic places I’ve ever hiked. Part of one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48, it’s home to many of the highest mountains outside Alaska, lonely backcountry groves of giant sequoias, and crystal-clear alpine lakes.

On our third day, hiking the High Sierra Trail from Bearpaw Meadow toward 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap, we traversed a cliff face hundreds of feet above the deep Middle Fork Kaweah River. We stopped for lunch and a swim at the Hamilton Lakes, which are almost completely enclosed by towering cliffs and pinnacles. By late afternoon, we found campsites at Precipice Lake at 10,400 feet, its glassy, green and blue waters reflecting white and golden cliffs (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites).

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

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Four More Days in the Grand Canyon

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

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

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

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

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

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Backpacking the Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canadian Rockies

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

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

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Climbing Norway’s Highest Peak

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

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

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

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As a parent of two young adults who’s taken them outdoors since before they can remember, I’ll share with you the biggest and in some ways most surprising lesson I’ve learned from these trips: Our outdoor adventures have been the best times we’ve had together as a family—and not just because the places are so special. The greatest benefit of these trips is that they have given us innumerable days with only each other and nature for entertainment—no electronic devices or other distractions that construct virtual walls within families in everyday life.

For my family, our experiences together outdoors make up most of our richest and favorite memories. They have brought us closer together.

That’s a gift we’ve given ourselves as a family, one that I’ve cherished every minute of (well, most of the minutes, anyway). I also know our kids will appreciate it more and more as they get older—and perhaps they will pass this gift on to children of their own someday.

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

No matter where you go or what you do with your kids, you can reap that reward. But if you want to share with your family the very best experiences and places in nature, well, I have a pretty darn awesome list for you.

For this story, I’ve picked out the 10 very best adventures my family has taken and I’ve written about at The Big Outside—which also rank among the most beautiful and inspiring trips I’ve taken over more than three decades as an outdoors writer, including many years running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine.

This tick list includes seven national parks, three world-class paddling adventures, three trips that should be on every backpacker’s to-do list, America’s most scenic and fascinating volcano hike, and cross-country skiing or hiking among the greatest concentration of active geysers in the world.

Not surprisingly, all of these trips are extremely popular and require planning and making reservations months in advance.

The writeups below all link to my full feature story about each trip at The Big Outside, which include more images and detailed tips on planning each one yourself (and which require a paid subscription to read in full).

You may also want to peruse my list of 10 all-time favorite adventures, domestic and international—there are definitely trips that could be on either list.

I’d love to read your comments about any of these trips or the entire list, and other readers and I would appreciate any advice you have on any of these trips. Share your thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here’s wishing you many years of forging lasting memories together as a family.

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1. Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Hiking Mount St. Helens

I’ll make you this guarantee: Mount St. Helens is one of the coolest dayhikes in America, period. Hikers on the standard route, Monitor Ridge, soon emerge from shady rainforest onto a stark, gray and black moonscape of volcanic rocks, pumice, and ash, with infinite views of the Cascade Range, including other snow-capped volcanoes like Hood, Adams, and Rainier.

It’s also a tough hike at 10 miles round-trip and 4,500 vertical feet up and down, most of it on rugged terrain that varies from loose stones and dirt to ash that’s like hiking a giant sand dune. We had a special component to our trip up and down the mountain: a three-generation family group with a 66-year spread between the youngest, my 10-year-old daughter, and the oldest, my 76-year-old mother. When I scored last-minute permits to hike the mountain, I wasn’t sure everyone could make it. Then, hours into the ascent, events seemed to take an ominous turn.

Read my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Hiking Mount St. Helens” to find out how it all turned out.

Mount St. Helens was one of “My Most Scenic Days of Hiking Ever.”

2. The Magic of Hiking to Yosemite’s Waterfalls

Stand at the brink of a thunderous waterfall that drops a sheer 1,400 feet over a cliff. Hike a trail in the heavy shower of mist raining from a clear, blue sky. Dayhike through one of the most iconic landscapes in America—Yosemite Valley.

The Valley’s towering cliffs and waterfalls will awe any adult and even the most cynical teenager. But for kids, there are also the thrills of walking through the mist from a giant waterfall, and moments like traversing the narrow catwalk blasted out of granite on the final steps to the top of Upper Yosemite Falls. Hiking in Yosemite should be a must for every avid hiker.

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

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

3. Tackling America’s Best Easy, Multi-Day Float Trip

For 52 miles through Stillwater Canyon in Utah’s Canyonlands National Park, the Green River slowly unfurls beneath a constant backdrop of giant redrock cliffs and spires. Off the water, you camp on sandy beaches and slickrock benches, hike to centuries-old Puebloan rock art and cliff dwellings, and maybe even spot bighorn sheep scrambling around on precipitous rock faces.

An easy trip for beginners and families—our party of 17 ranged in age from four to 80 and included eight kids—floating the Green River stood, for years, as my family’s gold standard for river trips (eventually replaced, when our kids got older, by the last trip on this list).

See my story “Still Waters Run Deep: Floating the Green River in Canyonlands” and all stories about river trips at The Big Outside.

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4. Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

My list would be incomplete without one of the biggest, most beautiful and fun adventures my family has ever taken. And you’ll find the Tour du Mont Blanc (also the lead photo at top of story) on just about any list of the world’s greatest trails. The main reason is the sheer majesty of this roughly 105-mile/170-kilometer walking path around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot/4,807-meter Mont Blanc. Passing through three Alpine nations—France, Italy, and Switzerland—and over several mountain passes reaching nearly 9,000 feet, it delivers almost constant views of glaciers, pointy peaks and “augilles,” and the snowy dome of Mont Blanc.

Making this trip all the more special was the fact that we had three generations of my extended family represented, including my 80-year-old mother.

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

Get my expert e-book “The Perfect Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

5. Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast

For our kids, who were nine and seven, this three-day backpacking trip on the wilderness coastline of Washington’s Olympic National Park ranked as a favorite for all the expected reasons that children love a wild ocean shore: playing for hours in water, exploring the variety of sea life in tide pools, and picking, awestruck, through the myriad flotsam from civilization like old, salt-worn buoys (my son took one home).

For adults, the scores of offshore sea stacks, giant trees, and natural beauty make the Olympic coast one of America’s classic backpacking trips.

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

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

6. Dropping Into the Grand Canyon

Sure, any trip in the Big Ditch is worthy of a top 10 list—you could fill a top 10 list just with Grand Canyon hikes. But in this rugged terrain and unforgiving environment, choosing the right backpacking route becomes critical; most trails are rough, many trailheads remote.

This four-day, 29-mile hike combines two of the most spectacular and accessible trails coming off the South Rim—the Grandview and South Kaibab—with an easier, less-busy stretch of the Tonto Trail that delivers constant, big views.

See my story “Backpacking the Grand Canyon Grandview Point to the South Kaibab” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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7. Like No Other Place: Paddling the Everglades

Seeing scores of large, exotic birds like brown pelicans, roseate spoonbills, white ibises, and black anhingas. Canoeing among remote islands to camp on a wilderness beach you have all to yourself. Watching a dolphin surface just off your canoe’s bow and swim a wide circle around you. Paddling a flatwater river shared with alligators (kept at a safe distance).

It’s hard to overstate how exciting and fun this park is for adults and children. And the trip my family took when our kids were ten and almost eight was one of the most beginner-friendly in the Everglades.

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

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

8. Backpacking Zion, a Land of Otherworldly Scenery

Many hikers content themselves with exploring the trails of Zion Canyon and the popular dayhike up Angels Landing—all worthwhile. But backpack into the backcountry and you discover a sprawling landscape that’s unique even in the Southwest.

Cliffs of pure white and blood-red sandstone soar hundreds of feet overhead, rock ripples like water, and you walk along a high rim looking down on a labyrinth of slot canyons and isolated mesas. This trip’s moderate difficulty and multiple itinerary options make it ideal for families and beginner backpackers.

See “Backpacking Through the Otherworldly Scenery of Zion,” “Hiking Angels Landing: What You Need to Know,” “The 10 Best Hikes in Zion National Park,” and “The Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” at The Big Outside.

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

9. Exploring Yellowstone

Visiting the world’s first national park, Yellowstone, should be a requirement of American citizenship (and I would gladly contribute to a fund to make it affordable for every family). Besides the opportunity to see a range of wildlife that nearly mirrors what North America looked like before Columbus, you can watch geysers erupt and see natural hot springs, whistling fumaroles, bubbling mud pots, and some beautiful waterfalls.

I’ve visited many times, with my kids and before I had a family, in every season. It’s wonderful for everyone, at any stage in life, partly because so many of its highlight features can be seen on short walks. And to me, cross-country skiing the almost flat, 2.5 miles of trail through Yellowstone’s Upper Geyser Basin, past one-fourth of the active geysers in the world (and the greatest concentration of them), is one of the most fascinating experiences in the National Park System.

See my stories “The Ultimate Family Tour of Yellowstone,” “The Best Hikes in Yellowstone,” “Cross-Country Skiing Yellowstone,” and all stories about Yellowstone at The Big Outside.

Gear up smartly for your trips.
See the best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips at my Gear Reviews page.

10. Rafting Idaho’s Incomparable Middle Fork Salmon River

For a complete package of sheer thrills, five-star scenery, immersion in a vast wilderness, beautiful campsites, repeated episodes of children shrieking with joy, and an experience guaranteed to be a family favorite that you’ll want to repeat—not to mention eating like every day was Thanksgiving—few trips we’ve taken as a family compare to our guided float down Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

Flowing like an artery through the heart of the second-largest federal wilderness in the continental United States, the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, the Middle Fork is widely considered second only to the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in terms of raw beauty. My family might argue it’s better—and we’ve take three Middle Fork trips.

See my stories “Reunions of the Heart on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River” and “Big Water, Big Wilderness: Rafting Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River,” and all stories about river trips at The Big Outside.

See my All Trips List, all stories featuring my expert outdoors tips, and all stories about family adventures at The Big Outside.

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Over more than three decades of backpacking adventures throughout America’s West, I’ve been fortunate to explore deeply into our most cherished national parks, wilderness areas, and protected backcountry. All of them are special. But some places rise above the rest, inspiring a sense of awe that can motivate us to reorder our priorities and rearrange our lives—and they have that effect on us every time we return to them. This story spotlights those special places in the West and many trips that you can take in them.

From the High Sierra to the Wind River Range, the Cascades to the best of southern Utah, Glacier, the Tetons and Yellowstone to the Grand Canyon and more, the 10 places and more than 40 trips described below comprise a tick list of five-star adventures that will keep you busy for years. (They have done exactly that for me.)

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

All of these adventures possess unique qualities that make them feel extraordinary while you’re out there and stay with you for a long time afterward—and I say that from the perspective of having taken scores of backpacking trips all over the country for more than 30 years, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

The descriptions below all link to stories at The Big Outside with many more images and information. (Those stories require a paid subscription to The Big Outside to read in full, including my expert tips on planning each trip.)

Please share your thoughts about my list or any suggestions you have for similarly awe-inspiring adventures in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

The Wind River Range

You could count on the fingers of one hand—without needing every finger—the number of Lower 48 mountain ranges where you can hike for days below rows of jagged 13,000-foot peaks, passing more of the prettiest alpine lakes you’ve ever seen than other people. And one of those places is Wyoming’s Wind River Range.

On a roughly 41-mile loop from Elkhart Park, two friends and I spent a night in one of the most awe-inspiring spots in the West, Titcomb Basin, an alpine valley at over 10,000 feet where evening alpenglow painted a granite wall of 13,000-footers above us golden. Our route crossed three 12,000-foot passes, one via an adventurous, off-trail route over that led into a lovely hanging valley.

A few summers ago, three companions and I made a very rugged, seven-day, 96-mile south-to-north traverse of the Wind River High Route, two-thirds of which is off-trail—one of the most difficult and stunning adventures I’ve ever loved. I returned in late summer 2022, when three of us backpacked a 43-mile loop in an area I had mostly never seen before and—not surprisingly—walked through inspiring scenery every day while encountering few other backpackers.

And most recently, in August 2023, a friend and I hiked a four-day, 41-mile route that crossed the Continental Divide four times, enjoying a five-star campsite near a beautiful alpine lake every night and passing through one of the justifiably best-known areas of the Winds, the Cirque of the Towers.

As I’ve learned on several multi-day trips into the Winds: Being there can make you believe that these are the most magnificent mountains you’ve ever seen. And you might be right about that. The Winds keep pulling me back.

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

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The High Sierra

Every time I return to explore another area of California’s High Sierra—as I did again most recently in August 2022, backpacking about 130 miles in nine days, mostly on the John Muir Trail through Kings Canyon National Park and the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses—I’m reminded of just how magnificent and vast this mountain range is.

Spanning three iconic national parks—Kings Canyon, Sequoia, and Yosemite—and several national forests and wilderness areas, with thousands of miles of trails and alpine lakes, the Sierra offers endless opportunities for backpacking trips of any length and enough adventures to fill multiple lifetimes.

My own many backcountry travels in the Sierra have included several backpacking trips and dayhikes in Yosemite, where the beauty never ends, even after you’ve hit all the best-known corners; hiking a 40-mile loop with my family in Sequoia, crossing passes up to 11,630 feet and marveling over a landscape the camera loved; climbing the Lower 48’s highest peak, Mount Whitney, with my son; and thru-hiking the JMT. All of those and other trips have given me a good base of knowledge about the Sierra—and only whetted my appetite for more.

See “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in Yosemite” and “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” my stories about thru-hiking the JMT and climbing Mount Whitney, my expert e-books to three stellar backpacking trips in Yosemite, plus all stories about backpacking the JMT and backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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The Cascade Range

Stretching 700 miles from northern California through Oregon and Washington into southern British Columbia, the Cascade Range—with the notable exception of Mount Rainier—does not reach the heights of the Sierra. But the range is nearly twice as long and harbors some of the finest backpacking trails in the country, both famous and relatively obscure.

The 93-mile Wonderland Trail (lead photo at top of story) around Washington’s 14,410-foot Mount Rainier belongs on any list of America’s best backpacking trips—for the countless, jarring views of the most heavily glaciated peak in the Lower 48, some of the most beautiful wildflower meadows you will ever see, numerous waterfalls and cascades, raging rivers gray with “glacial flour,” and sightings of mountain goats, marmots, and black bears.

See my stories about my backpacking trip on what I consider the best sections of the Wonderland and “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Wonderland Trail in Mount Rainier National Park.”

The 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood rivals the Wonderland for wildflowers, waterfalls, and scenery, including frequent views of 11,239-foot Mount Hood. The Timberline also serves up challenges like potentially edgy creek fords—and it requires less than half the time of hiking the entire Wonderland, with no permit complications. See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

Check out these three other very worthy Cascades backpacking trips:

• The stunning and adventurous, 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass loop in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.
• A 44-mile loop in the sprawling Pasayten Wilderness, combining the Pacific Crest Trail and more-remote and lonely trails with equally great scenery.
• And an 80-mile hike, with shorter variations, that delivers a stellar tour of North Cascades National Park.

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

Southern Utah

The national parks and other wildlands of southern Utah protect some of the best dayhikes and backpacking trips in America—period. But among all the multi-day hikes at the bottom of Utah, four stand head and shoulders above the rest: the Needles and Maze districts of Canyonlands National Park, Paria Canyon, and Zion’s Narrows.

In the more user-friendly Needles District of Canyonlands National Park, stratified cliffs stretch for miles and trails zigzag across waves of slickrock slabs below multi-colored sandstone candlesticks rising 300 feet tall. Across the Green River, in the Maze District, trails lead from overlooks of a vast, chaotic sweep of sandstone fins, towers, and canyons to circuitous routes through canyons that could only be called the Maze. With very rugged hiking through a hard-to-reach corner of the Southwest where water sources often dry up seasonally, the Maze is unquestionably hard—and a holy grail for serious Southwest backpackers.

Famous among backpackers for its towering walls of orange-red sandstone painted wildly with desert varnish and illuminated by reflected sunlight, hanging gardens where springs pour from rock, and campsites on sandy benches shaded by cottonwood trees, Paria Canyon is a must-do adventure made more, well, “interesting” by pockets of quicksand. Hike it top to bottom or combined with its 15-mile-long tributary slot canyon, Buckskin Gulch—which gets so tight that you must take off your pack and squeeze through sideways.

The Narrows of Zion National Park certainly ranks among America’s top 10 backpacking trips and the best in the Southwest. Much of the magic lies in seeing it change as you literally walk deeper into the earth, splashing down the river through deeply shaded, tight passages and seeing springs gush from solid rock, creating lush desert oases. Backpack the 14-mile route from top to bottom, spending a night in the canyon to savor the solitude of an evening below walls that soar 1,000 feet tall and a slice of black sky bursting with stars.

See my stories “No Straight Lines: Backpacking and Hiking in Canyonlands and Arches National Parks,” “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze,” “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Narrows in Zion National Park.”

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

Glacier National Park

Few wild lands inspire feelings of awe as often and as intensely as Glacier. Besides almost constant views of mountains unlike any in America, on many multi-day hikes in Glacier you will see rivers of ice pouring off of craggy mountains and cliffs, some of the more than 760 lakes, and often mountain goats, bighorn sheep, elk, moose—possibly even a few grizzly and black bears: I’ve seen bears on every backpacking trip I’ve taken there.

Those hikes have included what I consider the best backpacking trip in Glacier as well as a 94-mile, north-to-south traverse of the park, combining the primary Continental Divide Trail route through Glacier and my hand-picked variations off it to hit what I believe comprise the park’s finest areas.

See my stories “5 Reasons You Must Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “10 Backpacking Trips for Solitude in Glacier National Park,” “How to Get a Permit to Backpack in Glacier National Park,” “The 8 Best Long Hikes in Glacier National Park,” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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

Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon

If every American should visit Yellowstone National Park—and every American should—those who long to explore its unique and rich backcountry should embark on the park’s best backpacking trip, through Bechler Canyon. Hiking for miles along the Bechler River Trail, beside a five-star trout stream, you’ll pass several thunderous waterfalls—including 45-foot Iris Falls and Colonnade Falls, where the Bechler River plunges 35 feet over an upper falls and another 67 feet over a second drop.

The trip features bracing river fords—which pose little risk beyond chattering teeth (a friend and I made our trip’s last ford in strong, frigid wind and wet snow falling in late September)—possible sightings of bison, bears and other wildlife; the opportunity to explore Yellowstone’s largest backcountry geyser basin near the shore of one of the park’s biggest backcountry lakes; and the icing on the cake: soaking in a natural hot springs-fed pool called Mr. Bubble.

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

Any trip goes better with the right gear. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
and “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents.”

The Grand Canyon

What can be said about the Grand Canyon that hasn’t already been said a thousand times? What words can measure up to the scale and majesty of this place—its infinite vistas, the deceptive immensity of the canyon walls and stone towers, the intimate side canyons where waterfalls pour through green gardens in the desert?

In this landscape of incomparable scenery, multi-day hikes vary from beginner-friendly to notoriously strenuous and challenging. Having ticked off some of the canyon’s best multi-day hikes—South Kaibab to Lipan Point, including the Escalante Route and Beamer Trail, Hermits Rest to Bright Angel Trailhead, Grandview Point to South Kaibab Trailhead, the Thunder River-Deer Creek Loop, the New Hance Trail to Grandview Point, the Royal Arch Loop, the canyon’s Gems Route, and the Utah Flats Route and Clear Creek Trail—and hiked and run rim-to-rim-to-rim multiple times in a day, I’m still scheming my next trip there.

The canyon has no peers. Every backpacker should go there.

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

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

The Idaho Wilderness

Anyone following my blog for very long knows my affection for Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains—my backyard wilderness. But central Idaho harbors nearly four million more acres of almost-contiguous wilderness beyond the 217,000 acres in the Sawtooths: the 1.3-million acre Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness, which is larger than many national parks, including Yosemite, Grand Canyon, and Glacier; and the nearly 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness (“the Frank”), largest in the Lower 48 and bigger than Yellowstone.

If this vast realm of mountains and canyons—divided by just one rural highway and two remote dirt roads—were contained within one national park, it would be America’s third-largest.

Several years ago, I asked the Idaho Conservation League to help me create a long-distance backpacking trail through the state’s three signature wilderness areas. The result is the 296-mile-long Idaho Wilderness Trail, which crosses mountain passes over 9,000 feet and meanders below dramatic spires from the Bighorn Crags in the Frank to the Sawtooths. It follows three designated wild and scenic rivers, the Middle Fork of the Salmon, Main Salmon, and the Selway, and traces the shores of innumerable alpine lakes.

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

It also traverses pristine lands that are home to mountain goats and bighorn sheep, elk and moose, black bears, a population of wolves estimated to be at least seven times larger than that in Yellowstone—and that protect some of the nation’s best remaining habitat in the Lower 48 for restoring wild salmon.

Perhaps most uniquely, the IWT offers the kind of solitude you simply cannot find on most long-distance trails. In fact, many backpackers have never even heard of the wilderness areas the trail traverses.

See my stories “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” my expert e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” and all stories about backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside.

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

The Tetons

This list would not feel complete without Wyoming’s iconic Teton Range. Fairly beginner-friendly in terms of difficulty and navigation, a place where you may come upon a marmot, moose, elk, or black or grizzly bear, and so constantly picturesque from the campsites to the high passes and vast fields of wildflowers that it almost shocks the senses, these razor peaks never fail to dazzle.

