Solitude has always reigned as one of the holy grails of backpacking: We all dream of finding that lonely campsite deep in the wilderness with an amazing vista, or hiking for miles or days encountering few or even no other people on the trail. Unfortunately, reality often conflicts with expectations for many backpackers when they discover that the dream trip they’ve been anticipating for months was apparently a dream trip for an awful lot of other people, too.

But the truth is that there are many ways to find backcountry solitude because the odds work in your favor: Most wilderness trails have few or no people on them most of the time. The search for solitude is less a needle-in-a-haystack conundrum and more a matter of thinking outside the box: You simply have to understand where and when to look for it—and stop thinking like everyone else thinks.

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I’ve learned the tricks for finding solitude described in this story over more than three decades (and counting) and innumerable thousands of miles of backpacking, including the 10 years I spent as Northwest Editor of Backpacker magazine and even longer running this blog.

Following the strategies described in this story, I have enjoyed surprising degrees of solitude even on popular trails in major national parks like Yosemite, Grand Teton, Mount Rainier, Glacier, Zion, the Grand Canyon and Great Smoky Mountains, and others, as well as in federal wilderness in mountain ranges like the Wind River Range and Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains, in the Southwest canyon country—and even on parts of the John Muir Trail.

I believe these tips will work for you, too.

Like many stories at The Big Outside, part of this story requires a paid subscription to read: The first six tips below are free for anyone to read, but reading the rest—including tips you may not find from other sources—is an exclusive benefit for readers with a paid subscription to The Big Outside.

Please share what you think of my tips or any of your own tips for finding solitude in the comments section below this story. I try to respond to all comments.

Click on any photo in this story to read about that trip.

1. Hit Less Well-Known Areas of Popular Parks

The first truth to understand is just how heavily concentrated most backcountry use is in the most popular parks. Chew on these stats for a minute:

• From 2011 to 2016, the number of permit requests for starting the John Muir Trail in Yosemite National Park doubled, reaching about 3,500. That explosive growth prompted Yosemite to implement a rolling lottery for JMT permits. These days, that system operates efficiently and fairly—yet still, nearly 70 percent of applications are unsuccessful.

• I once interviewed a retired backcountry ranger who’d worked for 37 years in Yosemite, 25 years as wilderness manager, and had hiked every trail in Yosemite “probably about 10 times.” (The definition of “good gig.”) He said about 10 percent of the park’s hundreds of miles of trails—the JMT from Happy Isles to Donohue Pass and the Sierra High Camps loop—accounts for about 80 percent of all trail use. Little Yosemite Valley alone accounts for almost 20 percent. He told me: “There are areas of the park where you will see very few people.” Having backpacked all over Yosemite, I’ve discovered how correct he was.

• Up to 2013, Mount Rainier National Park received around 800 applications every March (when the park begins accepting permit requests for the year) for wilderness permits to climb or backpack in the park, including all or part of the Wonderland Trail. That number jumped to 1,400 in 2013, 2,000 in 2014, over 2,700 in 2015, and 5,900 in 2017—44 percent of them for backpacking the Wonderland Trail. The park has campsite capacity to grant about 900 permits annually for the entire Wonderland, about one in three of the roughly 2,500 applications for a full Wonderland permit.

• When applying for a backcountry permit in the Grand Canyon on the earliest date possible (four months in advance), the success rate in obtaining one goes from nearly 100 percent for trips from December through February to around 40 to 65 percent in April and October. Upwards of 75 percent or more of applications for backpacking the three popular corridor trails (Bright Angel and South and North Kaibab) in spring or fall get denied.

The flip side of those statistics reveal that many backcountry areas even in popular parks see far less demand for permits, such as northern Yosemite and a hike I consider Yosemite’s best-kept secret backpacking trip, numerous trails in Glacier including sections of the Continental Divide Trail, the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop, Escalante Route, Gems Route, and Clear Creek Trail and Utah Flats Route, Mount Rainier’s Northern Loop, the Maze District in Canyonlands, Yellowstone’s Bechler Canyon, and a gorgeous swath of the High Sierra in Sequoia National Park, among many examples. I even enjoyed solitude on most of a solo, 34-mile loop in the Great Smoky Mountains—during the October peak foliage season.

Ready for Some Real Solitude?
See my story “Big Scenery, No Crowds: 12 Top Backpacking Trips For Solitude.”

I’ve helped many readers of my blog plan a backpacking trip—and successfully obtain a permit—in Yosemite, Grand Teton, Glacier, Grand Canyon, and other uber-popular parks. See my Custom Trip Planning page to learn how I can help you plan all the details of your next adventure.

See my stories “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip,” and “How to Decide Where to Go Backpacking,” the menu of stories on my All Trips List, and my expert e-books to backpacking trips.

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2. Go Outside the Peak Season

You may have read this tip before and thought it sounds decidedly unappealing. If so, reconsider your apprehension because this represents one of the easiest strategies for finding solitude.

Good weather often persists into autumn in many mountain ranges—while backcountry use tends to tail off sharply after Labor Day. I’ve long considered September the best month for backpacking in Western mountains and have almost always encountered mild, dry days, cool but not frigid nights—and no bugs. In the Southwest canyons, moderate temperatures often arrive by late winter or early spring and the fall season can extend late October and November.

As examples, target post-Labor Day—the later the better for fewer people and less competition for a backcountry permit, weather permitting—to hike many northern Rockies or Pacific Northwest trips such as “The Best Backpacking Trip in Glacier National Park,” the Teton Crest Trail, Wind River Range, or Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail; late September or into October for “The Best First Backpacking Trip in Yosemite” or the John Muir Trail, mid-autumn for Zion’s Narrows (I hit a perfect weather window in early November—although I watched the forecast and our hike was preceded and followed by cold, wet weather), and late March to early April or late October well into November for “The Best First Backpacking Trip in the Grand Canyon.”

And friends and I enjoyed even more solitude than usual by backpacking the Maze District in Canyonlands in the first week of March—when, contrary to what many backpackers might assume, while we had cold nights, daytime temperatures were ideal for hiking, trails and routes were dry (and snow-free), and we found water flowing from seasonal springs that can dry up as early as April.

My related tip no. 9 (below) shares a trick I’ve learned about the transitional times between peak and off-seasons.

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3. Go to Wilderness Areas Instead of National Parks

For many good reasons, national parks are the marquis destinations for everyone who loves the outdoors. But the U.S. has over twice as much wilderness as parks: more than 111 million acres compared to 52.2 million acres in parks. That’s an area larger than California spread across more than 760 designated wilderness areas that are managed for the same values and uses as the large, wilderness-based national parks—although often without a need to reserve a permit in advance.

Many federal wilderness areas were protected before some newer parks and were once considered for national park designation—in other words, they’re just as nice, but without the red tape, renown, and crowds of some parks.

Want some suggestions?

I have long seen similarities between Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains and the Tetons and High Sierra. The Wind River Range certainly compares for majesty with any mountains in the West and may be outdone only by the High Sierra in its abundance of beautiful alpine lakes. While getting a backcountry permit for the John Muir Wilderness and others in the Sierra can be competitive, it’s nothing like trying to get a permit in parts of Yosemite or for the John Muir Trail.

Moreover, the Timberline Trail around Mount Hood is in many respects the scenic equal—and a shorter version—of Mount Rainier’s Wonderland Trail. Paria Canyon unquestionably ranks among the very best multi-day canyon hikes in the Southwest. You’ll find outstanding mountains and solitude in much of the High Uintas Wilderness (lead photo at top of story), Glacier Peak Wilderness, Pasayten Wilderness, and Eagle Cap Wilderness, and on the Ruby Crest Trail.

Looking for a trip in the East? One of my favorites is this 32-mile loop in New Hampshire’s Pemigewasset Wilderness.

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

4. Go to the Places You Rarely Hear About

Yes, some wilderness areas are as popular and crowded as some national parks—or even more crowded, especially if they lack a permit system or other management regulations that control the numbers of people. Proximity to population centers exerts a major impact on the numbers of people seen on trails (the subject of the next tip).

But sometimes it’s simply a matter of a destination becoming well known—a name familiar to many people all over the country. If you read and hear about the place frequently, other backpackers are reading and hearing about it, too.