I’ve returned to the Tetons more than 20 times over the past three-plus decades, most recently backpacking—again—my favorite variation of the Teton Crest Trail, universally considered one of the best backpacking trips in America. Two of my all-time favorite backcountry campsites lie along the TCT.

While the Teton Crest Trail captures the imagination of most backpackers, any multi-day hike in the Tetons will rank among the best hikes you’ve ever done. Want proof? Check out “The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park.”

See “The 5 Best Backpacking Trips in Grand Teton National Park,” “10 Great, Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” all stories about backpacking the Teton Crest Trail at The Big Outside, and my expert e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park,” which tells you everything you need to know to plan and pull off that trip—including how to get one of the most coveted and difficult-to-reserve backcountry permits in the National Park System.

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

Rocky Mountain National Park

The Colorado Rockies, with 58 peaks that rise higher than 14,000 feet and another whopping 637 that stand between 13,000 and 13,999 feet, have drawn hikers and mountain climbers like mice to peanut butter for decades. But for many, the Colorado Rockies reach their scenic apex in Rocky Mountain National Park.

While not nearly as large as other Western parks like Glacier or Yosemite, Rocky nonetheless offers some excellent and relatively beginner-friendly options for multi-day hikes. I’ve backpacked there on both sides of the Continental Divide, including taking my kids when they were young on a short, three-day hike in Wild Basin, in the park’s southeast corner, south of the park’s tallest and most famous mountain, 14,259-foot Longs Peak.

We camped our first night beside a small creek where the kids played for hours, and our second night a short walk from the shore of lovely Ouzel Lake, nestled in ponderosa pine forest at just over 10,000 feet, below a striking wall of 12,000- and 13,000-foot peaks.

See my story about backpacking with my young kids in Rocky Mountain National Park.

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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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Water makes up about 60 percent of our bodies—and, I suspect, 100 percent of our hearts. We crave it not only physically, for survival, but emotionally, for spiritual rejuvenation. We love playing in it for hours as children and we paddle and swim in it as adults. We’re drawn by the calming effects of sitting beside a stream or lake in a beautiful natural setting, an experience that possesses a certain je ne sais quoi—a quality difficult to describe, but that we can all feel.

And nothing beats taking a swim in a gorgeous backcountry lake.

I’ve come across quite a few wonderful backcountry lakes over more than three decades of exploring wilderness—including about 10 years as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog. I’ve just updated and expanded this list of my favorites—adding a lake I camped beside last year in Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness—to give you some eye candy as well as ideas for future adventures, and perhaps compare against your list of favorite backcountry lakes.

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

Click on the links to my stories in these brief writeups to learn more about each of these trips. Part of this story is free for anyone to read, but reading the entire story is an exclusive benefit of a paid subscription, which also provides full access to all the numerous stories about trips at The Big Outside, and those include my tips on planning those trips. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan a trip to any of these lakes.

If you know some gorgeous lakes that are not on my list, please suggest them in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Here’s to your next peaceful moment beside a gorgeous lake deep in the mountains somewhere.

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

Early on the second morning of a six-day, 94-mile traverse of Glacier National Park, mostly on the Continental Divide Trail, three friends and I set out from the backcountry campground at the head of Elizabeth Lake, hiking along the sandy shore. An elk bugled from somewhere in the forest nearby. The glassy water reflected a razor-sharp, upside-down reflection of the jagged mountains flanking it. Among many lovely backcountry lakes in Glacier, Elizabeth Lake is one of the finest.

See my stories “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” and “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” plus my e-books “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park” and “Backpacking the Continental Divide Trail Through Glacier National Park.”

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

Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

In the wake of a violent thunderstorm, we crossed 11,955-foot Muir Pass on the John Muir Trail in Kings Canyon National Park in early evening on the eighth day of a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the High Sierra. Finding what seemed the only two patches of rock-free ground, we pitched our tents above Helen Lake, at around 11,600 feet. The next morning, the rising sun ignited the peaks across Helen Lake, the scene captured in razor-sharp reflections in the lake and a tiny tarn near our camp—burning that almost accidental camp above Helen Lake into memory for all three of us.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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

Tarn Along the Highline Trail, Wind River Range

Searching for a suitable campsite along the Highline Trail late one afternoon on a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop hike in the Winds, my wife, a friend, and I reached an unnamed, small tarn—and the view stopped us in our tracks. From our camp a few hundred feet off-trail beyond the tarn, we overlooked grassy meadows littered with glacial-erratic boulders that sloped down to another lake. Beyond that, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis towered over the valley. I shot this photo as we hit the trail the next morning.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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Alice Lake, Sawtooth Mountains

Idaho’s Sawtooths must be in contention for the title of American mountain range with the most beautiful lakes—maybe eclipsed only by the High Sierra and Wind River Range. Like the Sierra and Winds, backpacking in the Sawtooths brings you to the shores of multiple lakes every day, shimmering in sunlight, rippled by wind, or offering a mirror reflection of jagged peaks on calm mornings and evenings. Alice (also shown in lead photo at top of story) is one of the larger and prettier of them, a spot I’ve visited several times without getting tired of the view across it to a row of sharp-edged peaks.

See all of my stories about Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, including “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and my e-guide “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains,” which describes a route that includes Alice Lake.

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

Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park

Precipice wasn’t even our intended campsite on the third day of a six-day, 40-mile family backpacking trip in Sequoia, in California’s southern High Sierra. We planned to push maybe a mile farther, to camp on the other side of 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap. But when we reached Precipice Lake at 10,400 feet, and saw its glassy, green and blue waters reflecting white and golden cliffs, and took a bracing swim, it wasn’t a hard sell when I suggested we spend the night there. It became one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites.

See my story about that trip, “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” and all of my stories about Sequoia National Park at The Big Outside.

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

Lake Solitude, Grand Teton National Park

Hiking in the chilly, early-morning shade of the North Fork of Cascade Canyon, we looked up to see a huge bull moose sauntering through a meadow speckled with wildflowers, maybe a hundred yards from us. Minutes later, thanks to our early departure from camp, we reached the rocky shoreline of at Lake Solitude—the first people there that morning, enjoying a true period of “solitude” at this spot that’s enormously popular with dayhikers. In the calm morning air, the lake lay absolutely still, mirroring in sharp detail a cirque of cliffs, rocky mountainsides, and lingering patches of old snow.

See my story about my most recent trip in the Tetons, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” my stories “Walking Familiar Ground: Reliving Old Memories and Making New Ones on the Teton Crest Trail” and “American Classic: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and all of my stories about the Teton Crest Trail and Grand Teton National Park.

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

No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

On the last night of a seven-day, north-south hike through Glacier, right after making the Dawson Pass Trail’s awesome alpine crossing from Pitamakan to Dawson passes, two friends and I spent our final night at No Name Lake—which I’d hiked past without stopping on a very similar, six-day trip five years before (see this story).

The next morning brought the kind of calm air that creates a perfect, mirror-like lake reflection—this one enhanced by the coincidental angle of the sun across the cliffs above the lake that lent it such striking, high-contrast light. Happening upon a moment like that makes me gasp.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

Save yourself a lot of time.
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Rainbow Lake, North Cascades National Park Complex

After a relentless, seven-mile-long, 3,500-foot uphill slog to Rainbow Pass in the Lake Chelan National Recreation Area, a friend and I descended to a wonderful, wooded campsite on the shore of Rainbow Lake. We stuffed fistfuls of huckleberries into our mouths, then walked down to the lakeshore, where the setting sun was setting larch trees—their needles turned golden in late September—afire. It seemed a fitting final night of an 80-mile trek through the heart of the North Cascades National Park Complex.

See my story about that trip, “Primal Wild: Backpacking 80 Miles Through the North Cascades,” and all of my stories about the North Cascades.

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Overland Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

Near the end of my family’s second day of a four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of Nevada’s underappreciated Ruby Crest Trail, a nearly 2,000-foot uphill slog landed us at a pass at about 10,200 feet. Almost 1,000 feet below us, a stone bowl held Overland Lake like a pair of cupped hands. Beyond it, the backbone of the Ruby Mountains stretched for many miles—exciting us over the alpine walk that awaited us. We descended into that bowl to make camp on a rock ledge jutting into one corner of the lake, at around 9,400 feet. The Ruby Crest Trail cuts a snaking route along the spine of Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, a north-south range of granite-rimmed lake basins and arid valleys carved by ancient glaciers. Overlooking this hike would be your loss.

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

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Island Lake, Wind River Range

As I mentioned above, few mountain ranges in America are as blessed with gorgeous backcountry lakes as Wyoming’s Winds. That makes it hard to pick out just one or two as favorites, but Island Lake deserves a shout out as much as any and more than most. Two friends and I hiked past it on a three-day, 41-mile loop from the Elkhart Park Trailhead to Titcomb Basin and over Knapsack Col in the Winds—and if we didn’t already have our hearts set on spending that night in Titcomb, we could have easily pitched our tents by Island for the night.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and check out all of my stories about the Winds at The Big Outside.

Don’t let red tape foil your plans.
See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Wanda Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail that I made with some friends featured many unforgettable moments and a lifetime’s worth of stunning scenery—and aching feet—but few moments as quietly lovely as the early morning that we hiked along the shore of Wanda Lake. We were climbing toward 11,955-foot Muir Pass when we reached this uppermost lake in the Evolution Basin, a high valley scoured from granite by long-ago glaciers and studded with lakes. As my friend Todd walked along the lakeshore, I captured perhaps my best image from that entire trip.

See my story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” See also all of my stories about backpacking the John Muir Trail.

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

May Lake, Yosemite National Park

A friend and I reached May Lake on the last afternoon of one of my top 10 best-ever backpacking trips, a weeklong, 151-mile tour of the most remote areas of Yosemite. We arrived as the sun dipped toward the western horizon, casting beautiful, low-angle light across the lake, which sits at the base of craggy, 10,845-foot Mount Hoffman. But you can visit May on an easy dayhike of 2.5 miles round-trip. Bonus: There’s a High Sierra Camp on May’s shore that’s a good base camp for hiking the area, including the steep jaunt up Hoffman, which has arguably the nicest summit view in Yosemite.

See more photos, a video, and trip-planning tips in my story about the 87-mile second leg of that 151-tour of Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite, Part 2: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the 65-mile first leg of that adventure, “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” and “The 10 Best Dayhikes in Yosemite” (including May Lake and Mount Hoffmann) at The Big Outside.

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

Quiet Lake, White Cloud Mountains

A longtime backcountry ranger in Idaho’s Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA) got my attention when he told me that Quiet Lake was his favorite in the White Clouds, which are part of both the SNRA and one of America’s newest wilderness areas. He wasn’t overhyping it. When I backpacked to Quiet Lake with my son, following a partly off-trail route that was moderately strenuous and not too difficult to navigate, we hit the summit of a nearly 11,000-foot peak with an amazing panorama of the White Clouds, traversed a barren, rocky basin with four alpine lakes, and pitched our tent by the shore of Quiet, below the soaring north face of 11,815-foot Castle Peak, highest in the White Clouds. And we didn’t see another person the entire time. If you need a bit of peace and quiet—not to mention breathtaking natural beauty—go here.

See my “Photo Gallery: A Father-Son Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains,” and all stories
about Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains at The Big Outside.

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents”
and my expert tips in “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Lake Sylvan, Beartooth Wilderness

Quite by accident, two friends and I saved the best campsite for our last night on a five-day August hike through Montana’s Beartooth Wilderness. We pitched our tents a short walk from the shore of Lake Sylvan, tucked into a cirque below the cliffs of Sylvan Peak, which rises to nearly 12,000 feet. That night capped a trip where we enjoyed complete solitude at two of our four camps and for several hours each day while hiking below jagged peaks, seeing small glaciers at the heads of glacially carved cirques, to one pass at around 11,000 feet, and across the treeless tundra of a plateau at over 10,000 feet.

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

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Minaret Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

The relentlessly steep trail brought us to stunning Iceberg Lake at almost 9,800 feet and continued, even more strenuously, upward over talus and scree to Cecile Lake, at 10,260 feet at the feet of the 11,000- and 12,000-foot High Sierra spires known as the Minarets, lined up like chipped and broken bowling pins. With the “trail” terminating there, we found our way across more talus and down a steep gully to Minaret Lake—arguably the prettiest among several lakes we’d already seen that day. We found a spot for our tents amid conifer trees a short walk from the lakeshore and enjoyed a sunset and sunrise that ranked among the best of several great ones on that trip.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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

Ouzel Lake, Rocky Mountain National Park

Tucked into the ponderosa pine forest at around 10,000 feet, in the park’s Wild Basin area, Ouzel is reached on a moderate hike of less than five miles and 1,500 vertical from the Wild Basin Trailhead. Although it gets some dayhikers, you can have a protected campsite in the trees there all to yourself, as my family did on a three-day, early-September backpacking trip. My kids, then 10 and seven, played and fished for hours in the shallow waters near our camp and the lake’s outlet creek.

See my story “The 5 Rules About Kids I Broke While Backpacking in Rocky Mountain National Park.”

Want to take your family backpacking? See these expert e-books:
“The Best Short Backpacking Trip in Grand Teton National Park”
“The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite”
“The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains”

Mirror Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Early on the clear and calm, third morning of a 40-mile family backpacking trip in Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, I left our campsite and walked down to the shore of this lake, anticipating the scene I’d capture in pixels. Mirror Lake, in the popular Lakes Basin, earns its moniker, offering up a flawless reflection of its conifer- and granite-rimmed shore and the cliffs of 9,572-foot Eagle Cap Peak high above it. Our hike made a long loop through some less-visited areas of the wilderness, but you can reach Mirror Lake on weekend-length hikes, too.

See my story “Learning the Hard Way: Backpacking Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness,” and all of my stories about backpacking in Oregon at The Big Outside.

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Peak Lake, Wind River Range

As I’ve written elsewhere at this blog, take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. I have now backpacked past Peak Lake on separate 41-mile and 43-mile loop hikes in the Winds (which overlapped by just several miles of trail that did not grow dull on the return visit). Shimmering at the bottom of a tiny bowl, surrounded by peaks resembling giant incisors, Peak Lake can be reached from a few different directions—none of them short walks, which helps keep this jaw-dropping little basin in the Winds relatively quiet. Both times I’ve walked past it, the only company I had was my two companions.

See my stories “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin,” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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Oldman Lake, Glacier National Park

On day six of a weeklong hike through Glacier National Park, three of us reached Pitamakan Pass on a bluebird morning and set our packs down; we had to spend some time enjoying this prospect. Behind us, Pitamakan Lake and Seven Winds of the Lake nestle in the cliff-ringed cirque that we just hiked through on the Continental Divide Trail. But even more impressive, the view south took in the immense horseshoe of cliffs and forested mountainsides cradling Oldman Lake, below the sharp point of Flinsch Peak and the 2,000-foot stone wall of Mount Morgan rising virtually out of the waters of Oldman.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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Thousand Island Lake, John Muir Trail, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Thru-hiking southbound on the John Muir Trail, among the first of many moments that signal how this trek seems to keep getting better and better is when you descend toward Thousand Island Lake in the Ansel Adams Wilderness. Yosemite—a pretty impressive place in its own right—now lies miles behind you. Banner Peak, scraping the sky at nearly 13,000 feet, has been in sight for some miles and looming ever larger. Then you catch your first glimpse of the lake, speckled with islets, and it takes your breath away.

Remind yourself that much more of this kind of stuff still awaits you.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in Seven Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

And see my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan your JMT thru-hike—as I’ve helped numerous other readers.

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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.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be”
and this menu of all stories with expert backpacking tips at The Big Outside.

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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Among hikers and backpackers, Mount Rainier National Park may be best known for the Wonderland Trail, which makes a 93-mile loop around Mount Rainier—the 14,411-foot volcano that Washingtonians refer to simply as “The Mountain.” The Wonderland constantly ascends to sub-alpine meadows exploding with wildflowers, with Rainier’s gleaming, white slopes repeatedly popping into view, and plunges into valleys carved by glacial rivers in a rainforest of giant trees.

But one doesn’t have to embark on a multi-day hike to enjoy those vistas. You reach some of the best scenery in America’s fifth national park on dayhikes.

This list of Mount Rainier’s best dayhikes draws from my numerous trips dayhiking and backpacking all over the park over the past three decades, formerly as the Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine for 10 years and even longer running this blog. Using this story as your guide, you will see the best scenery in Mount Rainier National Park that’s accessible on hikes ranging from short, easy walks to moderate and very long days.

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

Below are my picks for the 14 best dayhikes in Mount Rainier National Park. While this list includes popular hikes like the Skyline Trail, Glacier Basin, and Summerland, it also describes hikes not usually mentioned on many other lists of Rainier’s best hikes (where you’ll often find the same trails listed over and over).

This story deliberately spotlights hikes to amazing areas of the park that are off the beaten path, as well as a few long, strenuous one-day outings that drop the crowds found on the popular trails.

Some of this story is free for anyone to read but reading it in full—beyond the first seven hikes—requires a paid subscription to The Big Outside. (Join for a year and get a free or discounted e-book.)

Many of the hikes described below I’ve done as dayhikes; others I’ve enjoyed on various backpacking trips, including the entire Wonderland Trail, which ranks indisputably among America’s best backpacking trips and best national park backpacking trips. All distances given in the hike descriptions below represent the total length, including for out-and-back hikes.

If you’re interested in backpacking in Mount Rainier National Park, see my Wonderland Trail e-book, my stories “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

In 2024, Mount Rainier National Park implemented a pilot timed entry reservation system for visitors to two areas of the park, the Paradise Corridor coming from the southwest (near Ashford) or southeast (near Packwood) and the Sunrise Corridor coming from the northeast (via Enumclaw). Each corridor requires a separate vehicle reservation. Timed entry reservations are for good a single day, per vehicle, and are required in addition to an entrance fee or park pass. See nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/timed-entry-reservations.htm and recreation.gov/timed-entry/10101917 for current updates.

While summer weather is often pleasantly dry and stable, Mount Rainier creates its own weather, which can change rapidly. See my blog story “How to Prevent Hypothermia While Hiking and Backpacking.”

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

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Summerland and Panhandle Gap

Summerland: 8.6 miles/13.8k, 2,100 feet/640m both up and down
Panhandle Gap: 11.4 miles/18.4k, 3,000 feet/914m both up and down

One of the finest dayhikes in the park, this out-and-back walk offers a classic Rainier experience, beginning in a forest of tall trees and ascending to wildflower meadows with views of Rainier and Little Tahoma Peak. The sub-alpine meadows of Summerland, at around 5,900 feet/1800m, bloom with wildflowers in August and have views of Rainier towering some 8,500 feet/2591m above the meadows. Marmots are often seen in this area. While some hikers turn back from Summerland, the 1.4 miles/2.3k and 900 feet/274m of uphill from there to Panhandle Gap at 6,750 feet/2057m—the highest point on the Wonderland Trail—gets exponentially more scenic.

From the trailhead, follow the Wonderland south as it meanders across meadows, talus, and glacial moraine, passing raging waterfalls on the creek draining the Fryingpan Glacier, to reach Panhandle Gap, one of the best views of Rainier in the park. Watch for mountain goats. The hike begins from a trailhead parking area near the Fryingpan Creek bridge on Sunrise Road (limited parking), three miles past the White River entrance.

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Skyline Trail

5.5 miles/8.6k, 1,450 feet/442m both up and down

Starting this popular hike at Paradise, at an elevation of 5,400 feet/1646m, 12 miles/19.3k east of Longmire, you’re immediately walking through sprawling sub-alpine wildflower meadows. And the 5.5-mile/8.6k Skyline Trail loop above Paradise delivers the quintessential hiking experience at Rainier: in-your-face views of The Mountain and the heavily crevassed Nisqually Glacier; thick carpets of lupine, mountain heather, and other wildflowers; waterfalls; and even marmots commonly perched on trailside boulders as if modeling for photos.

Have lunch at Panorama Point, at nearly 7,000 feet/2134m, with a sweeping view of the Tatoosh Range and sister Cascade Range volcanoes like Adams, St. Helens, and Hood. At the footbridge over Myrtle Falls, follow the short spur trail descending to a better view of the waterfall. The trail system at Paradise allows you to create shorter or longer loops, too.

Tip: Often buried in snow until early August—Paradise averages over 640 inches/1626cm of snow per year—this hike is prettiest when the wildflowers are in full bloom, in early to mid-August.

Grove of the Patriarchs

1.5 miles/2.4k, nearly flat

This short, easy, popular hike, much of it on a wooden boardwalk in one of the park’s lowest areas, at 2,200 feet/671m, provides a quick tour of a shady, cool forest of old-growth cedar, hemlock, and Douglas fir trees spanning as much as 40 feet/12m in diameter and rising over 300 feet/91m tall. Interpretive signs explain what you’re seeing.

My kids, when young, loved crawling inside the massive root balls of fallen giant trees and crossing the suspension footbridge over the Ohanapecosh River.

The trailhead is on the Stevens Canyon Road just minutes from the park’s Stevens Canyon entrance and a quarter-mile west of the road’s bridge over the Ohanapecosh River.

Gear up right for hikes at Mount Rainier.
See my reviews of the best hiking shoes and the 10 best daypacks.