Seek out places you rarely or never hear about—like some of those in the menu of stories on my All Trips List, including southern Utah’s Dark Canyon Wilderness, Hells Canyon, and Idaho’s White Cloud Mountains and wild and remote Idaho Wilderness Trail.

Plan your next great backpacking trip in Yosemite, Grand Teton,
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5. Go to Places Far from Big Cities

Living in Idaho, a largely rural state where the biggest city is much smaller than the major cities in many states, I have explored many mountain ranges and canyons visited by few other people simply because there aren’t very many people who live within a half-day’s drive of these places. Conversely, parks like like Yosemite, Sequoia, Mount Rainier, Great Smoky Mountains, Everglades, Grand Canyon and others lie within reach of millions of people for a weekend trip.

Travel to places that lie several hours’ drive from major population centers and airports and you are virtually assured of seeing fewer people.

Some national parks with five-star scenery that are prime examples of this tip and the previous one are North Cascades, Capitol Reef, and the southern Olympic coast.

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6. Backpack Deeper into the Backcountry

When I planned a 150-mile hike—split into two backpacking trips—to explore the most remote corners of Yosemite National Park (photo above), that pair of trips illustrated a phenomenon I have seen repeated many times in many places: The deeper we got into the backcountry, the fewer people we saw.

With most backpackers taking trips of 50 miles or less, the falloff in numbers of people in the backcountry becomes significant the more miles you put between yourself and the nearest trailhead. Spending more days in the backcountry also eases you into a different mindset that brings its own rewards, beyond finding solitude, but which solitude amplifies.

I’ve enjoyed the myriad benefits of longer trips on this 80-mile hike through the North Cascades National Park complex, this 57-mile hike in the remote interior of Idaho’s Sawtooths, this 74-mile trek I’ve called “the best backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon,” this 94-mile traverse of Glacier National Park (photo at right), and this 130-mile hike through the High Sierra, mostly on the John Muir Trail.

Upping your game from 40-mile backpacking trips to, say, 80 miles, or a thru-hike of a long trail like the John Muir Trail, becomes much more feasible when you get smarter about your trip planning and habits in camp and on the trail and lighten your gear.

See my stories “A Practical Guide to Lightweight and Ultralight Backpacking,” “5 Tips for Getting Out of Camp Faster When Backpacking,” and “12 Expert Tips for Planning a Wilderness Backpacking Trip.”

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

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I wondered if you might have some recommendations for either camping and dayhikes or two-day backpacking trips in the Seven Devils/Hells Canyon area. Or, maybe you have other suggestions for cool hikes relatively nearby in June.

Thanks so much!

Steph
Boise, ID

Hi Steph,

Early summer is a transitional time between whether it’s nicer in the Seven Devils Mountains, on the Idaho side of Hells Canyon, or down in Hells Canyon, where the Snake River forms the border between Idaho and Oregon. June is usually a little early in the Seven Devils, with snow still covering the ground at higher elevations. By late June, it’s normally getting pretty hot in Hells Canyon—it’s typically several degrees warmer than Boise. But temperatures could be fairly comfortable there in early summer; you just have to check the short-term forecast. Call to check whether the road and campground are both open; contact the Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, Riggins, Idaho, ranger district, (208) 628-3916; www.fs.fed.us/hellscanyon/.

Windy Saddle is the most-accessible jumping-off point for backpacking trips in the Seven Devils. To reach the campground at Windy Saddle, from 1.3 miles south of Riggins on US 95, turn west onto Seven Devils Road/FR 517, which is narrow and makes a huge climb over 17 miles. On hot days, it’ll be pleasantly cooler there, at 7,600 feet. From that campground, you can dayhike south on the Seven Devils Loop Trail and then turn west on the side trail to Lower Cannon Lake, a nice spot, somewhat popular for dayhikers and fishermen and a fairly easy four-mile hike one-way (eight miles out-and-back). If you’re feeling more ambitious, you can hike cross-country (it’s not too hard) to Upper Cannon Lake, where there may be no people and which is even more scenic, sitting right at the base of craggy peaks called The Ogre and The Goblin.