Spray Park

8.4 miles/13.5k, about 1,700 feet/518m both up and down

From Mowich Lake, at 4,900 feet/1494m, reached on a good gravel road in the park’s northwest corner, the Spray Park Trail traverses through quiet forest of immense Douglas fir, hemlock, and cedar trees, passing a very short side path to Eagle Cliff, an overlook of Mount Rainier looming high above the deep valley of the South Mowich River, and a second worthwhile side hike on a spur path to 354-foot/108m Spray Falls (which adds about a half-mile out-and-back and a little up and down to the total distance). Beyond that junction, the trail climbs relentlessly through numerous switchbacks to reach the sub-alpine meadows of Spray Park.

There, you continue weaving upward through stands of stunted, subalpine fir trees and some of the national park’s most vibrant wildflower meadows. Marmots whistle and scurry for cover. You can turn back at any point, but a logical spot is the trail’s high point in the Spray Park Trail, at 6,400 feet/1951m, north of Tillicum Point, Ptarmigan Ridge, Observation Rock and Echo Rock on The Mountain’s north side.

Snow blankets the ground through July and vast snowfields linger throughout the short summer at this elevation, over 6,000 feet/1829m; rivulets and miniature cascades drain off the snow. Take this hike in August or September.

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Comet Falls, Van Trump Park, and Mildred Point

Comet Falls: about four miles/6.4k, 900 feet/274m up and down
Van Trump Park: about 5.5 miles/8.9k, 2,000 feet/610m up and down
Mildred Point: 6.2 miles/10k, about 2,700 feet/823m up and down

This tough hike offers the options of going only to 392-foot/120m Comet Falls, one of the park’s highest, continuing to the wildflower meadows and sweeping views of Van Trump Park, or going all the way to Mildred Point, with its unobstructed panorama of Rainier.

The trail ascends steadily through the tight gorge of Van Trump Creek, which roars and plunges over several small waterfalls and cascades, including the triple drop of Bloucher Falls at 1.6 miles/2.6k. At just under two miles/3.2k, a side trail leads a short distance toward the base of Comet Falls. From there, the trail turns very steep for the next 0.8 mile/1.3k to a junction with the Rampart Ridge Trail. A half-mile/0.8k spur trail leads to the right to wildflower-carpeted Van Trump Park, with views of the Van Trump Glaciers and Mounts Adams and St. Helens and common sightings of mountains goats, marmots, and pikas.

From that junction, the Rampart Ridge Trail swings southwest and descends about 200 feet/61m in about a half-mile/0.8k to a junction with a rugged, difficult spur trail that climbs through wildflower meadows for 500 feet/152m in 0.4 mile/0.6k to Mildred Point, at around 5,900 feet/1798m, overlooking the stark canyon sliced into Rainier’s flanks by Kautz Creek, the glaciers on Rainier’s south side, and the summit cone.

The hike begins at the Comet Falls Trailhead at 3,600 feet/1097m on the Longmire-Paradise Road, 10.2 miles/16.4k from the Nisqually entrance and five miles west of the Stevens Canyon Road junction.

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

Glacier Basin

6 miles/9.7k, 1,600 feet/488m both uphill and downhill

This relatively easy, out-and-back hike begins at White River campground at 4,300 feet/1311m, where you’re serenaded by the constant roar of the glacial silt-laden White River. The Glacier Basin Trail—which is also the approach hike for climbers taking the Emmons Glacier route up Mount Rainier—makes a moderate ascent up the valley of the Inter Fork to Glacier Basin camp at 5,900 feet/1798m, amid a landscape torn up by the receding Inter Glacier.

Sightings of marmots and even black bears are common along this popular trail, especially if you get out early, ahead of the crowds of dayhikers. If you really want to leave the hordes behind, make a loop up to the Burroughs Mountain Trail—a burly ascent of nearly 2,000 feet/610m—to the five-star perspective of Rainier from a high point around 7,400 feet/2256m, then descend past Sunrise camp and Shadow Lake to the Wonderland Trail back to White River campground.

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Carbon Glacier Trail

17 miles/27.4k, 1,900 feet/579m both uphill and downhill

The Carbon Glacier holds four distinctions among all U.S. glaciers outside Alaska: It’s the longest (5.7 miles/9.2k), with the lowest glacial terminus (3,600 feet/1097m above sea level), and greatest volume (0.2 cubic miles/0.8 cubic kilometers) and thickness (700 feet/213m). It’s also the easiest glacier in the park to see up close on a dayhike. At 17 miles/27.4k round-trip, the out-and-back jaunt to the Carbon Glacier is no casual stroll—but also not as hard as it sounds, gaining just 1,900 feet/579m in elevation over the 8.5 miles/13.7k to the glacier overlook.

Starting at the Carbon River ranger station, walk or mountain bike the former Carbon River Road—which was closed and restricted to foot and bike traffic following catastrophic flooding in 2006 (caused by a 100-year storm event equivalent to one I backpacked through solo on Rainier’s Northern Loop just three years prior)—for five miles/8k to the Ipsut Creek campground, passing the quarter-mile/0.4k spur trail to Chenius Falls.

Hiking trail beyond the campground, you’ll soon reach a short side path to Ipsut Falls. Turn left and follow the Wonderland Trail 1.6 miles/2.6k to where it crosses the Carbon River on a log footbridge, then another 1.1 miles/1.8k south to the east end of the Carbon River suspension bridge. While this hike doesn’t cross the bridge, it’s worth walking out onto it to stand over the roaring river and enjoy the view up and down the Carbon River Valley.

From the east end of the bridge, continue south on the Wonderland Trail about a half-mile/0.8k to an overlook of the north face of Mount Rainier and the Carbon Glacier, which loudly and violently births the heavily silted, battleship-gray river from an ice cave at its snout. The park warns against trying to hike off-trail down to the glacier—there’s real danger of falling rocks or taking a bad fall on the unstable ground. Backtrack the route to the ranger station.

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See my stories “American Gem: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail,” and all of my stories about Mount Rainier National Park at The Big Outside, plus my Wonderland Trail e-guide and my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan this or any trip you read about at this blog.

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It is one of those unfortunate inevitabilities of life, like death and taxes: Occasionally on backpacking trips you will hike past one of the most sublime patches of wilderness real estate you have ever laid eyes on, a spot so idyllic you can already see your tent pitched there and you standing outside it, warm mug in your hands, watching a glorious sunset. But it’s early and your plan entails hiking farther before you stop for the day—not camping there. Or your permit isn’t for that site. Or even worse, you are looking for a campsite, but someone else has already occupied this little corner of Heaven.

Disappointment is an awfully large pill to swallow, especially if you know you may never get back to that place. Then again, you might make a note on your map and return there someday. Goals are a powerful motivator.

My recently updated story “Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites” has photos and descriptions of the best spots in the wilderness where I’ve ever spent a night over the past three-plus decades, including many years running this blog and previously as a field editor for Backpacker magazine for 10 years. So it seems fitting to spotlight the best camps I never had but wish I did—all of them places potentially awaiting your tent.

Just make sure you get there before someone else grabs it.

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

This list grows every year—an inevitable outcome of backpacking frequently—giving you more ideas for trips to take. The descriptions below include links to stories at The Big Outside about those trips, with more images and information about planning them. Those stories about trips, and many other stories at this blog, require a paid subscription to read in full, although you don’t need a subscription to purchase any of my E-books or my Custom Trip Planning.

Please share your questions or suggestions about these campsites or others in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Hamilton Lakes, Sequoia National Park

Granted, there are a lot of great campsites in the High Sierra. But some really do stand out even from the many extraordinary sites—in fact, two of our camps on this Sequoia trip made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites.

After a morning hike along a stretch of the High Sierra Trail that traverses hundreds of feet above the cliff-flanked canyon of the Middle Fork Kaweah River, we reached the largest of the Hamilton Lakes, nestled in a bowl of granite at 8,235 feet, just in time for a long lunch break. Everyone took a swim in the invigorating water, but mostly we just soaked up the panorama of jagged peaks rising to over 12,000 feet that surround the lake.

See my story about that 40-mile, family backpacking trip, “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park,” with lots of photos and a video, and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

Alaska Basin, Teton Crest Trail

There’s hardly a bad place to pitch a tent (legally) in all of Grand Teton National Park—and certainly not even a mediocre spot along the Teton Crest Trail. In fact, my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites includes two along the TCT. But simply because I’ve always been successful at getting my desired campsites on my backcountry permit, I have always hiked through the one area along the TCT that lies outside the national park and doesn’t require a permit for camping: Alaska Basin.

But I’ve hiked through it enough times to realize what I’m missing. The two campsites shown in these photos happen to be perfect perches we passed that lie just off the TCT in the basin. Both have broad, flat areas of clean granite with amazing 360-degree panoramas of the mountains and cliffs surrounding Alaska Basin. That’s why I’ve recommended Alaska Basin as a campsite depending on the type of hiking itinerary people are seeking when I provide custom trip planning for the TCT.

See my story about my most-recent trip on the TCT, “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail.”

Get my Teton Crest Trail e-book or my custom trip planning for the TCT.

Yuma Point, Grand Canyon

On the last, hard but stunningly pretty day of a 40-mile hike from the South Kaibab to the Hermit trailhead, our group of six family and friends ascended the often steep and difficult Boucher Trail—yet another tortured footpath that illustrates why the words “hard but stunningly pretty” describe so many trails in the Big Ditch. After a long uphill grind, we reached the long, level bench the Boucher Trail follows below Yuma Point, at just over 5,400 feet, and saw immediately why in-the-know GC backpackers consider it one of the very best campsites in the canyon.

Several spacious, obviously pre-used camps on dirt sit right behind a large, flat rock ledge at the brink of cliffs overlooking a huge swath of the canyon from more than 3,000 feet above the Colorado River. Yes, I sure did imagine laying my pad and bag out on that ledge, gazing up at a night sky crazy with stars and then watching the sunrise light up the canyon. Those camps lie a short walk off the Boucher Trail 5.2 miles from the Hermit Trailhead, at 6,640 feet—and that’s about the only relatively “easy” way to get there. One drawback: Yuma Point lies right below the Dragon Corridor, where the sky is filled with a daily invasion of constant sightseeing overflights between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.

See “Backpacking the Grand Canyon: Tonto West to Boucher Trail” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

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

Death Hollow, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument

I’d read on some websites that viable campsites were non-existent in Death Hollow, in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. And looking at the contour lines of this deep and generally narrow cleavage in the slickrock plateau, it did seem like a bad bet to assume one would find good camps in there. Turned out, that was wrong.

On the middle day of a three-day hike on the 22-mile Death Hollow Loop, two friends and I backpacked down the dramatic canyon of Death Hollow, frequently walking in the creek amid small cascades and weaving our way around deep, calm pools and other obstacles and hazards—and bushwhacking through thickets of poison ivy that stood taller than us. And we passed a handful of camps where we’d have been happy to spend a night on one of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, where each of our three days presented different terrain and scenery, a sort of three-in-one wilderness adventure in landscapes that repeatedly made me to pause and just gape.

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

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Liberty Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

On the last afternoon of my family’s backpacking trip on Nevada’s Ruby Crest Trail, a steady uphill climb deposited us at the edge of Liberty Lake, a cobalt eye tucked tightly within a shoreline of granite slabs, patches of evergreen forest, and a talus mountainside. We followed the trail around and above the lake, where we stood on a ledge overlooking the lake and the long chain of the Ruby Mountains stretching into the distance (lead photo at top of story). Although camping there didn’t fit neatly into our four-day itinerary, it was easy to see why other backpackers had set up camp nearby.

Liberty Lake was not the only highlight of an approximately 36-mile, south-to-north traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail. We enjoyed a campsite on another beautiful alpine lake, wildflowers in bloom, relatively few other backpackers, and long stretches of hiking above 10,000 feet, traversing an almost treeless alpine zone for miles.

See my story about my family’s trip, “Backpacking the Ruby Crest Trail—A Diamond in the Rough,” at The Big Outside.

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See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Imogene Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Returning to Imogene Lake again for the first time in some years, on a weekend backpacking trip with my then-11-year-old daughter, I was reminded just how gorgeous this sprawling water body is. On calm days—like we had on that visit—the water reflects an Impressionist painting-like panorama of pine forest and rocky peaks.

I was actually planning to finally atone for my sin of having hiked past Imogene on at least two or three previous occasions by setting up camp here with my daughter. But we got a late start on a Friday and rolled in to Hell Roaring Lake—four miles below Imogene—after dark. So we just dayhiked to Imogene. I’ll camp there yet—I swear. Meanwhile, Hell Roaring is a pretty nice spot, too, and close enough to visit Imogene on a morning hike.

See my story “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes,” about father-son and father-daughter backpacking trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths, and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths, including in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

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Below Nevills Arch, Owl Canyon, Bears Ears National Monument

Consider this a shining example of “if we’d just hiked a little while longer, and started early enough to beat the party that got there first, we’d have camped here.” On the second morning of our three-day loop through Owl and Fish canyons, in southeastern Utah’s Bears Ears National Monument, we walked through the amphitheater where striking Nevills Arch presides over a sort of royal court of tall, red cliffs and pinnacles that resemble melted candles—and right past the lone campsite on flat, packed dirt that sits within the warm embrace of that amphitheater.

Having camped (at a pretty nice spot, anyway) just an easy 30-minute or shorter walk farther up Owl Canyon, it was a little painful seeing how close we’d come to enjoying this camp—although the small group who’d camped there were still packing up as we strolled past it. One of the best backpacking trips in the Southwest, the two- to three-day Owl-Fish loop offers an unusual combination of qualities: short distance, incredible scenery (and night skies), solitude, rugged hiking and scrambling, and a permit that’s easier to get than for better-known Southwest backpacking trips.

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

Elbow Lake, Wind River Range

In the week before Labor Day 2022, a prime time to be in the mountains, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I backpacked a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, mostly exploring an area of the Winds I had not seen before. But we also walked a stretch of the Highline Trail (part of the Continental Divide Trail) which I had hiked previously (on this trip), reminding me not only how nice that trail is but that I’ve now hiked past Elbow Lake twice without laying out my sleeping bag there.

I rank that day among the prettiest I’ve ever hiked in the Winds—and that’s saying a lot. We started out from one of the best backcountry campsites I’ve ever had, overlooking the lower of the Twin Lakes, 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak, and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis, following the Highline Trail past several alpine lakes and tarns to sprawling Elbow Lake—embraced by granite slabs and grassy earth where you can’t help but picture your tent pitched. From there, we continued to a pair of high passes and more spectacular lakes.

And as happened throughout that trip, we passed fewer than 10 people all day.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside. National forest and wilderness managers require camping at least 200 feet from any lake or trail in the Winds.

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

Iceberg Lake, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Two companions and I walked one of the finest sections of the John Muir Trail on a nine-day, north-south trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, exploring high lakes basins and crossing passes at 11,000 to 12,000 feet. But one highlight came early in that trip, when we detoured off the JMT to hike below the row of jagged spires called the Minarets in the Ansel Adams.

On the steep uphill hike from Ediza Lake—itself a nice spot to pitch a tent—we reached Iceberg Lake, tucked into a compact bowl at 9,774 feet right at the foot of sheer rock walls that rise to sharp points. Not far from the lakeshore, we saw some perfect little patches of dirt for tents. The Minarets can be visited on a weekend or three- to four-day hike that will give you a great sampler of the central High Sierra.

See photos and read about this area in my story “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and check out “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

Dead Horse Lake, Uinta Highline Trail, High Uintas Wilderness

In an unusual window of warm and mostly clear weather in early October, my 24-year-old son, Nate, and I backpacked nearly 60 miles through Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—which blew us away. We had some great camps, but one we sadly walked past was beside Dead Horse Lake, at around 10,900 feet at the head of a lake-filled basin tucked inside a ragged horseshoe of castle-like peaks between Red Knob Pass, at 12,000 feet, and Dead Horse Pass, at 11,600 feet.

Getting there isn’t easy from any direction—which typically ensures more solitude—and neither is getting out. Hiking southbound from the lake on the Uinta Highline, we climbed below tall cliffs and sheer buttresses soaring several hundred feet above us, the trail tilting steeply upward, weaving through huge boulders, and frequently consisting of no more than a goat path of boot prints across sliding scree. At Dead Horse Pass, I told Nate, “I think I know what killed the horse.”

Still, the High Uintas, and especially the Uinta Highline Trail, deserve more attention from serious backpackers than they get: This place is a big, majestic wilderness with 13,000-foot peaks and over 1,000 mountain lakes. Go there.

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

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The Narrows, Zion National Park

Rather than pick one of the campsites in Zion’s Narrows that a friend and I hiked past—we stayed in campsite one, which made my list of 25 favorite backcountry campsites—I have to give all of the 11 other designated campsites in The Narrows a collective spot on this list.

On the second day of an overnight, top-to-bottom backpacking trip of The Narrows, we checked out campsites two through 12, and I eventually gave up on the idea of picking a favorite. Each one sits within sight and earshot of the burbling river, below sheer, multi-colored walls rising hundreds of feet to a ribbon of sky overhead. Some may have a little more space or some other appeal; but given the location, any one of them guarantees you an incomparable night.

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

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

Indian Ridge, Yosemite National Park

On our first night in the backcountry during a four-day, 45-mile hike in Yosemite, a friend and I carried water up onto Indian Ridge, on Yosemite Valley’s North Rim, and found a great campsite a short walk from an unnamed dome overlooking a panorama that took in Half Dome and distant mountains to the south. We watched a sunset linger until the final light of day dripped from the sky.

But not long after hitting the trail the next morning, we saw where we wished we had camped. A little farther down Indian Ridge, the terrain opens up and flat spots abound just off the trail—where we saw no other backpackers. We had a much closer and more spectacular view looking directly at the huge Northwest Face of Half Dome just across the deep gulf of the Valley. Park regulations require camping at least a half-mile from the North Rim of Yosemite Valley—which is easy to achieve and have plenty of spots to choose from on Indian Ridge—and more significantly, you have to carry water up there.

But I don’t know of another spot in the backcountry where you can camp with that kind of view of Yosemite Valley.

See my feature story about that trip, “Yosemite’s Best-Kept Secret Backpacking Trip.”

Get the right shelter for your trips. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents”
and “How to Choose the Best Ultralight Backpacking Tent for You.”

Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

I first included Elizabeth Lake on this list after backpacking Glacier’s magnificent Northern Loop, which I describe how to plan and hike in my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park.” But since then, I’ve returned to Glacier to make a comparably awe-inspiring, 90-mile, north-south traverse of the park, mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, but with some variations I built into the route to show friends who accompanied me what I consider some the finest scenery in Glacier (described in this e-book).

And on our first night of that more-recent trip, we camped at Elizabeth Lake—and I got the photo above early the next morning, as the calm, chill air turned the lake into a mirror reflecting the surrounding, jagged peaks. So technically, I’ve now hiked past Elizabeth (twice, actually) and camped there, but I decided it still belongs on this list so that you don’t risk passing up a chance to spend a night there.

See my stories about backpacking Glacier’s Northern Loop and Gunsight Pass Trail and about traversing the park mostly following the Continental Divide Trail, and my most recent hike in Glacier, a weeklong traverse mostly on the CDT with an itinerary and camps that varied from the first CDT trip.

Glacier ranks among “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips.”

Jacob Hamblin Arch, Coyote Gulch

I had fully intended for our group of two families to spend our second night backpacking Coyote Gulch right beneath Jacob Hamblin Arch; I remembered, from a trip there years earlier, that it’s a magical spot to layover and watch the light shift.

But when our group reached Coyote Natural Bridge that afternoon, the kids were ready to call it a day; and it being about an hour (at a family pace) downstream from Jacob Hamblin, and not a bad place at all to pitch tents on the broad, sandy beach below the bridge (it was formerly on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), I quickly gave up on the idea of reaching the arch. I also knew the arch is a popular spot, so all available sites could be snapped up by the time we got there. It turned out they weren’t, and a prime campsite, on the upstream side looking right up at the arch, was actually empty when we got there the next morning. Oh, well.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch and dayhiking slot canyons and trails in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument and neighboring Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks for more photos, videos, and detailed trip-planning information.

After Coyote Gulch, hike the rest of “The 12 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Island Lake and Peak Lake, Wind River Range

Take a long walk in the Winds and you can hardly swing an extended tent pole without hitting a lake or tarn. When two friends and I backpacked a roughly 41-mile loop in the Winds, I deliberately planned a route that included a night in Titcomb Basin, where lakes shimmer below the soaring granite walls of 13,000-foot peaks. But we inevitably hiked past countless, pretty lakes that presented alluring campsites.

Two of the most memorable were Island Lake, where we stopped for lunch en route to Titcomb, and Peak Lake, which nestles in a tiny bowl below peaks that resemble incisors, and which we reached after hiking cross-country from Titcomb over Knapsack Col and down a lonely valley to reach the Shannon Pass Trail. On a trip where a shocking number of lakes feel like one of the prettiest spots on the planet, these two have burned lasting images in memory.

See my story about that trip, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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By the Colorado River at Hance Rapids, Grand Canyon

While I have camped on the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River (it’s on my top 25 best backcountry campsites list), more recently, I backpacked past that beach on a six-day trip that I concluded—after several trips in the Big Ditch—is “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” As we left that beach, we walked past a spacious (and empty!) campsite fully enclosed by trees that cast substantial shade.

Anyone who’s hiked in the canyon understands the value of shade—especially in a campsite. We had many miles to go that day, so we didn’t stop. But the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River has long been on my radar (since I took this three-day hike) as a spot to plan spending a night when hiking through this corner of the canyon. This shady site will be the first place I check for occupants the next time I plan to bed down on that beach.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids, and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

Get my expert e-books to “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” and a trip easier for first-timers, “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Marie Lake, John Muir Trail

It was the fourth morning of our seven-day thru-hike of the John Muir Trail through California’s High Sierra, from Yosemite National Park to Mount Whitney. Three friends and I were climbing toward Selden Pass in the John Muir Wilderness and not even thinking about taking a break yet; we wouldn’t stop for the night until hours later.

Below us, Marie Lake lay still in a bowl of granite ledges with trees dotting the landscape, rocky islands in the lake, and an infinite selection of places around the lake to temporarily call home.

This was one of the most painful times I’ve hiked past a beautiful backcountry camp.

And in August 2022, I did it again when two companions and I backpacked past Marie Lake—although only after enjoying a nice swim and lunch there—on a nine-day trek of nearly 130 miles through the Ansel Adams and John Muir wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

Want my help planning your JMT thru-hike?

I’ve helped many readers plan all the details of this classic trip, including getting a very hard-to-get permit, figuring out how many days to take, and finding the best campsites. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you. 

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

Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

It sure seems like I keep walking past really nice campsites in the Winds—maybe I just need to spend more time there. On an August trip with my son a few summers back, we aborted a planned four-day loop crossing the Continental Divide twice and finishing through the Cirque of the Towers—because the weather was so bad, with almost continuous rain and virtually no views of the mountains and no sign it would improve. But we did hike from one camp to visit Pyramid Lake and saw enough of its surroundings to know I wanted to return.

Now I’m happy to call this a success story because I did get back to this part of the Winds in August 2023, on a four-day, nearly 41-mile hike crossing four high passes, when a friend and I spent our first backcountry night a short walk from the shore of Pyramid Lake. At nearly 10,600 feet, the lake nestles in a rocky basin at the foot of 11,978-foot Pyramid Peak (which we scrambled up on that trip), 12,454-foot Mount Hooker, and 12,185-foot Tower Peak. (The lake is also a short, cross-country hike from the valley of the East Fork River on the Wind River High Route, which I write about in this story about the Wind River High Route).

See my story about that August 2023 trip, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Planning a backpacking trip? See “How to Plan a Backpacking Trip—12 Expert Tips”
and “How to Know How Hard a Hike Will Be.”

Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River, Yosemite National Park

On day three of a four-day, 87-mile, backpacking trip in the remote, northern reaches of Yosemite with my friend Todd, we reached one of that trek’s scenic highlights: the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne River. With granite walls soaring hundreds of feet above a crystal-clear river that tumbles over innumerable waterfalls, massive boulders, and a beautiful bed of cobblestones, the canyon bears a striking resemblance to the park’s iconic feature, Yosemite Valley—except that it’s twice as long and has no roads or buildings and few people.

Todd and I actually spent a pleasant night in the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne, initially sleeping under the stars on a big granite slab by the river, then quickly pitching our tarp in the woods when rain started falling after dark. But we didn’t score one of the several primo campsites we saw in the canyon, either because we walked past them before we were ready to stop for the night, or someone else already occupied them. To grab one of the campsites that sit near any of the waterfalls and great swimming holes, I suggest trying to reach the mid-canyon stretch by early afternoon, before most other backpackers.

See many more images, a video, and trip-planning trips in my story about that backpacking trip in northern Yosemite, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and all of my stories about Yosemite at The Big Outside, including “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” about a 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne.

Get my expert e-books to backpacking the 65-mile hike south of Tuolumne Meadows
and the 87-mile hike through northern Yosemite (which includes shorter options).

Bench Lakes, Sawtooth Wilderness

As we hiked past the second-highest of a string of five lakes that sit above 8,000 feet on the east side of the Sawtooths, the glassy waters of a calm early morning offered a perfect reflection of the incisor summit ridge of Mount Heyburn high above us. It was early on a long day my friend Chip Roser and I would spend climbing Heyburn, and would ultimately be one of the day’s finest moments. A rough, sometimes-obscure use trail leads to the Bench Lakes from Trail 101 above Redfish Lake. The highest of the Bench Lakes, at over 8,600 feet, is the most alpine of them and has campsites right at the foot of Heyburn.

See all stories about the Sawtooths at The Big Outside, including “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Photo Gallery: Mountain Lakes of Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip in the Sawtooths.
Want my help with yours? Find out more here.

Toltec Beach, Royal Arch Loop, Grand Canyon

As with the Tetons, there’s not likely a bad campsite in the GC—or at least none that I’ve found. But when three friends and I reached Toltec Beach, beside the Colorado River on the Grand Canyon’s very rugged, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, around lunchtime on our second day, we all made a vow to return there. The river offered an area to cool ourselves in the water, there was a tree casting nice shade onto the sand, and the views, of course, were epic.

The Royal Arch Loop makes a top-to-bottom-and-back-up circuit of the canyon—going from a words-can’t-do-it-justice panorama at the rim to dipping your toes in the Colorado. It delivers a highlights reel of just about every type of physical feature that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens nurtured by a vibrant stream, a high solitude quotient, and one drop-dead gorgeous campsite after another.

See my story about that trip “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” and all stories about backpacking in the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside

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Snowdrift Lake, Grand Teton National Park

I’ve had the pleasure of gazing upon the emerald waters of this alpine lake four times now—and I actually did once pitch a tent on a slope above the lake, but never in the site at the lake’s eastern end. A long, oval, often wind-battered gem parked at the head of Avalanche Canyon, just a few hundred feet below 10,680-foot Avalanche Divide and the long cliff band named The Wall, Snowdrift is not reached by any official park trail.

But there is an unofficial, unmarked, rough, and strenuous user trail that climbs up Avalanche Canyon; it branches west off the Valley Trail just north of Taggart Lake. It’s a hard trail to carry a pack up, and not much easier to carry a pack down (and finding the easy, safe way through the cliffs below Snowdrift Lake is trickier going downhill than uphill; I’ve done it in both directions). The easiest access to Snowdrift is hiking the good trail from South Fork Cascade Canyon up to Avalanche Divide, then hiking cross-country, over easy terrain, down to the east end of Snowdrift. The campsite is exposed, so don’t go if it’s windy or in bad weather.

See all of my stories about Grand Teton National Park, including this story that describes how to hike to Snowdrift Lake in Avalanche Canyon.

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

Phelps Basin and Spider Gap route, Glacier Peak Wilderness

On the first afternoon of a spectacular, five-day family hike of the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness—among my favorite wild lands—we camped in a spacious, established site in the woods above Spider Meadow and minutes below Phelps Basin. Two other parties had already grabbed the available sites in Phelps Basin (photo above), as I discovered, to my dismay, when we took an evening stroll up there.

The next morning, we carried our packs up the trail to Spider Gap, passing more campers perched on the bench atop a steep wall of earth high above Spider Meadow (photo at right). Whenever I get back there again, it will be exceedingly difficult to choose between these two spots.

See my story, with lots of images, about our five-day, family-backpacking trip in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness.

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Arrowhead Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

Since my first of now many trips into Idaho’s Sawtooths, I’ve often marveled at how these toothy, granite peaks remind me of the High Sierra—without the crowds of hikers found in parts of the Sierra. My friend Jeff Wilhelm and I hiked past Arrowhead Lake on the second morning of a four-day trip and immediately agreed we needed to return with fishing poles and stay longer. I snapped this photo when Jeff walked out onto the granite spit jutting into the lake.

See my story about that backpacking in the remote southern Sawtooth Wilderness and my story “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths.”

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

The Wind River High Route

When three friends and I set out on a seven-day, 96-mile traverse of the Wind River High Route—65 miles of which is off-trail, including nine of 10 named alpine passes between roughly 11,000 and 13,000 feet—we expected to be dazzled by one of the very best wilderness treks any of us had ever taken. And it exceeded expectations.

Inevitably, we hiked past many spots we’d love to have set up camp for the night. But two spots, in particular, stood out for me. One was in the valley of the East Fork River, where we hiked below a long chain of towering cliffs and soaked in frigid pools between cascades that tumbled over granite slabs in the shallow river. The second spot was in the long valley of the Alpine Lakes—one of the most starkly beautiful places I’ve ever seen. High above one of those lakes, we crossed a wide, grassy shelf sprinkled with rocks that looked like a little piece of the Scottish Highlands transported to the Wyoming mountains. It pained me to not stop there.

Read my story about that trip, “Adventure and Adversity on the Wind River High Route.”

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Hance Creek, Grand Canyon

This is another success story. The camping area on Hance Creek, on the east side of Horseshoe Mesa, earned a spot on this list when I backpacked past it with my then-10-year-old daughter on this three-day hike. That’s my justification for keeping it on this list—even though I’m happy to report that I’ve since returned and spent a night there (photo above) on a six-day trip that I’ve described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.”

Not to be confused with the beach at Hance Rapids on the Colorado River—which is several trail miles from and a couple thousand feet below the camping area at Hance Creek—the camping zone at Hance Creek is flanked by sheer, vibrantly red walls that by late afternoon cast a long, blessed shadow to give us relief from the sun.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” which includes a potential night at Hance Rapids.

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

Upper Boulder Chain Lakes, White Cloud Mountains

On a 28-mile, one-day loop hike through the heart of one of the most scenic Western mountain ranges that most hikers have never heard of, Idaho’s White Clouds, two friends and I scrambled off-trail up a very steep headwall, passed through a notch in a row of pinnacles, then picked up a trail and descended into the valley of a string of pearls known as the Boulder Chain Lakes. While we would run into backpackers camped at the lower lakes, we saw no one at three of the highest and most remote of the chain, Headwall Lake, Scoop Lake, and Hummock Lake, perched amid copses of conifers beneath peaks of unbelievably white rock that give these mountains their name.

Read my story about a 28-mile dayhike through Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains, with more photos and trip-planning info.

That White Clouds hike is featured in “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

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

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An unforgettable campsite can define a backcountry trip. Sometimes that perfect spot where you spend a night forges the memory that remains the most vivid long after you’ve gone home. A photo of that camp can send recollections of the entire adventure rushing back to you—it does for me. I’ve been very fortunate to have pitched a tent in many great backcountry campsites over more than three decades of backpacking all over the U.S. I’ve distilled the list of my favorite spots down to these 25.

I update this list every year and it becomes a little more difficult almost every time. This year, I’ve added fresh photos from a couple of places I revisited in 2024: Painter Basin in Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness and the Grand Canyon, where I backpacked most of the Gems Route, which includes the most remote stretch of the 95-mile-long Tonto Trail. 

Below my top 25 list you’ll find a second list—now just as long—of campsites that were previously in my top 25. Each campsite photo below includes a short description of that trip, and most have a link to an existing story at The Big Outside.

In some cases, the photos from these places show the view a few steps from our tent, rather than the site itself.

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

I share a brief anecdote with each photo because, for me, each campsite isn’t merely a beautiful scene: it is a story and a memory. Because that’s what camping in the wilderness is all about.

I’d love to read your thoughts about any of these places or your suggestions for campsites that belong on my list; I’m always looking for trip ideas. Share them in the comments section at the bottom of this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Sweet dreams.

Sahale Glacier Camp, North Cascades National Park

We slogged up Sahale Arm into a cold, wind-driven rain, unable to see more than a hundred feet in any direction. But as my friend David Ports and I reached Sahale Glacier Camp (lead photo at top of story), the rain and wind abated and the clouds dropped below us, giving us a view of the earth falling away into a bottomless abyss a few steps from our tent door. A mountain goat strolled past our camp.

Perched at the top of Sahale Arm and the toe of the Sahale Glacier, at 7,686 feet, the highest designated campsite in Washington’s North Cascades National Park overlooks what appears to be a boundless, wind-whipped sea of sharpened peaks smothered in snow and ice, among them Johannesburg, Baker, Shuksan, Glacier Peak, and in the far distance, Mount Rainier.

See my story “Exploring the ‘American Alps:’ The North Cascades” and all stories about backpacking in North Cascades National Park at The Big Outside.

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Beside Royal Arch, Grand Canyon National Park

Backpacking the 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop, the most remote and arguably the most rugged and lonely established South Rim hike in the Big Ditch, three friends and I put in a monster first day to reach the campsite beside Royal Arch—and was it ever worth the effort. We descended Royal Arch Canyon, which involves slow, strenuous, and exposed scrambling in spots—but is also lush with hanging gardens growing along its vibrant creek, which plunges through several crystal-clear pools—until we came into view of the arch, the Grand Canyon’s largest natural bridge (it’s water carved, so technically a bridge, not an arch).

We passed beneath the tall, thick arch (which provided ample shelter during dinnertime rain showers) and walked just beyond it to a flat ledge more than large enough for our two tents, directly beneath a towering sandstone pinnacle. Just steps beyond our ledge loomed a vertical, 200-foot pour-off dropping into the lower section of Royal Arch Canyon—a reminder not to wander far from the tents after dark. Come morning, dawn light would set the red walls of that lower canyon ablaze. For the four of us, all longtime backcountry explorers, this was an all-time best campsite.

See my story “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop” with lots of photos, a video, and information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside.

Start planning your next adventure now! See “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips”
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Helen Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

Wind-driven rain and hail pounded us as we backpacked the John Muir Trail through the Evolution Basin on the eighth day of a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park in California’s High Sierra, mostly on the JMT. The rain tapered before we crossed 11,955-foot Muir Pass in early evening, but gray-black storm clouds still threatened. A little while later, we pitched our tents on the only tiny patches of rock-free, flat ground we found above Helen Lake, at around 11,600 feet, drawing the curtain on an 18-mile day with over 5,000 feet of uphill and downhill. There have been few days when I’ve walked that far through grander wilderness.

The storm passed, granting us a dry, calm evening. The setting sun cast soft alpenglow upon a peak behind us and burnished the clouds hovering over the western horizon a dark burgundy. But the real payoff came the next morning, when the rising sun ignited the rocky faces of peaks across Helen Lake. The lake and a tiny tarn—more like a big puddle—near our camp offered razor-sharp reflections of our surroundings. Despite the weather that chased us there and our rocky tent sites, Helen Lake burned itself into memory for all three of us as an inspirational spot.

In fact, as always happens when I backpack through the High Sierra, we had a few truly glorious campsites on that August 2022 hike, including at Thousand Island Lake and Minaret Lake. See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes.”

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No Name Lake, Glacier National Park

With two of the six camps on my reserved permit closed due to bear activity when two friends and I arrived at Glacier National Park in the second week of September 2023, we had to scramble to create a new permit based on backcountry campground availability—and ended up with an itinerary very similar to a hike I’d done in Glacier five years before (see this story). But in Glacier, there are no consolation prizes, only trails that awe every time you walk them.

We backpacked a seven-day, north-south traverse of the park, mostly combining the primary and alternate routes of the Continental Divide Trail from the Belly River Valley to Two Medicine, hiking through the Ptarmigan Tunnel and finishing with the Dawson Pass Trail’s alpine traverse overlooking the peaks in the park’s remote heart. But unlike last time, we spent our final night at No Name Lake, where a calm morning brought the kind of lake reflection you want to frame for a wall at home (as I did). Another surprise treat on that trip was beautiful evening and morning light at Morning Star Lake—which would have made this list if not for the serendipitous light at No Name.

See my story “Déjà Vu All Over Again: Backpacking in Glacier National Park” and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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The Narrows, Zion National Park

It was one of the most glaring omissions in my resume as a backpacker: I had never hiked The Narrows of the Virgin River in southern Utah’s Zion National Park. (I actually had a permit to do it in October 2013, when Congress shut down the federal government, closing all the national parks and temporarily crushing my hopes of finally ticking off that classic hike.)

Then an unexpected opportunity arose: I had a window for a four-day trip in early November and saw an unusually good forecast for southern Utah. I broached the idea of backpacking The Narrows to my friend, David Gordon, he leapt at the chance, and we got a last-minute permit for a very popular trip at a time of year when there are far fewer people either competing for a permit or dayhiking from the bottom.

I shot this photo and video of David at our campsite, Narrows no. 1, in early evening; the slot on the left side of the photo is The Narrows—we had emerged from that slot, hiking downstream, just an hour or so earlier.

See my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows” and all stories about Zion National Park at The Big Outside.

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Death Canyon Shelf, Grand Teton National Park

I could rattle off a list of gorgeous campsites in Wyoming’s Tetons, a park I’ve visited well over 20 times and never get tired of. But I decided to include just the two camping zones I consider the best places to bed down in the Tetons backcountry and can be reached by trail: Death Canyon Shelf (above and at right) and the North Fork of Cascade Canyon (below).

I’ve camped a few times in different spots on Death Canyon Shelf, a broad, three-mile-long bench at about 9,500 feet. With the earth dropping away abruptly into Death Canyon on one side, cliffs rising some 500 feet on the other side, and views across the jagged peaks and canyons of the Tetons—reaching all the way to the Grand Teton—there are few spots with such sweeping and dramatic panoramas. I’ve watched moose in Death Canyon through binoculars from the cliff tops and deer grazing around our campsite, was awakened one night by a bull elk outside our tent—and have usually caught a spectacular sunset followed by an equally glorious sunrise.

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North Fork of Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park

On my most-recent backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail, in August 2019, three friends and I started up the North Fork of Cascade Canyon on our second afternoon—having already enjoyed two days of a constant stream of breathtaking scenery. Where the trail emerges from forest into boulder-strewn meadows with a first, sweeping view of the canyon, my friend David looked over his shoulder and exclaimed, “Wow!” He was gazing down the canyon at the sheer north face of the Grand Teton rising several thousand feet above us (photo above).

We found a campsite in a copse of pine trees with a ledge that afforded an unimpeded view down the canyon as the setting down turned the Grand golden and then ruby red (photo at left). Getting an early start the next morning, we passed a massive bull moose strolling across a meadow on our way to Lake Solitude—which we had to ourselves at a time of day when its still waters offered a perfect mirror image of the surrounding cliffs and peaks. And the eye candy just kept getting better as we hiked the TCT high up a canyon wall to Paintbrush Divide at 10,700 feet.

See my stories “A Wonderful Obsession: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail” and “American Classic: Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail,” and my e-book “The Complete Guide to Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail in Grand Teton National Park.”

I’ve helped many readers plan an unforgettable backpacking trip on the Teton Crest Trail. Visit my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan yours.

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Precipice Lake, Sequoia National Park

It almost seems unfair to compare other places to the High Sierra, Wyoming’s Teton Range and Wind River Range, Glacier National Park, or the Grand Canyon; those destinations dominate this list in part because I keep returning to them, but I think the photos speak for themselves. On a six-day, family backpacking trip in Sequoia National Park, we camped at two alpine lakes that deserved placement on this list: Precipice Lake and Columbine Lake (see Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites below these 25 favorites).

Precipice wasn’t even part of the planned itinerary; we intended to go beyond it, over Kaweah Gap, to camp in the Nine Lakes Basin. But when we reached Precipice in late afternoon on our third day, we decided within minutes to stop for the night. Cliffs of clean, white granite with black streaks ring much of the compact lake’s shoreline. The mouth of the outlet creek provides an excellent pool for a chilling dip. Granite ledges above the lake have flat areas for tents or to just lay out bags and sleep under the stars (as my 12-year-old son and I did). The evening alpenglow on the cliffs reflected in the lake and on 12,040-foot Eagle Scout Peak towering above Precipice, put the icing on the cake.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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Titcomb Basin, Wind River Range

The views kept getting better with every mile on the first day of a three-day, 41-mile loop that two friends and I backpacked from the Elkhart Park Trailhead in Wyoming’s Wind River Range in mid-September. But as we entered the long, alpine valley called Titcomb Basin to find a campsite for the night, craning our necks at the cliffs and peaks towering overhead, we immediately realized it was one of the prettiest backcountry spots any of us had ever seen.

An alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, Titcomb Basin sits below mountains on the Continental Divide that soar more than 3,000 feet above the Titcomb Lakes in the valley, the highest of which is 13,745-foot Fremont Peak. In fact, high peaks flank the valley on three sides like a long, narrow horseshoe. The only easy way in and out is via the trail entering the mouth of the basin. The next day, we hiked an off-trail route over Knapsack Col at about 12,200 feet, at the upper end of Titcomb, descending another trailless alpine valley speckled with wildflowers. 

Every time I return to the Winds, it feels like a reminder that I need to get there more often. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a mediocre campsite in the Winds, including the six nights I spent in August 2020 on the 96-mile Wind River High Route.

Read my feature story about that 41-mile hike, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

Which puffy should you buy? See my picks for “The 12 Best Down Jackets”
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Alice Lake, Sawtooth Wilderness

In the last week of June—not yet summer in the mountains—my son, Nate, and I backpacked with two friends to one of the gems of Idaho’s Sawtooth Wilderness: Alice Lake. While the ground was mostly dry and snow-free in the valleys, we had a frigid ford of a creek running knee-deep and fast with snowmelt, and then encountered up to three feet of snow still on the ground for the last hour or so to Alice Lake, which sits at 8,598 feet below an eye-catching row of granite pinnacles. We found Alice still partly frozen over. But the calm of late afternoon and then the next morning served up a glassy reflection of the snowy peaks beyond that illustrates why this area is a favorite among Sawtooths aficionados.

I’d been to Alice Lake a few times before, as had Nate, on his first wilderness backpacking trip—and one of the first of our annual “Boy Trips”—when he was six years old. In fact, on this recent visit, I recognized and pointed out to Nate the campsite where, seven years earlier, I hurriedly threw up our tent just before a violent thunderstorm rolled in. This time, we just spent one night out there, early enough in the season that we had a chilly night and no mosquitoes. Alice Lake has become popular and is usually overcrowded on summer weekends; plan to be there on a weeknight or pick another spot.