If you’re feeling really adventurous, you’ll see to the northwest of Upper Cannon Lake that it’s possible to hike and scramble off-trail (nothing technical) to the summit of the She Devil, which is over 9,400 feet, basically the same height as the neighboring He Devil; they’re the two highest peaks in the Seven Devils. I saw mountain goats on She Devil. I don’t know of a straightforward way to climb He Devil from Upper Cannon Lake; I’ve scrambled He Devil via the usual route from Sheep Lake (see below).

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Alternatively, hiking in the other direction from Windy Saddle, following good trail, it’s 9.4 miles to Sheep Lake at 7,882 feet, one of the largest lakes in the Seven Devils and a nice spot to camp. There’s also an established Sheep Lake Climbers Route from Windy Saddle that’s more direct, just 3.8 miles, but I haven’t taken it (though I’d like to try it). I’ve heard there are cairns and it’s not too sketchy, but it’s probably not for people who aren’t accustomed to hiking and route-finding off-trail. You could find a description online. It would be a fun, big loop dayhike to take the Climbers Route to Sheep Lake and return via the maintained hiking trail.

He Devil is a fun scramble with some route-finding but nothing really crazy, via the Northwest Ridge from Sheep Lake.

The Seven Devils Loop Trail around the range, which I’ve backpacked, is 27 or 28 miles, but you’d want to plan on extra miles to hike the side trails leading up to some of the lakes (which have the best backcountry camping), like Sheep Lake, Bernard Lakes, He Devil Lake, Baldy Lake, and Cannon Lakes. The map shows a trail to Dog Lake at the southeast corner of the Seven Devils; I’ve backpacked to it, and that trail appears to have been abandoned years ago, so there were a lot of blowdowns and it was difficult to follow. But the lake is beautiful and we had a great campsite there.

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Also take the side trip off the loop trail to Dry Diggins Lookout, at over 7,800 feet, which has a sweeping view of the mountains and down into Hells Canyon, more than 6,000 feet below. It’s one of the few spots in the Seven Devils where you can actually see the Snake River.

If the forecast doesn’t call for really hot weather, drive north of Riggins on 95 to White Bird, and take FR 492, which is passable for cars once the road dries out (should be by late June), 17 miles over to Pittsburgh Landing on the Snake River in Hells Canyon. There’s a campground and boat launch there and the northern terminus of the 28-mile Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail. Hike south on that trail five miles to Kirkwood Ranch, a historic ranch right on the river, now managed as a museum, where there’s usually a volunteer caretaker who can show you around. I’ve camped in their big meadow when backpacking (they allow backpackers). There are some boat shuttle services that will give you a ride upriver and drop you off anywhere along the Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail, and you can hike back to Pittsburgh Landing, either as a dayhike or backpacking trip.

I’ve backpacked most of the Idaho Snake River National Recreation Trail a couple of times, it’s gorgeous, ranging from right along the river to a few hundred feet above it, and not very strenuous (only a couple sections), though water sources are infrequent—you just have to look at the map and plan your water sources. There are some nice beach campsites.

I’ve also backpacked a 56-mile loop on the Oregon side of Hells Canyon, from the rim down to the river. It is a bit farther drive from Boise, but a really nice hike. See my story about that trip at The Big Outside.

From Boise, the closest access to Hells Canyon (only about a three-hour drive) is at its southern end, at Hells Canyon Dam. I’ve dayhiked from that area on the Oregon side, but I haven’t explored it much.

Good luck.

See also these stories at The Big Outside:

“Tent Flap With a View: 25 Favorite Backcountry Campsites”
“My Top 10 Favorite Backpacking Trips”
“10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit”
“10 Tricks For Making Hiking and Backpacking Easier”
“7 Pro Tips For Avoiding Blisters”

Best,
Michael

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—Michael Lanza

North America’s deepest river gorge, Hells Canyon, is a place defined by extremes—of scale, solitude, grandeur. Although protected as wilderness, it still harbors evidence of the settlers who, many decades ago, tried to carve a life out of its rugged contours and harsh climate: falling-down cabins, rusted farm equipment. Perhaps more than any wild land I’ve known, this canyon fills me with a sense of having dropped out of time, of diving, wide-eyed, into Alice’s rabbit-hole. The biggest disconnect? That a place so ruggedly beautiful could attract so few visitors. See for yourself in this photo gallery, then read my story and see more photos from a four-day, 56-mile, rim-to-river-to-rim, solo backpacking trip on the Oregon side of the canyon.