See my stories “The Best of Idaho’s Sawtooths: Backpacking Redfish to Pettit,” “Jewels of the Sawtooths: Backpacking to Alice, Hell Roaring, and Imogene Lakes”  “The Best Hikes and Backpacking Trips in Idaho’s Sawtooths,” and all stories about backpacking in the Sawtooths at this blog, plus my e-book “The Best Backpacking Trip in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.”

Lastly, don’t miss two more photos from Sawtooths campsites that I’ve had to bump to my list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites (see below)—which tells you something about the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth Mountains.

Click here now for my expert e-book to the best backpacking trip in Idaho’s Sawtooths!

Below the Chocolate Drops, Maze District, Canyonlands National Park

After an arduous descent with some exposed scrambling off Maze Overlook, on a five-day, roughly 46-mile, early March backpacking trip in the Maze District of southern Utah’s Canyonlands, three friends and I followed occasional cairns down the South Fork of Horse Canyon. After some searching, we located our quarry—a small but clear pool perhaps four inches deep, one of the few springs we would find flowing in The Maze.

Our packs newly laden with many pounds of water, we hiked about a half-mile beyond the spring into the mouth of a canyon traversed by the Maze’s Chimney Route. Turning onto a sandy footpath, we walked up a short, dead-end side canyon and found soft, flat ground for our tents, surrounded on three sides by tall cliffs of desert varnish. Rising above the canyon rim behind our camp, one of the Chocolate Drops—distinctive stone towers, visible for miles in every direction, colored a darker shade of brown than most of the surrounding landscape—seemed to peer down at us curiously.

We spent two nights in that wonderful, secluded campsite, dayhiking a nearly nine-mile loop from it that linked up two thrilling and improbably circuitous routes through the Maze, and marveling at how the simultaneously warm and cool light of March days constantly transformed our campsite’s canyon walls.

See my story about that trip, “Farther Than It Looks—Backpacking the Canyonlands Maze” and all stories about Canyonlands National Park at this blog.

Hike all of the “10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Evolution Lake, John Muir Trail, Kings Canyon National Park

The first time I walked up to the shore of Evolution Lake, on my thru-hike of the John Muir Trail, I couldn’t see the lake. Arriving there after dark, we laid out our sleeping pads and bags on granite slabs under the stars and quickly nodded off. Catching our first glimpse of our environs at first light the next morning actually made it more magical, because we got to watch daylight slowly reveal this magnificent alpine valley to us.

The second time I walked up to Evolution Lake, on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the High Sierra in August 2022, my two companions and I arrived on a beautiful morning—and that’s a place that will make you turn in a circle and gape. At 10,852 feet, surrounded by soaring cliffs that rise to tall peaks on all sides, including the 13,000-footers Mounts Mendel and Darwin and the 12,329-foot Hermit, it’s the lowest lake in the Evolution Basin and has the most protected camping. While we were moving on—commencing one of the JMT’s sections that earn it the nickname “America’s most beautiful trail” (a day that concluded at Helen Lake, described in the writeup above)—part of me wished we were spending the night there. I’ve also felt that way both times I’ve backpacked past Wanda Lake in the upper end of Evolution Basin.

See my stories “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” and “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking the JMT at The Big Outside.

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Elizabeth Lake, Glacier National Park

The chilly September air pinched our faces as we took the first steps from our campsite on Elizabeth Lake, on our second morning backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier. The still, glassy water captured a razor-sharp, upside-down reflection of the jagged mountains flanking it. Then we heard the sound: a high-pitched, nasal whine that built into something like a shriek, the note suspended for several seconds before it was abruptly cut off. It was an elk somewhere in the forest nearby, bugling an invitation to prospective mates.

The campsite at the head of Elizabeth Lake, tucked into the forest just a minute’s walk from the lakeshore beach, not only graced us with that elk bugle, but we also saw our first two bears of the trip while hiking along the lake that morning. While we would hear elk bugling almost every morning and evening on that trip, and more bears as well as mountain goats, bighorn sheep, and moose, Elizabeth Lake awed us with its morning reflection of mountains and set the tone for a consummate Glacier experience that turned into one of my all-time best backpacking trips.

See my story “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier” about that 94-mile backpacking trip. Click here to get my downloadable e-guide that will tell you everything you need to know to plan and take that trip (including some shorter variations of it), and click here for my e-guide to the best backpacking trip in Glacier.

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Along the Highline Trail, Wind River Range

Backpacking one of the premier long footpaths in the Winds, the Highline Trail, on a five-day, roughly 43-mile loop from the New Fork/Doubletop Mountain Trailhead at New Fork Lakes, my wife, Penny, our friend, Chip, and I reached an unnamed, small tarn beside the trail late one afternoon and the view stopped us in our tracks. We walked around the tarn and a few hundred feet beyond it to a flat area on a low rise.

We pitched our tents overlooking grassy meadows littered with glacial-erratic boulders that sloped languidly down to the lower of the Twin Lakes. Beyond that lake, the far side of the valley shot upward to a pair of behemoths reaching for the clouds: 12,119-foot Sky Pilot Peak and 12,224-foot Mount Oeneis. Culminating a day when the miles we hiked—10—again exceeded the number of other people we saw, it felt like we’d found an appropriate home for the night.

See “Backpacking Through a Lonely Corner of the Wind River Range” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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Overland Lake, Ruby Crest Trail

My family reached Overland Lake in late afternoon on day two of a four-day, approximately 36-mile traverse of the Ruby Crest Trail in Nevada’s Ruby Mountains. Immediately—and literally—the three teenagers (including a friend of our daughter’s) staked out their tents turf on the flat top of rocky ledges just a few steps (but several feet) above the wind-whipped waters of the lake.

Although the wind blew all that night—and my wife and I pitched our tent in a more protected spot amid trees about 25 feet behind their tents—we all enjoyed eating and hanging out on that ledge while the evening sun poured alpenglow onto the west-facing peaks and cliffs above Overland Lake.

For several years, I’d been hankering to hike the Ruby Crest and explore a wilderness area that sees relatively few backpackers and dayhikers compared to marquis parks and mountain ranges around the West. We saw wildflowers blooming and incredible terrain, as well as relatively few mosquitoes… or other backpackers. Overland is a logical stop for Ruby Crest Trail backpackers, sitting at the southern end of a 12-mile day that stays high above treeline, with sweeping views.

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

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Painter Basin, High Uintas Wilderness

On the third afternoon of a six-day, roughly 58-mile loop hike in northeastern Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness, we reached our second 11,000-foot pass of the day—Trail Rider Pass at 11,700 feet—and paused to catch the breath stolen away by both the climb and the view of an imposing row of 13,000-foot peaks, including 13,528-foot summit of Kings Peak, Utah’s highest.

Then we descended through switchbacks into an alpine garden of rocks and creeks called Painter Basin, where we pitched our tents at around 11,000 feet in the long shadow of Kings Peak. The sun dipped behind Kings, igniting the tall, billowing clouds that filled the sky in a wide arc overhead—a beautiful evening that foreshadowed a night sky riddled with stars. The next day, we dayhiked some 10 miles and 2,500 vertical feet to the crown of Utah, a fun and scenic day.

I returned to Painter Basin in early October 2024 (going on short notice with an unusually good weather window) with my son on the first night of a four-day, roughly 60-mile traverse mostly on the Uinta Highline Trail—and Painter graced us with lovely dawn light on those big peaks. Much of both trips occurred between 10,000 and 12,000 feet and delivered a considerable degree of solitude and beauty.

See my stories “Backpacking—and Sandbagging—Utah’s Uinta Highline Trail” and “Tall and Lonely: Backpacking Utah’s High Uintas Wilderness” and all stories that feature the High Uintas Wilderness at The Big Outside.

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See “12 Expert Tips For Finding Solitude When Backpacking.”

Johns Hopkins Inlet, Glacier Bay National Park

For one of the trips for my book about taking our kids on wilderness adventures in national parks facing threats from climate change, we took a five-day sea kayaking trip in southeast Alaska’s Glacier Bay, where cliffs shoot straight up out of the sea and razor peaks smothered in ice and snow rise thousands of feet overhead. We watched bald eagles and other birds flying overhead, harbor seals popping up out of the water near our boats, Stellar sea lions honking and carrying on while sprawled on the rocks of South Marble Island, and brown bears roaming rocky beaches looking for food.

We spent two nights at this campsite near the mouth of Johns Hopkins Inlet. From there, we kayaked up the inlet to within about a quarter-mile of the mile-wide snout of the Johns Hopkins Glacier; a thousand or more seals occupied floating icebergs or swam around the inlet. Throughout the evenings and mornings in camp, we listened to that massive glacier calve another bus-size chunk of itself into the sea every 20 or 30 minutes, with an explosive sound the native Tlingits called “white thunder.”

See my story “Back to the Ice Age: Sea Kayaking Glacier Bay.”

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Beside Hance Rapids, Colorado River, Grand Canyon National Park

The first day of a three-day backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon with my 10-year-old daughter, Alex, and two other families was a tough one: descending nearly 5,000 vertical feet in 6.5 miles on the rugged New Hance Trail. By the time we reached our campsites beside the Colorado River, everyone was whipped. But sometimes it takes a hard day of hiking to reach a magical spot, and this lonely corner on the floor of the Big Ditch is a pretty good place to rest tired legs.

Our front porch offered a view of redrock cliffs just across the river. The gravelly drone of Hance Rapids drowned out all other noise. Night fell like a black curtain to reveal a sky riddled with far more bullet holes than all the road signs in Arizona combined (and these holes glowed). Morning brought a sharp chill to the air—it was November—and the slow, patient unfolding of dawn light descending (kind of like very tired backpackers) from the South Rim a vertical mile above us to the mid-canyon geologic layers and, finally, bathing our campsite in warmth. We left there completely rejuvenated.

See my story “A Matter of Perspective: A Father-Daughter Hike in the Grand Canyon” for more images, a video, and tips on planning this trip, and all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside . See also my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon,” about a trip where the beach at Hance Rapids is a potential campsite, and get my expert e-book also titled “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon” to find out all you need to know to plan and pull off that amazing multi-day hike.

So many spots where I’ve camped in the Grand Canyon would make most people’s list of best camps ever. But I’d be remiss to not mention that every one of our camps for five nights on the GC’s Gems Route—the most remote section of the Tonto Trail and one of the canyon’s most remote trips—featured breathtaking views and a shocking amount of solitude. See my story “Let’s Talk Water: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Gems.”

Get my expert e-books to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon”
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Pyramid Lake, Wind River Range

After several multi-day hikes all over the Winds, I’ve gotten to know those mountains well and slept in so many beautiful spots that it’s hard to select just a few among them for this story. But after hiking to Pyramid Lake once before, I fulfilled my vow then to return, pitching my tent there on the first night of a four-day loop from Big Sandy in August 2023.

A friend and I camped in a meadow an appropriate distance from the lakeshore, where we enjoyed a sunset that set clouds aglow and a dawn that made the peaks surrounding the lake appear to glow. That proved to be a portentous start to our 41-mile hike, which crossed four high passes, featured camps near gorgeous lakes each night—Washakie and Arrowhead followed Pyramid—and delivered the kind of solitude one can find in the Winds when you’re prepared to work for it.

I’m willing to go out on a limb and call it the best multi-day hike in the Winds.

See my story “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Wind River Range? Yup” and all stories about backpacking in the Wind River Range at The Big Outside.

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

Thousand Island Lake, John Muir Trail, Ansel Adams Wilderness

Few backcountry campsites launch a backpacking trip as beautifully as the first evening my two adventure partners and I spent on a nine-day, 130-mile hike through the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses and Kings Canyon National Park, mostly on the John Muir Trail. From our camp above the shore of Thousand Island Lake (shown in lead photo at top of story), we watched a sunset that blazed furiously, igniting tiers of billowing clouds drifting past in what seemed like an endless light show with multiple, unexpected encores.

As has happened, I think, every time I’ve backpacked through the High Sierra, that adventure granted us the gift of more than a few really nice camps, including Helen Lake (above) and Minaret Lake. John Muir dubbed the High Sierra the “Range of Light” and the moniker has stuck because of the way those mountains seem to cling tightly to and refuse to release the abundant sunlight they receive. Stir a fast-moving cloudscape into a sunset like we had at Thousand Island Lake and you get a scene to remember forever.

See my story about that trip, “High Sierra Ramble: 130 Miles On—and Off—the John Muir Trail,” “10 Great John Muir Trail Section Hikes,” and all stories about backpacking in the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

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

Dome Glacier, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

The first four nights of camping on the Ptarmigan Traverse in Washington’s North Cascades are in the alpine zone with 360-degree views of some of the most severely vertiginous and heavily glaciated and snow-covered peaks in the Lower 48. With clear skies, any of those camps might among the most memorable you’ve ever had. But besides White Rock Lakes (scroll down to the list of Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites, below), my other favorite campsite on the Ptarmigan was on the Dome Glacier, base camp for our climb of Dome Peak. Throughout a clear evening, with a sea of clouds filling the valleys below us, we looked south to the white pyramid of the volcano Glacier Peak, glowing above the clouds in the dusk light.

Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

Find the right tent for you. See “The 10 Best Backpacking Tents”
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Below the East Face of Mount Whitney

In frigid blasts of wind raking the snow-covered mountainside in April, our party crested a steep slope to find ourselves facing one of the most-photographed and unforgettable mountain vistas in America: the East Face of California’s 14,505-foot Mount Whitney, highest peak in the Lower 48. On a flat pan of snow at 12,000 feet below that jagged skyline, we pitched our high camp, from which we made a successful ascent of Whitney’s Mountaineers Route the next day.

Spending two clear, starry nights in that camp, we saw the East Face in the varying light of all times of day, from dawn to sunset, dusk to dark. When I mentioned to one of our climbing partners that Whitney’s East Face was the only place I’ve seen that conjures mental images of the peaks of Torres del Paine National Park in Chilean Patagonia, this man—who’s also been to Patagonia—told me that he’d been thinking the same thing.

See my story about that trip, “Roof of the High Sierra: A Father-Son Climb of California’s Mount Whitney.”

Toleak Point, Olympic National Park

On my family’s second day of backpacking the southern Olympic coast, we had already marveled at a massive boulder in the intertidal zone on the beach that was wallpapered with hundreds of mussels, sea anemones, and vividly orange or purple starfish. We had also climbed down an 80-foot cliff on a rope ladder that was missing several rungs at its bottom.

Late that afternoon, we found a spot for our tents on the beach at Toleak Point, where dozens of the rock pinnacles called sea stacks rise out of the ocean just offshore. As the kids played in a tide pool, a sea otter emerged from the pool’s other end and flopped across the beach to plunge into the ocean. A seal cavorted in the waves near us. When I went to explore the sea stacks exposed at low tide, a great blue heron lifted off of one and soared away over the beach like a winged dinosaur. Another of the trips my family took for my book, this three-day hike on Washington’s Olympic coast is still remembered by our kids, as well as my wife and me, as one of our all-time favorite trips.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” with more photos, a video, and my tips on how to pull off this trip.

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Lake Ellen Wilson, Glacier National Park

Our weeklong backpacking trip had featured too many wildlife sightings to count—including bighorn sheep and numerous mountain goats, not to mention that we had an impending date with a sow grizzly bear and her two cubs. The scenery blew us away every day. I would have forgiven Lake Ellen Wilson, our final night’s campsite, for being anticlimactic.

But upon arriving there, we soaked tired feet in the lake’s cold, emerald-colored waters, a 20-second walk from our campsite, gazing around at a basin ringed by thousand-foot cliffs with several waterfalls pouring off of them. Then we laid down on the sun-warmed pebbles on the beach, which felt like a heated bed with built-in massage. For my friend Jerry Hapgood and me, dropping off into an afternoon nap on them was the default setting. It turned out to be our best campsite of the trip.

See my story “Descending the Food Chain: Backpacking Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop,” about backpacking my modified and expanded version of Glacier National Park’s Northern Loop, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip, and all stories about backpacking in Glacier at The Big Outside.

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Big Spring, Paria Canyon, Vermilion Cliffs National Monument

I’d known that Paria Canyon could hold some surprises. But our two-family party found a little more adventure than we’d anticipated—which became evident when the other dad in our group, Vince, plunged hip-deep into quicksand on our first afternoon. But he managed, with considerable effort, to extricate himself; and by the next day, the kids had figured out how to identify shallow quicksand that they could stomp around in, howling with laughter. (Before the trip was over, Vince’s wife, Cat, and I would also take a quicksand dip.) We hiked for five days, mostly in the cold but usually ankle-deep Paria River, through a canyon that ranged from narrow with sheer walls to a big, open chasm between distant cliffs. While every campsite was really nice, the one at Big Spring (above), on our second night, took first prize.

Paria, which straddles the Utah-Arizona border and enters the Colorado River at Lees Ferry (where we finished our hike), at the beginning of the Grand Canyon, is unquestionably one of the great, multi-day canyon hikes of the Southwest—partly explaining why it’s so difficult to snag a permit to backpack it. But the permit system also preserves an unusual degree of solitude and a unique wilderness experience: We saw very few other people over five days, and spent much of that time on our own. (The BLM allows 20 people to start backpacking the Paria daily; we grabbed nine spots.)

See my story “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” with my tips on how to plan this trip.

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Past Favorite Backcountry Campsites

As I visit new places, I occasionally add new campsites to the list above, and have to remove some great spots from the list (to keep it to 25, a somewhat random but sensible number). But bumping a site from my list doesn’t diminish its attraction, of course. So I will keep those former favorites in the list below, to give you even more ideas and goals for future adventures.

Upper Lyman Lakes, Glacier Peak Wilderness

On the second day of a five-day, 44-mile family hike through Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness, we ascended a long finger of snow and crossed the pass that represents the crux of this trip in terms of technical difficulty, Spider Gap, at 7,100 feet. From there, we descended snow into the head of a valley sculpted and scoured by ice just a geologic moment ago, the Upper Lyman Lakes basin.

The Lyman Glacier poured down the cliffs of 8,459-foot Chiwawa Mountain into the vividly emerald waters of the uppermost lake. Barren, snow-speckled peaks and cliffs ringed the valley on three sides. A creek leapt from the lake’s far shore, crashing over stones and a small waterfall, below which some of us took a frigid and very brief bath. Wildflowers sprung hopefully from the few, shallow patches of soil. We pitched our tents on a grassy knoll near a copse of conifer trees, with an unobstructed view of that entire basin. And we spent most of the evening watching the shifting light across the mountains until sunset lit the clouds afire, watching a pair of bucks and a few doe wander through our campsites, and, well, swatting mosquitoes. (It was late July in the North Cascades, after all.)

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop.”

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Benson Lake, Yosemite National Park

At dusk on the second day of a four-day, 86-mile backpacking tour of northern Yosemite—the park’s biggest swath of wilderness—my friend Todd Arndt and I strolled up to perhaps the most unlikely sight deep in the mountains: a sprawling, sandy beach that looks like it got lost on its way to Southern California. After hiking almost 23 miles that day, the trip’s longest, wiggling our toes in the cool sand and standing in the icy lake water in our bare feet reduced us to cooing babies.

A longtime backcountry ranger in Yosemite had told me that I’d find the park’s best backcountry beach at Benson Lake—but I never would have imagined such a vast expanse of fine sand deep in the mountains. It was one of many surprisingly gorgeous backcountry secrets I discovered over seven days of backpacking 151 miles through Yosemite’s most remote corners.

See my story “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and my story about the three-day, 65-mile first leg of that weeklong odyssey, “Best of Yosemite: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows.”

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

Tanner Beach, Grand Canyon National Park

A longtime backcountry ranger who has hiked every named trail in the Grand Canyon wrote an email to me recommending that I try a route off the South Rim—only a section of which I’d hiked before—that he described as “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon.” Given the source of that endorsement, how could I not do it? So two friends and I backpacked a six-day, 74-mile, point-to-point traverse that took us down to campsites on the Colorado River and, of course, back up to the rim.

That hike showed us many diverse personalities of the canyon, from one of its most scenic and popular trails, the South Kaibab, to one of its most remote and primitive paths, the Escalante Route. We experienced some of the highest levels of solitude I’ve ever had on Grand Canyon trails—hiking for hours without encountering another person, and having little company at three of our four campsites. But we also spent a fun evening at a campsite with a very friendly rafting party that graciously fed us well.

And our last campsite, shaded by a rock ledge at Tanner Beach, turned out to be the best camp on the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon. I think you’ll see why when you read my story about that beautiful hike—titled, appropriately, “The Best Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.” Click here now for my e-book of the same title, which will tell you everything you need to know to plan and execute that trip.

See all stories about Grand Canyon backpacking trips at The Big Outside and my e-book to “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

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Columbine Lake, Sequoia National Park

Whichever direction you approach this lake from, you will pay for the privilege of a night here with significant toil. Filling a stone basin at nearly 11,000 feet, below the distinctive spire of Sawtooth Peak and an arc of snaggle-toothed mountains, Columbine is reached either via a 600-foot hump up through dozens of switchbacks from Lost Canyon; or a much harder 1,200-foot scramble, sans maintained trail, up a steep mountainside of sliding scree from Monarch Lakes to 11,630-foot Sawtooth Gap, where a primitive but better path leads down to Columbine. (We took the former and descended from Sawtooth Gap to Monarch Lakes—and were glad we did not carry backpacks up that route.)