Pfft…pfft.

The sound barely registers inside the warm cocoon of my sleeping bag. It’s different—softer—than the anesthetic patter of rain that lulled me to sleep hours ago. Working slowly, like a cranky old PC, my brain powers up to identify the source: snow. In April.

I crack an eyelid to check for daylight. The tent is intensely dark, like the recesses of a cave. I shut down for a few more hours of deep unconsciousness, the gentle brushing of snowflakes on my nylon roof as effective a narcotic as the rain.

At daylight, I step outside on urgent business and discover a landscape that has transformed overnight. Visibility is 50 feet, and three inches of wet stuff blankets the ground. Perfect fat flakes flutter down from a ceiling so close it’s almost claustrophobic. There’s no wind, no sound. I’ve been in many whiteouts, but stepping so abruptly into a space so blank gives me a disorienting rush of vertigo. After a few moments, my eyes and equilibrium adjust, and I begin to relax—and appreciate the emptiness. My little white bubble is as peaceful as the world gets.

When I hit the trail an hour later, the clouds lift enough to reveal the looming cliffs, deep side canyons, and steep, sage- and grass-covered slopes of Hells Canyon, all whitewashed by the storm. I chuckle to myself at the fickle notion of seasons here in North America’s deepest river gorge, where weather ignores the calendar. I’ve seen snow on the 4th of July, and sunbathed in the first week of March. The canyon is big enough to make its own weather, but its climate is mostly a function of elevation change, something the canyon has in greater measure than many U.S. mountain ranges.

This is a place defined by extremes—of scale, solitude, grandeur. Perhaps more than any wild land I’ve known, this canyon fills me with a sense of having dropped out of time, of diving, wide-eyed, into Alice’s rabbit-hole. The biggest disconnect? That a place so unblemished and diverse could attract so few visitors. But the explanation for that is simple logistics: Hells Canyon is far from anyplace where people live, hard to get to, and harder to get around in once you’re there. It calls to mind a colloquialism that Mainers like to say about the travails of traveling around that rural state: Ya can’t get there from here.

Which is exactly why I’ve returned for a four-day, 56-mile spring hike, during which I’ll loop from the top of Hells Canyon down to the Snake River and back up again, sampling every part of the canyon’s geography. And what a geography. Hells, as some locals call it, is a 70-mile-long chasm dividing western Idaho from northeastern Oregon. Over eons, the Snake River and its tributaries have carved a vast, complex topography of side canyons and draws branching from the main gorge like the roots of an old cottonwood.

On the Oregon side, where I started yesterday, the rim rises 5,500 feet above the river. The relief on the Idaho side is even more dramatic. More than 8,000 feet separate the river from the top of the Seven Devils Mountains, making Hells deeper then the Grand Canyon by more than half a mile. The canyon is arid—nearly a desert—and largely treeless, except at higher elevations, where snowfall nurtures conifer forests.

But the harsh environment doesn’t prevent the canyon and its surrounding peaks from being one of the richest wildlife refuges in the Lower 48, home to more than 350 species, including bighorn sheep, black bears, bald eagles, and mountain lions, plus river otters and scads of rattlers. For all of these reasons, Congress in 1975 designated the 652,000-acre Hells Canyon National Recreation Area; today, the area includes 214,000 acres of wilderness.

My loop hike will lead me on a wild tour of the seasons—sometimes multiple seasons in a single day. I began yesterday afternoon in “summer,” marching nearly 2,000 feet uphill on the Saddle Creek Trail. After 50 switchbacks on a sunbaked slope, I’d sweated through my T-shirt like I was at an outdoor concert in New Orleans. At 5,448-foot Freezeout Saddle, I stepped abruptly into autumn—a chill wind and patches of snow. Even the view raised goosebumps. Snowcapped mountains rose in two directions—the Seven Devils to the east, Oregon’s Wallowas to the west. The great gash of Hells fell away so far below I couldn’t see the bottom. Then it was forward into spring, as I descended 1,500 feet of switchbacks beneath a warm drizzle and a vibrant rainbow.