Once there, though, your effort is (mostly) forgotten. We explored the granite ledges on the northshore of the lake, where crevices and small bowls in the granite hold tinypockets of water and you sometimes have to scramble on all fours over short, vertical walls. Alpenglow painted the peaks a salmon hue in the evening–of course—and sunrise cast an unbelievable pallet of orange, yellow, and reds onto a curlicue sculpture of clouds hovering just above one jagged ridge nearby. While not easy on the legs, Columbine Lake is very easy on the eyes.

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park” about this six-day backpacking trip, which included Precipice and Columbine lakes, with many more photos, a video, and information for planning this trip yourself. As of 2021, Sequoia National Park prohibits camping within 100 feet of Columbine’s lakeshore, to help protect the lake from use impacts.

Whitie Cox Camp, Middle Fork Salmon River, ID

Boy, it’s hard to pick one campsite that outdoes all others on the Middle Fork of the Salmon—they’re all pretty darn nice, often on large beaches in a canyon flanked by cliffs and mountainsides of pine forest, rocky crags, and golden grasses rising to summits 3,000 feet overhead. But for me, one stands out, and my family has, just by coincidence, camped there on both of our six-day rafting and kayaking trips down the Middle Fork.

In July 2019, on our second Middle Fork trip, joined by 20 good friends that included families with teens and young adults, we once again spent our second of five nights on the river at Whitie Cox camp. Just above a sweeping bend in the river, the camp has views up and down the canyon and a sprawling beach where the group sat in a large circle of folding chairs and talked and laughed for hours. After dark, some of us laid out our pads and bags on the sand and slept under the stars to the sound of the river softly murmuring past. In early morning, several of us hiked nearly a thousand feet up a ridge to an amazing vista up and down the canyon.

The Middle Fork, deep in central Idaho’s sprawling, 2.4-million-acre Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness, is rightly known as one of the great multi-day, wilderness river trips in America—if not the greatest—for its mix of breathtaking scenery, frequent rapids up to class III and IV, numerous hiking opportunities, hot springs, world-class trout fishing… and beautiful campsites.

See my story about that most-recent trip on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River, and my story about my family’s first trip down the Middle Fork when our kids were four years younger.

See also my story about my involvement helping to create a new long-distance trail through the vast wilderness areas of central Idaho, which includes the Middle Fork Salmon River Trail, “America’s Newest Long Trail: The Idaho Wilderness Trail.”

Camp Schurman, Mount Rainier National Park

Camp Schurman sits at 9,460 feet, on the very tip of Steamboat Prow, a cleaver of busted volcanic rock and dust. Two massive glaciers, the Emmons and Winthrop, part around this stone prow in a way that illustrates how frozen water behaves much the same as its liquid form. More than four square miles of moving ice, thousands of years old, and stretching over nearly 9,000 feet of elevation, the Emmons is the largest glacier in the Lower 48; the Winthrop isn’t much smaller. When two friends and I set off to climb the Emmons in early August a few years ago, with much of the snow melted off the glaciers, they displayed heavy scarring: huge, frighteningly beautiful crevasses as plentiful as waves on a storm-tossed ocean.

A two-foot-high, oval, stone wall shielded our tentsite from the irrepressible, bone-chilling wind. Standing outside our tent, I was struck by the mind-boggling scale of Mt. Rainier. Looking up at the mountain, I couldn’t fit it all within my peripheral vision. And yet, I knew I was looking at a tiny fraction of Rainier—which made me feel both very small and very fortunate for just being there.

Getting There From White River Campground at 4,400 feet, five miles past the White River ranger station (get a climbing permit there), hike the Glacier Basin Trail 3.2 miles to Glacier Basin Camp, at 6,000 feet. Follow a climbers’ trail up into the basin, reaching the Inter Glacier (good training ground for new climbers) at around 6,800 feet. Climb to Curtis Camp on the ridge north of Mt. Ruth, then descend off the ridge onto the Emmons Glacier and continue to Camp Schurman at 9,460 feet.

Map/Guidebook Trails Illustrated Mt. Rainier no. 217, $11.95, (800) 962-1643, natgeomaps.com. Mt. Rainier—A Climbing Guide, by Mike Gauthier, $18.95, mountaineersbooks.org.

Contact Mt. Rainier National Park, nps.gov/mora.

Granite Park, John Muir Wilderness

On the second night of a three-day, 32-mile, partly cross-country traverse of the John Muir Wilderness from North Lake Trailhead to Mosquito Flat Trailhead in the High Sierra, we pitched our tents in Granite Park, an aptly named high valley speckled with scores of alpine lakes and tarns and encircled by an arc of 12,000- and 13,000-foot spires of barren, golden stone. In the evening, the sinking sun painted the peaks, lakes, and granitic landscape in a shifting, vivid light that was absolutely captivating. We couldn’t tear our eyes from the light show that went on for a few hours. When the last alpenglow faded away, night brought a sky riddled with stars.

In the morning, we set out early and I got the above shot of my friend Jason Kauffman passing a lake minutes from our campsite.

See my story and more photos about backpacking a 32-mile, partly off-trail traverse in the John Muir Wilderness for information on how to pull off this trip.

“Kid Rock” campsite, Green River, Canyonlands National Park

We made up the name for this campsite; it doesn’t have a name that I’m aware of, though it is an established and large campsite on the Green River in Stillwater Canyon, seven miles above the confluence with the Colorado River. We gave it that name because, minutes after we landed, the eight kids in our five-family crew—ranging in age from four to 12—immediately planted their figurative flag on this boulder at the edge of the campsite and christened it “Kid Rock.” We all now remember that site by the name the kids gave that boulder.

Really, there are many special campsites along this lazy stretch of the Green, which passes through a canyon of soaring redrock cliffs and spires. But besides being spacious and scenic, this one sits at the bottom of a trail that climbs about three miles uphill to White Crack, one of the most spectacular campgrounds on the White Rim.

See my story about floating for five days down the Green River through Stillwater Canyon in Canyonlands National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Rock Slide Lake, Sawtooth Mountains

Having lived in Idaho since 1998, I have explored much of the state’s best-known mountain range, the Sawtooths. But it took me 13 years to finally backpack into the deep interior of the southern Sawtooths, an area speckled with mountain lakes that lies a solid two days’ hike from the nearest roads in any direction.

So when my friend Jeff Wilhelm and I carved out four glorious September days to finally explore this area, we found deep, clear lakes filled with lunker trout, ringed by jagged peaks, and trails that don’t receive many boot prints. Walking through the bright, airy forest there, filled with granite outcroppings, reminded me of the High Sierra—without all the people. We used Rock Slide Lake as a base camp for two nights to give us a day to explore with daypacks, and spent hours on its shore, marveling at the dawn and sunset light there.

See my story about a four-day, 57-mile in the southern Sawtooth Wilderness for more photos and information for planning this trip.

Green River, Dinosaur National Monument

Long shadows leaned over the steadily sliding river as we pulled into our first campsite on a four-day rafting trip on the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument, which straddles the Utah-Colorado border. From the floor of Lodore Canyon, we gazed up at burgundy cliffs soaring a thousand feet overhead. One friend said to me, “This is probably the nicest campsite I’ve ever seen.” But what was truly amazing was that the second night’s campsite was better than our first—and the third night’s site was even more breathtaking than the first two. For that reason—and because many campsites on the banks of the Green in Dinosaur are equally beautiful—I’m simply lumping all of them together for this list.

See my story about that trip, “Why Conservation Matters: Rafting the Green River’s Gates of Lodore.”

Coyote Natural Bridge, Coyote Gulch, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, UT

My memory of my wife’s and my first backpacking trip in Coyote Gulch 16 years earlier was cloudy when we returned recently with our 12- and 10-year-old kids and another family. Sometimes revisiting a place doesn’t measure up to a fond recollection of it; not so with Coyote Gulch, in southern Utah’s Escalante River canyons. It was more scenic even than I remembered. Soaring, red rock walls tower along its length. A steady creek pours over several short waterfalls, its year-round flow keeping the canyon bottom lushly green. And then there are features like Jacob Hamblin Arch and Coyote Natural Bridge.

My plan had been for us to spend our second night at one of the campsites below Jacob Hamblin; but the team was a little too pooped by the time we reached Coyote Natural Bridge to push on more than an hour farther. It turned out to be serendipitous, because we had the sandy beach area around the bridge to ourselves (whereas the campsites at Hamblin are popular). The kids played for hours in the creek and some adults took an evening hike while the others laid down on the warm sand with a book.

See my story about backpacking Coyote Gulch (and hiking slot canyons in the Escalante and at Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks), with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tiger Key, Everglades National Park, FL

Songbirds chattered and flitted among the trees along the shore. Cormorants and brown pelicans skimmed the water’s surface. Egrets glided overhead. In one secluded cove in Tiger Key, an outermost island of the Ten Thousand Islands in Florida’s Everglades, we sat in our canoes and watched 10 brilliantly pink roseate spoonbills perched in a tree, watching us. In a small bay, we sat rapt while a dolphin swam wide circles around our canoe for about 20 minutes. Every evening, we stood in the warm beach sand watching the blazing red orb of the sun slowly sink into the Gulf of Mexico.

Another of the trips I took my family on for my book, paddling the Everglades was one of the most magical for all of us—for the scenery, the exotic birds, and the unique experience of having a wilderness beach all to ourselves.

See my story about kayaking the East River and canoeing and wilderness camping in the Ten Thousand Islands of Everglades National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

White Rock Lakes, Ptarmigan Traverse, Glacier Peak Wilderness

It was the third day of our six-day trip on arguably America’s premier mountain haute route. A multi-day walk along a high mountain crest, the Ptarmigan Traverse crosses six glaciers and stays high above treeline until the fifth day. We camped by lonely alpine lakes—one of which was still completely frozen and snow-covered in mid-August—below jagged summits in possibly the most vertiginous mountains in the country.

My climbing partners Stefan Kinnestrand and Wes Cooper and I ascended two of those glaciers, the LeConte and the South Cascade, in whiteout conditions on that third day, navigating by GPS while watching very carefully for crevasses. Then we scrambled from another pass down a precarious slope of loose rock so steep that a slip might have concluded with a tumble of several hundred feet right to the bottom. Most of the ground surrounding the White Rock Lakes remained snow-covered that August day, and the lakes were still almost completely frozen. When the fog finally lifted, we got a view across the deep valley of the West Fork of Agnes Creek to the Dana Glacier and Chikamin Glacier pouring off a ridge connecting several rocky peaks and spires. I’ll eventually post a story and more photos from the Ptarmigan Traverse.

Getting There Climbers traditionally begin the Ptarmigan Traverse at Cascade Pass in North Cascades National Park and walk south, largely hewing close to the Cascade Crest. Beyond Dome Peak, from the Cub Lake area in the Glacier Peak Wilderness, the route descends to the Downey Creek Trailhead on Suiattle River Road. The route is mostly off-trail and crosses six glaciers; expert skills at glacier travel and navigating off-trail through mountains are required. See an excellent route description at summitpost.org/ptarmigan-traverse/154644.

Spring Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park

Southern Utah’s Capitol Reef has scenery to match its siblings in the National Park System—but when it comes to crowds, this place ain’t no Zion or Yosemite. In the visitor center at the outset of a three-day, family backpacking trip, a ranger told me that we were the only party getting a permit to backpack into Spring Canyon that day.

We hiked below towering, burgundy cliffs with patches of white and orange and black water-stain streaks, passing enormous boulders piled up below the cliffs. More than four hours after setting out from the Chimney Rock Trailhead, we pitched the tent on a grassy bench in Spring Canyon, beneath cliffs topped by domes and spires soaring hundreds of feet overhead. Staying there for two nights, with a day of exploring in between, we saw no other people. If that kind of solitude is rare in the backcountry of many national parks, it’s especially unusual in a spot reached with relatively little effort.

See my story about dayhiking, slot canyoneering, and backpacking in Capitol Reef National Park, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Lagunas Chevallay, Dientes Circuit, Chilean Patagonia

The 35-mile Dientes Circuit through the Dientes de Navarino (“Teeth of Navarino”) on Isla Navarino (Navarino Island), at the southern tip of South America, is chock full of ends-of-the-Earth moments and beautiful campsites. With my friend Jeff Wilhelm and 22-year-old Puerto Williams-based trekking guide Maurice van de Maele, I hiked for four days through a wild, wind-battered landscape of incisor-like rock towers and alpine lakes that gets visited by just a handful of people every year.

About halfway through the trip, the Antarctic wind blew us through Paso Ventarron (Ventarron Pass) as the late-day light pierced clouds above the Lagunas Chevallay. We descended the rocky trail to camp beside the large, unnamed lake shown at the head of the valley in the photo above.

See my story about trekking the Dientes Circuit, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

East Fork Owyhee River

Guiding our kayaks between tight canyon walls on Deep Creek, we didn’t see the confluence until we practically fell into it, the swift waters spitting us out into a deeper, wider channel: southwest Idaho’s East Fork Owyhee River. The four of us immediately landed and dragged our boats up onto a spacious beach on river right, tired and wet. I felt chilled in my wetsuit from a day that had seen us spend eight hours or more paddling through rain, snow, hail, and wind.

Perhaps a football field’s distance downriver, the East Fork made a sharp left turn and plunged into unseen quarters between sheer rhyolite walls. As evening descended, those cliffs became a study in contrasting light—some in dark shadow, some edged with sunlight, and the white rock of the farthest one glowing as if lit by some internal power source. Though just one of many scenes of staggering natural beauty from an eight-day, 82-mile adventure on the upper Owyhee River system, from Deep Creek to Three Forks, that one has stuck with me.

See my story about kayaking the upper Owyhee River, with more photos, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Little Frazier Lake, Eagle Cap Wilderness

Sometimes the destinations closest to home are the ones you neglect for too long. That was the case for my family with northeastern Oregon’s Eagle Cap Wilderness, just a half-day’s drive for us, but a place we had not yet backpacked in (with the exception of one disastrous attempt, when our son was a toddler, that was aborted due to a nasty stomach virus. But I have skied the backcountry of Norway Basin in the Eagle Cap with friends.) So last summer, we finally took a five-day, 41-mile loop in the southeastern corner of this 350,000-acre wilderness.

We hiked up broad, U-shaped valleys and camped by boisterous streams and lakes that offered mirror reflections of dawn light and alpenglow on rocky, 9,000-foot peaks. I made the side hike up 9,572-foot Eagle Cap for its 360-degree panorama overlooking much of the range; the kids played in streams and had the treat of one of the most spectacular thunderstorms of their lives on our second afternoon. Our third campsite, at Little Frazier Lake, sat near the lake’s outlet creek, where my son worked for hours rearranging rocks; my daughter and I scrambled high up some nearby ledges. And in the morning, the lake offered up a perfect reflection of the stone basin cradling it. I will eventually post a story, with more photos, about this trip.

See my story about this five-day, family backpacking trip in the Eagle Cap, including more photos and a video, for information on planning this trip.

Unnamed Canyon, Beehive Traverse, Capitol Reef National Park

An hour into a three-day, cross-country traverse of the Waterpocket Fold formation in Capitol Reef, my friend David Gordon and I had already taken our first wrong turn, seen a bighorn sheep, and I’d dislodged a boulder that nearly crushed David. (We were off-route.) The incidents were omens for the days to follow, navigating our way through a maze of canyons, cliffs, domes, and towers, where it was not unusual to spend 20 minutes or more hemmed in by seemingly impassable cliffs before finding the narrow ledge or the break in the wall of rock that indicated the direction of our route.

My friend, local guide Steve Howe, spent many seasons working out this cross-country hike, which begins at Grand Wash and zigzags south a very circuitous 17 miles to Capitol Gorge. He calls it the Beehive Traverse, for the type of sandstone towers encountered along the way. He shared a map and GPS data with David and me to let us attempt it ourselves; very few people have hiked the route before us, and most of them were guided by Steve. On our second night, we camped in this unnamed canyon below flying buttresses of golden sandstone.

See my story, with lots of photos and a video, about backpacking the Beehive Traverse in Capitol Reef.

On the Dunes, Great Sand Dunes National Park

Not long into our first day backpacking across the massive sand dunes of this park—which tower several hundred feet tall—I was already convinced that carrying a pack loaded with food and gear for three days as well as two gallons of water up giant dunes was not a brilliant plan. Our group of editors from Backpacker Magazine marched a few miles over the rolling, sometimes steep dunes until we found a relatively flat spot to pitch our tents. Then the magic show began.

It was November, and the light of late afternoon and early evening transformed the shifting, mountainous dunes into three-dimensional works of abstract art. I wandered a wide perimeter around our camp in the evening and early morning, shooting photos of frost on multi-colored dunes that often came to a peak as sharp as on the roof of a house. At times, sand avalanching downhill under our boots made an eerie sound, a phenomenon known as “singing.” I decided the dunes more than made up for the effort expended getting there.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking at Colorado’s Great Sand Dunes for information on how to pull off this trip.

Lake 8522, Sawtooth Wilderness, ID

We backpacked the Alpine Creek Trail in Idaho’s Sawtooths less than three miles up a sunbaked valley flanked by cliffs to where it ends abruptly in ponderosa pine forest. A steep headwall loomed above us, 500 vertical feet or taller, capped by rocky ledges—a daunting obstacle that would logically turn away most hikers. But I had been told that the basin of unnamed lakes just beyond the pass at the top of this earthen wall was worth the effort of reaching it. So my son, Nate, almost 11 at the time, and I, joined by his buddy, another Nate, and that kid’s dad, Doug Shinneman, clawed and high-stepped our way up a faint, very steep user trail, grabbing branches and slipping in mud, and scrambling up exposed ledges.

At the top, we saw that I’d gotten good advice. A cool forest embraces one side of the blue-green waters of Lake 8522; a granite cliff juts straight out of the water on the other side. We found a spot in the woods for our tents and spent the next couple of days fishing, exploring the higher lakes in the basin, and taking in some sunrises and sunsets that kept my camera busy.

Getting There From ID 75, about 20 miles south of Stanley and 40 miles north of Ketchum, turn west onto Alturas Lake Road and follow it about seven miles to its end at the Alpine Creek Trailhead. Hike the Alpine Creek Trail roughly 2.5 miles to where the maintained trail terminates. Follow a faint, very steep and rough user trail that climbs almost straight uphill several hundred feet, with some scrambling, to a pass that leads into a lakes basin. Lake 8522 is a short walk beyond the pass. This area has some user trails and established campsites, but is not managed like official trails; minimize your impact.

Map Earthwalk Press “Sawtooth Wilderness,” $9.95, (800) 742-2677, omnimap.com.

Contact Sawtooth National Forest Stanley Ranger District, (208) 774-3000, fs.usda.gov/sawtooth.

Doubtful Sound, Fiordland National Park, New Zealand

It was a typical summer day in Doubtful Sound: alternating spells of light mist and steady rain punctuating brief periods without precipitation. The shifting gray overcast delivered about 10 minutes of sunshine the entire day. But the air was warm and the water flat, its dark surface as clear as a just-cleaned mirror. Tendrils of ghost-like clouds floated around granite cliffs that rose straight out of the sea up to 4,000 feet high; and the cliffs wore long coats of thick rainforest that seemed to defy gravity.

Our small group pitched our tents behind a rocky beach, in the forest of podocarp trees and punga tree ferns. After a mild night of periodic showers, we woke and walked to the beach to see the water still and glassy, reflecting the sea cliffs and misty clouds.

See my story about sea kayaking Doubtful Sound, with more photos and a video, for information on how to pull off this trip.

Tonto Trail, Grand Canyon National Park

If there’s a bad campsite in the Grand Canyon, I haven’t found it yet. But my favorite (so far) is this spot just off the Tonto Trail, on the plateau between Lonetree Canyon and Cremation Creek. We camped here on the last night of a four-day, late-March family backpacking trip from Grandview Point to the South Kaibab Trailhead (another trip my family took for a chapter of my book).

While we were exposed to the wind—which can blow pretty hard—and had to carry water to that camp, those were small tithes for a 360-degree panorama reaching from the South Rim to the North Rim, with countless named temples and buttes within view, most prominently the Zoroaster Temple (visible in the background of the photo above). While the kids played with rocks in the dirt and my wife read, I walked around with my camera, finding an amazing background in every direction.

See my story, with more photos, about backpacking in the Grand Canyon for information on how to pull off this trip.

Indian Basin, Wind River Range

Six friends, 500 pounds of gear and food for a week, one horsepacker to haul our stuff the 15 miles from the trailhead to Indian Basin—and plenty of alcohol, which figures prominently in this adventure tale. We had grand ambitions for several rock and snow climbs of peaks along the Continental Divide that week. We didn’t plan on daily, cold morning showers or the violent afternoon thunderstorms that would dump a couple inches of hail in 30 minutes and threaten to blow our tents to Iowa.

Though we never tied into a rope all week, we did tag a few walk-and-scramble-up summits, including 13,745-foot Fremont Peak in cold wind and fog, and 13,517-foot Jackson Peak. Mostly, though, we huddled in all of our clothes under a tarp in camp, plowing through our alcohol supply and laughing uproariously over things I barely recall. I got the above shot during one of the rare moments of glorious sunshine that made us optimistic about climbing—until the next storm cell drove us back into our tents.