Today, sunrise brought my wintry surprise. The black, pinnacled cliffs of Summit Ridge, towering hundreds of feet overhead, display a thin, new cape of white. A light snow falls as I hike the High Trail, a path set on a broad, miles-long bench at about 4,200 feet. It cuts through open groves of trees, past waterfalls, and across broad, grass-covered ridges.

The unpredictable weather hints at the immensity of Hells Canyon, but it doesn’t tell the full story. With each passing hour, my eyes adjust to the breadth and depth of scenery in the way a theatergoer’s ears tune in to Shakespearean dialogue. Like a great mountain range turned inside-out, the canyon’s contours leap and fall endlessly, from the creek-scoured ravine I step across to the multiple layers of distant ridges and tributary canyons. Land features seem to swell to tremendous size, then fade slowly to relative obscurity against a vast backdrop, a phenomenon of perception I’ve experienced only here and in the Grand Canyon.

Late in the morning on my second day, five elk dart uphill away from me, moving with an effortless speed that belies the slope’s severe angle. Within seconds, they’ve disappeared into the sparse pine forest. In the canyon’s middle elevations, the elk seem as numerous as birds. On previous trips, I’ve watched as many as 100 of these majestic animals flow uphill in such a dense cluster it gave the illusion of the ground moving.

By midafternoon, the storm passes. My load light, I lope nearly 2,000 feet down numerous switchbacks to the valley of Temperance Creek…and back into spring. I strip to short sleeves and make camp in an overgrown meadow called Wisnor Place, then poke around a dilapidated cabin and some long-abandoned farm equipment rusting in the tall grass. Tiny, mice-infested shacks like this one are scattered around the canyon, stark reminders of the remote, marginal lives of the settlers who farmed and ranched here from the late 1800s until the Depression.

The short-lived homesteading boom peaked around 1910, when more than 100 families scraped by on scattered 160-acre plots along the Snake. But life was hard and the climate not amenable to raising crops or livestock. As one settler put it, “The government bet you 160 acres that you couldn’t live there three years without starving to death.” Before Anglo settlers came, the Nez Perce had more success: Drawn to the canyon by its mild winters and abundant wildlife, their pictographs and petroglyphs are found on rock throughout the canyon.

A mile below Wisnor Place, knee-deep Temperance Creek ducks between 400-foot cliffs on its descent to the Snake River. Except for one spot where it climbs steeply to a great overlook of this side canyon, the Temperance Creek Trail practically straddles the creek, forcing you to ford it 21 times in three miles. I change to hiking sandals and splash down the frigid stream, my feet quickly going numb.

When I reach the Snake on my third morning, it feels like July in St. Louis. At 1,300 feet, I’m two seasons and four-fifths of a vertical mile removed from the snowy highlands where I started. Under a desert sun, I follow the Oregon Snake River Trail upriver and south. The nonstop views of the meandering river, cliffs, and grassy, nearly treeless ridges leave no doubt why 68 miles of the Snake River are designated as wild and scenic. There are sandy beaches, broad flats covered with bunchgrasses and prickly-pear cactus, and a remarkably well-built path clinging to cliffs 400 feet above the roiling water.

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On my last night, I pitch my tent near the mouth of Saddle Creek on a perfect, flat lawn at the edge of an abandoned orchard. A ranching family tended cherry, apricot, apple, pear, and peach trees here from about 1915 to 1938, I’ll later learn from an 87-year-old woman who remembers playing among the neat rows. Today, no trace remains of whatever house and buildings stood here. My only neighbors are wagon wheels and a plow slowly sinking into the earth—though a gaggle of wild turkeys will awaken me at dawn with their boisterous foraging. Evening paints the rock bands and grassy hillsides across the river in a warm, golden light.