Getting There The Elkhart Park trailhead is 14.5 miles from Pinedale. From US 191 (Pine Street), in Pinedale, turn north onto Fremont Lake/Half Moon Lake Road. In three miles, bear right on Skyline Drive. A short distance beyond a viewpoint overlooking the high peaks, bear right at a fork to parking for the Pole Creek Trail. Follow the Pole Creek, Seneca Lake, Highline (for just a quarter-mile), and Indian Basin trails about 15 miles to Indian Basin.

Map Earthwalk Press “North Wind River Range,” $9.95, omnimap.com.

Contact Bridger National Forest Pinedale Ranger District, (307) 739-5500, fs.usda.gov/btnf.

Dog Lake, Seven Devils Mountains

A fresh September snowfall had just blanketed the Seven Devils, which rise to over 9,000 feet and form the east rim of Hells Canyon in west-central Idaho. My friend Geoff Sears and I started our three-day hike in thick fog, at first catching only glimpses of the craggy peaks.

But the weather slowly cleared through the afternoon, as we leapfrogged surviving segments of a long-abandoned, faint trail leading to Dog Lake, where we put our tent up in a small basin that rarely sees human visitors. That evening and the next morning, under blue skies with no wind, the lake offered up a sharp reflection of the snow-plastered cliffs of black rock.

See my story about another backpacking trip in Hells Canyon.

Getting There From US 95, a mile south of Riggins, Idaho, turn west onto Squaw Creek Road (CR 517). Drive 16.5 miles to Windy Saddle Trailhead, a half-mile before Seven Devils Campground. Hike south on Boise Trail 101 for 7.4 miles. Just after crossing Dog Creek, turn west and look for traces of the faint trail leading about 1.3 miles to Dog Lake; you’ll be mostly bushwhacking through semi-open forest with some blowdowns obstructing the way.

Map The Hells Canyon National Recreation Area map, Hells Canyon NRA website (below).

Contact Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, Riggins ranger district, (208) 628-3916, fs.usda.gov/detail/wallowa-whitman/recreation/?cid=stelprdb5238987.

Mount Baker, WA

It was a wretched campsite, actually. We’d had no intention of staying there, but weather left us without a better choice than to endure an interminable night on that cold ground of sharp stones. The wind-tortured, 9,000-foot saddle separating the Coleman and Deming glaciers on Mount Baker in Washington’s North Cascades was simply where we ended up when Plan A—camping on the summit—crashed in the sea of ambitious dreams. My wife, Penny, and I were climbing our first Pacific Northwest volcano years ago with our friend Larry Gies, through thick fog that reduced visibility to less than 100 feet at times. By late afternoon, we gave up on reaching the summit, pinned our tents to the ground, and dove inside.

But two hours later, a mountain fairy granted us one of those rare, magical events that occur when least expected: Sunshine lit our tents. We stepped outside to see the cloud ceiling below us. We tagged the mountaintop as the setting sun strafed that sea of clouds with red and orange light. You can’t distinguish our tents in the photo above, but they’re in the saddle below us—that miserable, serendipitous spot.

Getting There From I-5 north of Bellingham, follow WA 542 for 33.8 miles. One mile past Glacier, turn right onto Glacier Creek FS Road 39, and continue eight miles to parking for Mt. Baker (Heliotrope Ridge) Trail 677. The trail ends after two miles, at 4,800 feet; continue on the climbers’ trail up the Hogsback to a tenting area at 6,000 feet on the edge of the Coleman Glacier.

Map Green Trails Mt. Baker no. 13, greentrailsmaps.com.

Contact Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest outdoor recreation information, fs.usda.gov/mbs.

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.

Get the right tent for you. See “The 9 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents”
and “5 Expert Tips For Buying a Backpacking Tent.”

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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Join now for full access to ALL stories and get a free e-guide and member gear discounts!

See also my Gear Reviews page for best-in-category reviews and expert buying tips, including these stories:

“Essentials-Only Backpacking Gear Checklist”
“The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
“The Best Ultralight Packs”
“The 9 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents”
“24 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories”
“The Best Base Layers, Shorts and Socks for Hiking, Running, and Training”
“The 10 Best Down Jackets”

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

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

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

“Bear!”

Todd calls this out to me and points toward a meadow maybe 200 yards off—but I glance up a moment too late and the black bear has already disappeared into the dense forest. “It was a big one,” Todd says.

We’re hiking along the crest of the Cowlitz Divide on the southeast side of Mount Rainier National Park, just a few hours into a five-day, 77-mile backpacking trip covering most of the 93-mile Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier, and we’ve already had our first wildlife sighting—a harbinger of what awaits us. Before this trip ends, even before this day draws to a close, wildlife sightings will become almost commonplace.

Unfortunately, The Mountain—as Washingtonians know the 14,411-foot, heavily glaciated peak that often appears to float above the horizon when seen from Seattle, some 60 miles to the northwest—has been concealed behind a dense wall of fog since we hit the trail this morning.

But the wildflowers have hung on for our arrival in the first week of September, the sky isn’t really threatening rain—in the Pacific Northwest, the light mist we’re walking through barely qualifies as precipitation—and besides, we’re just happy to be embarking on one of America’s most coveted backpacking trips.

Having backpacked some sections of the Wonderland previously, I planned this trip with my friends Todd Arndt and Jeff Wilhelm—neither of whom have been here—to link up what I consider the Wonderland’s best sections. Our itinerary will include a stretch I covered on a three-day, 22-mile hike with my family that I consider the best weekend hike in the park. (This trip’s itinerary is summarized in the Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story, which requires a membership to read, and described in much more detail in my Wonderland Trail e-guide, which can be purchased without a membership to The Big Outside.)

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Previous exposure to the Wonderland, though, does nothing to diminish its impact—the trail will still surprise and astonish me over the next five days with its beauty, ever-changing personality, and relentlessly rugged character.

After eating lunch on rocky ground between braids of the milky creek that flows off the Ohanapecosh Glacier, we’re several hundred vertical feet into today’s second big uphill slog when we spot two mountain goats staring at us from rocks partly hidden by bushes. Within moments, we notice a third and fourth and eventually count nine goats in that spot.

Not much later, the fog finally lifts, unveiling a sprawling mountainside of ice and snow rising steeply above us, seemingly close enough for someone with a good arm to hit it with a baseball—the first of many such uniquely defining experiences of hiking the Wonderland Trail that we’ll have on this trip: You look up countless times each day and abruptly see The Mountain looming above, appearing impossibly enormous.

Hiking through meadows bursting with lupine in the newly emerged warm sunshine balanced by a breeze and just about perfect hiking temperatures, we reach Panhandle Gap at 6,750 feet—the highest point on the Wonderland.

At least 18 mountain goats graze in a flat meadow carpeted in green grass perhaps a quarter-mile distant. Nearly 8,000 feet above us, a swirling, blindingly white lenticular cloud spins like a 33 RPM vinyl album around Rainier’s summit. Below the cloud, snow gleams in the bright sunshine.

All in all, this feels like an auspicious first day.

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

Mount Rainier

On our second afternoon, we reach the Sunrise area of the national park and swing west with the Wonderland as it wraps around Mount Rainier’s north flanks—arguably the most glorious section of this entire trip.

With every unobscured view toward The Mountain, we stare at one of those rare objects in nature whose size defies attempts to wrap your brain around it. Rainier ranks third among all U.S. mountains—behind only Alaska’s Denali and Hawaii’s Mauna Kea—in topographical prominence, a measure of how high a peak rises above its surroundings, which for Rainier is 13,210 feet. The Mountain leaves a footprint spanning roughly 100 square miles—about as large in area as Bryce Canyon and Haleakala national parks combined.

It often fills the horizon at a seemingly unbelievable scale, its face changing with each day circumambulating it. The stark fact that for most people it takes more than a week to backpack all the way around Mount Rainier speaks to its gargantuan mass.

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More than two dozen crack-riddled, named glaciers and numerous smaller snowfields cloak Rainier. For hours of hiking today, we have a direct view toward two of the biggest tongues of ice pouring off The Mountain: the largest glacier by area in the contiguous United States, the Emmons, which covers 4.3 square miles, as well as the conjoined twin of the Emmons, the Winthrop, Rainier’s second-largest glacier at 3.5 square miles.

Rainier’s thick mantle of ice and snow, the Columbia Crest, leans out as if peering cautiously over the brink of towering cliffs of broken, black rock comprising much of Rainier’s north face. Ahead of us still, the Carbon Glacier holds four distinctions among all U.S. glaciers outside Alaska as the longest (5.7 miles), with the lowest glacial terminus (3,600 feet above sea level), and greatest volume (0.2 cubic miles) and thickness (700 feet).

Read “5 Reasons You Must Backpack Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and
“How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail.”

Called “Tahoma,” or “mother of waters,” by the native Puyallup tribe, Rainier functions as the spigot for five major rivers and an estimated 100 waterfalls in the park. You pass some of them every day on the Wonderland Trail, from myriad unnamed cascades and small falls to 354-foot Spray Falls.

We follow the Wonderland Trail as it rolls gently across the lushly green, wildflower-strewn meadows of Berkeley Park, where a few dozen mountain goats mow the grass. As we crest another of the numerous ridges that extend for miles off Rainier like the arms of a starfish, The Mountain springs suddenly and dramatically into view yet again, many times larger than the rows of satellite peaks that reach to far horizons, including the sharp, broken incisor of 11,138-foot Little Tahoma Peak, the third-highest in Washington, jutting into the sky.

We’ll remember this as one of the most inspiring panoramas along the Wonderland.

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

Spray Park

The long suspension bridge bounces and vibrates as I creep across it, moving slowly not only to enjoy the view up and down the Carbon River Valley—but also to minimize the wave effect reverberating back and forth over the bridge, potentially causing more bouncing. Through gaps between the slats of wood at my feet, I watch the foaming river, 10 feet or more below the bridge, crashing over its boulder-strewn bed.

Upstream from the bridge, the Carbon Glacier loudly and violently births the Carbon River from an ice cave at its snout; we saw it earlier from a stretch of the trail high up one wall of the valley carved by this glacier and river. Already fully formed when it erupts from the glacier, the heavily silted, battleship-gray river snarls downhill over innumerable boulders that choke its bed. Like all rivers flowing off Rainier, it carts inestimable tonnage of The Mountain’s broken and pulverized volcanic rock on the rough first leg of a long, inexorable journey to the Pacific Ocean.

Across the Carbon River bridge, we turn onto the Spray Park Trail, a popular variation off the WT because, although it involves much more ascent and descent, it’s also more scenic than the WT section from the Carbon River to Mowich Lake. Then we launch into one of the longest and hardest uphill grinds of this trip, ascending more than 3,000 vertical feet in a little over three miles.

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As one does repeatedly on the Wonderland Trail, we walk through a calmingly quiet forest of immense, stately Douglas fir, hemlock, and cedar trees. As we gain elevation, the giants give way to stands of smaller subalpine fir trees amid meadows exploding with wildflowers and, finally, the open, rocky terrain of Spray Park.

Snowfields leftover from last winter hang on here in the first week of September; rivulets and miniature cascades gurgle downhill from the snow. Lupine and other wildflowers signal that we’ve arrived during the brief window—a matter of weeks—when summer holds court at this elevation, over 6,000 feet.

And, of course, Mount Rainier fills one horizon, its snow and glaciers soaking up the soft, late-afternoon sunlight. A marmot whistles not unlike the sharp report of a gunshot as we reach the trail’s high point in Spray Park and follow the sun dropping downhill toward the west.

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

The Wonderland Trail

In 1920, five years after the Wonderland Trail around Mount Rainier was completed, then-park Superintendent Roger Toll said of it, “There is a trail that encircles the mountain. It is a trail that leads through primeval forests, close to the mighty glaciers, past waterfalls and dashing torrents, up over ridges, and down into canyons; it leads through a veritable wonderland of beauty and grandeur.”

The original trail was much longer—an estimated 130 to 140 miles total—than today’s trail, sticking to lower elevations closer to the park’s boundaries rather than the more-scenic route the WT now traces at higher elevations closer to The Mountain.

The first thru-hike of the Wonderland Trail was accomplished by members of The Mountaineers Club of Seattle over three weeks in August 1915, and featured some members marching along the trail in military order, scouts marking each night’s camp ahead of the main group by nailing a triangular aluminum plate bearing the club’s name to a conspicuous tree, and the building of a large bonfire beside which the kitchen “commissary” would be set up. In subsequent years, lobbying by club members led to rerouting the WT through higher, prettier terrain.

In recent years, the park has received 2,500 or more applications for backcountry permit reservations for a full Wonderland Trail circuit, but it has the backcountry campsite capacity to issue only about 450 Wonderland permits annually—ranking it among the most difficult national park permits to obtain.

Two-thirds of available permits are issued by reservation and the other one-third are issued first-come during the backpacking season. See my story “How to Get a Permit to Backpack Rainier’s Wonderland Trail” and more details in the Take This Trip section at the bottom of this story, which requires a membership to read; or learn all you need to know to plan and pull off this trip, including tips on improving your chances of getting a permit, in my Wonderland Trail e-guide, which can be purchased without a membership to The Big Outside.)

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The Wonderland Never Lets Up

After eating lunch on our final day in the empty backcountry camp by the South Puyallup River, Jeff, Todd, and I commence yet another big and steep uphill slog—some 1,500 feet in about two miles. We’re on the longest leg of the WT between roads, just over 34 miles from Mowich Lake to Longmire on the park’s west side, a segment where the trail packs in about 19,500 cumulative vertical feet—that’s a whole lot of panting and sweating uphill and pounding downhill. The Wonderland Trail never relents its grueling profile.

But it also never lets up on the goods that backpackers come here for. As we gain elevation into the sub-alpine zone, Rainier once again pops into view, towering high above what looks like ancient ruins, though of the geological kind—the busted rock, cliffs, and waterfalls of the valley of the South Puyallup River, fed by the Tahoma Glacier looming above us.

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

Ascending the slender crest of Emerald Ridge, we cross more meadows carpeted with wildflowers and stop at a high point, quietly surveying another grand panorama of rock and ice and a behemoth mountain unlike any other in the Lower 48.

Then we shoulder our packs for the long descent to the thrilling crossing of the high suspension bridge over the silt-gray whitewater of Tahoma Creek—and one more big up and down before we reach Longmire and conclude one very rigorous and memorable walk most of the way around Mount Rainier.

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Take This Trip: Backpacking the Wonderland Trail Around Mount Rainier

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.”

While there are rocky sections of the Wonderland Trail, much of it consists of a soft path with good footing in forest; lightweight or midweight hiking shoes or boots will be adequate for many backpackers, who may also prefer waterproof-breathable boots for an extended backpacking trip on the Wonderland Trail, when rain may be possible; 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, ultralight rain jacket, ultralight sleeping bag, and water filter bottle I used on this trip.

Find the best gear, expert buying tips, and best-in-category reviews like “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” and “The 10 Best Down Jackets” at my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside.

See my expert tips in these stories:

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

Whether you’re a beginner or seasoned backpacker, you’ll learn new tricks for making all of your trips go better in my “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking.” If you don’t have a paid subscription to The Big Outside, you can read part of both stories for free, or download the e-guide versions of “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip” and the lightweight backpacking guide without having a paid membership.

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“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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Minutes after we walk past the sign warning that this section of the Timberline Trail is closed due to “a deep chasm,” with 100-foot drop-offs, created by flooding from a storm—rendering the creek crossing ahead of us “very unstable and unsafe”—Jeff and I reach the top of the ridge high above the east bank of Eliot Creek. If you’ve ever wondered about the destructive power of water, take a look at Eliot Creek. A few steps ahead of us, the trail disappears as if bitten off by a set of jaws about 300 feet wide. The slope below is a torn-up debris field of rocks and crumbling earth. At its bottom, Eliot Creek, the foaming, white-and-gray spawn of Mount Hood’s Eliot Glacier, spits and rages loudly as it courses downhill, like an angry young man spoiling for a fight.

It looks like a fight that I don’t want.

My friend Jeff Wilhelm and I have come to backpack the 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s Mount Hood, a classic circumambulation of this 11,239-foot volcano in the heart of the Mount Hood Wilderness. It’s the second morning of our mid-August hike, and so far we’ve enjoyed glorious Pacific Northwest summer weather of sunny skies and mild temperatures. Jeff and I were both itching for one last trip before he returns to his university teaching job and my kids return to school and begin their soccer season, making my schedule less flexible. Still, we both have a tight window, so we’re hiking the Timberline loop in three days instead of the typical four to five days that many backpackers take.

[Author’s note: The washed-out section of the Timberline Trail, described above, was repaired and fully open as of September 2016. See the Make It Happen section at the bottom of this story for more information.]

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The Timberline Trail has long lived in the shadow of a certain, longer trail around Hood’s taller and more-famous stratovolcano sibling, Mount Rainier: the 93-mile Wonderland Trail. That’s partly because the Timberline resides in a national forest rather than a national park—not to mention that the Wonderland is one of the great backpacking trips in the country. But as Oregon backpackers know and Jeff and I have begun to discover, the Timberline can go toe-to-toe with the Wonderland for scenery and probably has an edge in adventure quotient—mainly because, being in a national forest, it does not see the same degree of active management seen on the Wonderland, where many creeks have log bridges. On the Timberline, you will get wet in frigid water numerous times—and you will look at some creeks and sensibly wonder whether you even want to try to ford them.

Which is what we’re thinking as we descend a rough, unmaintained footpath that previous backpackers have tromped out down to Eliot Creek. While definitely loose and demanding care, the descent is not bad for anyone who’s hiked off-trail in loose terrain; we negotiate it without a problem. Thus we encounter one surprise of the Timberline Trail: The closed stretch of it, which I’d heard was sketchy, doesn’t seem bad at all.

Far riskier, in my eyes, is getting across Eliot Creek.

Jeff and I walk upstream beside Eliot, looking for a spot where we might ford it safely. Gray with glacial silt in the few pools where it’s not a white torrent, Eliot looks entirely capable of sweeping an adult off his feet and hurling him downstream to get strained through a watery minefield of boulders and short waterfalls.

We keep walking along Eliot’s bank, but nowhere does the creek offer an obvious invitation to cross.

Mount Hood

We had set out 24 hours earlier from the historic Timberline Lodge on Hood’s south side, hiking the Timberline Trail counter-clockwise under a cloudless sky, with the temperature in the 60s and a gentle, cooling breeze. After walking along the glacial moraine high above the White River, we dropped 500 feet to easily hop on rocks across that gray stream, and then ascended a thousand feet onto one of several broad ridges that extend off Mount Hood like the limbs of a many-armed sea star. On the Timberline, as on Rainier’s Wonderland Trail, backpackers repeatedly yo-yo between glaciated creek and river valleys and the ridges that divide them.

Overall, the Timberline’s not a terribly strenuous trail: Our first day’s two longer ascents were just 1,000 and 1,600 feet, and the entire Timberline Trail has a cumulative vertical gain of 8,600 feet in 41 miles—or only about 200 vertical feet per mile. By comparison, in New Hampshire’s White Mountains, where I first fell in love with hiking, trails commonly go up or down 1,000 or more feet per mile, and are much rockier than many Western trails like the Timberline. In Washington’s North Cascades, I’ve hiked off-trail routes that gained 2,000 feet in less than a mile. On that scale, the Timberline isn’t terribly vertiginous at all.

Still, it presents its own brand of challenges (beyond the creek crossings). Just before reaching Newton Creek on day one, we lowered ourselves hand over hand down a fixed rope where erosion has carved out a short, vertical wall of earth. While the north side of ridges on Hood’s drier, eastern flanks sprout thick forests that deliver shaded relief from the hot sun, the solar-baked southern faces of those ridges are often a barren slope of volcanic rocks and pumice, where we clawed our way upward, sliding down one step for every two upward.

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We also frequently crossed meadows, wading through oceans of lupine, fireweed, and other wildflowers in mid-August; spring arrived just a few weeks ago, when last winter’s snow finally melted away. And around every bend in the trail, in every open meadow, we look up to the visual shock of seeing the looming bulk of Hood’s craggy, icy face.

On our first afternoon, Jeff and I climbed up onto Gnarl Ridge, popping out of the forest to a moonscape of rocks and dirt and busted pinnacles high above Newton Creek. Hood towered nearly 4,000 feet above us even as we reached the highest point on the Timberline, at about 7,300 feet. We traversed a vast, stark plateau of rocks and dust until evening, when we dropped our packs at tiny tent sites near the stone shelter where the Timberline intersects the Cooper Spur Route.

The next morning, our second, I stepped out of my tent moments before dawn and watched a celestial wildfire ignite. The sun slowly peeked over the eastern horizon, setting ablaze the broken clouds dappling the sky, turning them fire red, orange, and neon yellow. In the other direction, Mount Hood’s snowfields and rock beamed with a salmon hue. To the north, Mounts Adams, St. Helens, and Rainier, barely visible through cloudy haze, glowed like far-off lanterns floating in the sky.

“You’re missing an amazing sunrise,” I called to Jeff, still inside his tent and rumbling like colliding tectonic plates. Moments later, he poked his head out and muttered, “Wow.”

A few hours later, on the closed section of the Timberline Trail, we looked down at Eliot Creek wondering how the heck we’d cross it.

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Eliot Creek and Coe Creek

Jeff and I find a line of boulders, wet but sitting above the water’s surface, forming an unbroken line of steppingstones across Eliot Creek; we could actually keep our feet dry. I attempt it first—stepping carefully from rock to rock, leaning on my trekking poles for balance—and make the crossing without tumbling into the washing machine of Eliot Creek. Jeff follows, also without a problem.

With every rock seemingly poised to tumble all the way down to the whitewater below us, we pick each step carefully, using our hands for balance, doing our best impression of mountain goats.

Then we take a direct line up the steep, entirely unstable slope forming the west bank of Eliot—which proves more difficult than the east side. With every rock seemingly poised to tumble all the way down to the whitewater below us, we pick each step carefully, using our hands for balance, doing our best impression of mountain goats.

Beyond Eliot, we walk through quiet forest, crossing several creeks with waterfalls as much as about 70 feet tall, and passing cascades plunging hundreds of feet down the steep mountainside. That’s another surprise about the Timberline: more waterfalls than I expected. Especially on Hood’s northerly aspects, which of course have bigger glaciers and hold snow later into summer, water pours off this mountain like sweat streaming from the head of a big man in the hot sun.

We pass four backpackers hiking in the opposite direction who tell us the crossing of Coe Creek “is difficult.” A little while later, we see what they mean. The creek, which drains the Coe Glacier on Hood’s ominous north face, carves a steep-walled gorge into the side of the mountain. Its waters funnel through the narrow bottom of the gorge, another roaring whitewater beast cluttered with boulders. Numerous, abrupt drop-offs, short waterfalls, and holes in the steep creek provide a powerful visual warning of the peril of losing your footing when fording it.

We stop at a narrow, wet, very slick-looking log bridging the widest part of the creek. Jeff shakes his head, saying, “I’m not doing that.” I agree with him—and I’m rarely dissuaded by a log crossing. A bit farther upstream, we find a safer ford of the creek that’s actually marked by a cairn, where the icy water is knee-deep and moving fast, but manageable. Jeff and I both ford it within a few minutes.

We’ve made it past Eliot and Coe creeks—without disaster.

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Ramona Falls

There’s another aspect of the Timberline Trail that distinguishes it from Rainier’s Wonderland: the degree of solitude. It’s not that you can’t find it on the Wonderland—especially on Rainier’s west side, which has the most remote, longest stretch of the Wonderland Trail between road crossings or major trailheads. But while Jeff and I, coming here midweek, see very few other backpackers on the Timberline—and didn’t even need to reserve a backcountry permit—the Wonderland’s available backcountry permits usually get booked up months in advance. Plus, it takes most backpackers more than a week to hike the Wonderland, so you’ll see basically the same number of backpackers out there on any day of the week (although more dayhikers on weekends in popular areas like Paradise and Sunrise. See my story “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”)

Beyond Cairn Basin, I hike ahead of Jeff, thinking I may make the side trip up Yokum Ridge while he intends to hike directly to our next campsite, at Ramona Falls. Yokum, on the mountain’s west side, is one of the side hikes off the Timberline Trail that lead to some of the highest points you can reach on Mount Hood without a rope and ice axe; its counterpart on Hood’s east side is the Cooper Spur Trail. Both deliver in-your-face views of glaciers and a perspective of Hood’s awesome scale. Shorter trails like McNeil Point offer a similar experience for less effort.

A trip like this goes better with the right gear. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
and “The 7 (Very) Best Backpacking Tents.”

But as I get closer to Yokum, I decide it’s too late in the day to add 9.4 miles out-and-back and some 1,700 feet of climbing and descending to this already long day. But I follow the Timberline up the valley of the Muddy Fork. Near its head, in open terrain where I crane my neck to look around the rocky cirque chiseled from the mountain by the Sandy Glacier—now retreated high above me—I take my boots off yet again for two numbing fords of the Muddy Fork.

Quite alone out here as afternoon slowly surrenders to evening, I come upon a spot where a landslide has ripped a gash across the Timberline Trail. The boot prints of previous backpackers form a narrow goat path across the slide; its path continues far down this steep mountainside—steep enough to take a seriously long tumble with a misstep crossing the slide path. I cross it—then come upon several more.

The Timberline hasn’t finished with its surprises yet.

Finally, the trail mellows out, leading me through open, shaded forest of big trees with a dense understory of ferns crowding the ground. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy overhead. Deep quiet accompanies me all the way to Ramona Falls, a startlingly lovely, 120-foot, lacy curtain of water pouring over scores of small ledges in a cliff of columnar basalt. A short walk beyond Ramona, Jeff and I make camp for our last night.

In the Pacific Northwest, you want one of my picks for “The 5 Best Rain Jackets For the Backcountry.”

Paradise Park

As they say, timing is everything. And sometimes, nature’s timing is just spot-on perfect.

I’m chugging uphill toward Paradise Park on our third morning. Jeff’s somewhere ahead of he; we departed our campsite at Ramona Falls at different times—I lingered to shoot photos of Ramona—and I haven’t caught up to him yet. Since before we awoke this morning, an impenetrable fog has blanketed the west side of Hood. But now, as I’m approaching Paradise Park, the fog shatters like glass. Within minutes, my world transforms from cool, gloomy overcast and visibility not even reaching the treetops to warm, brilliant sunshine. I hike across Paradise Park, a sprawling meadow of grasses and fields of wildflowers, with Mount Hood looming enormous, like an icy moon, over gently rolling slopes.

It’s the best surprise of the trip.

Sometimes a trail, a park, a mountain throws you a curve, sneaking up on you with the element of surprise. A hike lets you off relatively easy on the obstacle that worried you, but then presents an unexpected twist—a challenge you hadn’t thought about because you were focused on the one that proved not such a big deal. I had thought the washout at Eliot Creek could have hazardously steep and loose banks, and that turned out to be not that bad. But the fords of Eliot and Coe added some surprising spice to the hike; and the numerous waterfalls, the landslides at Muddy Fork, and now the clouds parting just as I arrive in Paradise Park each added their own, unique flavor of surprise to this little, three-day, end-of-summer adventure.

It’s nature’s version of the old snowball-fight trick: Lob a snowball on a high arc, so that your opponent watches it instead of you, then fire a second snowball right at his head while he’s distracted.

That’s the Timberline Trail: hitting you with the snowball you never saw coming. And it makes you smile because it’s such a beautiful, perfect surprise.

Plan This Trip

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR any moderately fit backpackers who can read a map, including families, as long as everyone is comfortable with challenging creek crossings. The trail generally is well-marked and obvious. Along the way, there are numerous side trails that lead to roads within an hour or two, so it’s possible to hike sections of the Timberline Trail. The highest elevation on the trail, 7,300 feet, is low enough that most people feel no ill effects from it.

Season Winter and spring snow often covers much of the trail into mid- or late July. Wildflowers bloom in August, while September and October often offer excellent hiking weather.

The Itinerary The Timberline Trail can be hiked in either direction; we hiked it counter-clockwise. We took three days, camping our first night at tent sites near the stone shelter at the junction of the Timberline Trail and Cooper Spur Trail, and our second night at campsites near Ramona Falls. Backpackers often take four to five days to hike the full Timberline Trail. There are plenty of established campsites along the trail.

Getting There From the town of Hood River, drive south on OR 35 for 38 miles and merge onto US 26 /Mount Hood Highway west (toward Portland). Follow it for 2.4 miles and turn right onto Timberline Road. Continue six miles to Timberline Lodge and Ski Area, where there’s ample, free parking. Access the Timberline Trail behind the lodge.

Permit Required for backpacking, permits are free and available at trailheads.

Maps Green Trails Government Camp no. 461 and Mt. Hood no. 462, greentrailsmaps.com.

Concerns
•    There are several, unbridged creek fords along the Timberline Trail. In early to mid-summer, crossing the major creeks, including Eliot and Coe, can range from difficult to very dangerous. Don’t attempt to ford if it looks unsafe. Creek levels typically rise during the daylight hours, when there’s more melting of snow and glacial ice, and fall during the night, so morning is the best time to attempt a challenging ford.
•    While the creeks originating in Hood’s glaciers are heavily silted, we also passed numerous smaller, clear streams ideal for getting drinking water.
•    The Timberline Trail section that was damaged by the Eliot Creek washout has been rebuilt. Find more information on that here.

Contact Mount Hood National Forest/Mount Hood Wilderness, (503) 668-1700, fs.usda.gov/mthood.

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“There’s absolutely no one out here.”

I was just a few hours into a solo backpacking trip around Mount Rainier National Park’s 32.8-mile Northern Loop when that realization hit me. It was a cool, clear day in October 2003. None of my usual hiking partners had been available to join me. So I decided to do the trip alone, something I’ve done more times than I could count and felt comfortable with. I had no idea that this time I’d face the kind of situation that solo hikers think about but can never anticipate: a threat that shrinks the margin of safety in the wilderness down to nothing.

When I picked up my backcountry permit that morning, a ranger told me a snowstorm had hit the park just two days earlier. “You’ll probably run into at least a foot of snow on the ground at higher elevations,” he said. That didn’t dissuade me; I was prepared for snow. Neither of us, however, knew about the much bigger storm brewing out over the Pacific Ocean as we spoke, collecting moisture as it barreled toward the Cascade Range.

That conversation came back to me as I walked past the rippling water of a tiny tarn in a meadow on my way to Windy Gap. Just a few tiny patches of white remained on the ground at 5,600 feet. Sun and mild temperatures had evaporated the recent snow. But apparently no one had been out there since the storm, because even the rangers had no idea what trail conditions were like.

That’s when it hit me: With backcountry rangers warning anyone considering a trip that they would encounter deep snow, I would probably not see another person out there.

Autumn can be the finest time to head into the backcountry. The foliage changes color, brightening the landscape. There are no bugs. The weather often achieves something close to meteorological perfection: skies clear and dry, affording hundred-mile views, and temperatures not too hot during the day, not too cold at night. I’ve enjoyed some of my best days in the mountains in the fall.

But autumn exhibits a bipolar personality. And in October, you are as close to the mountain winter as you are to its summer. In some respects, it is more dangerous than winter because in fall it’s easy to get lulled into trusting the weather. But really good can turn really bad, really fast.

Looking back, I think that most if not all of my hardest, most wretched experiences in the backcountry have occurred between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice. On Mt. Rainier National Park’s Northern Loop, I was about to add another to my list.

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That first afternoon, I watched two mountain goats step nimbly across the crumbling face of Yellowstone Cliffs. Then, perhaps inspired by them, I scrambled off-trail from the little, unnamed tarn just before Windy Gap up a talus slope to the saddle between Crescent Mountain and Sluiskin Mountain. There, under a mostly clear sky, forested hills sculpted by ancient volcanic activity undulated away from me to the always improbably enormous, white mass of Mount Rainier (see lead photo at top of story).

Three of the biggest glaciers on “The Mountain,” as western Washingtonians affectionately call Rainier, pour off the northerly aspects I saw from that overlook: the Emmons, Winthrop, and Carbon. On my third day out there, I would walk past the toe of the Carbon, the lowest river of ice in the contiguous United States.

That night, I found myself cocooned in extremes of quiet and darkness, camped below giant firs, pines, and cedars. I could hear only the wind’s occasional perambulations through the treetops, and sank into a sleep as deep as the surrounding silence and blackness.

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My second morning brought partly cloudy skies—nothing to suggest what was headed my way. I packed up early and headed downhill through cool forest, crossed the silt-gray West Fork of the White River on a log footbridge, then made a 2,500-foot climb up onto a plateau. The meadows of Grand Park sprawled out more than a mile across. A little while later, I reached the cirque of Berkeley Park, where dense copses of conifers mingle with fields of grasses and wildflowers. Though it was long past wildflower season, Berkeley’s rich hues of green give the impression of a meticulously landscaped park.

By afternoon, I was following the Wonderland Trail west across more high meadows. Rainier migrated in and out of clouds, but patches of blue sky let the sun through periodically. The scale of everything felt magnified by a powerful sense of solitude: On one of the country’s most famous backpacking trails, I saw not another human.

But more than that, by that point I had no expectation of seeing anyone else; and once you’ve crossed that mental threshold, you see your world differently. Instead of chatting with a hiking partner or wondering how many backpackers will be sharing the next camp, you are keenly tuned in to every nearby movement or noise, every change in the play of light or shift in the air temperature and wind. It’s not fear so much as a hyper-awareness that we rarely find in everyday life, as if a third eye suddenly sprouted on the back of your head.

Even in the wilderness of many national parks, seeing absolutely no one for days—conjuring a sense of this country’s wild edge before Western settlement—is a rare experience. Most parks, Rainier included, are popular enough that backcountry permit numbers are restricted, both to prevent resource overuse and to preserve some sense of solitude. But that only regulates the numbers of backpackers, of course, not dayhikers. While the number of people you encounter generally corresponds to factors like proximity to major population centers (Rainier’s Nisqually entrance is 85 miles from Seattle) and a trail’s difficulty and distance from the nearest road, during the peak hiking season, you usually cannot walk very far without running into other people.

The Northern Loop of Mount Rainier National Park is a sort of miniature version of the Wonderland Trail, the 93-mile-long footpath encircling Rainier that draws backpackers from all over the planet. The Northern Loop delivers the same Wonderland-esque experience of hiking from temperature rainforest to sub-alpine meadows bursting with wildflowers—in fact, the loop overlaps with a stretch of the WT. But because it’s not nearly as well known, getting a permit for it does not involve the level of competition that you’ll face trying to plan a summer trip on the Wonderland.

By the time I pitched my tent at the Mystic backcountry camp on my second evening, I felt like I’d hit the trifecta. For two clear, crisp autumn days I had basked in complete solitude with jaw-unhinging views of The Mountain and its meadows.

Then the rain came.

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Throughout that second night, wind and water lashed at my shivering tent. In the morning, I ate breakfast inside my cool, damp little nylon shelter, packed up as quickly as I could as rain drummed onto me, and set out in conditions approximating a category one hurricane.

I’ve plodded down trails through biblical-scale rains from New Zealand to Vermont’s Long Trail. On the latter, I was attempting a thru-hike—also in an October several years before this Rainier trip, also solo (yes, I’m a patient learner)—but aborted it after two weeks and 10 inches of rain, heading home with waterlogged boots and spirits.

But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen rain like I saw that day on the north side of Rainier. The unrelenting downpour was punctuated by wind-borne sheets of water that hit me as if hurled from a barrel. Miserable as it was, though, it was hard to not feel awed. Following the Wonderland Trail around the shore of Mystic Lake, I watched the bizarre phenomenon of atmosphere impersonating ocean as visible waves of water rolled one after another through the air above the choppy lake surface. The rain fell torrentially and without pause; I could often see no more than one or two hundred feet before everything bled into a blank wall of battleship gray. Midday was as dim as dusk.

It became clear that I needed to get back to my car as quickly as possible that day—not just because the trip had ceased being fun, but for my own safety. I crossed a rain-slicked log bridge over a creek so bloated that its white teeth gnashed at the 10-inch-wide platform beneath my boots. Had I arrived there an hour later, the bridge might have been gone.

I hurried the miles to my car, anxious to be dry—but not fully aware of the urgency of escaping quickly.

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That October 2003 tempest would become the second of four storms within just 12 years to cause 100-year or bigger floods in the Pacific Northwest, from Mount Rainier to the North Cascades and the Olympic Peninsula. Scientists now know that the warming climate is incubating larger, more destructive storms—in part simply because air can hold more moisture as it warms.

The third storm in that series, in November 2006, dropped nearly 18 inches of rain in 36 hours—the equivalent of getting 15 feet of snow. It triggered record floods in Mount Rainier National Park—destroying roads and trails, burying one backcountry campground beneath a massive lahar, or debris flow (no one was there at the time), washing away at least two dozen log bridges over creeks along the Wonderland Trail, and closing the park to motor vehicles for an unprecedented six months.

That 2006 storm would also swell the Carbon River sufficiently to erase a huge swath of the trail I was hiking on my last day on the Northern Loop, and the road I would drive out to civilization. (The trail was repaired; the road no longer exists.) It’s not hyperbolic to say that, had the 2003 storm begun a little earlier or stalled a little longer over the region, I might have ended up as the subject of the kind of brief accident report that parks issue now and then, which dryly explain that no trace of the missing person was ever found.

Click here for The Big Outside Trip Planner: Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop

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None of that transpired, of course. I made it safely to my car and drove out of the park, happy to be dry, warm, and safe. I told my wife what happened, but otherwise, almost no one knew how close I came to being a grim statistic.

Absolute solitude in the wilderness is a precious stone that should always be handled with care. It sometimes arrives gift-wrapped in circumstances magical and enlightening, or challenging far beyond what you expected—or both in the same trip.

And sometimes what transpires is mostly just a matter of timing and luck.

Tell me what you think.

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NOTE: I write more about Mount Rainier National Park’s climate-change story in my book, Before They’re Gone–A Family’s Year-Long Quest to Explore America’s Most Endangered National Parks, from Beacon Press. See also my story about a three-day family backpacking trip in the park, “Wildflowers, Waterfalls, and Slugs at Mount Rainier.”

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Welcome to The Big Outside’s Trip Planner for backpacking the Northern Loop in Mount Rainier National Park.

This planner describes how to plan and execute a backpacking trip on Rainier’s 37.2-mile Northern Loop, the trip featured in my story “Completely Alone Backpacking Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop” at The Big Outside. That story includes photos from this trip.

Rainier’s Northern Loop is a scenic and much shorter alternative to the mega-popular Wonderland Trail that includes one of the best sections of the Wonderland, but is an easier backcountry permit to get than the full Wonderland.

Thank you for purchasing a paid subscription to The Big Outside in order to access content like my trip planners. I appreciate your support for the work I do on this blog.

If you would like my personal, customized help fully planning this trip for you—or any other trip you read about at this blog—see my Ask Me page for details on how I can do that for you.

—Michael Lanza

Backpacking the Northern Loop, Mount Rainier National Park

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR moderately experienced backpackers and families with children—basically anyone capable of hiking several miles a day, on sometimes rocky or snow-covered trails, with moderate elevation gain and loss. The main challenge is weather, which can change quickly and vary greatly on different sides of the mountain: high winds and cold rain and even snow can occur any time of year, though the east side of Mount Rainier is drier than the west side. This trip is on Rainier’s north side, so weather can be a mix of what’s occurring east and west of the mountain. Black bears are the only large animal of concern, but they rarely pose a threat or problem; designated campsites have bear poles for food storage. Trails are generally obvious and well-marked.

Season Mid-July through September is peak season, though trails sometimes remain snow-free and the weather good into October, a time when there are fewer backpackers. Snow often covers higher trails well into July, but lower-elevation trails are snow-free by late spring; check conditions with rangers.

The Pacific Northwest often has stable, dry weather and pleasant temperatures from early or mid-July well into September. Summer temperatures typically range from highs in the 70s and 80s Fahrenheit to lows in the 40s and occasionally 30s. Still, major rainstorms can hit in summer, and cold, heavy rain or snow can fall in late summer, so check the forecast before hiking into the backcountry.

The Itinerary The Northern Loop traditionally started from the end of the Carbon River Road, in the park’s northwest corner. But that road has been closed to vehicles beyond the Carbon River ranger station on the park boundary since the November 2006 flood. To start the hike here, you must walk or mountain bike five miles of closed road to the Ipsut Creek Campground, which is now managed as a backcountry campground; this adds 10 miles round-trip to the 32.8-mile Northern Loop.

The most direct access now is from Sunrise, where you can hike 2.2 miles of trail to reach the Northern Loop above Berkeley Park, making the total hike 37.2 miles (to start and finish at Sunrise). The loop can be hiked in either direction; if possible, plan your itinerary to camp at Mystic in clear weather to catch the early-morning view of Mount Rainier reflected in the lake’s calm waters.

Getting There To reach Sunrise, from WA 410 outside the park’s White River (northeast) Entrance, follow Sunrise Road to its end. To begin from the Carbon River ranger station, follow WA 165 south from Wilkeson; where WA 165 bears right, continue straight onto the Carbon River Road and follow it to its end.

Permit A permit is required for backcountry camping. You can make a reservation or obtain one first-come, but many campsites, especially along the Wonderland Trail, become fully booked from July through September. The park begins accepting reservation applications on March 15, only online, for up to about 70 percent of backcountry campsites, for trips beginning through the end of September; after that, permits are only issued first-come, in person.

All requests received between March 15 and March 31 are processed in random order, so submit a reservation application during that time period: The park stops accepting reservations for the Wonderland Trail on March 31 (in past years, all reservable campsites for the Wonderland were often booked for the entire backpacking season by April 1). There is a non-refundable, $20 reservation-application fee. Find more information at nps.gov/mora/planyourvisit/wilderness-permit.htm.

See my tricks for snagging a permit in my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

Map Trails Illustrated Mount Rainier National Park map no. 217, natgeomaps.com.

Concerns Black bears are the only large animal of concern, but they rarely pose a threat or problem; designated campsites have bear poles for food storage.

Gear Tips Bring clothing layers, boots, and a three-season (not mountaineering) tent that can handle more wind and weather than you might expect in summer in mountain ranges farther south. That includes a higher-quality, waterproof-breathable rain jacket with an adjustable hood that provides full coverage, and supportive, waterproof-breathable boots that will keep your feet warm and dry in cold, wet conditions.

See my Gear Reviews page at The Big Outside and these reviews for my top recommendations:

“Gear Review: The 10 Best Backpacking Packs”
“The Best Ultralight/Thru-Hiking Packs”
“Gear Review: The 5 Best Backpacking Tents”
“Review: Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories”
“The 5 Best Rain Jackets for the Backcountry”
“Review: The 10 Best Down Jackets”
All of my reviews of backpacking boots and hiking shoes.

Contact Mount Rainier National Park, (360) 569-2211, nps.gov/mora.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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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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.