Looking at the old farm equipment, I think about what life must have been like here a century ago—and conjure an image at once daunting and appealing. Then I realize that this spot almost certainly feels lonelier and more remote today than it did then. In four days, I’ve seen just one other person, a woman running a rustic lodge on the Snake River at Temperance Creek. On other visits, I’ve seen no one at all. For a backpacker, that kind of solitude is always a glorious thing, but it’s truly rare when you find it in a landscape so transcendent.

That’s the story of Hells Canyon, the rare American wilderness whose beauty far eclipses its renown.

This story first appeared in the June 2007 issue of Backpacker Magazine.

THIS TRIP IS GOOD FOR reasonably fit, experienced backpackers capable of managing big swings in temperatures and weather and finding their way on trails that are sparsely marked and sometimes disappear in tall grass for long distances. Potential campsites are infrequent in the higher terrain, but more numerous along the river, though you’ll compete with boaters for riverside sites, especially in late spring and early fall. Self-sufficiency is critical; you may not see another person.

Make It Happen

Season With 8,000 feet of relief and several microclimates, you can hike somewhere in Hells Canyon just about any time of year. Spring and fall are best for lower-canyon hikes like the above rim-to-river-to-rim loop, although elevations over 5,000 feet, like Freezeout Saddle, can receive snow from October to June. Temperatures in the canyon bottom usually top 90° F. and sometimes 100° F. in summer. Trails and peaks in the Seven Devils Mountains, which lie within the Hells Canyon Wilderness, are typically snow-free by mid-July. While the canyon bottom rarely sees any snow, it receives very little direct sun during the short days of mid-November through mid-January, so it can stay quite cold down there.

The Itinerary This 56-mile, four- to six-day route entails 6,000-plus feet of elevation gain and loss. From the Freezeout Trailhead parking area, follow Saddle Creek Trail’s arduous, nearly 2,000-foot climb to Freezeout Saddle, at 5,448 feet; start this two-hour stretch by 9 a.m. to avoid the afternoon heat. Then descend 1,500 feet to the High Trail junction at 5.3 miles from the trailhead. From there, hike a 45.5-mile loop on the High, Temperance Creek, Oregon Snake River, and Saddle Creek Trails, then return over Freezeout Saddle to your car. Side trails allow options for shorter or longer hikes. Floods, blowdowns, and long lags in maintenance may render some trails faint or completely obscured; call ahead for info, bearing in mind that the ranger district office may not know the latest conditions.

Getting There From OR 82 in Joseph, turn north on OR 350/Imnaha Highway and follow it 30 miles to the little town of Imnaha. Across from the post office, turn right onto Upper Imnaha River Road, continue 12.4 miles, and then turn left onto Road 4230, which forks almost immediately; bear left. Follow to its end at the Freezeout trailhead, which is accessible most of the year, but occasionally blocked by snow; check conditions with the Wallowa Mountains Visitor Center (see below).

Permit A backcountry permit is not required, but a parking pass is required at the Freezeout trailhead lot. Accepted passes include a National Forest Recreation Day Pass ($5/day), Northwest Forest Pass ($30 annually), or Interagency Annual Pass ($80 annually).

Maps The Hells Canyon National Recreation Area map ($6) can be purchased from the Hells Canyon NRA website (below). The USGS quads that cover this hike are Sheep Creek Divide, Hat Point, Old Timer Mountain, Kirkwood Creek, and Temperance Creek.

Guidebook Hiking Hells Canyon and Idaho’s Seven Devils Mountains, by Fred Barstad, $18.95, Falcon Guides, falcon.com.

Concerns
•    Water availability varies greatly with season and location; call a ranger district office to check what they know about tributary-creek water levels, and plan accordingly.
•    Avoid consuming water from the Snake River, because it carries agricultural chemicals and other pollutants.
•    Warmer temps bring out scores of rattlesnakes; be careful, and carry a snake-bite kit.
•    Watch for poison ivy along creeks; wear pants.

Contact Hells Canyon National Recreation Area, fs.usda.gov/detail/wallowa-whitman/recreation/?cid=stelprdb5238987. For Oregon info, including road and trail conditions, call the Wallowa Mountains Visitor Center, in Enterprise, OR, (541) 426-5546. For Idaho info, call the Riggins, ID, ranger district, (208) 628-3916.